Page 72 of K-Pop Double Life

“I always have,” he said. He quickly stripped, and I slid back into bed with him, our shoulders and legs touching, as we watched the action on the screen.

We were both hard already, and the feel of his smooth skin against mine sent electric shocks to my penis. We began touching each other, gentle strokes along the leg, up close to the groin, and eventually Sang-hoon shifted the pad away and pulled me on top of him.

The men on the screen were still moaning and speaking in Japanese, and that was a turn-on by itself. We kissed and rubbed against each other, and then I slid down to suck him.

“Oh, Joon-hi,” he said, his voice hoarse. He began to moan, and press his fingers into my hair. I did what I had seen the men on TV do, licking and sucking and rubbing my face against his penis.

Then he pushed me away. “What?” I asked, looking up.

“What those two men are doing,” he said, and pointed. They were head-to-toe, sucking each other at the same time. We scrambled around, trying to mimic their positions, and laughing as we did. Then we were sucking each other, trying to give each other as much pleasure as we could.

My whole body shook with the force of my orgasm, and Sang-hoon was right behind me. Then I moved back up to lie beside him. Eventually the movie stopped but we didn’t care. We had each other.

We joined everyone for breakfast in a private room on the second floor, next to the gym. The room was crowded as we all grabbed food from the buffet and then sat down for another security briefing.

Eun-ji looked exhausted, her usual corporate polish fraying at the edges. Aidan had that focused intensity I was learning to recognize as his working mode. Liam was typing on his tablet, occasionally showing something to Jason.

“Now that everyone has food,” Eun-ji said, her voice cutting through the low conversations, “let’s begin. Liam?”

Liam stood, and the room quieted immediately. He had that kind of presence—the kind that made you pay attention without needing to raise his voice.

“Emails that have been received since Cannes make it clear that the primary target, for unknown reasons, is Jin. The messaging clearly references the center.” He looked around. “But that doesn’t mean anyone in this room is safe. An attack against Jin could hurt each one of you if you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“We’re treating the threats as an organized operation,” Aidan said. “Not a lone obsessed fan, but someone with resources, planning, and inside access to Starhouse’s network and tour operations.”

Liam pulled up a slide on the room’s display screen. A timeline showing Cannes, Paris, Amsterdam, and London, with threat events marked in red.

“The fireworks malfunction in Cannes. The framed photograph delivered to Jin’s dressing room in Paris. The leaked backstage footage. The threatening emails originating from Starhouse’s corporate network.” He gestured at each event. “These aren’t random. They’re escalating and coordinated.”

Min-kyu leaned forward. “You’re saying someone inside the company is doing this?”

“We’re saying someone with access to company systems is involved. We’re still determining if that’s an employee, a contractor, or someone who’s compromised the network.”

Tae’s voice was quiet. “How do we know who to trust?”

“That’s the problem,” Liam said. “Until we identify the source, we can’t rule anyone out.”

Liam didn’t advance the slide. Instead, he folded his hands on the conference table.

“I want you to understand where our investigation stands. We don’t know who’s behind these attacks yet, but we are working several theories.”

The room was silent.

“The first possibility is personal.” His eyes settled on me. “Someone with a grudge against Jin. An old acquaintance. A former trainee. A rejected fan. Someone who blames him for something we haven’t uncovered.”

Every face in the room turned toward me.

“Jin,” Liam said quietly, “think carefully. During your trainee years. Anyone whose career might have suffered because yours succeeded? Anyone who ever threatened you or became obsessed with you?”

I searched my memory.

Competition among trainees had been brutal. Friends disappeared after evaluations, sent home without warning. Fans sometimes posted angry messages online when I couldn’t acknowledge them or remember them at fan meetings. Reporters had accused me of arrogance after interviews I thought had gone well.

None of it felt like murder.

I shook my head. “People have been jealous. Some fans can be intense. But no one I can imagine doing... this.”

Liam nodded as though he’d expected the answer.