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"And what if this doesn't work out—again?" you tell your friend, who's been eying this girl across your table for a little while now. "I mean, what if she just wants to be left alone?"
"No—I don't think so. Join me and look at her for a second."
As fate would have it, she catches you right at the moment your eyes meet. Alcohol in hand, acting nonchalant, it looks as though she'll tilt her gaze away and make you as nothing but a mere afterthought.
But she doesn't.
With a subtle smile and a look to the side, it's apparent she wants you to do something. Anything. Walk up to her, make small talk, compliment the black dress hugging her tight little frame. Notice a leg peeking through the slit of her expensive outfit. In a crowd of nobodies, the only attention she wants is from you.
Even from afar, you can tell that look was meant for you. Staring a little too long for comfort, making you freeze, unsure of what to do. She tries to hide it behind a sip, but her intentions are as transparent as the glass she’s drinking.
But you don't move. You stay there, lingering on what's waiting on the other side. Rejection. Public humiliation. Your friend is just dying to whip out his phone, like he's always done whenever you talk to girls. Make you another viral moment for people to mock for getting your shot rejected at the rim.
She can sense your hesitation, and through the subtleties in her body language, she's growing impatient. Tapping her fingers against the table, biting her lip, looking away just to come right back, she’s feigning boredom, wishing you'd just hurry up and come closer. Every passing second that you linger in contemplation slowly kills her. What she wanted was to be entertained, not just sit there and watch you waver over some imagined doomsday scenario.
After a deep breath and one final look into her gorgeous, glassy eyes, she takes a long, wistful sigh. She finishes the last of her drink, then makes a few strides to your table.
Fuck it. I'm coming over instead.
—————
"Well shit. Here we go. Talk to her."
Your friend leans over the table excitedly as he watches the woman cross the distance within a few paces, already holding the phone in hand in record. As your face becomes a putty mess of fear sinking in, he pauses, looks at you, and places it facedown on the table.
"I'm not going to film you. Just say hi to her."
"I don’t trust you—"
"Oh for fuck's sake, here she comes. Go!"
And with that, she's standing right in front of you. The woman shoots him a brief impassionate look before turning all her attention back to you.
"You've been staring a little too much for my liking. Find something that you like?"
"Have I?" Your eyes gloss over to your friend, hiding behind his raised phone. "Can't help it—you look gorgeous."
"Thanks." She brushes her shoulder, her creamy skin glistening underneath the light. "You're the first person in here to take notice."
"How about—"
"I said you're the first person to take notice."
A realization hits your mind in that instant, and an equally sly grin emerges, staring straight back into those hazelnut brown pools. She gives it back one with her own.
"Glad to finally make you the star, then."
"Already am, babe. Name's Yuri. And you?"
You've seen that face on screen before. In music shows, mostly, but especially in that one drama everyone's been talking about recently. Her face is about the most recognizable thing in this bar, and she's not afraid to flaunt it. Everyone knows who Jo Yuri is. And yet, it feels like you're the only one who actually sees her.
"So Yuri, what brings you to this fine establishment?"
"Needed a break. You?"
"Needed some shots to loosen up a friend of mine."
Yuri's gaze slowly drifts to the empty glasses sitting atop the table. You see her slightly nod, understand that you were just having a good time with your friend, not giving the first thought to who'd be hogging the spotlight tonight. That, in this room, there are no celebrities or stars, only people looking to drink their problems away.
"Let me guess," Yuri twirls the liquid inside the glass cup of your drink as her eyes return to yours. "He wanted to see if you could shoot your shot, and now you feel like you should've left no room for regret."
"Good eye.” You flash a playful grin, stretching it a bit wider than normal. “Should I really?"
"Probably. Got any other places planned afterwards?"
She’s casual sounding, blunt and direct to the point, like you’re friends catching up and not meeting for the first time.
"Nothing much, no. Wanna hang?"
"Sure. You look fun. I want to know more about you."
Your friend stares at you both, slack-jawed, holding his phone in utter disbelief. A woman he thought you couldn't bag after you’ve fumbled countless times and he'd have to live with the knowledge that you're the one walking out of here with her.
You can't help but feel the same way, even with the heat emanating from her skin. Right in front of your hands.
"Hey, are we really doing this—"
"Yeah. Let's make my fan club jealous."
Yuri gives you a long, alluring stare. She smirks, winks, tilts her head over. With a quick pivot of her heels, she walks away, disappearing into the crowd, and out of the bar. But not before giving you a farewell message:
"Come along. And hurry up. I won't be as patient as I was earlier."
That went a lot quicker than either of you had expected. Your friend is utterly speechless at what just happened.
"I'll—call you later," you quickly tell him, while he can't let go of his phone, now recording the wall. An interesting, colorful wall to be fair.
He remains silent, which signals your green light to go. Nothing's keeping you back anymore. More importantly, Yuri wants you.
So with that in mind, you get up, give your friend a short wave, and make for the door.
"Yeah. Go ahead,” he suddenly says, finally coming to his senses and stopping his recording. He remarks to himself as you leave him, “God damn, that’s actually crazy—”
But by then, you were already distancing yourself from him.
All this time you had stared at the ground, so taken in by her charm and looks, you don't realize until the door swings wide open, that she'd been waiting by herself along the sidewalk.
"How the hell did you walk here with those heels?" you ask.
"Heels make me feel great. A bit taller than usual, so I look a bit more intimidating," she says, partially tipsy, struggling to keep herself balanced.
"And what's up with the dress by the way?" you ask, eying her glistening skin, the beautiful, off-shoulder black dress that's daring you to stare at her exposed shoulders and collarbone.
