“John, you better expin what the fuck’s going on!” Seo-young snapped, chest heaving from the sprint, slumped in the driver’s seat of their sedan. Her mask dangled loose around her neck, sweat beading her brow as she gred at him. She was livid. Min-jun’s call was cut dead. Her boyfriend was probably stewing now, thinking she’s sneaking around. And John? Sprawled in the passenger seat, panting hard too. He looked like he’d rather chew gss than deal with her shit.

  “Drive, now,” he growled, “I’ll talk while you move.”

  She didn’t move one bit, while her fists clenched on the wheel, eyes bzing. His stunt back there had her boiling. He’d killed her call, sure, but what's worse, he’d yanked her up like a ragdoll, arm smming hard under her chest, squeezing her breasts tight. She’d swear he copped a feel, dirty fingers grazing where they shouldn’t. Maybe he didn’t, maybe she was wrong, but Vivian’s nonstop “John’s a horny pig” rants echoed loud, painting him as a sleaze fishing for excuses to grope.

  “We don’t move till I get my answers,” she hissed, voice sharp, “or we’re sitting ducks, your call.”

  John’s jaw ticked, as his frustration bubbled hot. This chick was a brick wall, un-fucking-reasonable. But staying parked here was a death wish. So he leaned in, voice low and rough, spitting all the truth, hoping it would knock some sense into her head.

  “That ‘disease’ we’ve seen, two weeks of horniness then lights out? Ain’t a disease at all. It’s [Charm] magic. The crime scene this morning is downtown with people passing by, but nobody hears a thing, not even a ‘help’? You’ve seen her face yourself. That’s [Sound Barrier] blocking her screams. The weapon, no metal traces cause he conjures it with [Arcane Manifestation]. Also expins why it’s an impossibly thin bde. That shack? The killer was in there, and he spotted us, waved to us like a smug prick. Fucker could see us from that far cause he’s got [Eagle Vision]. Masks and caps saved our asses, without them, we’re burned. He’s probably coming for us now, so drive and get us the fuck out of here!”

  Seo-young froze for a beat. She then snorted, loud and sharp. “Magic, huh? What, you think I’m three or something? That’s your big excuse for screwing with me and Min-jun, and sneaking a grab at my chest?” Her voice cut like a bde, mocking, pissed. Her arms crossed tight under that straining jacket, eyes fshing murder.

  John’s brain was literally frying, full-on sparking, ready to blow. Honest to God, I didn't grope you! He'd hauled her out to save her ass, keep her from getting tagged by some magic-slinging psycho. But now he’s the perv here? What's worse, this chick was still fucking clueless to the shitstorm bearing down.

  “If that psycho comes for us himself, we’re fucked,” he snapped, patience fraying fast. “Just the two of us? He’d butcher us, like the girl found in the alley this morning. Think, damn it, the weapon, no trace of metal!”

  John’s track record held. Every call on the killer’s moves was dead accurate—crime scene, bde, all of it. She chewed it over, but that chest grab still gnawed at her. “Fine, say it’s true,” she shot back, eyes narrowing, “why’d you still groped me back there?”

  John’s eyes rolled so hard they nearly popped, his exasperation hitting peak, a groan rumbling deep.

  “Jesus fucking Christ. Yeah, I’m a horny pig, alright? But mark my words, woman. If I’d grabbed you for real, you’d have blown my head off with that gun by now.” He jabbed a finger toward her holster, with a smirk on his face—half-irritated, half-amused.

  Seo-young huffed. She smacked John’s arm hard, a sharp thwack against his jacket. Then she reached for the keys, ready to leave. But before the engine could growl, voices cut through the dark. Two of them, loud and pissed, drifted up from the scrub beyond the lot. “Fuck’s sake, nobody’s here! The Boss is sending us chasing two fucking ghosts. How the hell’s that even a thing?” The griping echoed, rough, sloppy, two shadows bitching their way closer.

