Us, and the Dream We Made Beautiful

DEDICATION

To the girls who keep the world running while everyone else stares at the sun.

And to the boys who are tired of being a billion-dollar product: Sorry, but we're not playing nice tonight. The data is about to get very, very dirty.
_________________________________________________________

"𝘒𝘦𝘦𝘱 that cold, professional mask on for the world," his voice breathes against her ear, his lips grazing the sensitive cord of her neck until she shudders under the raw heat of him.

"𝘉𝘦 the perfect secretary Minhee needs you to be," he adds, his body crowding hers, his weight pinning her wrists high against the industrial metal of the service elevator until she has no choice but to arch into his hard, unyielding frame.

"𝘉𝘶𝘵 the second we're alone?" His gaze darkens to a predatory black, tracking the frantic, visible pulse jumping in her throat, the only part of her she can't use to lie to him.

"𝘠𝘰𝘶 aren't a shadow. You aren't just a contract. You're the only eight years of sanity I have left in this hell, and I'm taking every fucking bit of it." His voice is a low, rough growl, the sound of a man who's done being the world's favorite toy.

"𝘐 don't give a damn about the genius. I don't care about the empire she built." He tilts her chin up, his thumb pressing hard against her bottom lip until it parts, forcing her to taste the raw, unhinged desperation in his breath.

"𝘐'𝘮 going to ruin every single inch of your composure until you forget how to take orders from anyone but me. I'm going to make you scream my name in the one place the cameras can't see us. Every. Single. Second." A dangerous, possessive glint enters his eyes, his hunger finally overriding the billion-dollar image he's forced to wear for the fans.

"𝘜𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥, 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴?" he whispered, his grip tightening, his heat a promise that when they finally disappear, she's going first.