"Awards night. Didn't win anything important, so it was more a class assembly than anything."
Yuri says it rather coldly, knowing she's not completely being truthful about not winning anything. She's clear about her purpose: to grab a bite and a drink away from flashing lights and cameras, then make her way back home. Maybe she just didn't expect a fan would notice her among all the uncaring strangers inside.
"Weird of you to pick a shitty little bar near an alleyway," you remark.
"Tired of drinking the same expensive wine and bullshit food they offer," Yuri says, almost defensive in her tone. "Is that okay with you? Am I treading on claimed territory?"
"I don't mind it. It is a nice little spot, to be fair."
"Aw, worried they'll spot the celebrity grabbing a bite in a not-so-seedy part of town?"
"Not at all," you counter. "Hate that kinda shit."
She gives you a small laugh. "I'm glad you were the one who spoke first. I guess there was a reason I was so drawn to you."
Everything about her is just so irresistible. The heels accentuate her figure, her wide, expressive eyes. Her skin glistens beneath the faint moonlight. And that voice—God, that voice. It can only pull you down under.
You can only imagine how she sounds during—can't say it right now, you gotta cross that bridge first.
"I'm glad to give my attention to someone who deserves it," she then tells you, her gaze fixated on yours. You can't help but blush.
"So,” you’re glancing around the empty, quiet street, scratching your head, “Where do you wanna go?"
Yuri looks left and right before fixing her eyes straight with a little smile. "Up to you."
You decide to head together towards the other side of an intersection. Hail a cab, take a ride back to your place, ask the driver if he recognizes Jo Yuri, take a little selfie as proof, then send it to a friend or a friend group—yours, hers, even the driver's. They'll see that you've actually bagged yourself a girl for the night. You'd laugh at the picture and show her how they’ll react.
And the best part: Yuri will be right there, laughing with you.
—————
Both of you are huddled inside the backseat of the car, with your hand gently snaking up her thigh, your fingers tingling every time you catch her skin. The taxi driver is too focused on the road ahead, or not in the least caring.
"Knew you were dying to touch me," she flirtatiously whispers in your ear. "And you haven't said a damn thing yet."
You try not to speak. Yuri sees through the wall. And she smirks.
She lays her hand over yours and guides them beneath her thigh, edging you a bit close to her pussy. You hear her hum against your neck, quietly, melodically, coaxing you further. With a slight smile and a gentle pull, the both of you stare at each other knowingly.
It feels nice. It’s the kind of warmth you haven’t felt in some time.
The cab drops you off at your place, and you begin to wonder if Yuri will keep to her word. Perhaps she was drunk. Or that she really doesn't care much about being seen like this, with a man nobody knows about. Maybe she doesn't plan on going back home.
But that last bit might have more of an edge to it.
You wish she would stay the night. There is something endearing in her vulnerability. Seeing her, the otherwise guarded, professional individual, gradually softening for a man she knows barely anything about—and that man being you. It fills you with an indescribable sense of bliss. How you managed to walk away with her is a goddamn miracle. After everything, it’s all too good to be true.
It should all stop here. You and Yuri walk your separate ways, never to see each other again. That's how the story goes.
But then she's lightly kissing you on the cheek as she lets herself into your apartment first. And every time your rough skin meets her soft hand, she finds you blushing profusely, so red you might as well be a walking bruise. And to make matters worse, you're making direct eye-contact while she pinches a small nip with her pinkies and ring finger.
Yuri knows the effect she's having on you. And it's nothing less than powerful.
It feels nice to be seen. To be touched.
"Struggling a little there?" Yuri chuckles at your jittering self, making an awkward effort to lock the door behind the both of you. "Thought you were ready to handle me."
"Don't expect me to not get nervous. I mean, you're a celebrity I'm still dealing with here."
"Babe, I'm still just—" she suddenly tilts her head at the opposite angle. "—me. I don't bite. Unless you want me to."
"How much alcohol do you have in your system right now?" you ask, raising a hand with four fingers up.
Understandably, Yuri shoots you a mocking pout and a sharp glare, resting her hands on her waist. It's cute. And hot. "Don't try me with that bullshit. Four."
You make a face that tells her you're already regretting this. "Alright. Sit on the couch then."
She does so, while watching you ready some tea, and then glancing her gaze away after one last appreciative glance at her face. A few minutes later, you join her on the couch, two cups in hand, her eyes firmly glued onto you, observing intently with a pleasant smile on her face.
"First, you’re scared to talk to me," Yuri says, amused as you slide her cup to her side. "Then, we're touching each other in the backseat. Now after assuming I'm drunk out of my mind and being wrong, you're treating me for tea, trying to be a gentleman."
"Just trying to be nice."
"Pssh."
"What?"
"I hate formalities."
"Yeah?"
She crosses her arms. "Very."
"Alright, Miss Jo Yuri. Is this a whole lot better for you? Because I feel very self-conscious with how I'm behaving, since, y'know—celebrity sitting on my couch."
Yuri tucks a lock of hair behind her ears. “I got you, so don’t worry about me, then. I can handle myself, like a grown woman should.”
She observes the way you slowly drink your tea, careful not to get scalded or in pain. Or just plainly forgetting you're supposed to wait a few seconds and then just gulp the damn thing whole. She drinks up, and with it comes a huge sigh of relief and a satisfying expression on her lips. When she puts her cup down, it's empty compared to yours, just a quarter of the way done.
"Have your needs been fulfilled, then?" you ask.
