Morning light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse suite, painting the room in soft shades of gold and pale blue. The city of Seoul was already awake below—a sea of glass and concrete glittering in the dawn, the distant traffic a gentle hum that seemed worlds away from the sanctuary thirty stories up.
Joon-ho stood by the kitchen counter, the scent of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. He wore nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs that hugged his muscular frame, the fabric stretched tight across his thighs and the distinct bulge at his front that marked his morning arousal. The penthouse's state-of-the-art coffee machine had done its work efficiently, and as he poured the dark liquid into a ceramic mug, the rich aroma wrapped around him like a familiar embrace.
Last night had been extraordinary.
