The air between them crackled as Tae fumbled for her phone, fingers brushing against the card still tucked in her bra. “Could you—just for a minute?” she asked, voice smaller than she intended. “Talk to my husband? It would mean everything.”

Jungkook’s laugh was dark velvet. “Of course. Anything for the woman I have a taste for tonight.” He licked his lips, slow, like he was already imagining where he’d start.

Tae’s flush burned hotter as she dialed. Junho answered on the first ring, practically hyperventilating. “Oh my god oh my god—”

“He’s here,” Tae whispered, handing the phone over. Jungkook took it, his fingertips lingering against hers just long enough to make her breath catch.

“Mr. Kim,” Jungkook purred into the receiver, watching Tae squirm. “Your wife tells me you’re a fan.” He chuckled at whatever Junho babbled next, leaning back against the windowsill with predatory ease. “Mm. Yes, she’s been… very accommodating.” His gaze raked over Tae’s body. “In fact, she’ll be keeping me company for a while. You don’t mind, do you?”

Tae could hear Junho’s eager squeals through the phone. Jungkook’s smirk deepened. “An autograph?” He traced his thumb along his lower lip, eyes locked on Tae’s trembling thighs. “Of course. I’ll send your wife home with one. Along with…” He let the implication hang, watching Tae’s chest rise faster. “Mm. Good man.”

When he handed the phone back, Junho was breathless. “Tae—baby—be good for him, okay? Whatever he wants.”

“Yes,” she managed, her voice thin. Jungkook plucked the phone from her slack fingers and tossed it onto a leather chaise. The sound was obscenely loud in the quiet penthouse.

“Now,” Jungkook murmured, stepping close enough that his cologne drowned her senses. His knuckles grazed her collarbone, trailing lower. “Where were we?”

Tae swallowed hard. “I should—”

“Strip,” he cut her off, voice like gravel. His fingers toyed with the thin strap of her dress. “Unless you need motivation.”

She feigned indignation, pressing her thighs together tighter—too tight, the slick heat between them undeniable. “Excuse me?”

Jungkook smirked, pulling his phone from his pocket with deliberate slowness. “Should I call your husband?” He tilted his head, watching her pulse jump. “Tell him his wife’s disobedient? That’d be… disappointing, wouldn’t it?”

Tae’s breath stuttered. She reached behind herself, fingers fumbling with the zipper. The dress slithered down her body, pooling at her feet in a shimmering heap. The penthouse air prickled against her bare thighs, her nipples already pebbling under the flimsy lace of her bra.

Jungkook’s nostrils flared. “Fuck.” His gaze burned over her like a brand—lingering on the swell of cleavage spilling from the cups, the way her thong dug into the soft flesh of her hips.

With a shaky exhale, Tae unhooked her bra. Her tits bounced free, heavy and full, the pink peaks hardening under his stare. Jungkook’s jaw clenched, his cock visibly straining against his slacks.

“Like a fucking cow,” he muttered, reaching out but not touching—letting his fingers hover just above her nipple. The ghost of contact made her whimper.

Tae hooked her thumbs into the sides of her thong, peeling it down inch by torturous inch. Her pussy glistened, plush and swollen, the pink folds already slick. Jungkook’s breath caught audibly.

She turned then, bending slightly to shake her ass—cheeks jiggling, the dimpled flesh quivering with the movement. Behind her, Jungkook swore again, rougher this time.

"Dance for me," he ordered, pulling out his phone. His fingers moved quick, tapping the screen—then bass-heavy music flooded the penthouse, creeping inside Tae's bones like liquor. The song had filthy lyrics, words dripping with crude intent, and she laughed—high and breathless—before rolling her hips in slow circles.

"Like this?" she teased, reaching back to spread herself, fingers sinking into plush flesh.

Jungkook didn't reply—just watched, transfixed—as Tae drooped lower, letting her tits swing between her thighs. She played with them then, squeezing until the pink tips jutted obscenely, pinching just hard enough to make her gasp. The song's lyrics grew filthier—something about a girl begging for it harder—and Tae arched her back, fingers skimming down to rub lazy circles over her puffy pussy.

"You're fucking dripping already," Jungkook snarled.

Tae moaned—loud, exaggerated—just to watch him twitch. "You should see how my husband watches your movies," she taunted, dragging two fingers through her slick folds. "Touches himself like this—thinking about me—about you—"

Jungkook's fist clenched around his phone. "Keep talking."

She did—words slurring as she worked herself faster—describing how Junho moaned Jungkook's name in bed, how he'd begged her just earlier to "be good" for his idol. The song switched to something darker, bass thumping like a pulse, and Tae dropped onto all fours, ass high, rocking back onto her own fingers with a whimper.

"That's it," Jungkook growled, advancing finally—his polished shoes entering her line of sight. "Fuck yourself like the greedy little slut you are." His thumb swiped through her mess, gathering wetness before tracing her asshole—the lightest graze—and Tae jerked violently, crying out.

His laugh was low, dangerous. "Oh? That's where you want it?"

She didn't answer—couldn't—her body already clenching around nothing, desperate. The music pounded louder, lyrics filthy, and Tae's moans climbed higher with every circling thrust of her fingers.

Jungkook stepped back—just enough to watch—and pulled out his phone again. "Smile, darling," he murmured. "Your husband's gonna love this."

The flash blinded her.