"Might need another one, maybe two,” she quickly jokes.
"One more should be fine though?"
"Think that should be enough,” she remarks, changing her mind. Or just leading you on. Her intentions can’t be read.
"Alright. Let's cut to the chase then.” you take her cup and slide it over to the other side of the living room table. “Tell me why you’re interested in me."
With some curious look on her face and an equally subtle laugh, Yuri speaks.
"Don't you just hate it when you've got a hard-on for some celebrity, only to realize how boring she really is outside of being a fucking celebrity?" she says, yapping like you've got all the time in the world to listen, which you generously have, "Like, shit, imagine if Jo Yuri wanted to fuck you, because she's lonely, doesn't actually like you at all, and she's gonna leave after you give it to her. That's pretty fucked, isn't it?"
"Yeah, sounds about right. Pretty fucked, I agree."
"See, I knew we wouldn't be so different."
Your partially empty cup of tea sits neglected on the table, now cold.
"People fuck all the time just 'cause they wanna be with someone," Yuri carries on. "Look for a sign or whatever that means their love is true or valid. Guess we're like them. A couple of sad fuckers with our feelings fucked over, so let's fuck the feeling out of each other."
"Hm. Right as usual, Miss Yuri."
"I told you to drop the formalities," she cuts back sternly. "For now, it's Yuri to you."
"Sorry. Force of habit."
"Is it?" she questions.
"Maybe."
Yuri takes a breath and momentarily looks away. "I get the feeling you're just putting up this aloof, weird front."
"Because I'm really not like how you think I'd be.” You chuckle. “Did I throw you off?"
"To some extent, yeah. You seem very indecisive. On the one hand, I like a person who can be sure of themselves."
"And?"
"And that person would be me."
You hold an apologetic pose. "Afraid I can't offer you anything in that department."
"The way you dress isn't bad. You know that, right?"
Even though you’re wearing your usual: plaid shirt and slacks and some sneakers you haven’t polished in months.
Yuri continues to shoot quick, straight-to-the-point sentences, but that's not what’s throwing you off. She's much smaller without her heels. Shoulder-length, dark hair flows against the top of her breasts. Her skin fair and almost without blemish. And the most gorgeous pair of brown eyes you've ever laid your stare on. She looks tailormade to be your girl. Anyone’s girl. And her wit and personality is that of a neighbor that you become close friends with.
"Something else catching your attention there?" she suddenly quips, batting her eyes at you teasingly. She’s living in your head rent-free.
"Two things."
"Of course,” she remarks, briefly panning down to her chest before returning to you. “We'll get to that later, but only if you entertain me."
"Go on."
"So—about your friend at the bar," Yuri starts again, taking another sip of tea, "—he was—"
"Being annoying, I know,” you interject.
"I wasn’t finished talking."
"Sorry."
"Don't apologize, but yes. He was."
"I mean, he was setting me up. To embarrass myself back there. In front of you."
"Gives a whole new meaning to wanting your friend's attention then," she notes. "Was it painful, at least, seeing me with all those other people who weren't you? And then, I’m coming over without a warning?"
"It was," you say, deeply exhaling. "Imagine that: Jo Yuri in the same place you're casually chilling in. Now imagine I'm talking to a friend about shooting my shot with her, and next thing you know, I find her staring directly at me."
"Not the first time I've heard it."
"Your voice helps draw people in. So does your body, too.”
"Care to explain?" Yuri laughs, one hand flat over her chest and another waving over her face. "Is it really that seductive?"
"Kinda is. I'm surprised you haven't tried to show them off more. In dramas, I mean."
"Thanks for elaborating," she quips, turning her gaze away, smiling through her teeth, "because I was gonna say, I've shown them here and there—"
"Hardly anyone noticed," you tell her, leaning back on the couch. "I do, though."
Yuri stares right into your eyes, keeping her distance. "Not very good at hiding your intentions, are we?"
"I mean, I didn't ask for any of this."
"But here we are."
Her hazelnut eyes are fixed onto the television sitting right above a cupboard, its screen pitch black. Even from afar, you can see her reflection.
"Here we are," Yuri repeats. She sounds cold, distant. Maybe that's how her fanbase interprets the difference between her professional and personal identities.
As she lays herself bare in front of you, her face and those eyes have a distinct weariness in her. She feels exhausted. No longer in the spotlight, she’s just an empty shell of a person. Her fans may adore her, but they aren't actual lovers.
Yuri gives an exasperated breath. Then another. And a small hum.
"Is everything okay?" you ask.
"Feeling kinda—shy."
You resist the urge to comment on her sudden timidity, her downturned eyes and slightly blushing cheeks. The change is abrupt.
"Are you cold?"
"Quite. Don't suppose we have any more hot water for tea."
"Nothing left but hot air here. And the showers, but I highly doubt you'd wanna stay longer than an hour."
Yuri brushes the back of her hair, bringing it aside with a playful gesture. A natural one that you never once expected to witness. "Is my company troublesome for you? Am I disturbing your peace?"
"I wouldn't ask for anything more."
"Thank you."
"But, we can't just leave this here. You gotta get home, at some point."
Yuri is, in a sense, lost. Not at a place, per se, but in a certain state. It's quite the dilemma.
She's still here, entertaining even your little jabs, so she must be having the time of her life. Not exactly what she had in mind, being a celebrity and all, but certainly better than dealing with inebriated actors who love stroking their own ego like it's gonna burst if they don't every five minutes. You're a complete stranger to her, after all, but she's found the stay to be tolerable, at the very least.
"Actually, can you do something for me?" Yuri suddenly asks.
