Kim Taehyung – A cold and stoic CEO known for his sharp mind and emotionless aura. He doesn’t tolerate nonsense and hates coffee… or so he thought.

Park Jimin – A charming, flirty secretary with a playful smile and a bold attitude. He loves teasing his boss and isn’t afraid to cross a few lines — especially when he has something naughty in mind.

...****************...

The office was silent except for the steady ticking of the luxury clock on the wall and the furious clacking of Taehyung’s keyboard. He didn’t spare a glance when Jimin entered, dressed in a sleek, tight-fitting shirt tucked into high-waisted pants that hugged his curves.

He held a cup of coffee carefully, steam rising delicately in the air.

“I don’t drink coffee,” Taehyung said flatly, without looking up.

Jimin smiled devilishly. “That’s about to change. I plan to make you addicted.”

Before Taehyung could question it, Jimin was suddenly on his lap—bold and graceful, straddling him with practiced ease. Their faces were inches apart. The CEO stilled, his body stiff under the soft pressure of Jimin’s thighs.

“What are you doing?” Taehyung asked coldly, his jaw tightening.

Jimin brought the cup to his own lips, taking a small sip, then leaned forward slowly, sensually. His lips brushed Taehyung’s. A soft kiss. Then—warm, sweet coffee passed gently from one mouth to the other. Taehyung’s lips parted in surprise, accepting the liquid and the teasing touch of Jimin’s tongue that barely grazed his own.

Taehyung swallowed, his eyes locked on Jimin, dark with something wild and dangerous.

“Again,” he said, voice low and rough.

Jimin obeyed. Another sip, another kiss. This time longer—Jimin’s soft lips moving against his, coffee shared through breathy exchanges. Taehyung held him tighter, his hands gripping Jimin’s waist, guiding his movement with slow, deliberate control.

Again. And again.

Each sip turned deeper, each kiss lingered longer. The cup grew lighter, and Jimin’s lips grew pink and glossy, slightly swollen from repeated contact.

By the fifth sip, Jimin was breathless, eyes half-lidded. “You getting addicted, Mr. CEO?” he whispered teasingly.

Taehyung’s eyes dropped to his lips. He didn’t answer.

The final sip.

Jimin took it slowly, knowing it was the last. But before he could lean in, Taehyung gripped the back of his neck and pulled him in with a force he hadn’t shown before.

The kiss that followed was not gentle.

It was hungry.

Taehyung’s tongue pushed into his mouth, not just tasting the coffee—but Jimin himself. He kissed him like a man starved, exploring every inch, savoring the flavor, owning the moment. Their breaths tangled, bodies pressed tight, the half-finished coffee cup forgotten on the desk beside them.

When Taehyung finally pulled back, his lips were flushed, and his voice was hoarse with want.

“…I didn’t know coffee could taste this good.”

Taehyung, still holding Jimin close, whispered against his lips, "I think... I’m addicted."

Jimin smiled, his heart racing as he rested his forehead against Taehyung’s. “Told you, Mr. Kim.

Jimin smiled, dazed and proud. “Told you. Addictive, right?”

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Jimin POV

I shouldn’t be here.

I should’ve handed over the file and walked right back out the door like a good, respectful son.

But when Kim Taehyung opened the door—hair still damp, shirt unbuttoned just enough to show the firm chest beneath—I forgot all about being good.

His eyes dragged over me lazily, like he didn’t expect me but didn’t mind the surprise either.

“Your father sent you?” he asked, voice husky with sleep and something darker.

“Yeah…” I swallowed, holding out the folder like it could shield me. “He said it was urgent.”

Taehyung didn’t take it.

Instead, he stepped back, letting me in with a small, crooked smirk. “Come inside, Jimin.”

God, the way he said my name.

I followed, trying not to stare too hard at the way his sweats hung low on his hips, or how the muscles in his forearms flexed as he leaned on the kitchen counter.

