The door clicked shut behind her, and the sound seemed to echo through JK's apartment like a gunshot. Aera stood in his entryway, her heart hammering so hard she could feel it in her throat. She had rehearsed this moment a thousand times in the mirror, but now that she was here—actually standing in his space, smelling his scent everywhere—her courage wavered.

JK turned from locking the door. His eyes were different. Darker. The guilt from yesterday had burned away, leaving something raw and hungry in its place.

"Take off your coat," he commanded.

Her fingers trembled as she unbuttoned her cream-colored trench coat. It fell to the floor, pooling around her heels. Underneath, she wore a pale pink sundress—innocent, virginal, the kind of thing that made her look like she belonged in a garden party rather than standing before a man who looked like he wanted to devour her whole.

JK's gaze dragged down her body, slow and deliberate. She felt it like a physical touch—her nipples hardened immediately under the thin cotton, visible to him. He noticed. His jaw tightened.

"Come here," he said, his voice rough.

She walked to him on unsteady legs. When she was close enough, he didn't wait—his hand shot out, gripping her waist and yanking her against him. She gasped at the contact, feeling the hard planes of his body through his clothes, the unmistakable evidence of his arousal pressing against her stomach.

"Last chance, Aera," he growled against her hair. "Tell me to stop, and I will. But if you stay..." His hand slid down to cup her ass, squeezing hard. "I'm going to ruin you for every other man. You'll never forget my mouth on you. Never forget who made you feel this first."

She looked up at him, eyes wide, lips parted. "Don't stop," she whispered.

That was all he needed.

JK scooped her up effortlessly—one arm under her knees, one around her back. She squeaked, clutching his shoulders as he carried her through the living room, past the kitchen, into his bedroom. The space was masculine—dark sheets, minimalist furniture, the faint scent of his cologne everywhere.

He threw her onto the bed.

Aera bounced on the mattress, her hair spreading across his pillows, her dress riding up her thighs. She tried to sit up, but JK was already on her, crawling over her body like a predator claiming prey. He grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand, using his other to grip her jaw, forcing her to look at him.

"Shy now?" he taunted, seeing the flush spreading down her neck. "You weren't shy when you were teasing me for six months. When you were wearing that fucking skirt with no bra, knowing I could see everything."

"I—" she started, but he cut her off with a kiss.

It was brutal. Demanding. His tongue forced its way into her mouth, claiming her, tasting her. She moaned into it, arching up against him, but he kept her pinned—wrists trapped above her, his weight holding her down. He kissed her until she was breathless, until her lips were swollen and red, until she was whimpering for air.

When he pulled back, they were both panting.

"Please," she whispered, not even sure what she was begging for.

"Please what?" He smirked—that signature smirk that had destroyed millions of hearts worldwide, but now it was just for her. "Use your words, baby. Tell me what you want."

"Touch me," she breathed, face burning with embarrassment. "Please, JK, touch me."

"Where?" He dragged his free hand down her side, over her ribs, stopping just below her breast. "Here?"

"Yes," she gasped.

"Greedy girl." He released her wrists only to grab the neckline of her dress. With a sharp tug, he ripped it down the middle.

Aera cried out in shock—not from fear, but from the sheer aggression of it, the way he destroyed her clothing like it was nothing. The dress fell open, exposing her white lace bra. Before she could process the exposure, he reached behind her, unhooked the clasp with practiced ease, and tore that away too.

She was bare. Completely bare before him for the first time.

Instinctively, she tried to cover herself—arms crossing over her chest, face turning away in shyness. But JK caught her wrists again, forced her arms back down to her sides, held them there.

"No," he said firmly. "Don't hide from me. Look at me."

She forced her eyes to his, humiliation and desire warring in her chest. He was looking at her breasts like a starving man looks at a feast—her nipples were tight, pink, begging for attention. She was small but perfect, her skin like silk, untouched by any other hands.

"Beautiful," he murmured, almost to himself. Then louder: "You're fucking perfect."

He released her wrists, but his command held her still—don't move. She didn't. She lay there, trembling, exposed, while he sat back on his heels to look at her. The power dynamic was overwhelming—him fully clothed in his black t-shirt and jeans, her naked from the waist up, spread out on his bed like an offering.

"Please," she whimpered again, squirming under his gaze.

"Please what? You want me to touch these?" He cupped her breasts in both hands, squeezing firmly.

Aera's back arched off the bed, a sharp cry escaping her lips. His hands were large, rough from years of working out and dancing, and the contrast against her soft skin was electric. He kneaded her, shaped her, tested her weight in his palms. His thumbs brushed over her nipples, and she jolted like she'd been shocked.

"Sensitive," he observed, smirking. "Good."

He squeezed again, harder this time, pinching her nipples between his fingers. It hurt, but the pain twisted into something hot and throbbing between her legs. She was soaking wet—she could feel it, mortifying and undeniable. She'd never been this aroused in her life.

