Peerless Perverted Actor Has a Celebrity Harem?!

The double doors opened slowly, like a curtain rising on a room that was really too big to be called a bedroom.

The ceiling soared nearly two stories above the gleaming dark floor, heavy carved beams lending the room a warmth and intimacy that belonged to an old manor, not a hotel suite.

Tall windows lined the outer wall, curtains drawn aside to reveal the estate glowing against the night. A marble fireplace presided over a sunken lounge, where deep leather sofas and shining low tables invited quiet conversation. Bookshelves climbed toward the ceiling, accessible only by slender brass ladders.

Each doorway leading deeper into Park’s wing stood unusually tall, framed in dark, lustrous wood that gleamed with polished grain.

An open pair ahead revealed part of his bedroom. The remaining passages led toward his study, dressing rooms, bath, private dining area, and balcony.

Park remembered all of it.

He could point out the cabinet with the alcohol he rarely touched. The memories surfaced effortlessly, yet standing here in the flesh felt oddly foreign.

Everything was his, yet the space lacked the warmth of a place truly lived in.

The suite was immaculate, too immaculate, perhaps. No clothes draped over chairs, no half-read books abandoned on tables, no photos of friends, no trace of personal habits or hobbies anywhere.

The old Park had haunted these rooms for years, leaving behind almost nothing of himself, as if even here he feared to leave a mark.

Park removed his jacket and tossed it across the back of a sofa.

Behind him, Quinn closed the tall doors. The thick wood closed with a quiet, expensive sound, shutting out the corridor and the rest of the house, leaving just the two of them under the warm glow of the lights.

She lingered by the entrance, calm as ever, hands loosely folded. Her eyes swept the room with the practiced precision of someone who never entered a space without mapping every angle. Park, meanwhile, slowly loosened the top button of his collar, his warm golden gaze settling on her.

"Come... closer... Quinn..."

Quinn’s eyes met his.

She paused for a moment, then crossed the room with her usual measured discipline; her heels made a quiet sound on the polished floor before she stopped a few feet away.

Park could nearly read the reason behind her decision.

He had given her an order, or something like it.

She was responsible for his safety, and refusing an order without a good reason would only make things more awkward.

Walking closer did not mean she was giving in to his charm, or that she was curious about what he would do now that they were alone in a room built for silence.

It certainly did not mean she wanted to find out.

’Or maybe she does.’

Quinn had likely resolved to keep everything clean and professional long before her second step echoed across the floor.

Park just smiled, quietly amused.

’Uptight,’ he folded his hands behind his back and stepped forward with slow patience.

His gaze traveled over her without asking anyone’s permission, not even his own.

The elegance of her grey suit did not, in any real sense, diminish the strength beneath it.

She was tall and beautifully shaped in the particular stern, all sharp lines above a body that had refused to negotiate its curves down to fit them. Her waist narrowed cleanly beneath the fitted jacket, the taper emphasized by the way the fabric had been cut to obey a body it clearly worshipped.

Long legs beneath a pencil skirt that had chosen to be respectable everywhere except the small honest inch above her knee where the hem stopped being generous. Even standing still, she carried the quiet coiled readiness like she could cross the room before danger had finished deciding what it wanted.

And the rest of her—the tailored suit could not conceal it from a man with cognac-gold eyes to see beneath the surface.

The full shape of her breasts was held under the buttoned jacket, gently pressing against the lapels every time she breathed. The clean, sharp line of her throat rose into a jaw made for holding her chin up against defiance. Her dark hair pulled back so tightly the hairline had given in, and every strand had probably obeyed the hairbrush like an order.

Her lips painted a color so quietly professional it somehow looked like no color at all, and which probably had not been kissed properly in longer than the woman wearing them would ever admit.

’Christ, Quinn,’ he thought, admiring her with the leisurely undressing gaze like a connoisseur seeing a private collection for the first time. ’They have you dressed like a coffin lid, and all it makes me want is to hear what sound you make when the lid comes off.’

Outwardly, Park’s expression remained composed. He only tilted his head slightly.

Inside, he was already counting every pin in her hair, imagining how many would tumble free if he loosened just the first two.

"Do you need something, sir?" she asked.

Park took a slow step toward her.

"Yes."

"What?"

"You Quinn."

Her face remained unchanged, but her eyes sharpened, alert and assessing.

"For what purpose?"

"Right now?" He stopped just before her. "Honesty."

"That sounds ominous."

