CHASING - Kwon JiYong x YN fan
A tight black dress, a bit too much vodka, and a friend with a VIP pass. You never expected your night in Gangnam to turn real—until you catch the eye of Kwon Jiyong. What starts as a tense, reckless game of lingering stares on a throbbing club dance floor quickly blurs into something far more dangerous...
Fandom/Era: G-Dragon / Kwon Jiyong (2014 Black Hair Era) Pairing: Jiyong x Y/N (Reader)
Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, Unprotected P-in-V Sex Heavy Dirty Talk / Praise Interaction, Finger/Hand Content, Overstimulation / Multiple Orgasms, Alcohol Consumption (Liquid Courage), Semi-Public sex, Marking (Biting, neck kissing)
Words: 5954
-----------------------------------------------------
When your friend, a bartender at one of Gangnam’s most exclusive underground clubs, casually mentioned that G-Dragon had been frequenting the spot and offered to slip you past the velvet ropes, you had laughed straight in his face. It felt like a joke. But right now, standing in the heart of the throbbing, bass-heavy venue in a tight black dress that felt a little too short, reality was hitting you hard. The cheap vodka burned the back of your throat as you stared through the haze of strobe lights and cigarette smoke, your breath catching.
Because he was really there.
Kwon Jiyong was lounging in the center of the VIP booth like a king on a modern throne, looking effortlessly lethal with his messy, black hair and smudged eyeliner. Your brain short-circuited; you couldn't think straight. But the worst part? The absolute most intoxicating, terrifying part?
You could swear his dark, hooded eyes had just locked onto yours through the crowd.
You didn’t look away. Maybe it was the liquid courage finally hitting your bloodstream, or maybe you were just paralyzed, but you held his gaze.
Yeah, it was definitely the vodka.
After that, time began to stretch and blur in a weird, intoxicating way. The club became a montage of strobe lights, heavy bass thumping against your chest, and the heat of shifting bodies. You drank more. The room spun in a pleasant, hazy rhythm, but no matter how much the crowd shifted, you could still feel his eyes on you like a physical touch.
Suddenly, the distance between you simply evaporated. You didn’t even realize how you’d drifted toward the edge of the VIP section until the heavy scent of rich tobacco and expensive Tom Ford cologne filled your senses.
You were dancing, your hips moving to the dark, grinding beat of the hip-hop track echoing through the speakers, when a sudden shift in the air made the hairs on your arms stand up. A shadow fell over you.
Before you could turn around, a body pressed against your back. A hand—cold, heavy with silver Chrome Hearts rings, and covered in intricate tattoos—slid firmly around your waist, pulling your lower back flush against his hips.
You gasped softly, your heart leaping into your throat as you felt the lean, solid weight of him behind you. He didn't let go. Instead, he leaned down, his jet-black hair brushing against your cheek as his lips hovered just centimeters from your ear.
"You dance very good," he murmured, his voice a low, raspy velvet that vibrated straight down your spine. "And that dress... looks incredible on you."
Your breath hitched, the heat of his compliments instantly clouding your mind. You bit your lower lip, trying to steady your racing pulse as you slightly tilted your head back toward him. "Thank you," you breathed out, the vodka making you braver than you actually were.
He let out a low, amused hum against your skin, his thumb caressing the soft fabric of your black dress right at your hip, keeping you pinned to his stride.
"I don't think I've seen you here before," he said, his dark eyes catching yours as you finally turned your head to look at him over your shoulder. His gaze was hooded, intense, and completely focused on you, making the rest of the crowded club fade into absolute nothingness.
"I don't party much," you confess, your voice barely a whisper over the music, but because his lips are practically brushing your ear, he catches every word.
"Shame," he murmurs, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners as a slow, wicked smirk pulls at his mouth.
"But I could," you counter, the sudden rush of bravery—that intoxicating cocktail of adrenaline and vodka—making you hold his intense gaze.
The smirk on his face deepens, dripping with approval.
He likes the challenge.
