The apartment smelled like fresh coffee and Tae’s vanilla body lotion—warm, sweet, the kind of scent that made Hajun’s shoulders drop the second he walked through the door every evening. Their place wasn’t huge, just a cozy two-bedroom in a nice building with big windows and enough space for Tae to twirl around in her tiny outfits without knocking anything over. Cream walls, soft beige couch, plants she babied like they were their kids. A framed photo of their wedding on the shelf—her in white lace, him looking at her like she hung the moon.

Tae was in the kitchen humming some old ballad, barefoot on the cool tiles, wearing nothing but one of Hajun’s oversized white button-downs. The hem barely skimmed the bottom curve of her fat ass, and every time she reached up for a mug, the shirt rode higher, showing the smooth pale skin of her thighs and the tiniest peek of pink lace panties. Her big tits pushed against the thin fabric, nipples dark little shadows under the cotton. Pink lips pursed as she poured coffee, hair messy from sleep, falling over one shoulder.

Hajun came up behind her, arms sliding around her waist, chin on her shoulder. “Morning, baby,” he murmured, voice still rough from sleep. He pressed a kiss to the side of her neck. “You’re gonna make me late again.”

She giggled, leaning back into him. “You love it when I make you late.” Her ass nudged his hips playfully, and he groaned low, hands sliding down to squeeze her cheeks through the shirt.

“God, Tae… you’re killing me.” He turned her around, lifting her onto the counter in one easy move. Her legs parted automatically, thick thighs framing him as he stepped between them. The shirt hiked up, exposing those pretty pink panties already damp at the center. He kissed her slow, deep, tongue sliding against hers while his thumbs brushed the undersides of her heavy tits.

“I love you,” he whispered against her mouth. “So fucking much.”

“I love you more,” she breathed back, fingers in his hair. “My handsome husband.”

They stayed like that for a minute, just kissing and touching, until his phone buzzed—reminder for the big party tonight. He pulled back with a reluctant sigh. “Promotion announcement. Tonight could be it.”

Tae’s eyes lit up. “You deserve it, Hajun. You’ve been working so hard.” She cupped his face. “I’m so proud of you.”

He smiled, kissed her forehead. “Wear something pretty tonight? For luck?”

She smirked, wicked little glint in her eye. “Oh, baby… I’ll wear something that’ll make you forget your own name.”

Hours later, Hajun stood in front of the mirror in their bedroom, adjusting his navy suit. Tall, clean-cut, handsome in that quiet, dependable way—broad shoulders, kind eyes, the kind of face that made people trust him instantly. He looked good, really good. Nervous excitement buzzed under his skin.

Tae stepped out of the walk-in closet and Hajun’s breath caught.

The dress was criminal. Black, silky, barely-there fabric that clung to every curve like it was painted on. The neckline plunged so low her big tits were practically spilling out, creamy cleavage on full display, nipples barely hidden by the thin material. The hem hit mid-thigh—any shorter and it would’ve been obscene. Backless, crisscross straps over her spine, showing off the dip of her waist and the generous swell of her ass. She’d paired it with strappy black heels that made her legs look endless, and her pink lips were glossy, hair loose and wavy.

She did a slow spin. “This okay for luck?”

Hajun stared, mouth dry. “Tae… fuck. You’re gonna give every man in that room a heart attack.”

She laughed softly, walking over to fix his tie. “Only one man matters.” She rose on her toes, kissed him deep. “Let’s go get you that promotion, husband.”

The venue was one of those sleek rooftop spots overlooking the city—string lights, champagne towers, soft jazz playing. Hajun’s company had rented the whole place. People in suits and cocktail dresses milled around, laughing, networking.

The second Tae stepped through the glass doors on Hajun’s arm, heads turned.

Whispers rippled. Eyes lingered. Men straightened, women raised brows. She was a walking fantasy—pale skin glowing under the lights, tits bouncing just slightly with each step, ass swaying in that tiny dress like it had its own gravity. Pink lips curved in a polite, sweet smile, but her body screamed sin.

Hajun felt proud as hell, arm around her waist. “You okay, baby?” he murmured.

She nodded, squeezing his hand. “Just… a lot of eyes.”

Then Jeon Jungkook appeared.

Tall—taller than Hajun—broad shoulders filling out a tailored black suit like it was made for sin. Dark hair swept back, sharp jaw, eyes so intense they felt like they could strip you bare. CEO of Jeon Enterprises. Thirty, filthy rich, built like he spent more time in the gym than the boardroom. Handsome in a dangerous way, the kind that made your pulse jump.

He spotted them immediately.

His gaze locked on Tae and didn’t waver. Jaw tightened. Something dark flickered in his eyes—hunger, raw and unfiltered. She was a walking wet dream in that dress, and he looked like he wanted to devour her whole.

Hajun beamed, oblivious. “Sir! Good to see you.” He guided Tae forward. “This is my wife, Tae. Tae, this is Mr. Jeon—my boss.”

