The fist in her stomach unclenched. Taehyung’s orgasm detonated, not in a wave but a shatter—sharp, bright, ripping through her like a scream given liquid form. Her back arched off the couch cushions and a clear, hot gush sprayed from her in erratic pulses. Father’s face, inches away, caught the first burst across his cheek and the bridge of his nose, the second splattering onto his open mouth. The involuntary gasp he couldn’t suppress made a wet, choked sound. Jungkook’s thumb kept circling, the cruelty of it dragging every last spasm from her until she collapsed, twitching, into the puddle soaking into the floral upholstery.

Mother’s blouse was still dripping from earlier. Now Father blinked through a sheen that clung to his lashes, his skin glazed with his daughter’s release. The pine-scented aftershave had been overwritten by something salt-sharp and unmistakable.