"Sure. How bad does it sound?" you chuckle, stirring your cold tea with a spoon. Anything to keep your hands from being idle, from being touchy-feely.
"More embarrassing than anything. For the both of us. It's more about me and my selfishness though. Nothing to be done about that."
"If it's out of desperation and I find it plausible enough, sure," you offer, feigning innocence.
"Sounds fun already. Anyway, imagine you're a very handsome, famous guy, and you're told to woo the heart of an actress out of spite. To prove you're actually into her, even if she's not very attractive, or desirable."
"Or worth loving, essentially."
"Right."
Yuri raises her eyebrow in confusion at the figure lying sideways, back on the couch, across from where she sits, her eyes still transfixed at the empty, lifeless TV screen.
"Somebody got the munchies already?"
"A little," you reply.
"Well, take your time."
A bit of quiet follows, a moment of thorough contemplation, along with a few soft noises coming from you chewing, swallowing, and inaudible mumbling.
"Do you ever think about how many celebrities aren't as famous as they seem?" you inquire.
"We're all celebrities. Even if it’s just for one day."
"Ha. Never expected that. Almost poetical."
You're really not all that worried about Yuri finding an escape route, leaving your ass and having her image tainted for life. But you are, however, starting to feel some heat at the tip of your ears. She's closer, hovering over.
"They are really soft, huh."
"What?" she playfully asks.
"Those lips."
"Oh, you mean when I do this?"
Yuri shoots you a playful pout, pretending to come in for a kiss.
For a second, you almost have it—dancing on the razor's edge of oblivion, going to a place you know there's no escape, no turning back. They're calling to you, hypnotizing you, whispering every forbidden promise your heart desires.
But then:
"God, Yuri, I just—" you suddenly say, vehemently shaking your head.
"Too much?" she quips, unaware of your sudden predicament. "A bit too hot for your liking?"
"Sure, but not exactly that."
"Ah. Guess this is a regular occurrence for you then?"
You don't want to admit that you might have not thought this far, a lot like Yuri is probably feeling right now.
It's been weeks since the end of something important, someone you shared something special with, only to find yourself standing in a desolate park, questioning your own motivations and wondering whether to go through or turn around and make another run.
"Was."
"I would tell you to tell me more, but you look bothered by what you're thinking of."
Yuri's made it clear, even when it's standing right in front of you. She sees the ghost haunting you through your eyes.
You feel ashamed for even bringing up such a painful subject.
"My last partner and I," you slowly explain, making small gestures with your hands. "Didn't break up because of cheating, or some big scandal, like you see in movies or on the internet. It was actually really, really sweet."
"Really," she says, raising her brows. "Go on."
"The breakup, the—ending. It was mutual."
"Happens all the time."
"It just—happens to hurt, you know. 'Cause good memories were there."
Yuri sits there, deathly silent, not saying anything for a full minute. She looks genuinely concerned. Maybe it's a cue to tell her something funny. That would set the mood a bit. Make her laugh and smile.
You wanna hear her laugh. She has a lovely laugh, almost child-like.
"And you wanna know the worst bit. The one thing I didn't think would happen?"
"And what might that be?"
You take a deep breath, close your eyes. In the unnerving calm, you feel your heart skip a beat. You're going for it: hell or high water, there's no going back.
Even so, you can't bring yourself to look her directly in the eyes, but when you speak, it's loud and clear:
"I've somehow run into her friend a few weeks after we broke up. And she's sitting beside me. Right now."
Yuri's eyes widen in shock, visible even as you're staring straight through the blank TV screen. She sits there in stunned silence, seemingly uncomprehending, at this newfound revelation.
"I'm your—no, fuck, are you—are you serious right now?"
Yuri stammers and laughs incredulously at the coincidence. She can't believe it. She won't believe it. Not yet.
You haven't noticed the tear welling up on your eye. "This is the funniest fucking shit in the world. Really, the universe really can't make it easy on me, can it? Look—did she tell you about us?"
"Yena? Of course she does," she answers almost immediately, chuckling through the sentence. "Tells everything, actually. About how you're always late, always making excuses as to why you're late—"
You hide your face behind your hands, groaning in protest while she rattles on with a seemingly endless record of character flaws and incidents like it were judgment day. "God fucking dammit—"
"And then a few days after you’d officially broken up, she said that you weren't really ready for a real relationship.” Yuri’s eyes widen, as if mocking you, the hardest hitting point, like a punch to the gut. “She told me you were leading her on for something that would never come. You couldn't stop apologizing for a month, and Yena just had to explain she doesn't regret it. That she was fine, and that you'd be okay being just friends."
"Fucking hell, I'm such an asshole, aren't I?"
"Felt the same thing I felt," Yuri suddenly admits.
It hits hard. Very. "It's not supposed to hurt. But it does. For whatever reason."
"This doesn't excuse it. Still doesn't change the fact."
You look her dead in the eyes, despite the tears falling down the side of your cheek. She looks upset now, frustrated on behalf of a close friend.
"And then, God decided to test me even more by sending you along. Why do you think I didn't wanna approach you at the bar? Cause I was one of your fans and I respect privacy?"
"Yeah, well Yena did tell me you stalk her page a lot—"
"Yes! But also—" you interrupt, your momentary shunt disappearing almost instantaneously, "—I didn't think you wouldn't look the other way after hearing all this. After everything you've just said."
Yuri blinks. Once. Twice. A few for good measure.
