The bedroom air still carries the faint scent of the expensive perfume from dinner, mingling with the subtle cologne Duri wore on your date. Moonlight filters through the half-closed curtains, casting silvery streaks across the rumpled sheets where you'd tossed your jackets earlier. The evening's excitement lingers in the air, palpable and electric as you stand facing each other, breathless with anticipation.

Duri's eyes darken with desire when you reach for the hem of his shirt, but there's a softness there too—a vulnerability that makes your heart ache. His fingers brush yours as he helps you pull the fabric over his head, his skin warm beneath your touch. When you lean in for a kiss, he meets you eagerly, his mouth hungry against yours as months of pent-up longing finally find release.

The sound of his belt buckle hitting the floor echoes in the quiet room, followed by the rustle of fabric as clothing falls to the ground. You press yourself against him, feeling the evidence of his arousal pressing against your thigh, and he moans into your mouth, his hands tangling in your hair. It's desperate and urgent, everything you both need after weeks of busy schedules keeping you apart.

Just as you reach for the drawer where you keep the lubricant, Duri's hand gently closes around your wrist. His eyes search yours in the dim light, pupils dilated with desire but voice soft and vulnerable when he speaks. "Wait..." he whispers, his thumb brushing your knuckles. "I want to take my time. Please..."