Without breaking eye contact, his heavily tattooed hand reaches over to the nearby VIP ledge, his long fingers wrapping around the neck of a dark green glass bottle. It's Dom Pérignon—the kind of vintage champagne that costs more than your monthly rent, bubbling and cold.
He doesn't bother with glasses. He lifts the bottle straight to his own lips, his sharp jawline defining itself as he takes a slow, deliberate swallow, his eyes never leaving yours.
When he pulls the bottle away, a single drop of the expensive liquid glints on his lower lip. He tilts the neck of the bottle in your direction, his silver rings catching the flashing neon lights.
"You want?" he asks, his voice a low, raspy drawl.
Your heart does a violent flip against your ribs. Instead of reaching for the bottle, you simply look up at him through your eyelashes and part your lips, opening your mouth in a silent, daring invitation.
Jiyong’s eyes darken instantly, the playful smirk shifting into something much hungrier. He steps closer, his thigh wedging between yours, completely trapping you against him. His left hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, his thumb resting firmly against your jawline to tilt your head back, steadying you.
"Good girl," he whispers.
Slowly, carefully, he tips the bottle over your parted lips. The crisp, burning sweetness of the vintage champagne pours into your mouth. It's heady and sharp, a few stray droplets escaping and trickling down the corner of your lip, running a cold path down your neck toward the collar of your short black dress.
He stops pouring but doesn't pull away. Instead, his thumb swiped across your bottom lip, catching the stray moisture before he presses the damp pad of his thumb against his own lips, tasting you.
He steps back into your space, his hands dropping from your neck to rest heavily on your hips, guiding your movements as the dark, grinding hip-hop beat wraps around you both. The crowd around you is a blur of flashing lights, but his focus is a laser beam, entirely pinned on you.
He leans down, his jet-black hair brushing your temple as he speaks over the music. "What's your name?"
"Y/N," you breathe out, your chest heaving against his.
"Mm. Pretty," he murmurs, his dark eyes tracing the lines of your face before locking back onto yours. "I'm Jiyong."
A breathless smile tugs at your lips. "I know. I'm a fan."
He freezes for a fraction of a second, his hands tightening slightly on your waist. A slow, deeply intrigued smirk spreads across his face. It’s an arrogant, beautiful look that screams G-Dragon, completely aware of the power he holds.
"Oh?" he drawls, leaning in closer so his lips ghost over your earlobe. "You came here for me then?"
Your face flushes hot, the vulnerability of the confession suddenly fighting through the vodka. "No, I—well..." You stammer, your eyes dropping to his collarbone for a split second before you force yourself to look back up. "Maybe a little."
Jiyong chuckles, a dark, vibrating sound that you feel deep in your chest. He loves the honesty. He slides one hand from your hip up to the small of your back, pulling you so close that there is absolutely no space left between you. Through the thin fabric of your short black dress, you can feel the heat radiating off him.
"A little?" he echoes, his voice dropping into a dangerous, gravelly whisper.
He leans back just an inch, his dark eyes narrowing as he studies your face, trying to see if you're bluffing. His hands remain heavy and possessive on your hips, keeping your body perfectly aligned with his.
"And what were you hoping to get, hm?" he asks, a mocking, incredibly attractive tilt to his head. He glides a thumb along the waistband of your dress. "A picture? An autograph?"
You swallow hard, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. But the alcohol in your veins refuses to let you back down now. You tilt your chin up, looking him dead in the eye, and let a slow, daring smile touch your lips.
"Well... what are you willing to give me?"
Jiyong stops moving entirely. For a single, agonizing second, the arrogant smirk vanishes from his face, replaced by a heavy, stunned silence. You've caught him off guard.
Then, a low, dark chuckle rumbles from the very depth of his chest. It’s a wicked, predatory sound. His eyes darken significantly, pupils dilating under the flashing neon lights until they look almost completely black. He looks at you not just as a fan anymore, but as a prize he has every intention of claiming.
"You're dangerous, Y/N," he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave, thick with a sudden, heavy desire.
A breathless, nervous laugh escapes you, but you don't back down. You slide your hands up his chest, his shirt slightly cool against your palms, contrast against the burning heat radiating from his body.
