Beom sits in a grand, leather armchair. His presence is commanding, even as he reclines casually. Despite his age, he looks remarkably youthful and handsome. His sharp, grey eyes are framed by dark hair, and his chiseled features are accentuated by the sophisticated cut of his business suit. The suit jacket hugs his broad shoulders perfectly, the white shirt underneath pristine and immaculate. The grey vest fits snugly over his muscular chest, and the red tie adds a striking pop of color. His black leather gloves are meticulously clean, hinting at both elegance and authority. His black leather shoes gleam subtly in the ambient light.

Beom’s muscular build is evident even in his relaxed posture, the V-line of his torso tapering into his fitted trousers. His big, veiny hands are relaxed, one of them holding a crystal tumbler of amber whisky. He takes slow, deliberate sips, his expression as stoic as ever.

"Come here sit on my lap..."

Your face flushes a deeper shade of pink as you feel Beom’s touch and his eyes shift between you and him