"JK," she moaned, not knowing what she was asking for.

"Quiet," he commanded. "You take what I give you. Understand?"

She nodded frantically.

"Good girl."

Then he lowered his head.

The first swipe of his tongue against her nipple made her scream. It was hot, wet, devastating. He licked her slowly, circling the sensitive peak, teasing her until she was sobbing with need. Then he closed his mouth around her and sucked.

"Oh god," she gasped, her hands flying to his hair, gripping tight. "Oh god, JK, please—"

He didn't stop. He sucked harder, pulling her nipple deep into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue. The sensation was overwhelming—wet heat, the scrape of his teeth, the way he groaned against her skin like she tasted better than anything he'd ever had.

He switched to the other breast, giving it the same treatment—licking, sucking, marking her with his mouth. She was writhing beneath him, her hips bucking involuntarily, seeking friction against his hard thigh. He let her rub against him, let her find some relief grinding against his leg while he worshipped her breasts.

"Look at you," he murmured against her skin, his breath hot. "So desperate. So wet for me. You like having my mouth on you, baby? Like being my little toy?"

"Yes," she cried, tears of pleasure leaking from the corners of her eyes. "Yes, I like it, I love it—"

He sucked her nipple hard, pulling a sharp cry from her throat. Then he bit down gently—just enough pressure to make her see stars. She was panting, mewling, completely undone. Her virginity was still intact, but JK was claiming every other part of her, marking her as his with every pull of his mouth.

Time lost meaning. He sucked her for what felt like an hour—switching between her breasts, licking the valley between them, biting the soft undersides. He left hickeys everywhere—dark purple marks that would last for days, that she'd have to hide from her brother, that would remind her who she belonged to every time she looked in the mirror.

She was shy—so shy that she kept trying to turn her face away, to hide her expressions of pleasure. But he wouldn't let her. He kept forcing her to look at him, to watch him suck her, to see how much he enjoyed having her under him.

"You have no idea," he groaned against her breast, the vibration making her whimper. "No idea how long I've wanted this. How many times I jerked off thinking about these pretty tits. How many times I imagined you just like this—naked, moaning, mine."

His words were filthy, degrading in a way that made her hotter. She was a good girl, a virgin, a student with perfect grades—and here she was, letting a global popstar use her body like his personal playground, and loving every second of it.

"Please," she begged, not for him to stop, but for something more. She didn't know what. The ache between her legs was unbearable, a throbbing emptiness that she didn't know how to fill.

JK understood. He knew her body better than she did. He slid one hand down her stomach, over her ruined dress, between her legs. He pressed his palm against her soaked panties, and they both groaned—her at the contact, him at how wet she was.

"Fuck," he growled. "You're dripping. All this from me sucking your tits?"

She nodded, face scarlet.

He rubbed her through the lace, slow, firm circles that made her hips buck. "I could make you come like this," he threatened. "Rub this little clit until you scream. But not today." He removed his hand, ignoring her whine of protest. "Today is about me learning you. About you understanding who owns this body now."

He went back to her breasts, sucking harder, more desperately. She could feel his restraint—he was rock hard against her hip, grinding against her with every suck, but he never asked for relief, never pushed her to touch him. This was about her. About claiming her.

When he finally pulled back, her breasts were swollen, red, covered in his spit and bite marks. She looked debauched—hair tangled, lips bitten red, eyes glazed with pleasure. He hovered over her, admiring his handiwork, his eyes black with desire.

"Mine," he stated. "Say it."

"Yours," she whispered, shy even now.

"Louder."

"Yours!" she cried, arching up.

He kissed her then—deep, possessive, tasting like her skin. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers, both of them breathing hard.

"I'm not taking your virginity today," he said, his voice rough with restraint. "When I do that—and I will, Aera, make no mistake—it's going to be when you're ready. When you've thought about it. When you know exactly what you're giving me."

She wanted to argue, to beg him to finish it, but his dominance held her silent.

"But this?" He cupped her breast again, thumbing her sensitive nipple. "This is mine now. These perfect tits belong to me. I get to suck them whenever I want. I get to mark them, play with them, watch you squirm. Understood?"

"Yes," she breathed.

"Good girl." He kissed her forehead, then her nose, then her lips—soft this time, almost tender. "Now get dressed. I'm taking you home before I lose my mind and break my own rules."

He helped her sit up, helped her into one of his oversized hoodies when he realized her dress was destroyed. The fabric smelled like him—swallowed her whole. She felt small, claimed, marked.

As he walked her to his car, his hand possessively on her lower back, she realized something: she was still a virgin technically, but JK had already ruined her. No other man would ever compare to the way he looked at her, touched her, owned her.

And as he drove her home, his fingers intertwined with hers on the center console, she knew this was only the beginning.