"Me?" you whisper, tilting your face up to his. "Don't lie. You're the one talking and touching me like this... you're the real danger."
"Oh, am I?" Jiyong asks, his dark eyes dropping to your lips, his chest rising and falling heavily against yours. The smirk is gone now, replaced by a raw, intense focus that makes your knees go weak.
"Yeah" you breathe against his lips.
The distance between you completely vanishes. You tilt your chin up just a fraction more, and he leans down, his heavy eyelids fluttering shut. For a split second, the world stops. You can feel the soft, pliant texture of his lips ghosting over yours—the taste of the vintage champagne and mint lingering on his breath. You close your eyes, bracing for the impact of a kiss that will probably ruin you for any other man.
But it doesn't come.
Instead, Jiyong abruptly tenses. He halts just millimeters from your mouth, letting out a sharp, frustrated breath. With a low groan, his face falls forward, burying itself in the crook of your neck. His hot breath tumbles against your bare collarbone, sending a violent shiver down your spine as his jet-black hair tickles your cheek.
"Beware, pretty girl," he mutters roughly into your skin, his hands gripping your hips so tightly his rings bite into your flesh. "Cameras are everywhere."
Your eyes snap open, reality rushing back in a cold wave. You look up at the shadows of the VIP lounge, suddenly remembering where you are.
"Sorry, I—" You stammer, your face flushing a deep crimson.
Jiyong lifts his head slowly, his eyes dark and heavily hooded as he looks down at your flustered expression. A tiny, wicked trace of his smirk returns, pleased by how much he's affected you.
"You were going to kiss me?" he asks, his voice a gravelly purr.
You swallow hard, biting your lip. "Maybe."
"I want to kiss you too," he confesses honestly, his gaze dropping to your mouth again, his thumb smoothing over your hip bone in a slow, agonizing circle.
"Yeah?" you breathe, your voice trembling slightly from the sheer amount of tension suffocating you both.
"Yeah."
"What—what do we do then?" you ask, your fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt for balance. You can't stay on this dance floor like this anymore; the heat between you is about to burst into flames.
Jiyong leans in close, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispers the solution, his voice dropping into a secret, possessive tone.
"I could take you outside... if you like. I have my car. Pretty private."
The reality of it doesn't even set in as you nod, completely breathless, your words trapped in your throat.
Jiyong doesn’t ask twice. The moment your chin drops in agreement, his fingers slide down your arm, wrapping firmly around your hand. His grip is warm, tight, and completely unyielding. He turns, using his free hand and his broad shoulders to anchor a path through the suffocating crowd of the VIP section.
You follow blindly, your heart stammering so violently against your ribs it feels loud enough to compete with the bass. Your eyes are fixed on the back of his head, on the sharp line of his jet-black hair shifting as he moves.
Omg, this is actually happening, your brain screams through the vodka-induced haze. How can this be real?
You’re just a fan who walked into a club tonight in a short black dress, and now you are being led by the wrist through a private exit by Kwon Jiyong himself.
He pushes open a heavy, unmarked metal door, and the deafening noise of the club is abruptly cut off, replaced by the heavy, humid air of a secluded back alley. The sudden silence is jarring, making the sound of your own ragged breathing echo against the brick walls.
Directly ahead sits his car—a matte-black, low-profile sports car that looks like a shadow melting into the darkness of the alley. The windows are tinted so heavily they look like solid obsidian. Jiyong presses a button on his key fob, and with a soft, hydraulic hiss, the sleek butterfly doors swing upward like a trap.
He doesn't guide you to the passenger side. Instead, he herds you straight toward the spacious, dark backseat, his body pressing close behind yours until the back of your knees hit the expensive leather seat.
"Get in," he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly command in the quiet alley.
You slide inside, the rich, intoxicating scent of expensive leather, tobacco, and his lingering Tom Ford cologne enveloping you instantly. Before you can even adjust your short dress, Jiyong climbs in right after you, pulling the heavy door down with a solid, muffled thud.
The outside world completely vanishes. It is pitch black, save for the faint, bleeding streaks of pink and purple neon lights filtering through the heavy window tint from the city street outside.