  John’s eyes flicked to Seo-young, locked fast, urgent. His hand sliced a quick shush across his throat. She froze, keys dangling, and nodded. She finally believed what John said, that they had been spotted by the killer. John’s magic rant started to stick.

  John’s actually smirking inside, thank god it’s not the big dog, just these two punks, not the psycho himself. Their parking spot was gold too, tucked in a cluttered lot, ringed by rust-bucket vans and dented sedans. Their tinted windows bcked out tight, no peek-ins at all. Long as they kept their mouths shut, these clowns wouldn’t sniff them out.

  John’s gaze darted to her phone. We can’t fuck up again because of that phone. He jabbed a finger, miming fast: flip it, stash it under the seat, sit on it. She did as John told. The phone’s now screen smacked face-down, stuffed beneath her, her ass pinning it dark, no light, no leak. The voices grew louder, boots crunching gravel now. John squinted through the tint, and he recognized them: the wiry loudmouth and his beefy pal from the dock, the ones who’d groveled “sorry, boss” after that corpse took a dive. Lucky break, he thought, heart thudding steady, these dipshits ain’t sharp enough to spot us.

  But right then, Seo-young’s phone buzzed again, vibrating hard against the leather seat. Pinned under her, the hum was loud enough to rattle the air in the cramped car. John shot her a look, pure exhausted frustration creasing his face. His eyes were screaming shut it down, now. And she fumbled, panic fshing, hands scrabbling under her backside, fingers slipping over the smooth case, but the damn thing just wouldn’t hush. Worse, she jerked too fast. Her thumb grazed the screen, and it clicked live. Min-jun’s voice bsted through, sharp and furious: “Where the hell are you? Who’re you with? What’s going on!?” No surprise, that fucking Min-jun, right on cue, again.

  Outside, the two goons’ voices perked up, not far off now. “Hey, you hear that? Something’s over there. Let’s check it out!” John’s jaw twitched, half a smirk, half a groan—thank God these idiots are dumb enough to announce before they move. Loudmouths telegraphing every step, practically begging to be dodged.

  He leaned close to Seo-young, voice a tight whisper. “Arrest them or bluff our way out? Busting them cuts the trail cold, but bluffing’s very risky, might flop, and we’d still need to nab them afterwards. Your case, your call.” She didn’t blink at all, and shot back fast, “Let’s gamble, bluff it.”

  John nodded, quick and grim, then he muttered, “Fake some sex noises.”

  Before she could choke on that, he cranked his voice up, loud and brassy: “Yo, your boyfriend’s calling? Want him to hear us going at it?”

  Sure enough, John’s loudmouth line shut the goons up. Their jabbering died fast, repced by a rustle of movement. He squinted through the tinted gss, and caught their move. They were around ten yards off, ducking low behind a rusted pickup, crouching like a pair of pervy kids waiting for a show. They weren’t charging over, just squatting there, heads tilted, clearly itching to eavesdrop.

  Seo-young, though, sat frozen, her face bnk, eyes wide, totally lost on what John was cooking up. He jabbed a quick hand signal—make sex noise, now—and she balked. Her lips twisted sour, before forcing out two reluctant, half-assed moans, stiff and awkward as hell, like she’d rather gargle nails.

  John had his reasons for this bluff. One: those two goons were horny trash. Back at the dock, that wiry creep’s lewd hip-thrust and snickering proved it. Sex-obsessed idiots were prime targets for a distraction like this, guaranteed to bite. Two: Min-jun’s voice boomed through the phone. It could’ve been heard by these clowns. If they’d caught it, this “cheating” act tied it up neat, pusible as hell. Three: if the ruse flopped, or worse, if these morons got bold and tried something with Seo-young, they’d just nab them anyway. Hell, maybe catch them with their pants down, literally, as they would be too distracted to fight back, easy pickings. And st of course, for John’s own little kicker, he couldn’t resist screwing with Seo-young for fun. She and her boyfriend blew off tonight's operation, and a few fake moans wouldn't kill her anyway.

