Winner Winner Chicken Dinner

The air in the venue hummed with a few hundred voices, a wall of sound that pressed against your ears. The looping of the album you've been listening to nonstop since it came out. Quick, disorienting flashes and clicks of cameras. The brief time with each member of IVE as you shuffled past the table, your album clutched in damp hands. Your nerves getting the best of you, fumbling over your own words every time. Wait, was Liz just eyeing you up and down and giving you a smirk as you babbled? Your time at the table was over before you could process it, ejected back into your auditorium seat.

As everyone was leaving the auditorium, your phone buzzed. An unknown number. A message stating you’d won a secret raffle. Instructions to meet a staff member at a discreet side door and to think of who's your favorite member. Your heart hammered a frantic, uneven rhythm against your ribs as you made your way down the hallway outside.

There's no way this is legit, right?

The door clicked shut behind the staffer, leaving you in a softly lit lounge. Plush sofas, a low table with water bottles. And her.

Liz was wearing the same outfit she had on earlier, simple black leggings and an oversized cream sweater that slipped off one shoulder. She looked up from her phone. “You chose me? I was hoping you would. Winner winner chicken dinner,” giving you the same smirk from earlier that was burned into your brain.

Your throat felt dry. You managed a nod.

She stood, the movement fluid and deliberate, and walked over until she was just a foot away. The faint, sweet scent of her perfume, jasmine and something warmer, like vanilla, wrapped around you. “Well here's your prize,” she said, her voice a low murmur that seemed to vibrate in the quiet room. “You get private time. With me.” Her gaze traveled over you, from your shoes back up to your eyes. “And we can do… whatever you want.”

The words hung in the air. Whatever you want. Your mind emptied of everything but the sight of her. You couldn't fuck this up.

“We should…” you started, the words a rough scrape.

“Tell me what you want,” she said while taking one of your hands in both of hers. Her fingers were warm. She guided your palm to rest against the her chest. “Or don’t. Just take it.”

That was all the permission you needed. The dam broke. You leaned in, catching her mouth with yours. Her lips were impossibly soft, yielding under the pressure of yours before they moved, opening with a sigh that tasted of mint. She pushed back with her mouth, her tongue knocking on the door of your lips, a slick, exploratory touch that sent a jolt straight down your spine.

Your hands found the hem of her sweater, pushing it up. She raised her arms, helping you pull it over her head. You threw it off to the side. She wore nothing underneath. The sight stole your breath, the graceful slope of her shoulders, the perkiness of her breasts, nipples already drawn into tight, dusky peaks.

“Fuck,” you breathed out, the word more air than sound.

“Mmm, you like that?” she whispered, her own hands going to the button of your jeans. Her fingers fumbled slightly, a small, human imperfection that made everything more real. She freed you, her eyes widening just a fraction as she took in the sight. “Oh. Well then.” Her hand wrapped around your length, the touch firm and sure. “You’re so hard for me already.”

She sank to her knees on the plush carpet, never breaking eye contact. Her breath fanned over the sensitive head of your cock, hot and damp. Then her tongue darted out, a flat, wet stripe from base to tip. You gasped, your fingers tangling in her hair.

“Ahh… Liz…”

“Shhh,” she murmured, then took you into her mouth.

The heat was immediate and overwhelming. Her lips formed a perfect, tight seal as she slid down, taking you deeper than you thought possible. Her tongue swirled, pressing against the underside. A low, satisfied hum vibrated from her throat and into you, knocking the air out of your lungs. Maintain your composure man. Her head began to bob, a slow, deep rhythm that had your knees trembling. She pulled back with a wet, obscene sound, saliva glistening on you and her lips. “You taste sooooooo good,” she moaned, as if to herself, before diving back down with renewed hunger.

Whatever you want.

You couldn’t take it. You gently pulled her up. “I need to be inside you,” you growled, the desire sanding your voice to gravel.

A wild, eager light shone in her eyes. “Yes. Please.” She pushed her leggings and panties down in one frantic motion, kicking them aside. Her hand going between her legs to make sure she was ready for you. She turned, putting her knees on the couch, resting her elbows on the back of it, presenting that tight ass to you. She reached back and spread, showing the glistening wetness between her thighs, it was a vision that burned itself into your mind. "You just going to stand there or what?" she teased.

You positioned yourself, the head of your cock nudging against her entrance. She was soaking, the heat radiating from her. Well here it goes. You pushed in.

“OHHHHH, GOD!” The scream was ripped from her, her back bowing. She was incredibly tight, a silken, molten sheath that stretched to accommodate you. You sank in deeper, inch by torturous inch, until your hips met the soft flesh of her ass. You were buried to the hilt.

“Fuck… you’re so… deep… ah-ah-ah…” she chanted, each shallow thrust from you punching a broken syllable from her lips.

You began to move. Slowly at first, a long, dragging withdrawal followed by a firm, punctuating drive back in. The sound was fucking filthy, a slick, rhythmic slap of skin on skin, mixed with the wet suction of her body taking you. Her moans were a continuous, escalating soundtrack. Hang in there.

“Harder… hnng… right there!” she cried out, pushing her hips back against you. “You feel… uhn… so fucking good!”

You obliged, your grip on her hips tightening as you pistoned into her, the pace becoming frantic, desperate. The room filled with the sounds of your ragged breathing, her sharp cries, and the relentless, rhythmic impact. You both were starting to sweat. You could see every muscle in her dancer's back tensing and releasing, see the way her fingers clawed at the sofa fabric.

“I can’t… I’m gonna… OHHH, FUCKKK!” Her entire body seized. A powerful, rippling contraction clenched around your cock, a series of intense pulses that milked you. Her scream was raw, unfiltered pleasure. “I’M CUMMING!”

The sensation tore your own control to shreds. With a final, deep thrust that forced a guttural grunt from your throat, you let yourself go. “Liz!” The release was volcanic, surging up from your balls in hot, pulsing waves that filled her. You held yourself there, buried deep as you emptied yourself, each spasm wracking your body.

For a long moment, the only sounds were your panting breaths. What the fuck just happened? You felt the aftershocks tremble inside her. Slowly, you pulled out. A trickle of your combined release traced a path down her inner thigh.

She turned, collapsing back against the sofa, her chest heaving. Her face was flushed, her lips swollen, her hair a beautiful mess. She looked utterly wrecked and completely satisfied. A lazy, triumphant smile touched her lips.

“So,” she breathed out, her voice cracking. “Was that… everything you wanted?”