Jiyong doesn't say a word. He moves with a predatory, dark energy, crowding over you immediately in the restricted space. He bridges his weight over your body, trapping you against the plush leather seat, his dark eyes glittering down at you in the shadows.
"Now," he whispers, his hot breath fanning across your face, his hand coming up to tangle directly into your hair. "Where were we?"
You don’t answer. You can’t. The sheer adrenaline and the lingering fire of the vodka crash together, making you bold. You reach up, grabbing him by his shirt, and pull him down.
When your lips finally meet, it feels less like a first kiss and more like an collision.
A sharp, needy gasp escapes your throat, and Jiyong catches it instantly, drinking the sound right out of your mouth.
He doesn't ease into it; he claims you immediately, his lips hot, firm, and completely possessive. The taste of him hits you all at once—the expensive, crisp sweetness of the vintage champagne mixed with the dark, bitter tang of alcohol and a faint hint of mint.
It’s intoxicating, a reckless cocktail that makes your head spin faster than the vodka ever could.
He lets out a low, heavy groan from the back of his throat—a deep, rumbling sound that vibrates against your locked lips. His tongue slides into your mouth, slick and demanding, and the kiss instantly turns chaotic. It’s a fierce, unhurried struggle for dominance. You meet his pace, your tongues tangled and fighting for control, slipping against each other in a rhythm that matches the frantic beating of your heart.
The sounds inside the tight backseat are loud, dirty, and intensely private.
The slick, wet friction of your lips breaking apart for a fraction of a second just to gasp for air, only for Jiyong to bruise his mouth right back against yours with a desperate, sloppy hunger.
"Jiyong," you whimper against his mouth when he shifts his weight, his thigh wedging high between your legs, pressing firmly against the center of your short black dress.
The sound of your voice saying his name drives him over the edge. He breaks the kiss, but only to trail a line of wet, biting kisses down your jawline to the sensitive skin of your neck.
His breathing is completely wrecked, loud and ragged in the quiet car. He sucks a harsh bruise into the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you arch your back off the leather seat, a breathless cry slipping from your lips.
"You taste so fucking good, Y/N," he growls against your skin, his voice thick with a heavy, dangerous lust.
His hands are everywhere now, completely lawless in the dark. One hand stays anchored in your hair, holding you exactly where he wants you, while his other hand slides down your side. The silver rings on his fingers are freezing against your bare skin as his palm hooks beneath the hem of your short black dress, slowly bunching the fabric upward, his rough, warm palm tracing a path up your thigh.
You let out a shaky whine, your fingers digging into his shirt, completely surrendered to the chaotic, brilliant heat of him.
When his palm makes contact with the lace of your panties, a jolt of pure electricity shoots straight through you. You gasp, your hips twitching involuntarily against the plush leather seat.
The sheer intensity of the stimulation makes you instinctively clamp your thighs together, your knees closing in a desperate attempt to catch your breath.
Jiyong lets out a low, rough chuckle against your skin, the vibration sending a thrill down your spine. He doesn’t force you, but his touch becomes firmer, more commanding.
He slides his hand between your knees, using the broad span of his palm and the weight of his own thigh to gently but unyieldingly press your legs back open, forcing you to widen for him.
"Don't hide from me, baby," he murmurs, his voice a gravelly, breathless whisper.
He rests his palm right over the damp center of your panties, applying a slow, agonizing pressure that makes you let out a high, needy whine. His long fingers begin to slip beneath the thin lace, his knuckles brushing against your ultra-sensitive skin.
But just as he’s about to touch you completely, he pauses.
Even through the haze of the alcohol and the heavy, intoxicating lust rolling off him, Jiyong stops. He lifts his head, his jet-black hair slightly messy, his dark eyes fiercely intense as he looks down at you in the dim, neon shadow of the backseat. He’s breathing hard, his chest heaving against yours, but he waits, his finger resting just at the edge of your heat.
"This is okay, right?" he asks, his voice dropping into a low, surprisingly tender register. The bad-boy swagger softens for just a fraction of a second, ensuring you're completely with him. "Tell me you want this."
