Chapter 29
MINJI
My career and readers deserve better than a last-minute cancellation, but I seriously thought about it.
There was a shift in Minji this morning.
Her fingers dug into my shoulders; her voice dropped to that commanding whisper that made my skin burn.
It was like she’d found a secret room inside herself and flung the door wide open.
I’d happily spend the next two days exploring that room.
Instead, I trail after her like a lovesick puppy through the empty bookstore, Advent Pages, where my next signing starts in less than an hour.
I scroll through my phone while she stops in the non-fiction section and picks up a book.
“The doors are going to open in an hour.” I walk closer.
“You nervous?” Minji asks, looking up from the book she’s been flipping through.
I scan the rows of empty chairs awaiting readers, running fingers through my hair. “After a hundred signings? Please. But if I were nervous, would you ease my nerves?”
“Depends. Do you need easing?” She places the book back on the shelf.
“Come with me.” I take her hand and lead her to my signing area.
We slip behind the signing table into the small curtained space set up for authors before events.
My heart races as she follows me quietly.
I love seeing this side of her. I press her gently against the wall.
The space smells like new books and coffee, with just enough room for a table and chair.
Her body fits against mine, her breath catching as my hands find her waist.
“So, I’ll ask you again, do you need easing?”
I raise an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t like indecent exposure or PDA.”
“Well,” she begins, suddenly reversing our positions, pushing me back against the wall with surprising strength. She fingers the chain at my neck before her hand slides down my chest, fingers tracing the outline of my belt buckle. “We are behind closed curtains. No one is here right now but us.”
My breath catches as her hand dips lower, cupping me through my jeans. “Minji, we can’t—the staff could—”
“Could what?” she whispers. “Catch the famous Aaron Singleton being thoroughly debauched? You pulled me back here for a reason. Don’t tell me you are shy now.”
Before I can comment, she drops to her knees, looking up at me.
“Hold on,” I manage, despite how my body betrays me. “Tabitha might hear.”
“Then I suggest you stay very quiet.” Her fingers work at my zipper. “Unless you want her to get an earful.”
When her mouth closes around me, my head hits the wall.
She’s slow and focused, watching every reaction as I try not to make a sound.
Just as the tension peaks, a voice calls out from the bookstore floor.
I’ve awakened something wild in Minji. A sex demon, I guess.
She told me it’s been a while since she had sex, but her drive is high.
“Aaron?” I hear Tabitha call out to me.
“Tabitha!” I call out in a strangled whisper, hands flying to Minji’s shoulders. She doesn’t stop, those clever lawyer lips working me with devastating precision. Through the thin curtain, I hear my agent’s voice growing closer, chatting with what must be the bookstore manager.
“Aaron? Are you back there?”
Minji pulls back just enough to whisper, “What will you do? Risk getting caught or miss out on this?” Her tongue traces a slow circle around the tip of my cock that makes my knees buckle.
“Just—checking on some notes!” I call out, my voice embarrassingly high. “Be right there!”
Tabitha’s footsteps pause. “Need anything? We’ve got fifteen minutes before the setup crew wants to check the lighting.”
Minji takes me deeper, her eyes locked on mine, challenging me to keep my composure. Fuck.
“I’m good!” I manage, threading my fingers through her silky hair. “Perfect, actually.”
I hear Tabitha’s footsteps retreating, and Minji increases her pace, her hands gripping my thighs.
The danger, the thrill of possibly being discovered, pushes me to the edge faster than I expected.
I bite down on my fist to stifle a groan as pleasure rockets through me, my body shuddering as Minji takes everything I give her.
When she stands up, she looks completely composed, with only a satisfied gleam in her eyes and slightly swollen lips hinting at what just happened. “There,” she says, straightening up. “Consider your nerves eased.”
I pull her against me, claiming her mouth with mine. “You’re going to pay for that later,” I promise against her mouth, and her eyes widen slightly. “I promise I won’t edge you.”
“Well, in that case, I can’t wait.”
I hastily make myself decent, fumbling with my zipper.
“Showtime,” she sings, reaching to straighten my collar.
I catch her hand before she can step away. “Because I’m a gentleman, I’ll give you a heads up, but tonight I’m taking your ass.”