"I'm a walking red flag, Yul,” you continue, waving your arms like it's surrender, “Yena made it clear to you: I'm not ready for a real relationship, and I'm still not. I shouldn't have done all this, I shouldn't have followed you out, taken you home, made you tea and told everything—"
She suddenly clears the distance in one fell swoop and kisses you before you can finish your sentence.
At once, you're struck numb and awed, seeing nothing but Yuri's silhouette moving in a smooth, flowing motion, coming down with you. Lips are crushed into each other as her body slowly grinds against yours, hips snapping in a rhythm that should've been foreign, but isn't.
Her warm, nimble fingers, along with her slender legs, pins your shoulders against the couch's armrest, giving you no escape. Your clothes suddenly feel incredibly restricting. She doesn't show any hint of shame, regret, or insecurity. All Yuri can give you is a constant, head-spinning sensation as your tongue slides into her mouth and she swallows your sighs into the nothingness of a mostly chilly, dreary night.
Resisting is pointless. You give in, completely and fully. And as if to bury those doubts six feet under, she whispers into your ear:
"That's Yena's problem. Not mine."
Then she's back to kissing you again. Her hands travel downward, taking with it a journey past your torso and onto the top of your leg.
Her palm is all over your crotch, the fabric of your briefs starting to stretch from the growing tent beneath, her fingers lightly curling to reach its intended destination. With her hand rubbing itself over your cock, and her lower half swaying to an imaginary beat, she makes quick work of undressing you, fingers wrapped around its head.
"Wouldn't expect you to be hard already. Been long, haven't you, baby?" Yuri speaks into your neck, caressing your skin with every word, like her hand is doing over your cock. She's thorough. Professional. Like she's played these games before. "Yena did say one thing about you that caught my attention."
"Let me guess: dick big?"
"Dick big." She chuckles against your neck before planting her lips onto a smooth spot beneath your ear. "She's never wrong about anything. But—" her breath suddenly hitches as she grabs your balls underneath, eliciting a groan from your side, "—I didn't think it was this much."
The stiffness is becoming too uncomfortable for you, the pent-up need pooling into the pit of your stomach.
"Few more minutes like this and I'm gonna—" you let out a groan, your muscles slightly contracting as a gasp escapes her lips at the feel of something dribbling in her hand, "fucking—"
She cuts you off mid-sentence, smirking when she approaches, planting a soft kiss now over your lips. "Easy, big boy. Would be a shame if you wasted it on anything but me."
Yuri crushes her lips unto you once more, this time her tongue not asking permission as it lashes out, exploring the unclaimed parts of your mouth. Then, she draws her head away with an exasperated sigh. Her tongue slips between her lips and she gives an unsatisfied grunt climbing off you, knowing there's no chance of keeping either of you satisfied.
"Your bedroom. Show me."
Taking Yuri's hand as you hop off the couch, you let her lead the way. Her smooth palm wraps around your own, bringing it around her arm. At times, Yuri presses your hand to squeeze the plentiful flesh of her chest through her dress. There's something she's telling you without using her words, something you can't put your finger on just yet.
There's an intensity to her gaze, like a fox cornering a rabbit in its burrow, a certain glow to her eyes. This can't be the first time Yuri's done something like this. The way she handles your cock effortlessly, the words she chooses to set the mood, how she knows what makes you tick—
Right before the mattress, she stops. Turns around with her arms spread wide.
"Dress."
Tilting your head, you give her an assessing look. Hers is that of impatience, of pent-up desperation. She's telling you with her eyes to rip it off, if you must.
Without a word or a moment of hesitation, you follow. With her breathing slow and quiet, eyes focused, hands unclasping her zipper.
From the base of the curve, the top half peels away from her body, dropping by the front and revealing her full chest. Proper gala and she didn’t bother to put on a bra—that’s how indifferent she feels about attending those events. But that’s besides the point.
Shimmying her hips, the rest of it falls freely to the floor, leaving her in nothing but lace underwear. The rest is greater than what you’ve ever envisioned or imagined.
Before you take any time to fully admire her, Yuri grabs you by the collar of your shirt and begins to shed your clothes in return.
One by one, the layers fall off you. Shirt, shoes, pants, until finally, briefs. Everything—it’s all gone.
And somehow, Yuri's bare form appears better than when she had just put up an act for the sake of an audience. Now, she's baring herself for you alone, without expectation, without putting up a show. Just her, and nothing else.
In the middle of your lust-ridden reverie, Yuri nudges her thigh against your balls, before grabbing the length of your hard cock, grinning like the vixen she is.
"Keep your eyes on me," Yuri scolds. "What would make you feel better. More relaxed?"
"I'm thinking."
"About what?" she presses further. "My tits? My lips? How fucking wet I am?"
"Just you," you reply in a choked voice, reaching towards her hand, still unable to fully comprehend. This is happening. "I want you. As a whole."
"Then take me."
Together, you fall atop your mattress, landing on top of her. All semblance of personal space dissipates.
"I just wanna pretend you're mine tonight, Yul," you say, pulling down her flimsy underwear beneath, feeling her core wet and aching when you touch her.
Yuri bites on her lower lip, bringing her nails around the nape of your neck. Breathing and moaning against your ear, she sighs the very words you’ve been dying to hear:
"Then tonight, I’m all yours. Just—fuck me. Make me yours."
And you do exactly that.
That first thrust into her cunt—Christ.
It almost drags you down under.
Filling her with your hard, thick cock pressed up against her sopping walls, her tightening walls pulsing against you, drives a sharp, lengthy groan out from between Yuri's lips, bouncing against the walls of the bedroom. Throwing her head back, she's arching off the sheets, already lost in bodily pleasure.
