TIOAWN Chapter 15
by Ariana“Haa…”
A natural moan escaped her lips.
His tongue smoothly grazed the inside of her mouth, swirling gently over the paths of blood vessels, pressing firmly against the area under her tongue, and softly tracing along the edges of the frenulum.
It was as tender and meticulous as a hand brushing loose strands of hair behind one’s ear while sitting by the bedside of someone deeply asleep. She couldn’t ignore it.
Her eyes stung, and tears welled up.
This is so strange.
Ha-yoon’s eyelids trembled.
What on earth was this?
Was I more valuable than I thought?
Why does it feel different from yesterday?
“You’re not focusing.”
As if giving her a moment to breathe, Moo-geon, who had been exploring the pale curve of her neck, bit her earlobe lightly in warning before fully capturing her small mouth again. His tongue naturally traced along her gums, plunging deep into her throat.
When Ha-yoon tilted her head back, her body slid forward again.
This time, instead of gripping her head roughly like before, his large hand slid along her spine, spreading his fingers wide and swiftly turning her body around.
The water splashed differently than before, like a wave crashing. At the same time, Moo-geon submerged into the water, and Ha-yoon was draped over his body.
“Ah…”
Her body, which had been submerged in the water, tensed up as it met the cool bathroom air. The sensation of goosebumps rising even on the fine hairs made Ha-yoon’s body freeze momentarily.
Moo-geon soothed her by gently stroking her back with his large hand, pressing her waist firmly. Her wet chest adhered tightly to Moo-geon’s damp chest, the hardened peaks rubbing against the water in between, creating a peculiar sensation of pleasure.
“It’s c-cold…”
It was difficult to even utter a single word. Moo-geon didn’t give her the chance.
His large frame filled the bathtub snugly, his muscular legs entwining tightly with hers, leaving her unable to move.
“You’re not cold.”
His words were true. Her trembling body soon warmed up, and the shivering stopped.
Whether it was warmth he had given her or warmth he had drawn out from her, Ha-yoon had no way of knowing. She didn’t even want to know.
The ruthless path of his tongue left undeniable traces. Her mouth, entirely flushed, throbbed with heat, as if his touch had imprinted itself deep within.
It was as though he tested dangerous spots first, pressing into her soft inner walls and guiding her tongue to follow his along the same paths.
At times, it was so fast that she couldn’t even catch her breath.
At times, it was so agonizingly slow that it made her heart ache.
He avoided the spaces where her tongue could glide freely but dug deep into places where her tongue could no longer probe.
Although only their lips were touching, her entire nervous system seemed to be under his control.
Diligently and meticulously.
The more she followed where Cha Moo-geon led, the tighter her lower abdomen coiled, and the dampness below stirred slightly.
Unfamiliar sensations coursed through her body as Ha-yoon twisted her waist, yet she was entranced, chasing after Moo-geon’s tongue.
***
[Gallery R.]
The night at Gallery R, a gallery representing South Korea and spanning three generations, was serene. It exuded a completely different atmosphere compared to the daytime, which was always bustling with people.
“Director.”
The woman, who had been gazing through the glass wall of a darkened office, folded her arms and turned around.
“Did you find anything?”
Her manicured nails, carefully maintained, her elegantly voluminous hair touched by experts, and makeup that was neither heavy nor light—all revealed a woman in her mid-fifties who looked no older than her late forties. Yet, she anxiously bit her lip.
She was Jin Bo-young, the wife of Chairman Song Ho-yeol of the Songhwa Group and the CEO of Gallery R.
Graduating from an art high school, attending the nation’s top university and its graduate school, and finally studying in the U.S.—her elite credentials were flawless.
On the surface, at least.
“I couldn’t get in touch.”
Bo-young’s face, which had been maintaining composure, twisted into a frown.
“Are you insane?”
Her refined tone turned hysterical in an instant.
“So….”
Unable to contain herself, Bo-young grabbed her secretary’s shoulders and pressed him for answers.
“Director.”
“Four weeks, it’s been four weeks!”
She shrieked, her voice echoing, and stumbled, prompting the robust secretary to catch her firmly.
“Brother, you know. The exhibition is only a month away now.”