"It probably is."

He studied her face for a long silent beat, and for once the humor in his smile faded rather than sharpening.

"I’ve liked you for a long time, Quinn."

That rattled Quinn’s composure so fast and sudden more than any bold compliment he had offered in the car. Her brows knit together, precise as a lock sliding into place.

"Park..."

He noticed it immediately.

She did not call him Sir, Master Bennett, or Young Master but Park.

Hearing his name from her lips made her seem softer, almost uncertain. That subtle shift in a voice trained for a lifetime of reports and orders encouraged him more than it should.

’Do it again,’ he whispered in his mind, pleased. ’Say my name again, Quinn. In that voice. In that voice. Let me hear what your professional discipline sounds like when it slips just a little on its own.’

"I mean it," he said, his voice slower and deeper.

His cognac-gold eyes met hers with the steady warmth of someone finally reaching out.

"I liked seeing you around the house. I liked your voice, even when you spoke to me as if I might break if you used the wrong tone. I liked how calm you always were, how you never treated me like an embarrassment, and how you could stand next to my mother without ever fading into her shadow."

Quinn said nothing. Her attention had become complete.

They stood together in the faint glow from the dim light beyond the reach of curious eyes. ’Listen, Quinn,’ the rogue murmured quietly. ’This is just the beginning.’

"And yes, I noticed how beautiful you were. Of course I did." His eyes moved openly over her face, taking their time with it now, no longer pretending the appraisal was anything other than what it was. "I would have needed to be blind not to. I noticed your eyes, your smile, your figure, the way you entered a corridor and somehow made everyone else straighten their backs. I noticed the sound of your heels before you appeared, and how I always looked up even when I pretended I hadn’t."

’And I noticed the way your blouse strained when you turned to look over your shoulder in the east corridor last Thursday, and how the second button had been sitting one thread away from surrender for the entire month. I noticed you, Quinn. In the vulgar way. In the way you would rather I hadn’t. In every single way the old me was too much of a coward to name aloud.’

A faint blush appeared on her cheeks, giving away her serene facade.

A slow, cunning smile nibbled at Park’s lips.

"I noticed far more than I ever had the nerve to admit."

A subtle change played across her face. It was not quite disbelief, more a tentative curiosity she had not yet chosen to conceal.

The severity in her features softened, and even her tightly held mouth relaxed, rigid line melting into uncertainty.

"You have never spoken to me this way before."

"I’ve never done many things I wanted to do."

Park let his look drift to the windows, where estate lights shimmered across the glass. When he looked back, a quiet thrill ran through him: her eyes had never left his face.

’I want to make you mine, Quinn. And you’ll be mine in a day or two.’

"You see, Quinn, I spent most of my life afraid of everything. Afraid of disappointing my parents, afraid of drawing attention, afraid people would learn I existed and decide I wasn’t worth the trouble of hiding. I still remember the winter I stayed in my room for two days rather than face my father’s birthday dinner, because I couldn’t bring myself to speak up at the table, couldn’t risk being asked a single question."

His jaw stiffened by a fraction. "I wavered until hesitation became my entire personality. Whenever I wanted something, I found a reason not to reach for it. Whenever I wanted to say something, I convinced myself silence was safer."

Quinn’s expression eased, and her guarded look faded.

Park gave a quiet laugh, but there was no real humor in it.

"Then I had the accident today, nothing serious, but it could have been much worse."

She shifted, every muscle suddenly alert.

"What accident?"

The question broke the mood, leaving no trace of flirtation or distance. In that moment, she was all business, the head of security—accustomed to overseeing his safety.

Her authority was clear and in control.

"At work."

"Why was I not informed?"

"You weren’t assigned to me yet, Quinn, haha."

"That is irrelevant. Were you taken to a hospital?"

"I was treated."

"Where were you injured?"

Before Park could answer, Quinn came closer, closing the gap between them. The way she moved those last two feet shook him more than anything she could have said. Her hands worked quickly and confidently as she checked his face, neck, and shoulder.

"Park, where?"

He raised one hand and pushed his hair aside near the temple, exposing the edge of the dressing concealed beneath it.

Quinn’s eyes grew wide.

Her fingers paused, then gently touched the skin around the bandage with care. The touch of her gloved fingertips on his warm temple sent a sudden, foolish tingle through Park’s chest that had nothing to do with his injury.

’Christ,’ he thought, undone. ’Christ, Quinn.’