YOU WIN SOME, YOU LOSE MORE.

Chief among the various qualities of Miyeon’s little “stints” is when they suddenly—and often inexplicably—go completely unhinged.  It’s when she’s left to her own devices, reaches into that wellspring of primordial chaos that sits in place of her brain, and she simply runs amok.

In the rare case you do catch her in the act, you’re always left in this eerie state of self-induced paralysis where you can’t quite figure out if it’s time to stop her or instead remain fixated on the Wonka tunnel of money-wasting insanity parading out in front of you. 

Inevitably, though, you remain transfixed, reconciling with the guarantee that your nightmares and motivation to show up for work are sorted for the next couple of weeks.

She’s probably cost you a couple thousand strands of hair (and the same amount in cash to the nth power), but frankly, the pros of having Cho Miyeon around marginally outweigh the cons.

Marginally.

“It’ll just be a weekend,” Miyeon assures for perhaps the fifteen hundredth time, hooking her fingers into your waistband for the sixteenth.

You barely manage a scoff before she tugs, pulling your pants and underwear down with one hand and switches off the tv with the other. 

“Miyeon, I was watching tha—Oh god.” The cool air hits first, then Miyeon’s warm hand, wrapping around your half-hard cock like the so very many times before.

You know what she’s doing is dangerous. 

You know it the same way you know that touching a hot stove is a bad idea, or that nothing good ever starts with “one more shot of tequila.” But Miyeon is nothing if not persuasive, and you’re nothing if not weak for her.

Her first stroke is slow. The second is even slower. Then, her thumb swipes over your tip, gathering the wetness already beading there.

“It’s Vegas, baby,” she coos, stroking you with that slow, lazy precision she knows gets you worked up. “A couple days of fun, a little gambling, a lot of sex…” Her lips press against your stomach, leaving a trail of featherlight kisses. “We’ll be responsible. I promise.”

You shoot her a look. “You promise?”

Miyeon nuzzles against your inner thigh, doing her best impression of a hungry pet. “Mmhmm.”

“You promised last time too.”

She giggles. “And last time was fun, wasn’t it?”

“You bet fourty fucking thousand on a horse race.”

“...It was fun?” She tries.

“She came in dead last, Miyeon.”

“It was a national holiday!” She defends. “I was simply embracing the culture.”

“Miyeon, embracing the culture is trying like… Vegemite, or some shit. Not tanking our savings because some horse had ‘aura’.

“Funny. Because I distinctly remember you becoming very forgiving after we got back to the hotel.”

“That’s not relevant.”

“Oh, but it is,” she retorts, hand still working you. “I mean, what kind of man gets that angry, then five minutes later—”

“It wasn’t five minutes later,” you interrupt, “And it doesn’t change the fact that—”

Miyeon intercepts your argument by tightening her grip, stroking you just right, and in an instant your memories of the whole trip are lost to the ether like the countless others before it.

“Fuuuuck,” you exhale, head tipping back against the couch and you’re practically waving the white flag before she’s even got you in her mouth.

You know she’s full of shit. You know it. A weekend in Vegas with Miyeon sounds about as harmless as a lit match in a petrol station. Let this woman out of your sight for a microsecond and she’ll cut your net worth in half. But God, the look she’s got in her eyes…

And then she lowers her head.

Her lips brush against your tip, tongue escaping her mouth to find its rightful place against your length—all culminating in a slow, deliberate lick.

Miyeon takes her time: licking, teasing, letting warm breath fan over sensitive skin before she even thinks about taking you into her mouth. 

She flicks her tongue over the tip, light as a feather, like she’s savoring a lollipop and not coercing the fruits of your career with a half-assed blowjob and a smile.

But damn if it’s not a persuasive fucking smile.

"It’s just a little trip, baby," she entices as she flicks off the tip again, nails ghosting up your thigh, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

You don’t respond. You’re too busy trying not to give in to this intoxicating little succubus. She can see it on your face, though—your fragile resistance, your already crumbling resolve—and without breaking eye contact, she finally takes you into her mouth.