You don't even hesitate. Instead of answering with words, you reach up, your fingers tangling desperately in the short, soft strands at the nape of his neck. You pull him down with everything you have, burying your face in his and kissing him hard, a messy, bruising collision of lips and tongues that answers his question with absolute certainty.
Jiyong lets out a deep, heavy moan directly into your mouth—a rough, vibrating sound of pure satisfaction that echoes loudly in the quiet backseat.
The sudden heat of your assertion completely breaks whatever restraint he had left.
While keeping his mouth locked onto yours, his tongue sliding deep and claiming your mouth with a renewed, frantic hunger, his hand finally moves.
His long, tattooed fingers hook under the side of your lace panties, smoothly pulling the fabric out of the way. You let out a muffled whimper against his lips as his bare, warm palm presses flush against your bare skin.
He doesn't rush. Despite the desperate, breathless pace of the kiss, Jiyong takes a slow, agonizing breath against your mouth as he positions his fingers right at your dripping center.
Slowly—so slowly it makes your entire body arch off the leather seat—he begins to slide his first finger inside you.
The slick, tight heat of your body wraps around him instantly. You gasp into the kiss, your fingers tightening so hard at the nape of his neck that your nails dig into his skin, your legs trembling where he has them pinned wide. He pushes deeper, a slow, deliberate stretch, his thumb resting firmly against your sensitive bundle of nerves, applying a steady pressure that makes your head spin.
"Ah... Ji," you sob out when he breaks the kiss for a split second, your chest heaving as the friction of his slow, deep thrusts begins to build a torturous, blinding heat between your thighs.
He leans down, his jet-black hair brushing against your forehead, his eyes dark, wild, and completely locked onto yours in the dim neon light. "You're so tight for me, Y/N," he growls roughly, his breath hot against your face as his finger slips all the way in, before adding a second, slowly picking up the pace.
Jiyong’s eyes are completely wild now, black pools of pure, unadulterated lust staring down at you in the dim, neon shadows of the backseat.
The slick, wet sound of his fingers sliding deep inside you fills the quiet car, a relentless, torturous rhythm that has you completely at his mercy.
He curves his fingers upward, hitting a spot deep inside you that makes your hips buck off the leather seat. You let out a loud, high-pitched whimper, your hands clutching blindly at the shoulders of his leather jacket as your head falls back.
He stops the movement for a fraction of a second, leaving his fingers buried deep inside your burning heat, holding you open, stretching you. He leans his weight down, his broad chest pressing heavily against your breasts, his face hovering just inches from yours. His breath is hot, ragged, and heavy with the scent of the vintage champagne.
"Look at me, Y/N," he growls, his voice dropping into a dirty, gravelly register that goes straight to your thighs.
You force your heavy eyelids open, your vision blurred by the alcohol and the sheer intensity of the pleasure.
He gives his fingers a wicked, deliberate twitch inside you, making you let out a breathless sob, before he leans in close, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he lets the filter drop completely.
"Will you let me fuck you, hm?" he whispers darkly, his teeth grazing your earlobe, sending a violent shiver down your spine. "Fuck this tight pussy?"
Hearing those words come out of his mouth—the superstar you've watched through a screen for years—completely shatters whatever restraint you had left. Your core pulses tightly around his fingers in a desperate, pleading response.
"Yes—yes, Jiyong, please," you sob out, your fingers digging into the nape of his neck, pulling his face back down to yours. "Please, I want you."
A dark, intensely proud smirk slashes across his face at your desperation. He slides his fingers out of you with a slow, wet friction that makes you whine at the sudden loss, but he doesn't leave you waiting.
With a frantic, heavy urgency, his hands move to the button of his pants, the metallic click sounding incredibly loud in the airtight luxury car. He shoves his trousers down, his dark eyes never leaving your face as he positions himself.
He’s cruel in his precision, pinning you down with his weight, his hands planted firmly on the leather on either side of your head.
He presses the hot, thick head of his length against your slick entrance, letting you feel the size of him, letting you feel exactly what you’ve been begging for. He teases the entry, rubbing against you until you’re whimpering, your hips arching up to meet him, desperate for the friction.