Her breath hitches, and I watch her pupils dilate with desire. “Is that a promise or a threat?”
“Both, but I promise to take care of you every step of the way,” I murmur, stealing a final taste of her lips before stepping through the curtain.
The signing was a runaway success, nothing like the stiff San Fran events I’d braced for.
Readers arrived with dog-eared copies of every book I’d written, not just the latest. But the real surprise was how quickly Minji became the center of attention.
Tabitha orchestrated it perfectly, winking as she vanished to ‘chat with the events coordinator.’ Minji took over, uncapping Sharpies and sliding books my way like she’d done it a hundred times.
The questions started out innocent but soon drifted into the personal.
“So, who’s this gorgeous woman?” a middle-aged reader asked, eyeing Minji as I signed her battered paperback.
The question rippled through the crowd, heads turning, whispers buzzing.
Minji shot me a look—half disbelief, half amusement—before answering with cool poise, “I’m just a divorce attorney, helping out a friend. ”
Her answer unleashed chaos. “Oh my God, you’re Sophia from his upcoming book Love and Lawsuits.
” The woman squealed, hand to her chest. Instantly, half a dozen readers abandoned the line, swarming Minji with phones at the ready.
She glanced at me, half-panicked, half-laughing, then faced the crowd with courtroom composure.
She fielded their questions, never confirming or denying their wild theories about being my muse.
By the time we reach the hotel, my phone is exploding.
#MinjisLaw is trending, flooded with selfies of her dazzling smile.
The woman who once dismissed romance novels as ‘contractual fantasies’ now has book club invites piling up in my direct messages.
Watching her charm my readers stirs something unexpected in me, pride, and maybe something more.
Back in our hotel room, Minji is tipsy—Tabitha’s doing—after a round of celebratory drinks.
I can’t tell if I should be concerned or just enjoy how uninhibited she becomes, her laughter infectious.
I half-expect her to collapse in the elevator after all the limoncello spritzes and the whirlwind of attention, but she’s buzzing with energy.
The moment the door shuts, she makes a beeline for the minibar.
“Inadmissible,” she proclaims, brandishing a tiny bottle of hotel gin. “But I’ll allow it.” She waves it at me with mock authority, cheeks flushed, her usual composure melting into something softer and more alluring.
“You know those cost twenty bucks a shot, right?” I’m not trying to seem like a penny pincher, but damn. However, it doesn’t matter now she’s already downed it, grimacing at the taste.
“Worth it.” She tosses the empty bottle on the floor and rummages for tonic. “God, I needed this.” She sighs, finally sinking onto the mattress. The glass bottle dangles from her fingers, cool droplets glistening on her thigh.
“Had fun?” I ask, stepping in until I’m standing between her knees.
She looks up, lips curving into a slow, deliberate smile. “You’ve got two interviews tomorrow, and you’re still trying to seduce me.”
“A gentleman has to have principles.” I cup her face, my thumb tracing her lower lip.
My need for her is a physical ache. I want to memorize every version of Minji Lee—the steely professional and the wild woman before me now.
The glass bottle is still in her grip, and when her knuckles graze the front of my pants.
“Careful,” I warn, but she’s already unbuttoning my pants.
“I want to try something.” Her words slur slightly. “Don’t move.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I stand perfectly still, watching her.
She downs the rest of the gin and makes a production of licking the dribbled drop from her lip.
She slides my pants and underwear down, releasing my dick, stroking it with both hands as I brace myself on the dresser behind her.
Then she takes the cold, wet rim of the bottle and presses it right to that spot beneath the head, the chilled glass a stark contrast to the heat already pulsing through me.
The first touch makes my knees buckle, but she holds me steady, smiling up with wicked intent.
I have no defense against her when she’s like this.
She moves the bottle up and down with slow, lingering friction, switching between the cold glass and the heat of her mouth.
“You’re beautiful when you’re trying not to beg,” she murmurs.
I want to tell her I’d beg her until I lost my voice, but I can’t speak at all right now.
I grip the dresser, my fingers tangled in her hair, careful not to break her focus.
She turns it into a game, seeing how close she can get me to losing control.
She switches between hot and cold, her tongue swirling, the cold glass tracing the ridge, making me tremble.
When she tightens her throat around me, I see white and have to bite down to keep quiet.