Your hands instinctively fly to her hair, fingers tangling in silky raven strands as she bobs her head, staring right into your soul as she does it. She moans around you—actually fucking moans—like this is all for her pleasure, not yours, and—fuck—you’re losing the plot already.

“Miyeon,” you grit out, trying to sound firm, trying to remember the argument you were definitely winning five seconds ago.

She pulls off you with a wet pop. “Hmm?”

“This is not how negotiations work.”

She tilts her head as her hand replaces her mouth, stroking across you from tip to base. “Oh?” She feigns innocence, “I thought I was making a pretty strong case.”

You glare, or at least try to. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

She grins, standing up to press a kiss to your lips. “And you love me anyway.”

That’s the problem, you think.

"Vegas," she sings, planting another kiss on your thigh on her trip back down. She realigns her mouth with your tip and twirls her tongue on the sensitive bit of skin right where you need her. It’s dancing, meandering, and all you can think about is when she’ll take you back into her warm mouth. 

Your hands find purchase in her hair once more, fingers burying themselves in her soft locks. You try pulling her head down onto you, try to make her give you something more than these excruciating licks, but she resists—letting you tug, letting you pull, but ultimately refusing to budge.

"Vegas, baby," she reminds you in between licks. You’d call it begging, but with you under her spell, Miyeon is the one with all the cards right now.

"We…” You let out a shaky breath, trying to hold on to what little control of the situation you have, “—just got back from your last trip."

"That was different," she says, sickly sweet. "That was for me.” 

Her voice drops. 

“This is for us."

Fuck, this is like manipulation 101, and for no other reason than wanting to bury her face into your hips, you’re falling for it.

Again.

“Please, Miyeon. Just—”

“Fine, fine,” she concedes, almost a little too easily.

Whatever torturous pace she’d set before—teasing licks, slow strokes, featherlight touches—is gone. In its place is something hungry—a primal urge to please. Miyeon’s mouth sinks right down over you, almost instantly prodding at the back of her throat.

And then she sucks.

By God does she suck.

If not for the fact she needs you alive to even make it to Vegas, you would think she’s trying to put you six-feet-under by sucking out every last breath from your lungs. Her fingers—slender and slicked—stroke what she can’t fit, creating one almighty tandem. Every suck sets your neurons ablaze, every stroke drives you closer to release.

You're close. So damn close. And she can feel it.

Your fingers curl tighter in her hair, your hips jerking up on instinct. She takes it, all of it, throat tightening around you as you bury yourself into her.  You're on the brink. The cusp of something extraordinary. A liberating release that could fill the fucking Nile.

And then she stops.

Your entire body jerks, your hips trying to move up to meet her now withdrawn mouth.

"Miyeon—" you gasp and groan.

She grins up at you, licking her lips. "Say yes."

You blink at her, panting, pulse hammering loud. So loud, in fact, it drowns out all rational thought. Though, even in your haze, the truth is still clear as day:

"You’re evil."

She smiles in kind. "In the flesh."

You groan, fists clenching on the couch as she just sits there, watching you. Waiting. If she so much as breathed on you, you’d fall apart. But she doesn’t. She stays exactly where she is, smug and patient, because she knows she’s won.

You want to hold out. You really do.

But then she leans in, her lips just ghosting over you—so close, so agonizingly close—before pulling back again, her smile downright wicked.

"Say yes, baby," she purrs. "And I'll make it so worth your while."

Your head falls back against the pillows. 

"Miyeon, please."

"Not until you agree."

You can’t believe this is happening. You can’t believe she’s doing this. You can’t believe you’re falling for it.

But you’re too close to turn back now.

"Vegas,” you rasp. “We’ll go to Vegas."

Miyeon’s face lights up like she's already won the jackpot. "Really?"

"Yes, really," you groan. "Now, please—"

But she's already giggling, pressing another kiss to your tip like it makes up for committing torture by way of edging.

"Good boy," she says all sultry.

And then, finally—finally—she gives you what you want.

Which is exactly why, five minutes later, you’re yanking your pants back up, frantically Googling “cheapest flights to Vegas” with one hand and praying to your overdraft protection with the other.

…as well as reevaluating your whole pro-con rationale.