The clinic's staff changing room was a sanctuary of sorts—a private space where the women who worked here could transition from their everyday selves into the professional roles they assumed during working hours. Yurin stood before her locker, her fingers deftly unbuttoning her blouse, the fabric sliding from her shoulders to reveal the marks that decorated her skin like a roadmap of pleasure.
She hadn't realized how many there were until she saw herself in the full-length mirror. Her neck was a canvas of dark hickeys, some fresh and angry, others fading into bruises that would take days to disappear. Her shoulders bore the imprint of teeth marks, her breasts had small love bites near the nipples, and even her thighs showed evidence of Joon-ho's possessiveness—finger marks where he had gripped her, small bites where he had tasted her skin.
