The elevator ride to the penthouse was a silent, ascending journey into a stratosphere of exclusivity. The lift was a capsule of mirrored gold and brushed steel, its movements so smooth that the only indication of their ascent was the subtle shift in the pressure of the air. For Mirae, the ride felt like a countdown. The dull throb of her headache had retreated, replaced by a surge of anticipation that made her skin feel hypersensitive, every touch amplifying the heat building in her core.
She didn't hold back. Abandoning the poise of the national sweetheart, Mirae pressed herself flush against Joon-ho, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck. She hugged him with a desperate, affectionate hunger, her voluptuous breasts rubbing against his chest with every rhythmic breath. She shifted her hips, grinding her backside against his thighs, her body molding to his as if she were trying to merge with him.
