Touch Therapy: Where Hands Go, Bodies Beg-Chapter 286 - 287: Let Me Take Care of You

Joon-ho’s hands paused at the clasp of Mirae’s bra, his thumbs brushing lightly along the curve of her shoulders. She felt the faint hesitation—not uncertainty, but care—before his fingers worked the clasp loose. The fabric slid free, straps falling down her arms as he eased the bra away, revealing her breasts to the warm air of the room.

Mirae exhaled, long and slow, her body already softening beneath his attention. She lay on her stomach, cheek pressed into the pillow, hair still damp from her shower and smelling faintly of citrus shampoo. The lamp beside the bed cast a low amber glow over her skin, highlighting the familiar lines of her body—curves he knew by heart, but never took for granted.

"Just relax," Joon-ho murmured, his voice low and steady. "Let me take care of you."

His palms settled on her upper back, warm and firm. He started slow, pressing gently at first, feeling out the tension beneath her skin. Mirae let out a quiet sound, somewhere between a sigh and a hum, as his thumbs worked into the tight muscles along her spine.

It was different from the way he touched her during sex. This was deliberate, methodical—years of practice guiding his hands. He leaned in, using the heel of his palms, applying steady pressure, easing the knots that had built up over weeks of shooting, stress, and endless emotional output.

Mirae melted.

Her thoughts drifted without effort, pulled backward by the familiarity of his touch. She remembered the clinic—white walls, soft music, the faint smell of eucalyptus. Back when she was everywhere, when cameras followed her from morning to night, when being the "national sweetheart" meant never resting, never slipping.

She’d come in with headaches that wouldn’t fade, shoulders locked tight, eyes burning from lack of sleep. She’d tried to play it off back then, smiling too brightly, insisting she was fine.

Joon-ho had never believed her.

"You’re holding everything here," he’d said once, fingers pressing into the exact spot that made her gasp. "If you don’t let it go, your body will force you to."

Now, years later, his hands found the same places with ease. His thumbs dug into the muscles between her shoulder blades, slow circles that made her toes curl. Mirae’s breath grew heavier, her body responding instinctively, trusting him completely.

"Oh... Joon-ho..." she murmured, her voice thick already.

He said nothing, just worked deeper, leaning his weight in carefully, easing the tension little by little. When he reached the base of her neck, he slowed, kneading gently, coaxing the stiffness out until her shoulders finally dropped, heavy and loose against the mattress.

She felt herself sinking, floating.

His hands moved lower, sliding down the long line of her back. He traced her spine with his thumbs, then pressed outward, palms spreading over her ribs, following the natural curve of her body. Mirae shivered as his hands reached her waist, fingers slipping into the slight hollow there.

"That spot," she whispered, barely audible. "Always there."

He smiled softly, though she couldn’t see it, and focused his attention there, thumbs working into the muscles just above her hips. Mirae moaned, the sound muffled by the pillow as sensation rippled through her.

Her body responded without shame or restraint. Her hips shifted subtly beneath him, instinctively seeking more. The sheets beneath her felt warm, her skin sensitive everywhere he touched.

Joon-ho’s hands traveled lower still, gliding over her waist and down to her hips. He kneaded the flesh there, thumbs pressing in, fingers wrapping around her sides. Mirae gasped softly, the sensation sending a slow, heavy heat pooling deep in her belly.

Her memories blurred—late nights collapsing onto his table at the clinic, him telling her to breathe, to stop apologizing for needing rest. The way his hands had always grounded her, even back then, when neither of them had crossed the line.

Now there was no line.

His hands slid down her thighs, long strokes from hip to knee, then back up again. Mirae’s legs relaxed completely, spreading just slightly, welcoming the attention. He worked her muscles carefully, thumbs digging in where fatigue lingered, then smoothing it out with long, calming passes.

Her breathing changed—shorter now, uneven.

When his hands moved higher again, lingering at the backs of her thighs, she let out a sharper sound, hips lifting without permission. He squeezed gently, thumbs pressing into the soft underside, then let his hands roam upward, over the curve of her ass.

Mirae moaned openly now, no longer trying to hold it back.

His hands were firm there, confident, kneading, spreading warmth through her. Her body reacted immediately—nipples tightening, a rush of slick heat between her thighs. She pressed her face into the pillow, embarrassed by how fast it was happening, by how badly she wanted him.

"Mmm... that’s not fair," she breathed.

Joon-ho chuckled softly, his thumbs tracing slow, teasing lines along the crease of her ass. "You’re the one who asked for a massage."

