The bass still thrummed through the concrete when Jaehyun's hand closed around her wrist. Not a grab—just a claim, fingers circling bone, and then he was pulling and Aliyah was stumbling after him, her heels catching on the basement stairs as the night air hit her face like a slap.

"Wait—"

He didn't wait. He pulled her past the knot of smokers by the door, past the porch light buzzing with dead moths, and there was Soo-Min, standing with her friend by the railing, and Aliyah saw the exact moment Soo-Min's eyes tracked from Jaehyun's face down to his hand wrapped around Aliyah's wrist. Something passed between Soo-Min and her friend—three words in Korean, low and quick, and Aliyah didn't need a translation. She knew the shape of it. The way their eyes slid over her like she was something stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

Jaehyun didn't slow down. Didn't acknowledge them. His grip tightened and he kept walking, and Aliyah let herself be pulled because what else was she supposed to do, wrench her arm free and make another scene in front of everyone? She'd already done that once tonight.

The parking lot was half-empty, cars scattered under the orange streetlights like dropped dice. His car beeped twice as he unlocked it, and he opened the passenger door and stood there, waiting.

"Get in."

"Jaehyun—"

"Get in and call your mom." He said it flat, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You're spending the night at mine."

Aliyah stared at him. The streetlight caught the sharp line of his jaw, the dark fall of his hair, and behind the lenses of his glasses his eyes were unreadable. "I can't just—my mom—"

"You told her about me. You told her you'd tell her the truth." He said it like it was settled. "So tell her you're with me. That you're safe. That you'll see her tomorrow."

"She'll kill me."

"She won't." He tilted his head, and there was something almost soft in it. "She'll be pissed. But she won't kill you."

Aliyah's jaw worked. She thought about her mother's face, the fear in her eyes when she'd come home at one in the morning, the way her voice had cracked saying *I thought you were dead*. She thought about the fragile truce they'd built, the curfew, the Sunday dinner invitation. And then she thought about the way Jaehyun's hand had felt around her wrist, like he'd decided something and wasn't going to let go.

She got in the car.

He closed the door and walked around the hood, and the engine turned over with a low hum. Neither of them spoke. Aliyah pulled out her phone and stared at her mother's contact for a long moment before she typed.

*I'm safe. I'm with Jaehyun. I'll be home tomorrow.*

Three dots appeared immediately. Then: *We'll talk when you get here.*

No anger. No *I love you*. Just a promise of reckoning, and Aliyah put the phone face-down in her lap and watched the streetlights slide past the window.

The drive was silent. Not the comfortable kind—the kind where every second stretched and you could hear the other person breathing. Jaehyun drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh, and he didn't look at her once. His jaw was set. His knuckles were white.

Aliyah crossed her arms and stared out the windshield. The city blurred by—gas stations, closed storefronts, a guy walking a dog who looked up as they passed. She thought about Soo-Min's face. The Korean words she hadn't understood. The way Jaehyun had just walked past like she wasn't there.

She didn't know what that meant. She didn't know what any of this meant.

His apartment building rose up ahead, the same brick facade she'd seen Wednesday night when she'd been too tired to notice anything. He pulled into the parking spot and killed the engine, and the silence rushed in to fill the space where the motor had been.

"We're here," he said.

Aliyah didn't move.

She sat there, arms crossed, seatbelt still on, staring at the dashboard like it held all the answers. She could feel him looking at her. Could feel the weight of his attention, the way it pressed against her skin.

He huffed. A hand came up and ran through his hair, messing it further, and when he spoke his voice was different—lower, rougher, like the words were being dragged out of him.

"Aliyah. Baby. Please get out the car."

The word *baby* landed somewhere in her chest and settled there, warm and heavy. She still didn't move. Couldn't. Her body felt like it was made of concrete, and if she got out of this car she'd have to face whatever came next, and she didn't know what that was.

He got out of the car.

She heard his door open and close. Heard his footsteps crunch on the gravel. And then her door opened and he was there, leaning down, his face close to hers.

"I said get out."

"I heard you."

"Then move."

"I don't want to."

Something flickered in his eyes. And then he reached in, unbuckled her seatbelt with a sharp click, and pulled her out of the car by her hips. She gasped, grabbing at his shoulders as her feet left the ground, and then the world tipped sideways and she was over his shoulder, her stomach pressed against his back, her hair swinging down toward his thighs.