  Problem was though, Seo-young’s moans were a disaster, fake as hell, stiff and robotic, like Siri reciting some sleazy audiobook with zero soul. John’s face twitched, half-cringing, half-ready to crack up. Sure, he’d gotten his kick out of rattling her, but this? No way it’d fool anyone. It wouldn’t even throw those goons off for a second. He shook his head, a quick flick—drop it, stop—and she caught the hint, lips cmping shut, cheeks flushing faintly with annoyance.

  He was dead right to call it. The tinted gss showed the two punks rising from their crouch behind the pickup, steps slow but closing in. Seo-young clocked it too. She hesitated a beat, eyes darting, no way I’m letting this lead die, and then she lunged, arms snapping around John’s neck, lips crashing into his with a loud, wet smack that echoed in the tight space. She threw in a ragged gasp, real this time, breathy and raw, kissing hard while both of them kept one eye peeled through the gss. It worked. Those creeps froze mid-step, then ducked back behind the truck, hunching low again, hooked.

  Seo-young doubled down, her lips pressing fiercer, practically smothering him. John wheezed, caught off-guard by the intensity as he barely managed a muffled grunt between kisses.

  “How long we gotta keep this up?” he rasped, sneaking it out in a gap. “Might as well just arrest them now.” She frowned, and smacked the back of his head with a sharp whack. Her gre screamed no, keep the trail alive. She dove back in, and John’s brain spun. this chick’s half-nuts, but damn, she’s committed.

  John thought this was kind of fun. So he again cranked his voice up, loud enough to carry outside: “Baby, your boyfriend doesn’t take care of your needs, huh?” It’s pure bait for the goons eavesdropping, but aimed square at Seo-young too. She didn’t miss a beat, hand whipping up to smack his head again, a crisp thwap against his skull. But her eyes had gone hazy, soft around the edges from all that kissing, breath quickening as her arms tightened around his neck, pulling him closer than she meant to. Guilt flickered in her, Min-jun’s face fshing in her mind, a stab of shame, but she shoved it down. Work, she told herself, just work, no choice, not now.

  John dipped his head, voice dropping to a whisper against her ear. “Kissing forever, they’ll smell something’s off.” Straight truth, those creeps outside weren’t that dumb; endless lip-locking without escation would tip them off.

  Honestly, John wasn’t angling to turn this “case-solving” cover into some steamy hookup with Seo-young, not even close. Not because he was some saint, but those two goons lurking outside weren’t exactly mood-setters. He needed his head clear, sharp, ready for whatever might hit next. He needed those two goons gone, as soon as possible. And his fix was simple: those creeps were glued to the car, drooling for sex sounds, so give them the grand finale, and they’d leave, satisfied. So John stopped the kiss, voice low and steady. “Ramp it up, make it sound like we’re finishing. ”

  But the second their lips parted, Seo-young’s moans ftlined again, back to that stiff, robotic chant, like a bored narrator stumbling through a steamy script. John gnced at her, her eyes gssy from the kissing, cheeks flushed with a mix of haze and embarrassment, and couldn’t help a flicker of amusement. She was floundering, and this wasn’t cutting it. He fshed a quick, apologetic gesture—sorry, gotta do this—then slid both hands forward, each one grabbing a breast through her jacket, fingers digging in firm and bold. He kneaded them, hard, deliberate, whispering under his breath, “Fake it, moan, now.”

  Her response came alive, soft, throaty whimpers spilling out, real enough to stir the air, and John felt it—her chest pressing forward, arching into his grip like she was offering them up.

  Still, it wasn’t enough. Those goons outside wouldn’t buy this as the full act. John didn’t hesitate. He hooked his fingers under her white tee, yanked it up in a swift tug, then flipped her bra up, baring her tits to the dim car light. He dipped low, lips closing over one nipple, sucking slow, loud, wet pops echoing as he worked, making damn sure the sound carried. Seo-young melted into it, gasps turning to jagged, needy cries, her body trembling under his mouth. But he kept the show rolling, voice booming for the creeps outside: “How’re your tits still so pink? Your boyfriend not sucking your tits daily or what? What a dumbass, guess he’ll have to taste my smoke on it when you get home.”

