Page 28 of From Paris to Seoul (K-Drama Love Story #2)

I shivered with delight when she matched my movements, her lips parting with the same hunger, devouring me as eagerly as I did her. But before we lost ourselves completely, I reached for the light switch, letting shadows spill across the room.

A small protest escaped her lips, followed by a quiet gasp as I eased her onto the bed. Even in the dim light, we found each other effortlessly, our clothes slipping away, discarded onto the floor in a hushed urgency. The sound of her breath—shallow, expectant—sent warmth pulsing through me.

I captured her lips again, then traced a slow path down her body, my mouth finding the sensitive curve of her neck, the swell of her breasts, the hardened peaks that begged for attention.

Lower still, my fingers brushed against the heat pooling between her thighs, feeling the slickness that told me she was ready for me.

But not yet.

I wanted her to feel everything—to explore every sensation her body had to offer.

I moved lower, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss between her thighs.

“What are you… No…” she started, her voice unsteady. But as I continued teasing and licking, her words dissolved into a breathless moan. “Oh. Baekhyun…”

That was all the encouragement I needed.

I grew bolder, my tongue caressing, exploring, while my fingers slipped inside her effortlessly, seeking out the spot that would make her shudder with pleasure.

Her body arched, back lifting off the bed, a silent cry caught in her throat as waves of sensation washed over her.

Her thighs trembled around me, and I knew—

That’s one.

“Baekhyun, what are you—”

I caught her lips before she could finish, kissing her deeply, letting her taste the remnants of her own desire.

“I was right,” I murmured against her mouth, grinning. “You do taste like a peach.”

I could feel her glare even in the faint lighting. But that was fine—because soon enough, she wouldn’t be thinking about it at all.

Putting my own needs aside for now, I reached for the ‘gift’ on the nightstand and switched it on. A steady, low buzzing filled the room.

“What is that sound?” Seo-yeon’s breath was still uneven, a note of curiosity in her tone.

I didn’t answer. Instead, I pressed it gently against the sensitive mound of her core. Her reaction was immediate—a sharp inhale, then a long, trembling moan as her fingers gripped the bedsheets, as if they were her only anchor in the storm of pleasure.

In the soft glow from the window, I traced the rise and fall of her chest, the way her skin shimmered with heat, the way her body reacted to every slow, deliberate movement of the toy. I kept going, teasing her, pulling her closer and closer to the edge.

“Baekhyun… please… what… ah—”

Her voice broke as her body tensed, then trembled, and finally shattered again. I felt the quiver in her thighs, the way her breath came in ragged, uneven gasps.

At this point, I’m pretty sure at least one of the neighbors has an idea of what we’re doing. I never imagined Seo-yeon could be this loud—and the thought fills me with satisfaction, knowing I’m likely the one to bring out this side of her.

Smirking, I leaned down, brushing my lips against her ear. “That’s two,” I murmured, voice thick with amusement. “Think you can handle another?”

“Oh, you sound cocky now, don’t you?” she teased, stretching up and pinning me down despite her still-ragged breath.

She reached for the condom on the nightstand and rolled it onto my hardened length. The sensation of her touch alone sent a surge of pleasure through me, drawing a string of incoherent murmurs from my lips.

I saw her grin—like she knew exactly which buttons to press.

“Seo-yeon…” My voice was half a whisper, half a plea as I tried to sit up and pull her into my arms. But she shook her head, pressing a hand against my chest, holding me down—keeping me beneath her.

Slowly, deliberately, she sank down onto me, taking me in inch by inch. I felt her warmth, her tightness and my hands instinctively gripped her hips, but she placed her palms over mine, lacing our fingers together as she set the pace.

“Guess I’m in your hands now,” I managed to say, my voice rough.

She smirked. Then she moved—rolling her hips in a way that made me curse under my breath. It took everything in me not to lose control too soon, but she felt too damn good.

Then she quickened her pace, her back arching beautifully. The gentle rise of her breasts moved with her, her long hair cascading forward, partially hiding her face.

