Club's music Eclipse live. It did not only play. Under the strobing lights, it breathed via the walls, pulsed in the floor beneath designer heels and leather boots, and encircled bodies that danced like they were built for sin. Expensive perfume, spilled champagne, and the kind of sexual tension capable of launching wars hung thick in the air.
Because in several ways he did, Jung Wooyoung moved through this mayhem as though he owned it. Every sway of his hips, every flutter of his lashes, every glance from under his flawlessly applied eyeliner was a performance he'd refined throughout many years of training. Every detail was caught by the golden club lights: the shine of his lips, the dainty silver choker around his neck, the way his leather shorts clung to every curve of his butt.
Among beautiful, dangerous people, he was the most exquisite and dangerous thing.
He now had a middle-aged CEO wrapped under his finger. Though Wooyoung simply grinned that trained smile and rotated his hips in sluggish circles, the mans grip on his waist was possessive and somewhat sweaty.
Wooyoung mumbled, his voice like honey over shattered glass, "double your donation to the angel (Wooyoung ) charity foundation," and perhaps I'll let these shorts find their way to the floor."
The CEO opened his hungry eyes; his wallet already appeared in his free hand. Wooyoung had to stifle his laugh. All of them were quite predictable.
A familiar voice at his shoulder said, "You are evil." Yeosang materialized at his side and slipped a fresh cocktail into Wooyoung's hand. As always, his best friend looked otherworldly, with white-blonde hair catching the lights and characteristics so fine he appeared to have been fashioned from marble. "If you bankrupt one more Fortune 500 executive, theyre going to ban you from the club."
Wooyoung laughed, the sound bright and carefree as he flung his head back. His black hair dropped about his face, and he sensed numerous heads turn to stare. "God, I hope so. Half of the fun is the excitement.
Yeosang arched an eyebrow, "The other half being their money?"
"Obviously." Wooyoung sipped his beverage—something pink and powerful, that tasted of cotton candy and poor decisions. "You know I have expensive tastes."
"Speaking of expensive..." Yeosang's words faded as he stared at something across the club. His grip tightened on Wooyoung's arm. Holy shit. Don't glance right now, but I believe we have been invaded by royalty.
Naturally, Wooyoung glanced immediately and nearly gagged on his beverage.
A guy who looked like he had walked straight out of Wooyoung's dreams was standing there, near the velvet ropes of the VIP section. Tall, easily six feet, with shoulders broad enough to obscure the sun and a presence that demanded notice without seeking for it. Clearly custom, his black suit was cut to draw attention to every contour of his frame. Veins protruded against gold skin as his sleeves were folded up to display strong forearms crisscrossed his chest.
But it was Wooyoung's face that made his tongue go dry. Dark eyes seemed to see everything; full lips pressed into a tight line; and a sharp jawline lightly dusted with stubble. Though the club's humidity affected his black hair, it was styled back off his brow—not one strand out of place. He seemed capable to purchase and sell twice everyone in this space.
He also seemed like he'd rather be anywhere else on earth.
Wooyoung gasped, his fingers burrowing into Yeosang's arm, "Oh my god," then asked, "Who the heck is that?"
Yeosang followed his glance and groaned like he already saw catastrophe. "Choi San, CEO of Cheongdam Holdings and some prosperous businesses in Seoul. Possesses most of its nightlife and half of Seoul's property. He pointed at Wooyoung's whole presence and said, "Word is he doesn't do casual, doesn't do messy, and certainly doesn't do..."
Wooyoung's grin became predatory. "Well then. Daddy's about to get a masterclass in messy."
"Wooyoung, no—"
But Wooyoung ignored the man's drunk claims and slid off the CEO's lap. Wooyoung swatted away sweaty fingers attempting to grasp his wrist with a smile capable of dissolving steel.
"Sorry, grandpa," he remarked kindly, his voice trailing the music. "But an upgrade just walked in, and I never could resist a challenge."
The older man's face reddened with humiliation and wrath, but Wooyoung was already moving, his attention concentrated just on his new target.
Ignoring Yeosang's judgmental gaze burning into his back, he Yeosang had too many concerns. Wooyoung had never met a man he couldn't wrap around his finger, and he wasn't about to start now.
Though this specific guy seemed capable of splitting him in two without perspiring.
Particularly then.
---
For ten minutes, San said for the third time, swirling his whiskey as though it had somehow upset him, "This was a mistake." The amber liquid caught the clubs lights, casting designs on the black marble table. I should be reviewing the Busan contracts right now, not... He pointed at the writhing mass of humanity below them.
"Not what? Having fun? Mingi sprawled over the rounded leather booth as though he owned it, silver hair flashing in the strobing lights. He behaved like it most days at twenty-six, the youngest CEO in their company's history. "Dude, you haven't left your office in three weeks. Your grandmother herself contacted me to find out whether you were still alive.
"She did not."
Mingi smiled, "Asked if I thought you needed an intervention, she definitely did."I told her you just needed to get laid."
San's usually professional friend, Jongho almost choked on his drink. The younger man kept most of his composure even off the clock, but alcohol and Mingi's influence were unmistakably degrading it. "Hyung, even the cleaning crew looks at you with pity. Last week Mrs. Hyun from accounting wondered whether you required a hug."
" By the way, how is it? I don't need... "
Hongjoong showed up with another round of drinks and his sensitivity obviously insulted by San's all-black costume. "Because I know people for all three."
San opened his mouth to offer what would have been a stinging response regarding his friends' worry for his social life, but abruptly their table exploded in pandemonium.
Minggi strangled, beer spraying over the tabletop surface, "HOLY SHIT."
