“Jungkook…” You gasped his name, head tilting back to give him better access. Your hands fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel his skin. He helped you, shrugging the fabric off his shoulders to reveal the toned, muscular chest you had only glimpsed in passing before. Your palms explored the warm planes of his body, tracing the defined abs and the V-line disappearing into his waistband. He was beautiful—strong, sculpted from years of disciplined workouts and the stress of running an empire.

He flipped you suddenly, laying you back on the wide couch with him hovering above. His eyes raked over you hungrily as he slowly unbuttoned your blouse, exposing the lace bra beneath. “So beautiful,” he murmured, voice reverent. “Been dreaming about this for so long.” His mouth descended, kissing along your collarbone before tugging the lace down to take one nipple into his mouth. You arched into him with a moan, fingers threading through his hair as he lavished attention on your breasts, switching sides with teasing nips and soothing licks.

The pleasure built rapidly, your body responding to every touch as if it had been waiting for him all this time. His hand slid down your thigh, pushing your skirt higher until his fingers brushed the edge of your panties. He paused, looking up at you with dark, questioning eyes. “Tell me if you want to stop.”

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, pulling him back down for another kiss. “I want you. All of you.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. He stripped the rest of your clothes with efficient, reverent movements, his own slacks and boxers following. When he settled between your thighs, bare skin against bare skin, the sensation was overwhelming. He was thick and hard, pressing against your entrance as he kissed you deeply. “I love you,” he repeated against your lips, the words a vow. “My wife. My Y/N.”

He entered you slowly, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust to his size. The stretch burned deliciously, a moan escaping both of you as he bottomed out. For a moment, he stayed still, forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged. “Fuck… you feel perfect. So tight, so warm.”

Then he began to move—slow, deep thrusts that built a steady rhythm. Your legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his back as you met each thrust. Pleasure coiled tight in your core, every stroke hitting that perfect spot inside you. Jungkook’s hand slipped between your bodies, fingers circling your clit in time with his movements, pushing you higher.

“Look at me,” he commanded softly, and you did—locking eyes as the orgasm crashed over you. Your walls clenched around him, crying out his name as waves of ecstasy rolled through you. He followed moments later, burying himself deep with a guttural groan, spilling inside you as he chanted your name like a prayer.

Afterward, you lay tangled together on the couch, his arms wrapped tightly around you, your head on his chest listening to the steady beat of his heart. Sweat cooled on your skin, but neither of you moved to separate. Jungkook pressed soft kisses to your hair, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your bare back.