I reached up, brushing her hair back so I could see her fully—see the way her lips parted, the pleasure written across her features. My hands slid down to her hips, guiding her as she rode me harder, pushing me closer and closer to the edge.

I groaned, my fingers digging into her skin, the pressure building to an unbearable peak. So close now.

But I wasn’t done with her yet. Seizing the moment, I let my hand wander, tracing the soft contours of her core as she moved, determined to push her over the edge one more time.

And it worked—her body tensed, trembling uncontrollably as another wave of pleasure washed over her. The sight of her unraveling, mesmerizing even in the dim glow, pushed me past my limit. I felt the tight grip of her muscles around me, and with a final thrust, I found my own release.

She collapsed onto my chest, completely spent, like a rag doll.

“So, that’s three,” I murmured smugly, wrapping my arms around her, feeling the damp warmth of her skin against mine. She struggled to catch her breath, speechless—like an athlete who had just finished an intense race.

Suddenly, a couple of thuds echoed against the wall, followed by what sounded like a curse in French.

I bit back a laugh, and when I glanced at Seo-yeon, her face was once again turning bright red.

“I was too loud!” she whispered, horrified. I pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Maybe just a little,” I teased.

She groaned and buried her face in my chest. “This is so embarrassing.”

I chuckled, running my fingers through her hair. “Don’t worry. They’ll survive.”

She let out a dramatic sigh but relaxed against me, her breath warm against my skin. The room settled into a comfortable silence, the faint hum of the city beyond the window lulling us into stillness.

Eventually, exhaustion caught up to us, and with the warmth of her body against mine, I drifted off to sleep.

***

The soft light of early morning filtered through the window, casting a golden hue over the room. Seo-yeon was already awake, sitting at the edge of the bed, her back to me as she stared out at the view of Paris.

“You’re really leaving today,” I said, my voice still rough from sleep.

She turned to me with a small smile. “Yeah… still got some time before my flight. What do you want to do today?”

I shrugged, trying not to dwell on the fact that she was leaving—that after this, we’d go back to being almost strangers. “Let’s head to your hotel so you can pack first. Then we’ll figure it out from there.”

“Sure,” she said softly, throwing me a wistful smile. I knew she didn’t want to go back to Seoul—to face whatever was waiting for her there.

A part of me wanted to ask her to stay, even just for a little longer.

But that wasn’t part of the deal, was it?

When we arrived at her hotel, it only confirmed what I had already suspected—she was loaded. The place was on a whole different level, luxury dripping from every corner, from the grand lobby to the smallest details in her suite.

I let out a low whistle. “Damn, Seo-yeon, why didn’t you say anything? You stayed in my tiny studio when you had all this?”

She shrugged, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “I don’t know… I slept well at your tiny studio.”

“Sure, you ‘slept’ well,” I teased, exaggerating air quotes around the word.

She giggled, landing another one of her playful punches on my arm.

I watched as she packed her suitcase with effortless precision, neatly folding each item before methodically checking the bathroom and peeking under the sheets one last time. “There, all done,” she said, zipping up the suitcase with a sense of finality.

She rolled it through the door and left it with the hotel’s conciergerie service to be shipped directly to the airport later—one of those effortless luxuries that people with money didn’t have to think twice about.

It was such a stark contrast to my own reality that I couldn’t help but be reminded, again, that we lived in different worlds.

We grabbed a quick lunch at a café near the Seine before deciding, without really saying it, to retrace our steps back to Pont Alexandre III.

Just days ago, we had passed under it by boat, watching the intricate details from below. Now, standing on the bridge itself, the perspective felt completely different—grander, more vivid, yet somehow heavier with the weight of everything that had happened in between.

Seo-yeon leaned against the railing, gazing down at the river, lost in thought. The wind caught strands of her hair, making them dance in the late afternoon light.

She exhaled softly. “It’s strange, isn’t it? How a place can feel different depending on who you are when you see it again.”