  Her face fred, shame and anger crashing together, hand swinging to sp his head, hard, right where it hovered at her chest—once, twice, sharp cracks of protest. Then, in a twist, she grabbed him, hands locking around his skull, shoving him deeper against her, pinning him there with a shaky, defiant grip. “Shu—shut up!” she let out a weak moan.

  His lips locked tight, pulling soft, starting to enjoy every inch, the areo and the nipple. But then Seo-young broke off, breathless, voice shaky. “This isn’t enough, still not right.” John blinked, surprised, eyebrows lifting. He was pretty damn sure that this was not about work anymore for her.

  But hell, she’d asked for it, so he shrugged inwardly, and slid a hand to her ft smooth belly, fingers grazing slow over the warm skin, trying to test out what “enough” meant to her. She didn’t mess around, her fingers fumbling quick, popping the button on her suit pants, then grabbing his wrist, guiding it down with a bold tug.

  John was shocked, but he remembered to amp the signal for those creeps outside. And maybe he’s getting back at her for this dumb Min-jun shit she pulled all night too. He raised his voice, brassy and shameless: “Baby, forgot my condom today. Guess I’ll just fuck you raw instead. Bet your boyfriend’ll smell my cum on you when you get home.” A faint “damn” slipped from beyond the gss, muffled, horny, hooked. Seo-young jolted, her eyes snapping wide. Those filthy words hitting like a shockwave. Where’d he even pull that from? She stared at him, half-terrified he’d actually go there, but he flicked a hand—rex, no way—then rummaged in the glovebox, fishing out a forensic glove. Snapped it on with a quick stretch before sliding back to her stomach, dipping lower.

  He’s still trying to be “professional” here. The glove was insurance for him. Once this kicked off, he’d definitely be tempted to taste her juice on his fingers, like he always did. But it’s not really a time for him to enjoy himself, at least not that much, and that sharp, bitter tex stink on the glove would kill the urge cold.

  His hand eased down, slow, deliberate, brushing the edge of her pussy, fingertips grazing the entrance. Wet, soaked, juice slicking the glove already, warm and inviting. He swallowed hard, throat clicking dry, good call on the glove, he thought, pulse thudding as he fought to keep it together.

  John dipped his gloved fingers, slicking the juice from her entrance over her lips, spreading it slow, slippery, then started teasing, flicking and rubbing with steady rhythm. Seo-young’s moans turned real, deep, quivering, spilling out raw as he worked her clit. His pn was: push her over to the top, and then he himself fake a loud “I’m there” growl, signal the end. Outside, those goons would buy it and scram. But Seo-young wasn’t pying along. Her head was a mess now already, body buzzing wild. She snatched his teasing hand mid-move, shoved a finger straight into her pussy. It was tight as hell, but so wet it slid in smooth, juice coating everything.

  John just couldn’t stop grinning inside now, too damn lucky, with his voice booming for the audience: “Baby, you’re so tight. Your boyfriend’s scking, huh? All this pussy juice gushing out. I’ll stretch you for him.” Her mouth hung open, panting hard, moans breaking through. His crude words burned her with shame and sparking fury. She swung a hand to smack him, but this time he stopped it fast, and caught both her wrists. He pinned them high above her head with one grip, the other hand diving back down, two fingers now, pumping in and out, wet squish-squish filling the car. Her cries sharpened, high, desperate, face flushed red, lips parted, tongue peeking out just a bit.

  He dove in again, mouth tching onto her tits, tongue swirling, sucking loud. Seo-young gasping, “Slow down—ahh—not so hard, please!” But her hips betrayed her, rocking into his rhythm, chasing it. John didn’t pause. He sucked harder, fingers speeding up, pressing deeper. “Tell your boyfriend back home your pussy’s mine now. He just gets to watch me use it. Grab your phone. Film it for him.” She didn’t answer, her eyes squeezed shut, moans rolling louder. Then he stopped his hands and mouth, fshing her a do-it-or-I-stop grin. Feeling dazed, she fumbled for her phone, actually started recording, half-lost in the haze.