"Fuck—Yena didn't exaggerate. It is—so fucking big—oh God—"
She gasps in surprise again when you thrust forward into her cunt, slowly pulling out when it refuses to give in easily, then plunging back in. Again. Then again. With each stroke, her sighs grow into moans that leave her hoarse and wanton, calling your name at every thrust.
It's so heavenly—oh so fucking heavenly—the way your cock slides in and fills up her walls, milking every inch, coating your shaft with her slick.
In the heat of passion, you're so engrossed by the image that's become Yuri: beautiful and fucking ravishing, sweating, clinging onto you like her life depends on it and losing herself. Her mouth and the melodic noises coming from it, becomes your only focal point. Nothing else but the sweet little noises coming from the depths of her throat. It's the only thing you feel. Everything else, including her taut, gorgeous body, doesn't exist.
Every moan, every change in pitch, every curse, every praise—nothing's ever sounded more beautiful to the ears. She's a whole music video: lewd expressions constantly shifting, her breasts bouncing with every stroke, her glistening skin that can't shine any brighter. It’s the type of pornographic scene you’ll have on repeat in your head.
It's the taste of her mouth. The delicate touch of her body. The way she grabs hold of your arms, back, face—anywhere her fingers can grasp. How she clings to you like life support and is craving for more.
She wants it. She really, really fucking wants it.
Repeating the same two words—'please' and 'faster'—like a prayer to her god, with her thighs trembling and hips snapping in tune to meet your every thrust, for nothing more than you, being deep inside her, for a while. Maybe forever. As long as your body permits.
"Can I—have it? I'm so fucking close—" Yuri whines, trying to capture your head for a kiss. Anything to keep the fire burning just a little longer.
"Fuck, yes—need you to cum all over me—God—"
A quick succession of kisses, and that's all it takes. Yuri cums with a silent scream, her moan devoured by your lips pressing fervently onto hers.
But it's far from over. Still nowhere near the end. She needs to receive your end of the bargain.
With a groan and your fingers threaded around her hair, you pull your head away from Yuri. Cum coats the entirety of her inner thighs and crotch. She lets out a soft whimper, her body trembling violently, still reeling from her climax.
Through all this, you never let up. You're fucking weeks of pent-up need and closure into Yuri, like you'll never live at peace with yourself if you don't give her everything. With one deep stroke in one fell motion, a scream erupts from Yuri's lips once again.
"Ah—fuck!" she cries out, clawing her nails against your hair, "So fucking deep—"
Another stroke, and her thighs begin to tighten, threatening to come undone, like she hadn’t orgasmed mere moments ago, locking you firmly in place against her core. It's the ultimate compliment, really—that you've got Yuri so out of it. That all this is having the effect you so desperately need.
"Yuri—I'm so fucking close now—"
"Y—yes," she stutters, "I wanna—I wanna feel every inch. I've earned—this," she continues to mewl, "Wanna feel you—fucking cum inside—all of it—please—"
That's more than enough confirmation for the both of you. You hold the nape of Yuri's neck with a tender touch, before pushing down to meet her hips, hammering into her like you’ll die if you stop. And this time, a quiet sigh slips from her lips and into yours.
The knot is gradual, a slow burn. Then it all explodes so abruptly.
A burst of stars and colors fill your vision. White bursts. Release. Ecstasy. Your mind feels like a fresh new sheet—a brand new canvas that Yuri has the absolute delight and pleasure to paint a picture on.
Then, her entire body arches as her thighs clamp tighter against your waist, making certain to take everything you have to give, not wasting a single drop.
And with those legs pressed tightly together around your cock and a loud wail from Yuri’s lovely mouth, your shaft gets caught in a powerful surge, sending rope after rope after rope of sticky sheen shooting out, straight into her inviting walls and deep into her womb. For a moment, it feels as if it won't ever stop, throbbing viciously through aftershocks of your orgasm. Then the crash brings you back down to earth. The pure bliss from your climax spreads through you, settling through each limb in the most pleasant way.
With the last drop of it delivered, Yuri pulls her thighs apart and goes limp from fatigue, sinking down onto the bed, the rise and fall of her chest growing in intensity with every breath. Her hips twitch and jerk erratically and uncontrollably. She's savoring every sensation. Drinking in every speck and streak.
You plop down, pressing your weight right beside her. Then, with a burst, a momentary panic overtakes you as the implications of what just happened hits you.
"Wasn't that fucking stupid—"
She throws you a half-hearted glare, along with a disapproving sigh, shutting you up. In the short time spent with her so far, you’ve learned to be more honest. To speak without saying too much. Because like Yena, she's perceptive. Yuri can read between the lines—whether the conversation is simple, like this one, or more complex, as are the emotions behind them.
So, instead of berating yourself till the end of days, you listen to Yuri's heart, beating a steady rhythm for your own.
And because there's always a 'but' in these situations, She moves and swings a leg over you, hovering. In the still silence of this night, your bedroom, the city—Yuri rests her chest and the entirety of her body over you.
This night may very well be the only night you're going to get with her. Tomorrow, reality hits. You return to normal, and Yuri will remain Yena's good friend. She’s gonna tell her that you met at a bar and proceeded to fuck her brains out. But tonight, the illusion persists.
But for now, it's her fingers tracing shapes onto your arm that matters most, and that she's fine with neither confirming, nor denying. It's not as clear as it looks, she thinks to herself, the 're al' part.
She notices the contemplative frown etched on your face, asking herself that very same question.
"Let's just enjoy the moment, even if it’s only for a while."