Jungkook’s lips curved into a slow, polite smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Pleasure.” His voice was low, smooth, like velvet dragged over gravel.

He extended his hand. Tae placed hers in it—small, soft—and he held on a second too long, thumb brushing the inside of her wrist. She shivered, tried to pull back. He didn’t let go right away.

“Beautiful wife,” he said to Hajun, but his eyes never left Tae’s face. “You’re a lucky man.”

Hajun laughed, proud. “I know.”

Jungkook finally released her hand, only to step closer. His palm landed on the small of her back—casual, friendly—then slid lower. Lower. Until his big hand cupped one fat ass cheek, squeezing hard through the thin dress.

Tae gasped, sharp little sound escaping her glossy lips. Her thighs clenched instinctively.

Hajun was already turning to wave at a colleague, missing everything.

Jungkook leaned in, breath hot against her ear. “Careful, sweetheart. That little moan might give you away.”

He squeezed again—firmer this time—fingers digging into soft flesh. Tae’s knees wobbled. A tiny, helpless whimper slipped out before she could stop it.

Jungkook smirked, dark and knowing, then stepped back like nothing happened. “Come sit with me for dinner. Both of you. Best table in the house.”

Hajun’s face lit up. “Really? Thank you, sir. That’s—wow, thank you.”

Tae couldn’t speak. Her cheeks burned. Between her legs, she was already slick.

Dinner was torture.

They sat at a round table near the edge of the rooftop—Jungkook on Tae’s right, Hajun on her left. The food was fancy, the wine expensive, conversation light. Hajun chatted happily about projects, numbers, the promotion he was sure was coming.

Jungkook listened, nodded, all charm.

Under the table, his knee brushed Tae’s. Then his hand—big, warm—settled on her thigh.

She froze.

Fingers stroked slowly up the inside of her leg, pushing the hem of her dress higher. Higher. Until the tips grazed the edge of her lace panties. So close to her fat, swollen pussy lips. He traced the seam lightly, teasing, never quite touching where she ached.

Tae’s breath hitched. She clamped her thighs together, trapping his hand—but that only pressed his fingers harder against her.

Jungkook didn’t even look at her. He sipped his wine, answered Hajun’s question about quarterly projections, all calm and collected.

But his thumb circled, slow and deliberate, right over the damp spot on her panties. Pressed just enough to make her clit throb.

Tae bit her lip hard, nails digging into her palm. Her poor husband laughed at something Jungkook said, completely blind to the way his wife’s chest heaved, the way her nipples poked against the silk like diamonds.

Jungkook finally glanced at her—eyes dark, smirk faint. “You alright, Tae? You look… flushed.”

She forced a smile. “Just… warm.”

His fingers slipped under the edge of her panties, brushing bare, slick folds. One slow drag along her slit.

Tae’s thighs trembled. A soft, broken moan almost escaped—she covered it with a cough.

Jungkook withdrew his hand, brought his fingers to his lips under the table, and licked them clean. Tasted her.

She stared, horrified and soaked.

Later, the announcements came.

Jungkook stood at the podium, voice carrying over the crowd. Promotions. Bonuses. Names.

Hajun’s wasn’t called.

The table went quiet.

Hajun’s smile faltered, then fell. He stared at his plate. “Guess… next time,” he said softly.

Tae’s heart broke for him. She reached for his hand under the table, squeezed. But inside, anger flared hot and bright—at the man who’d just fingered her under the table while her husband hoped for a scrap of recognition.

Jungkook met her eyes across the room as he stepped down. Smirked. Like he knew exactly what she was thinking.

Back home, the apartment felt too quiet.

Hajun sat on the couch, tie loosened, head in his hands. “I thought tonight was it.”

Tae knelt between his legs, hands on his thighs. “Baby… you’re amazing. They’re idiots if they don’t see it.” She leaned up, kissed him slow. “Let me make it better.”

She pushed him back, climbed into his lap, straddling him. The tiny dress rode up around her hips. She unzipped his pants, pulled him out—hard already, thick in her hand.

“Fuck me,” she whispered, lining him up. “Forget tonight.”

She sank down slow, taking every inch. Hajun groaned, hands gripping her ass. “God, Tae… so tight.”

She rode him hard—rolling her hips, tits bouncing in the low neckline, pink nipples slipping free. “You feel so good, baby,” she moaned. “My perfect husband.”

But even as she clenched around him, even as she whispered how much she loved him—

All she could see was Jungkook’s dark eyes.

The way he’d squeezed her ass.

The way his fingers had teased her dripping pussy.

The way he’d licked her taste off his skin.

Her walls fluttered hard. Clenched so tight Hajun cursed.

“Fuck—baby—I’m gonna—”

He came with a broken groan, spilling deep inside her.

Tae kept rocking, milking him, chasing her own edge—but when it hit, it wasn’t Hajun’s name on her lips.

It was a silent, guilty flash of him.

She buried her face in Hajun’s neck, heart pounding.