“So,” he said, finally taking the folder and setting it on the counter without opening it. “How’s university treating you?”

“Fine,” I muttered, eyes dropping to the marble counter. Then rising, bold. “Lonely.”

His brow lifted, amused. “That sounds like a dangerous thing to say. Especially to me.”

“Is it?” I tilted my head. “Would you take advantage?”

Taehyung laughed—a low, rich sound that made the pit of my stomach tighten. “You’ve changed.”

“Maybe I just stopped pretending.”

We stared at each other. The room was quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the fridge and my reckless heartbeat.

He moved first—closer, slow and calm, but his eyes burned. He stopped a breath away, fingers reaching to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

"You always were a flirt," he murmured, his voice sliding down my spine like silk.

"Maybe I flirt because I want something."

"And what do you want?"

I looked up at him, locking our gaze.

“You.”

He didn’t answer.

He just kissed me.

It wasn’t gentle—it was hot, demanding, full of years of restraint cracking at once. His lips stole my breath, his hands gripping my waist and pulling me closer.

I moaned into his mouth, fingers clutching the front of his shirt as he walked me backward, until the backs of my thighs hit the kitchen counter.

He lifted me effortlessly, setting me on the cold surface, never breaking the kiss.

His mouth moved to my jaw, then my neck, leaving trails of fire with every brush of his lips.

“You taste dangerous,” he whispered, biting gently at my collarbone.

“And you… taste like trouble,” I gasped.

His fingers slid under my shirt, slowly exploring the soft skin beneath. “You want to play with fire, baby boy?”

I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him against me.

“I want to burn.”

Taehyung's mouth crashed into mine again, deeper this time, tongue exploring like he wanted to memorize every inch. My body arched into him, dizzy with the heat.

Then he stopped—just for a second—his eyes on mine.

“I should stop.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“Because you’re too damn tempting.”

He kissed me again, softer now but no less intense. One hand cupped my jaw while the other traced circles on my thigh.

I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

And then he whispered:

“Next time, bring the file. But leave the innocence at the door.”

[To be continued...]

Jimin POV (continued)

He didn’t let go of my wrists.

They stayed pinned above my head, one of his big hands wrapped around both like a damn cuff, pressing them into the mattress. My chest rose and fell under him, nipples hard, skin slick with heat, every breath a silent plea.

He leaned down, slow, mouth brushing my jaw, my neck, biting just under my ear.

“You’re so fucking sensitive,” he murmured, lips trailing to my collarbone. “I’ve barely touched you and you’re already squirming.”

“I—I can’t help it,” I gasped.

He chuckled darkly. “I know. You like being helpless under me, don’t you?”

I whimpered. My hips tried to lift, to grind against him again—but he shifted his knee between my thighs, blocking me, keeping me still.

“Nuh-uh,” he growled. “No humping. You get off when I say you get off.”

F**k.

My c*ck throbbed, aching, leaking, desperate for friction, but he gave me nothing. Just his mouth and his voice—that deep, slow, commanding voice that poured into my ears like hot molasses.

“I’ve been patient, Jimin,” he whispered, dragging his tongue over my nipple, teeth grazing it until I moaned. “But you crossed a line tonight.”

I shivered. “W-What line?”

“The moment you walked into my kitchen looking like that. Looking at me like you wanted me to ruin you.”

He kissed lower, then lower—lips ghosting across my stomach, tongue flicking at my navel.

“You have no idea what you’ve awakened.”

My body arched off the bed.

Then he let go of my wrists.

Just long enough to flip me over onto my stomach and yank my hips up.

I gasped, stunned, face pressed to the sheets.

“Tae—”

A sharp slap cracked across my a$$.

I moaned. Loud.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathed, admiring the red blooming across my skin. “You liked that.”

I nodded furiously, trembling.

He smacked me again, harder this time, and I gasped, the sting shooting straight to my cock.

“You gonna be good for me?” he asked, voice low and cruel and dripping with hunger.