"Jaehyun—!"

"You weren't getting out."

"Put me down!"

"No."

His arm was locked across the backs of her thighs, hard and unyielding, and she could feel the muscle in his shoulder under her hands. She could feel the heat of him through his shirt. The world was upside down and she was laughing—she didn't know why, something hysterical bubbling up her throat—and he was carrying her up the steps, past the door, into the building.

"This is—you can't just—"

"I just did."

The elevator. The hallway. His apartment door swinging open and then she was being carried through it, past the kitchen where she'd eaten cereal and toast, past the living room she barely remembered, and then the bedroom and the bed and she was being laid down on it like she weighed nothing.

The mattress dipped under her. The ceiling swam above her. And then Jaehyun was standing over her, and the lamp on the nightstand caught his glasses and made them glint.

He looked down at her. His hair was a mess. His shirt was wrinkled. And his eyes behind those lenses were dark and focused, like she was the only thing in the room.

"I'm only focused on you," he said. "No one else."

Aliyah's breath caught.

She opened her mouth to say something—she didn't know what, maybe *that's insane* or *you barely looked at me for weeks*—but he was already leaning down, one knee on the bed, his hand coming up to cup her jaw, and then his mouth was on hers.

The kiss was different from the ones before. Slower. Deeper. Like he was trying to say something with his mouth that he couldn't say with words. His thumb traced her jaw, tilted her head back, and she made a small sound against his lips and pulled at his shirt.

She wanted it off. Wanted skin. Wanted—

Her hand came up to push his glasses up, off his face, but his wrist caught hers mid-motion, gentle but firm.

"No." His voice was low against her mouth. "I want to see every face you make."

Aliyah's heart stuttered. Her fingers curled around his wrist, and she looked up at him through her lashes, and something in his expression shifted—softened, sharpened, she couldn't tell which.

"Okay," she whispered.

He kissed her again. And this time when she pulled at his shirt, he let her.

The shirt came off over his head and she got her hands on his chest, on the warm skin and the muscle underneath, and he made a sound low in his throat that she felt against her palms. His hands found the hem of her dress and pushed it up, and she lifted her hips to help him, and then she was in just her underwear and he was looking at her like she was something he'd been starving for.

"You're so pretty," he said, and the words were so unexpected that Aliyah laughed, a breathless little thing.

"What?"

"You are." He said it like it was fact. His hand came down to her hip, thumb brushing the curve of it. "You're so pretty and you don't even know it."

She didn't know what to say to that. So she pulled him down instead, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him until they were both breathless.

His hands were everywhere. Her thighs, her stomach, the curve of her waist. He traced the edge of her underwear and she shivered, and he made a sound that might have been a laugh against her neck.

"Sensitive?"

"Shut up."

"Make me."

She pushed at his shoulders and he let her roll him onto his back, and she straddled his hips, looking down at him. His glasses had slipped slightly down his nose. His lips were red from kissing her. His chest was bare and warm under her hands, and she could feel how hard he was through his jeans, pressing against her thigh.

She wanted to take her time. Wanted to drag it out, make him squirm the way he'd made her squirm a dozen times. But he was looking up at her with those dark eyes, and she could feel the heat building low in her belly, and she didn't have the patience for games.

She reached down and unbuckled his belt.

His breath caught. His hips lifted slightly, involuntarily, and she saw the way his jaw tightened as she pulled his jeans down, then his boxers, and his cock sprang free—thick and hard and already leaking at the tip.

Aliyah wrapped her hand around the base. He was so warm. So solid. She could feel his pulse under her fingers, and she watched his face as she gave him a slow stroke, from root to tip, and his eyes fluttered closed.

"Look at me," she said, echoing his own words back at him.

His eyes snapped open. Met hers. Held.

She leaned down and took him in her mouth.

He was too big to take all at once, so she started slow—just the head, her tongue tracing the slit, tasting the salt of his pre-cum. His hand came down to her hair, not pushing, just resting there, and she felt the vibration of his groan through his skin.

"Fuck," he breathed. "Aliyah."

