Sunlight spilled through the tall windows of the penthouse suite, painting the mess of last night in gold and white. The place was wrecked. A bra draped over a potted plant, high heels scattered in odd places, panties hanging from a lampshade. Someone's dress was half under the coffee table, a lube bottle had rolled into the kitchen. The lingering scent was unmistakable—perfume, sweat, and sex, thick and heady as the memories of bodies tangled on every surface.
Min-kyung was sprawled out naked on the living room sofa, one arm flung over Alina's stomach, her hair wild across the pillows. Alina slept beside her, a leg tossed over the back of the couch, mouth slightly open. Their skin still bore traces of last night—red marks, faint bite bruises, smudged mascara, dried streaks of sweat and cum. Even asleep, they looked content, faces soft in the morning light.
