“I never would’ve expected this,” he says quietly. “I never dreamed you of all people would end up doing this kind of work, Yoonjae.”
I do look away then, turning my gaze toward the windows and the city lights beyond them, because I can’t hold his eyes while he says that. Not with that tone. Not with that look on his face, like he’s trying to reconcile the version of me he knew at eighteen with the version standing in front of him now.
“Well there aren’t that many career options for unclaimed omegas, are there?” I reply shortly.
Hongjoong’s expression flickers. I see it in my peripheral vision, a brief crack in his composure. But he recovers quickly, rolling his shoulders back and gesturing toward the minibar against the wall.
“Can I get you anything? A drink, something to eat?”
“I’d prefer to just do my job,” I say flatly, clipped and professional, putting distance between us with every syllable. “This is already awkward enough. Unless you’d rather call it off now that you know who you hired.” I meet his eyes again, keeping my expression neutral. “I understand completely if you don’t want to go through with it.”
Hongjoong frowns like my stiffness genuinely confuses him. He studies me for a beat, then shrugs, one shoulder lifting in that loose, easy way I remember from when we were kids, and gestures broadly with one hand.
“No, of course not. I hired you after all, might as well see what happens.” He tips his chin toward me. “Go on.”
I take a breath. Hold it. Let it out through my nose.
This is nothing. It’s just another client. I need this money for Sungyoon’s tutors, his cram school fees, his college fund. The number Jinkyung quoted me flashes through my mind, all those zeros lined up in a row, and I think about the stack of bills on my kitchen counter.
So I reach for the top button of my shirt.
My fingers work the buttons open one by one. I keep my eyes fixed on my own hands, on the strip of skin appearing between the parted fabric, looking everywhere but at Hongjoong. I can feel him watching me though, his gaze tracking each button as it comes undone.
Hongjoong tilts his head to one side, a cat-like angle that he always used to do when he was sizing something up, chindipping slightly, eyes narrowing with interest. The familiarity of the gesture makes my stomach twist, because I’ve seen Sungyoon do the exact same thing a thousand times, usually right before he says something cutting, and the resemblance is so sharp right now that it hurts.
“Have you done this before?” Hongjoong asks, his tone casual.
I pause with my fingers on the fourth button and sigh. “It’s just different when it’s someone I know. I’ve never had a client who was a friend before.” I shoot him a look, letting a thread of irritation sharpen my voice. “You really should have read my profile. No, I’m not new to this. I’ve been doing it for a very long time, actually.” I hold his gaze. “Does that change anything?”
Hongjoong lifts an eyebrow. His expression is hard to read. “No, not really,” he says evenly. “I just wondered if you knew what you were doing.”
I set my jaw and undo the last button. “See for yourself.”
I shrug the shirt off my shoulders and let it fall. The air in the suite is cool against my bare skin, and I can feel Hongjoong’s eyes tracking across my torso, over the lean muscle I’ve maintained through years of necessity, over the scars I can’t hide. The faded bruise-yellow of an old injury along my lower ribs that never quite went away. The body of an omega that’s been used hard and put away wet too many times to count, and I stand there and let him look. This is what he’s paying for and I stopped being ashamed of it a long time ago. Or at least I stopped showing it.
I reach for my belt, undo the buckle, unfasten my pants and push them down over my hips. I step out of them and fold them once, setting them on top of my shirt on the nearest chair, because even now, even here, I can’t bring myself to just leave my clothes on the floor. Then I hook my thumbs into the waistband of my underwear and push those down too, stepping out of them and straightening up.
I’m standing fully naked in the middle of the hotel room with Hongjoong’s gaze heavy on me, and I don’t let myself think about the fact that the last time he saw me without clothes we were eighteen and tangled together on a dark classroom floor with his rut pheromones clouding both our judgment. That was a different lifetime. A different me.
I step forward and sink to my knees in front of him.
The carpet is thick and soft under my kneecaps, expensive, and I settle my weight back on my heels as I reach up and find the front of Hongjoong’s pants. My fingers are steady, muscle memory taking over where my brain would rather not participate. I work his belt open, undo the button, pull down the zipper, and ease the waistband of his pants and whatever he’s wearing underneath down over his hips in one smooth motion.
His cock springs free, and for a moment I just stare.
He’s enormous. Thick and flushed dark, the head slick and shining where he’s already leaking, and the shaft is heavy enough that it barely curves upward under its own weight. I swear I don’t remember him being this big. Granted, the last time I saw it I was eighteen and had nothing to compare it to, but even now, after years of taking alphas of every size and shape, Hongjoong’s cock makes my jaw ache just looking at it. That thing is going to wreck me, and I’ve been wrecked by plenty.
Hongjoong seems to read the look on my face, because his voice comes from above me, even and almost matter-of-fact. “Omegas sometimes have a hard time with my size. You can take your time loosening up first if you want to.”
I shake my head. “I can handle it.”
I wrap my hand around the base to steady him and lean forward, closing my lips around the head. The taste of him floods my tongue, salt and musk and distinctlyhim, and I have to suppress the groan that tries to crawl up my throat because my body remembers this taste. I suckle at the head, running mytongue in a slow circle around the ridge, then sink down and take him fully.
His cock fills my mouth and pushes into my throat, the stretch of him burning at the corners of my lips, and I swallow around him and breathe through my nose. I work my tongue along the thick underside as I bob my head, finding a rhythm, hollowing my cheeks on the upstroke and relaxing my throat on the down. Experience has taught me exactly where to press, exactly how much suction to use, exactly when to pull back and tease the head before sinking down again. I run the flat of my tongue along the sensitive ridge beneath the crown, feel his cock twitch against the roof of my mouth, and then I swallow him to the base until my nose is pressed against his pelvis and his coarse hair tickles my skin.
Hongjoong holds still at first, his thighs tense under my hands where I’ve braced myself against them. Then he groans low, a sound that vibrates through his whole body and into mine where we’re connected. He curses under his breath and his hand comes up to thread through my hair, his fingers sliding through the strands and gripping at the back of my skull. He doesn’t push. He doesn’t force my head down. He just holds on, letting me set the pace, and I don’t know why but that small restraint makes a difference.
I suck harder, pulling out every technique I know, working him with my mouth and my tongue and the tight ring of my throat until my jaw is screaming from the stretch of his girth and my eyes are watering. I don’t stop. I press my tongue flat against the underside and drag it slow from base to tip, then swallow him down again in one smooth motion, and Hongjoong swears viciously above me.