"Not tired, are we?"
Yuri narrows her eyes to look at you, leaning her upper body back. "Who said anything about sleep? Besides, you owe me."
"Huh?"
She scoots off the edge of the bed and reaches for something on her floor—the discarded bra of hers, which she playfully twirls on the tip of her finger. Then, slowly and ever-so-seductively, she steps forward.
"Well?" Yuri says, not one bit nervous or insecure despite standing naked in front of you. If anything, it’s the complete opposite. If it was anything less than pride, you'd say Yuri is more than willing to flaunt body.
"There's something I thought I might want to try. With your cock. Want to show you how great the sex will be with someone like me."
A twitch at your side and a certain hardness stirs from within is all the evidence Yuri needs to know. She crawls, cat-like, prowling her way, closer and closer, her dark locks covering portions of her chest and midriff as the curtain of her bangs block your vision. You catch her scent again: the same fragrance that draws your attention to her body and everything that comprises her.
"And you'll be my test subject, by the way. The only guy I've actually fantasized fucking."
She lets her breasts dangle before you, over the length of your shaft, daring and arousing you further. Her supple, round flesh catches the moonlight coming through the window, enveloping her chest in a divine glow.
A reminder of just fucking big they are in proportion to her frame, as if designed to take whatever cock is thrown her way and serve its every desire. Your eyes go wide, a single moment's clarity; your shaft starts to swell even larger. It's fucking clear now: you’ll nev er get enough of this. Of Yuri and her perfect tits. Of how they feel in your hands, how round they are. What they're capable of. Of what they can offer.
"If Yena gets her head around this, she'll fucking murder you,” you say, in a half-assed effort in keeping it together. It never gets off the ground, because she’s openly laughing at the idea.
"Hold on a minute! Is that—a hint of—envy I'm sensing?" Yuri teases, curving her lips into a cocky grin. "Could it be that—our dearest Choi Yena envies one of her closest friends?"
"Doesn’t matter. Broke up, and all that.”
“Yeah, yeah, enough with that tired backstory. Are you going to put your cock between my tits, or do I have to rest on your lap and feed it to you?"
You let out a quiet chuckle. Goddamit Yuri’s wit is something else.
"Either option is fine."
Sighing as you reach out for the pillows, you grab one to prop your back. A hiss leaves your mouth, eyes clamped shut, while you position yourself before her comfortably.
"Already sensitive again?” She notes how quickly your cock hardened. “Don't tell me a few weeks of no action has rendered you touch-starved."
"As a matter of fact, Yul—"
Your words are sharply cut off, a soft hiss elicited when she leans forward and lowers herself between your legs, resting her heavy chest around your cock. She's looking at her own cleavage with the utmost care and attention, waiting for any reaction.
"—yes. Yes it has."
Yuri then snaps out of her trance, lifting herself. "God, I can't get tired of how good your cock feels."
A flutter from the pit of your stomach hits you right in the gut. There's nothing—really nothing like her. Absolutely nothing. Nothing.
It's exactly what you needed. Someone like her—the complete opposite to Yena. Someone to make the exact opposite impression.
"Oh. God."
The moan you let out is a whisper; a look ahead shows Yuri letting her spit fall and trickle down her chin and to her chest, where your tip comfortably resides. Your legs flex against her hand when she licks her palm and starts stroking your shaft between her mounds, facing you with a determined, focused gaze.
The muscles around Yuri's soft flesh, combined with the increasing rhythm and her drool-coated tits, creates the tightest pocket of wet, warm heaven you have ever felt. Constant pressure and pleasure courses through your veins, making your blood rush at a feverish level.
Her steady gaze makes the image before you even sexier. Seeing Yuri squeeze her breasts tight around your cock and jerk the upper half up and down your length just turns you on naturally. Then she takes a swipe and a lick of your precum.
"Good girl," you muse.
Yuri tries her best to suppress the devious grin on her lips. She can't. She gets off on making you feel like this. And it’s a wonderful feeling.
It only excites her, fuels her need to hear those sweet praises again—curses, grunts, moans—over and over. And as she continues at a steady pace, she can feel your nails raking through her scalp. The occasional scratch is soothing, spurring her on.
"Wait—too fast, Yul—too much—"
Her pace slows to a leisurely crawl, your balls pulled taut as you threaten to come undone a second time.
"Enjoying this?" she asks, knowing damn well she already has the answer.
"Fuck yes, Yuri—fucking love it—" you groan out. "—this is everything—"
"Perfect?"
"So fucking perfect."
"It's only just the beginning," she remarks. "You've got plenty more to do with me."
"Getting a bit more adventurous now, aren't you? Haven't made me cum again—fuck!"
"You've always imagined this, have you?" She drags her tongue slowly around her upper lip, slowing her pace again to prove a point—by fucking your shaft between her chest, meeting you right between the eyes. "Your cock—being wrapped up between my tits—with nothing left to the imagination? Always in your dreams?
Bet this—" Yuri grips her breasts. For added emphasis, she gives a light, playful slap: first to one tit, then the other, "—has always been something you've thought about and wanted to do so badly with anyone."
"That—was back then—"
"Mhm. Go on."
Yuri rolls her tongue off the roof of her mouth, the wet muscle quickly licking the fat head of your cock again.
That teasing look in her eyes. The slow lick. Purposeful.
It drives you insane.
"Oh God. Shit. That's—so—” you groan and wince as she makes your head spin. “—Why the fuck do I want you so damn bad now? All I want is to feel that pretty mouth wrap around me."