"Take it all for me, pretty girl," he growls, his jaw clenching so hard it looks like it might snap.
He slides in just an inch, stretching you open, and your breath hitches in a sharp, jagged sob. He holds there, letting you feel the fullness of him, his dark eyes locked onto yours, devouring the expression on your face.
"That’s it," he purrs, his voice rough and vibrating through your skin. "Open up for me. You’ve been wanting this all night, haven't you? Dreaming about the 'G-Dragon' you see on stage... well, here he is. Real. And he’s all yours."
He doesn't give you a moment to recover. With a slow, agonizingly deliberate grind, he pushes forward.
You gasp, your fingers digging into his biceps, your head thrashing back against the seat as the sensation of being filled by him is so intense it's almost painful—a glorious, heavy pressure that eclipses everything else.
He doesn't stop, sliding in deeper, claiming every inch of your heat until he’s buried to the hilt, hitting that deep, aching spot inside you that makes your entire body shudder.
He freezes there, letting you adjust to the fullness of him, his forehead dropping onto yours, his breath ragged and hot against your face. He’s shaking, his control fraying at the edges.
"Look at me," he commands, his voice shattered, raw with possessiveness. "I want to see your eyes when you realize I'm finally inside you. Do you feel that? You’re mine right now. Every bit of you."
He pulls back just enough to break the seal, then thrusts forward again—deeper, harder—the leather of the car groaning in protest as he sets a heavy, rhythm-crushing pace. "Yeah," he groans, his eyes rolling back as he feels you clench around him. "Just like that. Keep taking it."
Now that he’s buried deep inside you, his control shatters completely, the last remnants of the cool superstar persona melting away into raw, carnal desperation.
He leans down, slamming his mouth back onto yours to smother the high, needy cry that tears from your throat.
The kiss is chaotic and dirty. He’s breathing heavily into your mouth, his tongue thrusting in tandem with his hips, a brutal and intoxicating rhythm that has your head spinning.
You wrap your legs high around his waist, locking your ankles behind his back to pull him even deeper, completely surrendering your body to his weight.
With your legs anchoring him, Jiyong lets out a muffled, feral growl into the kiss and finally starts fucking you in earnest.
It’s heavy, fast, and completely unhurried by the cramped space of the backseat. Each thrust is deep and relentless, his hips crashing against yours with a wet, slapping friction that echoes loudly in the airtight luxury car. The tinted windows blur with condensation from the heat of your bodies, locking you both in a feverish, private hell of pure pleasure.
"Jiyong... ah, Jiyong!" you sob out when he breaks the kiss, your head thrashing against the leather. The angle is perfect, every hard, seamless stroke hitting your sweet spot over and over until your vision sparks with white heat.
"Yeah, scream my name," he pants roughly, his jaw clenched, veins standing out on his neck as he looks down at you. He grips your thighs, his fingers bruising your skin, driving his hips forward with a punishing, desperate force. "Look at what you do to me. Look at how tight you are around me—fuck."
He picks up the pace, his thrusts becoming shorter, harder, and faster. The silver rings on his hands catch the bleeding neon light from outside as he pins your wrists above your head, mastering you completely. You can feel the orgasm building deep in your core—a tightening, blinding coil that threatens to snap at any second.
"Ji—I'm close, I'm gonna—" you gasp out, your hips involuntarily bucking up to meet his frantic pace.
Jiyong’s eyes darken, a predatory, possessive look taking over his face as he hears your undone confession. He doesn't slow down; instead, he drives into you even harder, matching your desperation step for step.
"Come for me, Y/N," he commands, his voice a gravelly, breathless roar against your lips as he leans down to bite your shoulder. "Clench around me and come. Let me feel it."
The command breaks you completely. The coil inside your core snaps with a sudden, violent intensity, and your entire body goes rigid beneath him.
You come hard, your walls contracting around his thick length in desperate, tight waves that feel like they're trying to wring the life out of him.
