The silence that descended upon the private lounge was heavy, a physical weight that seemed to press against the skin. It was the kind of silence that only follows a violent storm of passion—a saturated, humming stillness filled with the scent of sex and the musk of an intense release. The jazz music continued to play in the background, the slow, melodic horns sounding distant and surreal, as if they were playing in another room entirely.
Joon-ho sank back into the velvet sofa, his chest heaving, his muscles trembling from the sheer force of the orgasm. He felt a profound sense of physical exhaustion, yet beneath it, a strange, electric current continued to pulse through his veins. He closed his eyes for a moment, the darkness behind his eyelids flashing with the remnants of the pleasure.