"Try to describe—what you're feeling, first," she taunts. "Then maybe I'll decide what I want."
"Warm—" you spurt out the first thing on your mind, "so fucking warm—"
"It's warmer—better? Oh, don't mind me, go ahead and let yourself go," she coaxes. "Fuck. And all just because of me, mm?"
"S—slippery," you hiss, feeling your back and neck tingling with heightened pleasure and a rising sense of electricity. "Better than anything I've had—"
"Anything Yena could give you,” she corrects.
"Even when—" you start, but the words in your mouth die there. As if reading your mind, she flashes a grin, with not a semblance of hesitancy. Not here.
"I'm curious. Tell me: did Yena ever do this for you?" Yuri leans towards your tip, but avoids touching it with her mouth, licking her lips, slowly continuing the press between her tits.
"Oh, fuck. I really did dream of this. With—just anyone. But especially with you."
The sight is so perversely hot, a jolt surges through your cock at the sensation of her warm breasts squeezing tightly along it, jerking you upward, brushing her sloppy chin.
"What else? I wanna hear it straight from the source."
"Yena could never be like you—"
"Wasn't sure, considering how many times you were caught staring at her rack. Maybe you're also attracted to the simple girl-next-door image and can't find anything about my 'perfection' attractive."
"Can't believe—"
"Say it. I know it'll make you cum."
"I like most women," you manage to reply in between labored breaths. "Why should you get a leg up—merely because I think you're fucking stunning and the absolute embodiment of sex?"
"Shockingly perceptive, given what we're doing right now," Yuri jests. "Creepy to consider given I've been putting myself inside your shoes to make all this sex even more special—with or without anyone else involved?"
"Holy f—holy shit, Yul," you whine, the sensation becoming unbearable at this point. “So fucking hot—can’t take it that much more—”
The pleasurable sight before you is now urging you to cum even more. Each lick of her pink lips and suckle on the very tip, has them drawing ever closer to flying over the edge again, sending shockwaves in every direction. The slickness Yuri had created, and your cock throbbing more and more frantically—it all adds up and multiplies the feeling tenfold.
"God, Yuri—I'm so fucking close—" you breathe, unable to keep even yourself from pushing just a bit harder. She feels so good, so fucking tight, with that sultry gaze daring you to slow down, making it impossible to resist. The slick, rapid movement of your shaft between her mounds, along with the occasional drop, is equally titillating as watching her suckle your leaking cock.
She adds another layer of spit onto your already sopping shaft, moistening and lubricating the way, wanting to see for her very fucking eyes how you'll fall apart at the seams. And there is something quite theatrical—as if in some unforeseen shift, how the night plays out in the bedroom, the lust between two souls craving it evermore than what the opposite can offer, for lack of a better expression—about this little display, this lewd performance she puts on to further emphasize it all.
Her beautiful, dazed expression is so hypnotizing—alongside her warm, firm tits—all coupled with those sinful lips of hers wrapped so tightly around the tip of your cock.
A stroke. Two strokes. Four, eight. Each thrust is a tick of the clock to your demise. Faster. Stronger. Smoother. She’s demanding it in every way imaginable. It's incredible. Fucking mind-blowing—there isn't any word to perfectly describe the feeling. This is the pinnacle of carnal, sinful pleasure.
All of the above contributes to what feels like a teetering edge of a mountain that needs but the slightest gust of wind to knock you off. She wants it. She really, really fucking wants it.
And then comes the killing blow:
"Come on. Paint my tits. I know you've been dying to do so."
It doesn't take much till you eventually tip over the line.
A sudden thrust upward is all it takes, a small spasm and surge of heat between Yuri's tits triggering the most intense, potent eruption—more than earlier—an uncontrollable burst that has her screaming, while a wild expression flashes across her features and her entire frame stiffens.
Strands and strands and strands of your warm, sticky load latch themselves to her chin and lips. Another thick stream rolling down the outer side of her right breast and towards the bed sheets, which are completely soaked and gooey in their own right. Yuri leans forward, ensuring her face receives its fair share of the load it rightfully deserves, turning herself into a glistening canvas.
"God—Yuri—holy fuck—"
With an exhausted moan, she collapses her sweaty, exhausted, flushed and glistening face atop your chest. Then, unexpectedly, she plants a soft kiss on your skin, leaving behind traces of your very own cum.
Gently, you drag her closer to your face and reciprocate the kiss onto her forehead.
"Is—how we fucked earlier and now good enough?" you ask.
Yuri flutters her lashes in amusement. She wraps her arm around yours, sighing, satisfied, content and utterly tired out.
"Well," she says, yawning deeply before settling herself comfortably in your bosom, "in that case—consider me yours.For now. All I ask is for you to do one thing. Just one.”
“And what might that be?”
“Just fuck me. Over and over. Fuck me till I can’t walk. Till I can’t remember my name."
It's so tempting. Tantalizing, even. But though the spirit is, the body is absolutely broken.
"I take it that you're staying here for the night then,” you joke, casually brushing her locks with your hand.
Yuri grabs you and presses your lower half against hers. "You're still hard," she remarks, completely ignoring your comment. "That makes me so fucking happy."
"Want me to get an extra towel and clean the both of us off?"
“No thanks.” The reply is almost immediate, as if suggesting such an idea is preposterous. “I’d prefer to stay here, like this. I like it—being covered like this.”
"Or a shower could also suffice. Help clear our heads, you know?" you suggest.
She tilts her head up to face you with a gentle smile. What you don’t notice is the subtle widening of her grin, a sign that she isn’t completely done yet.
"I'd love that."