Touch Therapy: Where Hands Go, Bodies Beg-Chapter 315: Morning Unfolds

Joon-ho woke to a golden hush, sunlight slanting through the sheer curtains and painting his bedroom walls in gentle gold. For a moment, he just lay there, savoring the silence—no blaring phones, no pounding on the door, no desperate calls for help. Just the slow, even breathing of the woman next to him, the weight of the world outside the apartment paused for a few precious hours.

But he could never sleep in, not when his mind was always turning, measuring, planning.

He rolled out of bed, slipped into a soft shirt and loose pants, and padded barefoot down the hallway toward the heart of his home. The apartment was still—the hush of Sunday morning wrapped around everything like a blanket. He passed the nursery first, pausing at the door. Inside, his daughter slept soundly in her crib, a tangle of black hair fanned over her pillow, lips parted in a little O of dreamless contentment.

A smile crept onto Joon-ho’s lips, so natural it hurt a little. He watched her for a long moment before quietly closing the door and moving on.

In the dining room, sunlight filled the space. The table was set, bowls of rice, miso, and small plates of fruit and kimchi. Yura sat at the head, wearing one of his old shirts and little else, her long legs tucked under her, hair spilling in dark waves over her shoulder as she nursed a mug of coffee. Her phone was facedown beside her for once. She stared at nothing, lost in her own thoughts until the floor creaked.

She looked up, and her lips curled into a smile—warm, a little wry, alive with love and a thousand private jokes.

"Morning," she said.

He leaned down and kissed her cheek, letting his lips linger a moment on her skin, drinking in the scent of her—warmth, coffee, faint perfume and something softer, the way home should smell.

"Morning," he murmured.

Yura grinned, then set down her coffee and looked him up and down. "Rough night?"

He pulled out a chair and sat beside her. "Not rough. Decadent, maybe."

Yura arched an eyebrow. "So, Hyerim’s spa still lives up to its reputation?"

Joon-ho chuckled, shaking his head. "You don’t want to know all the details. But yes. She said she’ll be sending a surprise over today." 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺

Yura’s eyes gleamed, a note of mischief lighting her face. "Hyerim’s surprises are always trouble. Should I be worried?"

"Probably." He reached for a piece of melon and bit into it. "But you’re never really surprised by anything anymore, are you?"

She rolled her eyes. "Just wait until your daughter learns to climb out of her crib."

He winced playfully. "God, don’t curse me."

A shuffle sounded from the hallway—a door opening, the soft pad of bare feet on wood. Harin stepped out, bleary-eyed, hair wild, wearing nothing but an oversized T-shirt that barely reached her thighs. Her posture was loose, languid, almost feline as she moved toward the kitchen counter.

She stretched, arms over her head, and the shirt rode up, exposing the full curve of her hips, the softness of her thighs, and the fact that she wore nothing beneath. She let out a satisfied sigh, then caught Joon-ho and Yura watching her and grinned, all sleepy mischief.

"You two are up early," Harin yawned, pouring herself a glass of cold barley tea.

"Morning, Harin," Yura called.

"Morning," Harin echoed, leaning her elbows on the table, not bothering to fix her hair. She eyed Joon-ho over the rim of her glass, lips quirking in a little pout. "You’ve been avoiding us lately, boss."

He stood and crossed the room without hurry, the chair legs barely whispering against the floor as he came up behind her. His arms slid around her waist, firm and familiar, drawing her back until her spine met his chest. The contact alone made her sigh, her body relaxing into him as if it had been waiting for this exact moment.

He kissed her cheek first—soft, lingering—then followed the line of her jaw, lips brushing warm skin as he nuzzled down her neck. His breath ghosted over her pulse, and she tilted her head slightly to give him better access, a quiet invitation she didn’t even think about anymore. His hands moved with purpose now, gliding up her waist, thumbs hooking briefly at her ribs before his palms settled over her breasts through the thin fabric of her shirt.

She shivered at the touch, a full‑body reaction that traveled from her shoulders down to her thighs. The material did nothing to dull the sensation; if anything, it made it sharper, friction and warmth combining in a way that made her toes curl. She pressed back into him instinctively, hips nudging his, a small, pleased sound slipping from her lips before she could stop it.

"Mm..." she murmured, half‑complaint, half‑praise.