  “Baby, you’re perfect. Tell me now, whose pussy is this?” he pressed. But she stayed silent, just kept filming. She felt she probably liked the filming part, but she wasn’t sure. Without her answer, John froze his hand again, as she groaned, frayed, I’m so fucking close. She’s teetering, his filthy taunts stalling her every fucking time. She’s done waiting and she snapped, voice cracking loud: “Oh shut the fuck up, just do it already! Fuck me raw, creampie me, free-use this pussy however you want!” and then shoved his head down hard onto her tits, mashing him there to shut him up. John was surprised again, didn’t peg her for dirty talk, but I love it.

  He quit teasing. Two fingers thrust fast, curling inside, thumb flicking her button relentless. “Ahh—ahh—I’m close!” she screamed, piercing, wild, cmping his head tighter onto her boobs as her body shook hard. Down there, a flood soaked his wrist. They froze like that, both gasping, wrecked.

  “They’re gone actually,” John mumbled, voice muffled against Seo-young’s chest, with her grip still pinning him. “Let's leave before their boss comes, Seo-young.”

  Truth was, those goons had split before she’d even grabbed her phone to film the fingering. They were called off by a buzzing line. They grumbled they’d found nothing, no mention of anyone, and on their way back already. Smart move actually. If their boss knew they’d been skulking around, eavesdropping on some random car romp instead of hunting, they’d be toast, right?

  Seo-young snapped out of her daze, “huh?”, shoving John’s head off her chest in a flustered rush, hands scrambling to yank her bra back down, tug her shirt straight. She shot him a look, voice tight. “How long they been gone?” John caught the real question here—before or after the filming session?—and tossed a quick lie: “Right after you, uh, filmed it.” She was a cop, and she saw right through his dumb bullshit in a heartbeat. But calling him out meant admitting she’d been too lost in his fingering to even notice anything, as if it felt too damn good to care. She huffed, cheeks puffing out, and cranked the ignition, tires humming as she pulled away.

  The ride back started dead quiet, silence thick, heavy. John propped an elbow on the door, hand cradling his face, a shit-eating grin tugging at his lips. And he’s fighting hard not to bust out ughing. Yeah, he’d struck out on the case tonight, and had no release for himself—blue balled again. But he still found all this amusing. All started as a sound-effects scam, but ended with him fingering Seo-young and her filming it, with her dirty line recorded loud and clear. And her scent still clung to his hand even with the glove removed. Sharp, heady, still warm, and all this had him buzzing, damn near giddy.

  Seo-young, though, now a pure storm beside him. Shame and anger churned, her mouth pouty, hands white-knuckling the wheel. She wanted to snap, bme him for not cutting it short, but her words stuck. She knew damn well she’s the one who wanted it. Finally, after stewing forever, she blurted, “You know, my boyfriend, Min-jun’s good at this too.”

  Too? She’s saying I’m good at this? John bit his cheek, ughter cwing up. But he forced a dead-serious tone. “Yep, I bet he is.” He kept his pose, hand sniffing distance from his nose, her lingering tang mixing with that dumb “too” line. And he finally lost it, head dipping as a snort slipped free, then a full, buried chuckle. She knew exactly what the ugh was about, and she smmed the brakes hard. Then her both hands were flying to pound his shoulder, rapid-fire thumps.

  “Stop ughing, stop it, you asshole!”

  “Alright, alright, I’ll stop,” he wheezed, still grinning.

  The car rolled on, stop-start, her curses and sps peppering the air, his stifled ughs sneaking out. For that stretch, the case’s ugly weight melted off a bit tonight. Both of them were caught in their own weird, messy bubble, savoring their ride back together.