She took him deeper. Let her mouth slide down his length, inch by inch, until her lips reached her fist and she could feel him at the back of her throat. She swallowed around him and his hips bucked, and she pulled off with a wet sound, gasping for air.

"Too much?"

"No." His voice was rough. "Don't stop."

She didn't. She took him again, faster this time, her hand working the base while her mouth worked the top, and she looked up at him as she did it—watched his head fall back, watched his throat work as he swallowed a moan, watched the way his fingers tightened in her hair.

"That's it," he said. "Just like that. You're so good at that, baby."

The praise went straight to her cunt. She moaned around him and he shuddered, and she felt his cock twitch on her tongue, and she knew he was close.

But she didn't want him to come like this. Not yet.

She pulled off, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, and he made a sound of protest that turned into a groan as she straddled him again, positioning herself over his cock.

"Condom?"

"I've got one." He reached for the nightstand, fumbled in the drawer, and she took the foil packet from him and tore it open with her teeth.

He watched her roll it down his length. His eyes were dark, his chest heaving, and she could see the restraint in every line of his body—the way his hands were fisted at his sides instead of reaching for her.

"You can touch me," she said.

"I know." His voice was strained. "I'm trying to be—"

"I don't want you to be gentle."

His eyes snapped to hers. Something shifted in them, dark and hungry, and she felt a thrill run through her.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." She reached down and guided his cock to her entrance, already slick and aching. "I want you to fuck me."

He sat up fast, his hands coming to her hips, and she gasped as she sank down onto him—slow, inch by inch, the stretch burning sweet as he filled her. He was so thick. So deep. She could feel him in her throat, in her stomach, in every nerve ending she had.

"Oh," she breathed. "Oh, fuck."

"You feel that?" His voice was low and rough. "Feel how deep I am?"

She nodded, unable to speak. His hands tightened on her hips, and he pulled her down harder, seating himself fully inside her, and she cried out.

"That's it." He thrust up into her, slow and deep, and she braced her hands on his chest. "Ride me. Use me."

She did. She rolled her hips, finding a rhythm, and he let her take what she needed—his hands guiding her, his cock filling her, his eyes never leaving her face. She could see herself reflected in his glasses, flushed and wrecked, and the sight made her clench around him.

"Fuck," he groaned. "You're so tight. So wet."

"Jaehyun—"

"I know. I've got you."

He shifted, and the angle changed, and suddenly he was hitting that spot inside her that made her see stars. She cried out, her nails digging into his shoulders, and he did it again—a sharp, deep thrust that made her whole body seize.

"There," she gasped. "Right there—"

"Yeah?" He did it again. "That's where you like it?"

"Yes—yes, don't stop—"

He didn't. He fucked her slow and rough, each thrust deep and deliberate, and she could feel herself getting close, the heat building in her belly like a coil winding tight. His hands moved to her waist, holding her steady, and he looked up at her with those dark eyes and said, "Look at me."

She did. She looked at him through the haze of pleasure, and she saw the way his jaw was clenched, the way his glasses had fogged slightly, the way he was watching her like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"I'm close," she whispered.

"I know." He thrust up into her, deep and hard. "Come for me. I want to feel it."

She did. She came with a cry, her body clenching around him, her head falling back as the pleasure crashed over her in waves. He kept thrusting through it, drawing it out, and she heard him groan as she tightened around him.

"Fuck—Aliyah—"

He came inside her with a shudder, his hips bucking, his hands gripping her waist hard enough to bruise. She felt him pulse inside her, felt the heat of his release even through the condom, and she collapsed against his chest, breathless and shaking.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. His arms came up around her, holding her close, and she could feel his heart pounding against her cheek. His glasses were askew. His hair was a mess. He was sweaty and warm and she could feel the aftershocks still trembling through her.

"You okay?" His voice was rough, quiet.

Aliyah nodded against his chest. "Yeah."

"Good." His hand came up to stroke her hair, gentle. "That was—"

"Yeah."

He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "I meant what I said. Before."

"What?"

"That I'm only focused on you." His hand stilled in her hair. "No one else."

Aliyah lifted her head to look at him. His glasses were still on, and she could see her own reflection in them—flushed, messy, soft in a way she didn't recognize.

"Okay," she said.

And for the first time all night, she believed it.