He smiled against her skin, feeling the way her breathing changed, the way her body leaned into his hands like it knew exactly where this was going. His fingers flexed slightly, a subtle squeeze that made her suck in a breath, and he lowered his head again, lips tracing slow, deliberate kisses along the side of her neck—unrushed, confident, as if he had all the time in the world and every intention of reminding her of that.

She laughed softly under her breath, already melting, already distracted. "You’re doing that on purpose," she said, but there was no heat in the accusation—only warmth, only familiarity.

"Always," he replied quietly, his voice close, his arms tightening just enough to make the promise unmistakable.

"Am I forgiven if I make it up to you now?" he whispered, lips brushing her ear.

She leaned her head back against his shoulder, eyes half-closed. "You’re halfway there."

He slid one hand under her shirt, palm warm and firm, fingers finding the soft, heavy curve of her breast. He pinched her nipple lightly, rolling it between his fingers until it pebbled, then turned her toward him and captured her lips in a deep, slow French kiss.

Harin melted into it, arms twining around his neck, her body molding to his. The kiss was languid but greedy, a slow exchange of breath and want that left both of them flushed.

She broke away, lips swollen, eyes bright with laughter. "That’s better," she sighed, "but not nearly enough."

He grinned. "Greedy."

"Always," she replied, voice teasing. "And you’re out of practice. You owe us."

Yura watched, amusement plain on her face. "Harin, you know he’s only been gone for one night."

Harin huffed. "One night too long."

She slid back into her seat, stretching her legs under the table, and shot a look at Yura. "Besides, the way things are going at LUNE, I need something to look forward to at home."

Yura snorted. "Stressful?"

Harin nodded, pouring herself some more tea. "There’s a dozen new projects on my desk, half a dozen more offers coming in. It’s chaos. The only thing going smoothly is Mirae’s stock—her last movie with Joon-ho broke records, and now all the sponsors and broadcasters want her. Even variety shows are fighting over her schedule."

Joon-ho raised his brows, pride and worry warring in his eyes. "So everyone’s watching Mirae... and I get to fly under the radar?"

Harin gave him a sidelong look. "For now. But don’t get too comfortable. The moment anyone realizes you’re the real reason for her spike, they’ll come crawling."

Yura grinned, resting her chin on her fist. "Well, if you two get too stressed, you know where to find him. I’m happy to share. But I get priority."

Harin laughed, genuine and free, the sound filling the apartment. "How generous."

Joon-ho smiled at them both, feeling the odd, perfect warmth that only came when his women—so different, so sharp, so much his—were together like this.

He made himself another cup of coffee, then sat between them, stretching his arms along the back of their chairs.

Yura watched him, eyes suddenly keen. "So. Are you going to tell me what really happened at Hyerim’s place? She never calls you over just for fun. Not without a reason."

Joon-ho hesitated a second, then nodded. "You’re right. It wasn’t just a pleasure call. She had information—something important."

Yura’s brow furrowed. "About?"

He leaned forward, lowering his voice, even though no one else was around. "Baek Ji-hwan. He’s trying to stage a comeback. Hyerim got wind that he’s using his branch family as cover to socialize with business and industry people. They’re on the guest list for her spa’s soft opening. VIPs."

Yura’s face turned to stone—a chill edge sliding beneath her beauty. "That bastard. As long as he doesn’t cause problems, I don’t care what he does. But if he tries anything..."

She let the thought hang in the air, unfinished, full of threat.

"...It’s better to cut the problem at the root," she said quietly. "Especially now. We’re divorced, my family cut ties with the Seo main family. If we have to crush Baek Ji-hwan, so be it."

Joon-ho nodded, his voice just as cold. "Agreed. We’ll be careful, but we won’t let him move unchecked."

Harin was quiet for a moment, then nodded. "I’ll put out some feelers in the entertainment industry. If he tries to use connections there, I’ll hear about it first."

Yura reached out, squeezing Harin’s hand. "Thank you."

A hush fell, deeper than before, as each of them sank into thought, feeling the weight of old wars and new ones on the horizon.

But the tension broke with the cheerful, mundane trill of the apartment’s doorbell.

Joon-ho straightened, setting down his coffee. "That’ll be Hyerim’s surprise, I’d bet."

He stood, winking at the two women. "I’ll get it. Try not to start without me."

He strode down the hallway, feeling their eyes on his back, and opened the front door—