She clutched Lee Sung-sik’s arms desperately, her eyes filled with unease.
The exhibition, carrying Jin Bo-young’s name, was right around the corner. The catalog and pamphlet schedules had already been delayed as much as possible, all thanks to hosting the event at her own gallery.
Seo Myung-sik.
Bo-young ground her teeth. She needed a total of 15 pieces, including two she already owned, but so far, only three had been delivered.
If absolutely necessary, she could reduce the number of works, but that wasn’t the issue. Bo-young’s paintings weren’t just for display—they were meant to be used to launder the illicit funds of pre-designated individuals.
Through the exorbitantly appraised prices, Bo-young elevated her reputation, while those seeking to launder money reaped easy profits.
“What about you painting something yourself?”
“Stop saying ridiculous things! If that were possible, would I be groveling to Seo Myung-sik like this?”
As if telling him to stop spouting nonsense, Bo-young shoved Lee Sung-sik’s chest with her arms.
“Forget it. Seo Myung-sik isn’t the one wielding the brush anyway. Just bring that daughter of his who’s holed up at home.”
What on earth could she be doing that not a single painting had been produced yet? Bo-young bit her lip and paced around the CEO’s office.
“Bo-young.”
Lee Sung-sik hesitated unusually. His tone suggested she didn’t need to go this far.
“What? Are you scared of fetching a mere kid?”
“It’s not that, I mean—”
“When I begged you to leave the organization and become someone worthy of me, to come back with a decent title, you used to beat people up just fine. Am I wrong?”
“I don’t know much about art, but capturing someone isn’t going to solve—”
“Since when did Lee Sung-sik have such reasoning and judgment? When did you become so understanding?”
“Jin Bo-young.”
“Oh. So now that I’ve lifted someone from the gutter as my secretary, you think you’ve become a respectable person? I didn’t realize.”
“Bo-young!”
“You said you’d do everything I wanted! Have you ever done a single thing right?”
Bo-young screamed, and Lee Sung-sik clenched his fists, unable to respond.
Click, click.
Bo-young walked right up to him.
“Then bring that girl to me.”
Her obsessive eyes gleamed with intensity.
***
After a long whirlwind, Ha-yoon vividly remembered Cha Moo-geon’s expression when he learned the reason behind it all in the bathtub.
She had never seen such an indescribable look in her life.
Though a storm raged in his black pupils, he remained calm. His gesture of sweeping back his wet bangs was rough, and the serpent coiled around his hand seemed ready to strike venomously.
Ha-yoon licked her lips with her tongue. She was parched. A growing, impatient desire surged within her.
She yearned to grab a pencil or brush and draw Cha Moo-geon immediately, suppressing the intense urge by biting the inside of her cheek.
He had disappeared into the master room after instructing someone to deliver sanitary pads and underwear.
Ha-yoon sat quietly on the living room floor, staring at the closed door. Clad in only underwear, she felt the chill. Water from her undried hair dripped down her back and soaked the floor, making her scramble to find something to wipe it with.
Her small eyes fell on a crumpled tissue nearby—specifically, a distorted rendering of Cha Moo-geon’s face.
Did Cha Moo-geon truly have no interest in art?
If so, it was certain her value lay solely in her body. That’s why he kissed her like that in the bathtub.
“Put it on.”
A low voice startled her. The black shirt dropped beside her was undoubtedly his. Ha-yoon picked it up, hesitating.
“Do I need to dress you myself?”
When she looked up vacantly, he approached. Even craning her neck, her gaze barely reached his waist. As she knelt and straightened her upper body to meet his eyes, Moo-geon pressed her shoulders down with both hands.
“Your hair, it’s wet.”
Ha-yoon’s gaze shifted from her hair dripping onto the marble floor to the crumpled tissue. In that moment, Moo-geon knelt on one knee, aligning their gazes.
“Surprisingly—”
As his sharp brows slanted diagonally, he moved. The black shirt covered her back, and her arms were swiftly threaded through the sleeves.
Just as if he intended to fasten the buttons himself, Moo-geon gripped the front of the shirt with both hands and pulled her close.
Her neck tilted back, her face now mere inches from his. Their lips were on the verge of touching.
“You’re quite a handful.”