His hands lingered there, deliberately slow, building the sensation until her whole body felt like it was humming. Her nipples brushed the sheets beneath her with every breath, stiff and aching. She could feel dampness gathering between her legs, her panties growing uncomfortably tight.

She shifted again, more obviously this time, her hips rocking ever so slightly.

Joon-ho noticed.

His hands slid back up her spine, then forward, reaching around her sides to cup her breasts. Mirae gasped, her back arching as his palms closed over her, thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples.

"Oh—!" Her voice broke, the sound raw.

He rolled her nipples gently between his fingers, just enough to make her shudder. Her thighs pressed together, then parted again, her body openly betraying her need.

"You’re already so responsive," he murmured. "Did you miss this that much?"

"Yes," she said immediately, breathless. "I missed you."

The admission made something shift. His hands lingered on her breasts a moment longer, thumbs circling, coaxing her nipples into even tighter peaks. He watched the way she shivered, the flush climbing up her neck, how her hips rolled with every slow caress. When his fingers finally slipped away, Mirae whimpered in protest, arching her back, silently begging for more.

But Joon-ho wasn’t finished teasing. He trailed one hand down her side, slow and deliberate, nails scraping just lightly enough to raise goosebumps on her skin. His palm traced the curve of her waist, then the swell of her hip, before drifting over the back of her thigh.

Mirae moaned, the sound slipping out unbidden, desperate and wanting. She pushed her ass up just a bit, offering herself, the cool air kissing her exposed skin where her panties had ridden up.

Joon-ho leaned down, his breath warm against her ear. "You’re so eager for me, aren’t you?" His tone was playful, but his hand was firm, spreading her thighs with gentle insistence.

His fingers dipped between her legs, running along the damp fabric stretched tight against her core. He pressed there, just enough to let her feel how soaked she’d become, how her body ached for more. His thumb traced a lazy circle over her clothed clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through her that made her hips jerk.

"Look at you," he murmured, voice rough now. "Completely soaked, just from my hands. I wonder how long you would last if I kept you like this..."

Mirae whined, writhing, rubbing herself shamelessly against his touch. "Don’t tease—please, I can’t—"

He shushed her with a kiss to her shoulder, fingers hooking into the waistband of her panties. He dragged them down—slowly, torturously slowly—inch by inch over the curve of her ass, down her thighs, pausing to savor the view as he revealed the slick, swollen lips of her pussy.

He tossed the panties aside and let his hands roam freely, palms kneading her ass, thumbs spreading her open just a little. His fingers grazed her folds, feather-light at first, teasing along the outer lips, gathering her slick and spreading it.

Mirae’s breath hitched, her body arching with every slow, careful stroke. He avoided her clit at first, letting anticipation build until she was shaking with want, whimpering with every brush of his fingers.

Finally, when she was all but begging, he slipped a finger along her slit, then circled her clit—soft at first, then firmer, rolling it in tight, delicious circles. Mirae cried out, hips bucking, pleasure rocketing through her body.

"That’s it," he whispered, mouth close to her ear. "Let me hear you, Mirae. Let me feel how much you need me."

His other hand came up to squeeze her breast, fingers pinching her nipple in time with the rhythm of his strokes. The pleasure was overwhelming, every nerve ending alight, her body grinding back against his hand, desperate for more.

"Joon-ho—please, please, I need you inside me—" Her voice was wrecked, needy, every ounce of restraint gone.

He smiled, pleased, dragging his fingers slowly through her slick one more time before settling between her thighs. "Not yet," he murmured, pushing her right to the edge, "I want to see you come apart for me first."

And as his fingers worked her clit, teasing and coaxing, his lips found her neck, biting and kissing, promising so much more to come.

Cool air brushed against her slick folds, and Mirae sucked in a sharp breath. She felt exposed, needy, her pussy wet and aching, pulsing with want. Her hips lifted automatically, her body desperate for contact.

She turned her head just enough to look back at him, eyes dark, lips parted. "Joon-ho... please."

He took in the sight of her—bare, flushed, trembling beneath his gaze—and his restraint finally cracked. His hand slid between her thighs, fingers brushing through her wetness, confirming what he already knew.

"So wet," he murmured, his thumb grazing her clit just once.

Mirae cried out, her body jolting at the contact. "I can’t wait," she said, voice shaking. "I need you. Please—fuck me."

Her words hung heavy in the air, charged with weeks of tension, exhaustion, and longing. Joon-ho leaned down, pressing a slow kiss to the small of her back, his hands already moving, intent clear.

"Turn over," he said softly. "Let me take care of you."

And Mirae did—heart pounding, body burning, ready to be filled, to be undone, to finally let go.