"NO FUCKING WAY," Jongho wheezed, his composure totally blown apart.
Hongjoong almost dropped the drinks, his eye clearly appreciating what was heading for their table. "Fifty thousand won says he's in San's lap within the next ten seconds."
San turned around to see what caught his friends attention and felt the ground shift below him.
Moving toward their table like a predator who'd spotted his prey was the most stunning man San had ever seen. And in his thirty years of life, during which he'd been introduced to models, actors, and enough beautiful people to populate a small country, that was saying something.
The boy—because despite the confident way he moved, he couldn't be older than twenty-five, had the kind of face that launched wars and inspired poetry. Heart-shaped with high cheekbones that could cut glass, full lips painted in glossy pink that should have looked ridiculous on a man but somehow just looked sinful, and dark eyes lined with black kohl that made them appear enormous. His black hair was styled in waves that begged for fingers to run through them, and his skin looked flawless.
But it was the way he moved that really caught San's attention. Smooth like butter, like water, like sex given physical form. His leather shorts, if they could even be called shorts left nothing to the imagination, clinging to lean thighs and an ass that defied nature.
The top he wore revealed glimpses of smooth skin and lean muscle, and the silver choker around his throat caught the light with every step he made.
He was absolutely, devastatingly beautiful.
And he was walking directly toward San with intent written in every line of his body.
Without hesitation or invitation, the vision in leather climbed onto their table. Actually climbed onto it, his knees bracketing San's whiskey glass, one leather-clad thigh pressing against San's forearm. Up close, San could smell his perfume—something expensive and addictive that made San's head spin.
"Buy me something strong, daddy," the boy purred, his voice low and husky with just a hint of breathiness that went straight to San's cock. He reached for San's glass with pale fingers tipped in black nail polish. "I like my drinks like I like my men expensive and likely to ruin me."
San's hands instantly sprang out and secured the youngster's waist. San couldn't concentrate on anything except the weight of the youngster pushed against him and the way his fragrance caused San's head to swim with desire, a whirl of disbelief and excitement.
"You're Choi San, aren't you?" the boy whispered, his name echoing a prayer on those immaculate lips.
San's voice turned out rougher than he meant; his usual command was sliding. "Yes, I am and you are?"
"Wooyoung" took a leisurely drink, retaining eye contact even though San's whiskey glass was stolen despite the grip on his wrist. San's grasp grew tighter as his tongue flicked out to collect a drop from his lower lip. "Mr. Choi, you look at me like you want to destroy me."
Even while his body failed him, San forced his expression to remain indifferent. "Not interested".
They both knew it was a deception. San had, however, constructed an empire based on managing his responses and never allowing anyone see him perspire. He was not about to let some attractive club kid, no matter how terrible, crack that mask.
Wooyoung's assured smirk wavered for only a second; astonishment flashed across his features. It's quite clear he was not accustomed to rejection. The saying vanishing so fast Nearly sure he'd imagined it, San was instead met with an even brighter grin that only just reached his eyes.
"Your loss," Wooyoung said with practiced airiness, demonstrating sliding off the table. But as San felt himself calm, convinced the instant had past, Wooyoung spun back around with fresh resolve. "Though I should probably warn you, I give the best head in Seoul. Ask anyone."
Except for the club music thumping around them, the table fell silent. San waited for his reaction, his friends eyes burning into him. His fingers tightened about his whiskey glass until his knuckles turned white, and he felt a muscle in his jaw jump.
Encouraged by the reaction, because of course he would notice, Wooyoung leaned back in and once more brought his lips close to San's ear. His voice was sin wrapped in velvet as he spoke. "I may be whatever you like tonight." Want to beat me up? Tie me down? Ruin me for others?"
Putting on a performance that made San's mouth dry, his hands slid back shamelessly to grope his own behind. See how flawless this is? Made for hands like yours, fat and springy. Not like the slim rich people you usually fuck.
With a clear crack that somehow carried over the thumping bass, the whiskey glass struck the marble table. San's dark eyes finally raised from his drink, scanning over Wooyoung's shape with a rigor that made the younger man shiver. There was something threatening hiding in San's gaze when their eyes met; Wooyoung's breathing snagged even as heat settled low in his stomach.
"You're drunk," San said, his voice under strict check.
"Not nearly drunk enough," Wooyoung retorted, his heart pounding against his ribs. He closed in, near enough to detect San's enticing aroma of pricey cologne blended with something distinctive to him, sandalwood and leather and raw power. "Unless the great Choi San is terrified he cannot handle me?"
Between them hung the challenge; for three heartbeats that felt like hours, the environment seemed to dissolve until only the two of them fought will that Wooyoung was resolved to win remained.
San, already a little inebriated, got up from the cubicle. His motions were fluid and predatory; suddenly Wooyoung looked up at his entire magnificent height. Like a shackle, San's massive hand encircled Wooyoung's wrist; his grip was tight enough to send a thrill of danger and thrill running through the younger man's blood.
"Little fox, you want to play with fire?" San said, his hot breath against the delicate skin of Wooyoung's neck. Wooyoung shivered at the pet name, and he had to bite his lip to prevent an humiliating sound. "Let's find out how long it takes before you get burned."
And with that pledge hanging between them, San started to guide Wooyoung away from the table, away from his open-mouthed buddies, and toward whatever secret place he had planned.
Wooyoung accompanied eagerly, his pulse thrumming with anxiety and only a bit of true anxiety. Having played this game a thousand times with a hundred different men, he sensed something about Choi San telling him this time would be different.
This time he could be the one burned instead.
He ought to have been terrified.
Rather, it made him eager to find out precisely how hot San's flames could burn.