Touch Therapy: Where Hands Go, Bodies Beg-Chapter 277 - 278: You Never Were

The apartment had settled into that fragile, late‑night stillness that only came after everything noisy had already happened. The city hummed faintly through the windows, traffic distant and softened, like it had learned to behave.

Harin had gone quiet on the sofa—eyes closed, breathing slow, her laptop abandoned on the floor beside her. Joon‑ho watched her for a moment, making sure she was truly asleep, then carefully stood. His body still carried the echo of her—heat, tension, the sharp relief of release—but his mind was steady.

Her words stayed with him.

Take care of Mirae too.

He moved down the hallway barefoot, each step measured. The baby slept. Yura slept. The house held its breath.

Mirae’s door was closed but not locked. A sliver of light glowed beneath it. He knocked once, softly.

No answer.

He opened the door anyway.

Mirae lay on her side, back to him, blanket pulled up to her shoulders. Too still. Too careful. Her breathing was shallow, off‑rhythm—someone pretending badly.

He closed the door quietly behind him.

She didn’t turn.

He crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped slightly. Still, she didn’t move.

"You’re bad at sleeping," he said quietly.

She shifted, a small huff escaping her, then finally rolled onto her back. Her expression was exaggeratedly pouty, lips pressed together, eyes narrowed.

"Took you long enough."

He raised a brow. "You were counting?"

She crossed her arms under the blanket. "I heard everything."

That surprised him—just a flicker. "Everything?"

Her cheeks colored immediately. "Not—everything everything. Just... enough."

He leaned closer. "And?"

"And I guess I’m second," she said, voice small but pointed. "Again."

He studied her face. This wasn’t accusation. It was insecurity, laid bare. Mirae never fought with anger—she folded inward instead, wrapped jealousy in humor and tried to pretend it didn’t sting.

He reached out and brushed his thumb over her lower lip, easing the pout open. "You’re not second."

She looked away. "Doesn’t feel like it."

He slid his hand under the blanket slowly, deliberately, giving her time to pull away if she wanted.

She didn’t.

His fingers traced down her thigh, warm skin trembling beneath his touch. She sucked in a breath and turned her face toward the pillow, embarrassed already.

"You were awake," he said softly.

She nodded, barely perceptible.

His hand moved higher.

When his fingers found her, she gasped—sharp, startled—and immediately tried to clamp her legs together. He stopped her easily, one firm hand holding her thigh open.

"You’re soaked," he murmured.

Her face burned. "I— I didn’t finish."

"Why not?"

She hesitated, then whispered, "I wanted you."

That did something to him. Something deep and quiet and dangerous.

He slid his fingers through her slickness slowly, testing, feeling how ready she was. Mirae whimpered, biting her lip hard, trying not to make noise.

"You were touching yourself," he said. Not a question.

She nodded again, mortified. "I heard her. I tried not to listen. I really did."

"And?"

"And I couldn’t stop," she admitted. "I thought maybe... maybe you wouldn’t come." 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝘦𝓌𝑒𝑏𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝘭.𝒸𝘰𝑚

He leaned down, his mouth near her ear. "Look at me."

She shook her head.

He tightened his grip just a little. "Mirae."

Slowly, she turned her face up to him. Her eyes were glossy, wide, full of wanting and nerves and trust all tangled together.

"You like being told what to do," he said quietly.

She swallowed. "...Yes."

"You like when I take control."

Another nod. Smaller. Shyer.

"But you need to know you’re choosing it," he continued. "Say it."

She whispered, "I want you to."

That was enough.

He pulled the blanket away and climbed over her, settling between her thighs. She gasped at the weight of him, hands flying instinctively to his arms.

"Hands here," he instructed, guiding her wrists above her head.

She obeyed immediately, breath stuttering.

He kissed her then—not rushed, not rough. Deep and claiming, lips moving slowly over hers, giving her time to melt. Her body relaxed beneath him, tension draining as she leaned into the kiss.

He slid one hand down again, circling her clit with deliberate pressure. She whimpered, hips lifting instinctively.

"Stay still," he murmured.

She tried. Failed almost immediately, a soft cry escaping as her hips rolled toward his hand.

He chuckled under his breath. "You’re terrible at listening."

"I’m sorry," she whispered, embarrassed.

"Don’t be."

He pushed her legs wider, settled between them, and pressed himself against her entrance. She sucked in a breath, already trembling.

"Quiet," he said. "We’re not alone in the apartment."

She nodded furiously, then gasped as he slid into her slowly, inch by inch. She was tight, slick, clenching around him as if she couldn’t decide whether to pull him closer or push him away.

