Looking into the camera, Cheon Areum tilted his head slightly and smiled. He hooked one finger into the neckline of his white tank top. The cotton stretched easily as he tugged the fabric low enough to expose the elegant hollow of his collarbone. A faint, still-reddened bite mark was visible. He stuck out his tongue and dragged it slowly through the air—a teasing, wet line that ended mere millimeters from the lens. To the camera, it looked exactly like he was licking it—licking the viewer. A soft, filthy click of tongue against teeth followed in the pin-drop silence of the elevator.