I looked away, unsure of how to put my feelings into words. “A few days ago, I was here alone, and it felt like the most beautiful place on earth. When the streetlights flickered on, one by one, it was like something straight out of a film.”

“Then, I was here again—under this bridge, at night—with you. It still felt surreal, almost like a dream.”

“And now, this afternoon, standing here again with you… it feels like a movie.”

Seo-yeon chuckled. “Romantic comedy or horror?”

I rolled my eyes but didn’t take the bait. Instead, I finally voiced the thought that had been lingering in my mind since the moment I met her.

“You’re beautiful, Seo-yeon.”

Our eyes met, and then I kissed her. Her lips were warm, carrying the faint taste of butter and sugar from the pastries we’d shared earlier. It felt easy, inevitable—like the most natural thing in the world.

I’ve never been a hopeless romantic. I’ve been in a few relationships before—none ever felt quite right, but I went along with them anyway.

With Seo-yeon, though, it was different. Everything seemed to fall into place effortlessly. There was no pretense, no games.

Is it Paris casting its spell on me? The golden light of the late-afternoon sun shimmering on the Seine, catching in her hair? Or is it just… being with her?

But all good things come to an end, don’t they? Soon, we’d be back in Seoul, back to our separate realities. Seo-yeon—probably an heiress to some powerful conglomerate. Me—just a struggling actor taking any gig I could to put my sister through university.

This isn’t the kind of story that had a happy ending.

Checking my phone, I realize it’s time to go. We take the metro to the train station, even though Seo-yeon insists I don’t need to follow her all the way to the airport.

“It’s really fine,” she argued. “If you come with me, you’ll have to go back into the city, only to return to the airport again tomorrow morning for your flight. It’s silly.”

“Still, I’d rather—”

She gave me a look—the kind that made it clear she wasn’t going to budge. I sighed but let it go.

As we stepped into the bustling train station, her eyes lit up. In the middle of the foyer stood a piano, waiting for anyone bold enough to play.

“Want to play a song?” she asked, though she was already settling onto the bench, her fingers hovering over the keys.

Without hesitation, she began to play—a delicate, flowing melody that filled the station. Within seconds, I recognized the piece: Hisaishi’s Merry-Go-Round of Life.

She played beautifully, her touch both confident and expressive.

I couldn’t resist. Smirking, I slid onto the bench beside her and joined in, adding deeper, richer chords to her melody. Soon, we were playing a duet, instinctively matching each other’s rhythm.

A small crowd had gathered—some clapping along, others pulling out their phones to record. But we barely noticed. For those few minutes, it was just the two of us, lost in the music, as if the world outside had faded away.

As the last notes faded, we turned to each other and high-fived.

“You play really well!” she said, a mix of surprise and something else flickering in her eyes.

“So do you,” I replied, stepping away from the piano, suddenly aware of the lingering eyes of strangers. I wasn’t one for too much attention.

Seo-yeon cleared her throat, shifting her gaze toward the line of taxis outside the station. “I think I’ll just take a taxi from here.”

I hesitated. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

She shook her head. “No, no. I don’t have any luggage anyway, so I’ll be fine.”

She looked at me for a long moment, as if memorizing my face, committing every detail to memory. Then, without a word, she reached for my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“I want to say, ‘See you in Seoul,’ but… maybe we won’t.” Her voice was quiet, the sadness in her eyes reflecting my own thoughts.

It was a shame, though. We were really good together.

I forced a small smile. “Then… I guess I’ll see you when I see you?”

She nodded. “Yeah. See you when I see you.”

We stepped into a final embrace, and I whispered into her ear, “Everything is going to be okay,” while gently tapping her back.

She pulled back slightly, her eyes searching my face for a moment before she leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to my cheek. Then, with a small wave, she lifted Le Petit Prince —the book I had given her.

“Thanks for the book!” she called over her shoulder.

I watched as she slipped into the taxi, the door clicking shut behind her.

And just like that, she was gone.

A strange, almost foreign feeling settled in my chest—heavy, lingering, and just a little too real.