Her hands clenched in the sheets as he filled her completely. She pressed her face into the pillow, biting down to keep from moaning.

"Breathe," he told her. "Relax."

He stayed still, letting her adjust, letting her body learn him again. When he finally moved, it was slow and deep, controlled thrusts that made her toes curl and her breath stutter.

"Oh—" she muffled into the pillow.

He leaned down, whispering near her ear. "Look at me."

She shook her head.

He reached down, tilted her chin up gently. "Mirae."

Her eyes met his, shining and unguarded.

"That’s it," he said. "Good."

He set a steady rhythm, each thrust deep and deliberate, pulling almost all the way out before driving back into her again, slow enough that every inch registered, hard enough that her body had no choice but to respond. The mattress creaked softly beneath them, the sound swallowed by the quiet apartment.

Mirae whimpered with each movement, the sounds catching in her throat. Her cheeks were flushed dark pink, lips parted as if she wanted to cry out but didn’t dare. Every time he pushed in deep, her breath hitched, a soft, broken moan slipping free despite her effort to stay quiet.

She loved this part—the way he held her down, hands firm at her wrists, the way his weight pinned her in place so she didn’t have to decide anything. Being guided. Being taken care of by letting go.

Her body betrayed her eagerly.

Her pussy clenched around him, tight and wet, fluttering with every thrust. Her hips lifted on instinct, trying to meet him, chasing more. He felt it immediately—the way she squeezed him, the way her thighs trembled as she fought her own reactions.

"Mirae," he murmured, low and steady.

She whimpered at the sound of her name, the clench tightening. "I’m—" Her voice shook. "I’m scared."

He didn’t slow. He didn’t pull away. He kept fucking her, thrusts firm and grounding, his pace unbroken.

"Of what?" he asked, breath rougher now.

"Of ruining things," she breathed, the words torn out of her as he pushed deep again. "Of being the problem again."

He leaned down and kissed her hard, mouth claiming hers, cutting off the thought before it could take root. His kiss was deep, possessive, his tongue pressing in until she melted into it, all her tension bleeding out through the contact.

"You’re not," he said against her lips.

He fucked her harder then, hips snapping forward, every thrust deeper, heavier, forcing her to feel exactly where she was—exactly who she was with. His grip tightened, holding her steady as her body reacted, her pussy clenching hard around him, desperate and needy.

"You’re here," he said, voice low, commanding. "You’re wanted."

Another hard thrust. Her moan broke free, louder this time, her body arching helplessly.

"You’re mine right now," he finished. "That’s all."

Her breath shattered.

Her body seized around him, pussy clamping tight as her orgasm crashed through her. She gasped sharply, biting down on his shoulder to keep from crying out as pleasure tore through her, wave after wave. Her thighs squeezed him hard, trembling uncontrollably, every muscle locking as she came.

Her moans turned into soft, broken sounds against his skin, breath hitching as she rode it out, clenching around him again and again, slick and tight and overwhelming.

The way she squeezed him, the way her body gave in completely, was too much. He groaned low in his throat, fucking her through her climax, thrusts rougher now, chasing his own release as her pussy milked him.

He buried himself deep and came with a strained groan, holding her tight, spilling inside her as he stayed pressed all the way in, not pulling back, not letting go. His face tucked into her neck, breath hot and uneven as he rode out the aftershocks.

They stayed tangled together, bodies slowly settling, breaths finally evening out. Mirae clung to him, still trembling, face hidden against his chest, embarrassed but safe.

He stayed inside her a moment longer, holding her through the last shivers, until the world felt solid again.

They stayed like that for a while. Skin warm. Hearts steadying.

Mirae curled into his side, shy again now that the intensity had passed. "I wasn’t second," she murmured.

"No," he said. "You never were."

She smiled sleepily, eyes already drifting closed.

The door creaked softly.

They both looked up.

Harin stood in the doorway, hair loose now, expression unreadable—but her eyes were dark, alert, very awake.

She took in the scene in one glance: tangled sheets, Mirae flushed and glowing, Joon‑ho still half over her.

She exhaled slowly. "So," she said quietly. "You did."

Mirae froze.

Joon‑ho didn’t move. "You’re not angry?"

Harin’s lips curved—slow, dangerous, tired. "No."

She stepped inside, closing the door behind her. "I was hoping you would."

Her gaze lingered on Mirae. "You okay?"

Mirae nodded, cheeks burning. "...Yes."

Harin leaned against the doorframe, eyes lingering on both of them. "Good."

Then, softly, almost to herself, she added, "We should probably talk about what happens next."

The room held its breath again.

And this time, it wasn’t just the storm outside waiting.