“Yes,” I breathed. “Yes—anything—please—”

He leaned down, lips right against my ear.

Then—that voice.

“Then call me Daddy.”

My entire body froze.

Blood rushed in my ears. My heart thundered. My thighs shook.

“I—”

“Say it,” he growled, fingers gripping my hips, his cock hard and heavy pressed against the curve of my ass. “You want to be my baby boy? Say it.”

I squeezed my eyes shut.

“D-Daddy…”

His groan was filthy. His teeth bit into my shoulder, and his hips ground against me once, slow and threatening.

“Fuck, Jimin. That’s it. That’s my good boy.”

I gasped. Moaned. My whole body was fire.

“You’re not gonna come tonight unless I make you,” he said, voice hard now. “You're mine tonight. My body. My rules. My little thing to play with.”

I whimpered, helpless, and he laughed—dark and mean and possessive.

“Let’s see how many times I can make you scream it.”

Then he pushed in.

I choked on my own breath.

There was no warning. No easing. Just Taehyung—thick, hot, stretching me open inch by devastating inch until my knees shook and my fingers clawed helplessly at the sheets.

“F-F**k—!”

His grip on my hips was brutal, grounding me, holding me in place as he sank deeper.

“Shhh,” he growled, mouth at my ear, one hand sliding up my spine to press between my shoulder blades. “You wanted this, baby boy. Take it. Take all of it.”

I whimpered—high, wrecked, helpless—and he bottomed out with a groan that sounded like it was torn from his chest.

“God, you’re tight,” he hissed. “Like you were made for me.”

I could barely breathe. My head dropped to the mattress, drool slipping past my parted lips, everything inside me stretched and aching and perfect. Then—

He started to move.

Slow, deep thrusts at first. Heavy. Deliberate. Every push punched a breath out of me, every pull left me empty and needy. I sobbed into the sheets, moaning loud as his cock slid in again, harder this time, sharper.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Sound so good when you cry.”

Then his fingers curled into my hair, yanking my head up.

“Say it,” he growled. “What do you call me, Jimin?”

My mouth fumbled. Too full of moans, too dizzy with heat.

He slammed into me again, and I screamed.

“D-Daddy!”

His groan was filthy.

“There’s my boy.”

He let my head fall back, then spanked me—again, again—while he fucked me harder, faster, sweat dripping from his body onto mine, the room thick with the scent of sex and skin and filthy, filthy heat.

My whole body trembled.

He leaned down, chest pressing to my back, and one hand slid under me—fingers curling around my cock, slick and leaking.

“You wanna come?” he whispered against my neck. “Wanna make a mess all over Daddy’s sheets?”

“Y-Yes—yes, please, Daddy—please—”

He twisted his wrist.

I screamed.

Then everything snapped.

I came with a sob, my vision going white, body convulsing in his arms as he fucked me through it—never slowing, never stopping.

“Fuck, look at you,” he panted, voice wrecked. “Still so tight. Still so desperate.”

Then he pulled out suddenly, and I gasped—only for him to flip me over fast, tie my wrists to the headboard with the belt from his robe, and slide back in in one brutal, perfect thrust.

I howled.

“Thought you were done?” he sneered, hips snapping forward, fast and ruthless. “Oh, baby. I’m not even close.”

And he fucked me again.

Again.

Until I came a second time—tied down, choking on air, legs trembling like jelly, eyes rolling back.

“Say it again,” he ordered, voice thick, sweat dripping down his temples. “Louder.”

“Daddy—!”

And again.

“Louder!”

“DADDY—!”

And when he finally came—growling, biting my throat, shaking all over me—it was like something shattered. He filled me up, collapsing against me, still kissing my skin like I was something precious and obscene.

We stayed like that. Slick. Breathless. Tied up and tangled, my body used and spent, my brain nothing but a single echo:

Daddy. Daddy. Daddy.

💋💋💋💋💋