Ye-rin's entire body jolted against the treatment bed as Joon-ho's thumbs dug mercilessly into her thigh again, driving into the line of tension he had mapped earlier. The pressure wasn't fleeting—it was sustained, grinding down into the knot until her muscles had nowhere to run.
Her back arched, hands fisting tight in the sheets. "Ahhh—stop, stop, it hurts!" Her voice cracked, raw with desperation.
Joon-ho didn't so much as glance at her face. His gaze stayed fixed on the fibers beneath his hands, his expression calm, detached. "If you've still got the energy to shout at me," he said evenly, "then you've got the energy to endure it."
"B-but—ahhh!" Her answer was another yelp, half a cry, half a protest. The sound filled the room, bouncing off the sterile white walls. Sweat beaded at her temples, sliding down to dampen her hairline.
