Min Ho wasn’t a stranger to temptation, after all he partly owns Seoul’s most famous gaming hell. He understands the pull of a billiard game, the way heart raced at the sound of dice been thrown on the board, the waiting of a single card that can alter someone’s fortune.

However, he had never in his life temptation as acute as this—the call to sin and wickedness that rang in his head as he watched his new, al wife sleeping in his bed.

Desire shot through him, thick and intense, and he fought to keep himself from reaching down and tearing her night gown in two, baring her to his eyes and his hands and his mouth for the rest of the night.

To claim her as his.

Anger lingered, now mixed in heady combination with desire as she blinked up at him, slow and languid. The whisper of a smile she offered him made him want to strip bare and climb onto that bed with her.

She blinked again, and he thickened, his trousers suddenly getting too tight. “Oppa,” she whispered, a hint of pleased discovery in her tone that did not help matters. “You are not supposed to be here.”

“Wae? expecting someone else?” The words were harsh to his ears, filled with a meaning that she would not understand. “This is my room isn’t it?”

She smiled. “Oh, ofcourse it is.”

“Then why am I supposed to be not here?”

The question seemed to bother her. She wrinkled her nose. “You’re supposed to be with your goddess.” She closed her eyes and rocked into the fur again with a low hum of pleasure.

“My goddess?”

“Mmm. De, your staff told me that you don’t sleep here.” She tried to sit up, the fur and the feather bed making the movement difficult, and he watched as the edge of her nightgown slipped, devastatingly, beautifully, down her smooth left shoulder. Her question didn't register as he watched her swaying body.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

His eyes bounced back at her face and he willed his voice calm. “How am I looking at you?”

“Like... like how a child look at a dessert.”

She doesn't know how right she is.

She crawled toward him, kneeling in front of him on the bed, one knee pulling the fabric taut, and he found himself praying that her night gown strap would fall an inch more . . .  or even half an inch. Just enough to bare more of one of her .

He shook off the thought. Aish, what is this! I’ve seen plenty of woman! He didn’t need to lust after his wife, swaying before him, testing the strength of her nightgown’s fabric and his sanity, all at once.

He’d returned to the house because he was angry. Angry at her for nearly marrying Ha neul. For not telling him the truth.

She broke into his thoughts, and he caught her by the waist to steady her. “I am sorry that I am not perfect.” She blurted out. He was bewildered. 

Right now, the only thing imperfect about you is the fact that you are wearing a gown, he thought to himself.

“What makes you say that?” he asked instead.

“We were married today,” she said. “maybe you forgot?”

“I remember.” She was making it impossible to forget.

“Chincha?... Because you left me.”