Choi Mi-ra pressed the buzzer of the penthouse, holding the branded delivery bag. "Delivery!" she called.
"Don't just leave it there," came Kang Jae-hyun's smooth, commanding voice. "Come inside. I'll pay extra if you prepare it for me—open everything, pour the drink."
Mi-ra hesitated. Delivery girls don't usually go inside, and she certainly wasn't supposed to prepare a meal for a CEO in his penthouse. But something in his tone—calm, sharp, undeniable—made her step forward.
She carefully carried the bag inside, arranging the plates and opening the drinks. Her hands trembled. One wrong movement… and the drink slipped from her fingers, spilling onto his designer pants.
Panic surged. She grabbed napkins, trying to clean it up. But in her frantic movements, one hand brushed against the sculpted lines of his abs, while the other accidentally pressed against his growing arousal through the fabric. Heat shot through her chest, her pulse spiking.
Kang Jae-hyun's eyes locked onto hers, cold and commanding. He didn't stop her—he let her hands linger just long enough to feel her flustered reactions.
"Tonight," he said, voice low and deliberate, full of hunger and control, "come back. Pole dance for me."
Her heart skipped a beat. The command left no room for hesitation, and the forbidden thrill of the situation burned through her. She knew—she couldn't refuse him.
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