A high, shattered scream tears from your throat, echoing loudly against the glass of the tinted windows as you throw your head back, your vision exploding into pure white light.
Jiyong lets out a rough, choked groan, his eyes rolling back as your contractions squeeze him. He stops his momentum, freezing deep inside you, his muscles trembling violently as he fights the overpowering urge to join you. His jaw is locked, a vein pulsing sharply in his neck as he rides out the suffocating heat of your orgasm, letting you squeeze every inch of him.
But you barely have a second to breathe before the friction returns.
He can't hold back. With a desperate, heavy grunt, Jiyong pulls back and thrusts hard into you again, driving straight through the aftershocks of your climax.
"Ah! Jiyong, wait!" you cry out, a sharp sob breaking from your chest. The sheer, raw sensation is too much. Your skin feels on fire, your core so intensely sensitive that the sudden, friction-heavy stroke feels like an absolute overload to your nervous system. You try to push against his chest, your legs trembling where they’re wrapped around his waist. "It's too much—"
Hearing your desperate whimper, Jiyong instantly tempers his pace. He doesn't pull out, but he slows his hips down to a heavy, agonizingly gentle grind, soothing the friction.
He shifts his weight, leaning down until his chest is completely flushing against yours, burying you in his warmth. His right hand leaves your wrist and comes up to gently cup your face, his long, tattooed fingers smoothing over your flushed cheek. His silver rings feel cool against your burning skin as his thumb gently wipes away a stray tear from the corner of your eye.
"Shh... just a second," he murmurs directly against your lips, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly velvet that is surprisingly tender. He pecks your bruised lips once, twice, his breath hot and ragged. "Just hold for me a bit more, hm?"
He gives another slow, deep, rolling nudge of his hips, making your toes curl as a helpless whine escapes you.
"Can you be a good girl for me?" he whispers, his dark eyes melting with a heavy, possessiveness as he looks down at your undone state. "Just a few more, pretty girl. Let me finish inside you."
You nod, your bottom lip caught between your teeth as you try to hold back another sob of sheer sensory overload.
Jiyong watches you, his dark eyes softening with approval before he buries his face back into the crook of your neck. He leaves a string of hot, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, his breathing ragged and heavy against your damp skin.
"Good girl," he growls roughly into your neck.
With that, he locks his hands back onto your hips, anchoring you to the leather seat, and goes back to thrusting into you.
But this time, the pace is different. It’s no longer just raw, urgent desperation; it’s a heavy, rhythmic, and incredibly deep pounding. He rolls his hips with every stroke, maximizing the friction against your ultra-sensitive walls.
Because you’re already completely undone from your first climax, your body reacts instantly. Every deep, unhurried slide of his length hits your sweet spot with terrifying accuracy.
A low, continuous whimper leaves your lips, your fingers clawing at his back. The overstimulation quickly shifts from overwhelming to blindingly euphoric.
"Jiyong... oh my god, Jiyong," you pant, your head tossing from side to side against the seat. You can feel it building again—a second, even more violent wave of heat crashing over you. Your walls begin to clench around him rhythmically, completely out of your control.
Jiyong feels the change instantly. He lets out a shattered, breathless moan. Your tight, pulsing heat is drawing him right over the edge.
"Yeah... fuck, Y/N, you're doing it again," he pants, his voice raw, completely stripped of any idol persona. He picks up the speed, his thrusts becoming shorter, harder, and desperate. "You're so fucking wet... I'm gonna—I'm coming with you."
He drives into you with a final, punishing sequence of thrusts. The friction is absolute madness. Your core tightens into a vice grip, and with a loud, breathless cry, your second orgasm rips through you, your legs locking around his waist as you shake beneath him.
The feeling of you coming for the second time completely breaks Jiyong.
He lets out a loud, feral roar against your neck, his eyes rolling back as his body goes rigid.
He thrusts deep, burying himself to the absolute hilt, and holds himself there as his own orgasm takes over. You can feel the intense, burning heat of his release filling you up, pulsing deep inside your core in heavy, desperate waves. His muscles tremble violently, his chest heaving against yours as he pours himself into you, completely surrendered.
The silence of the luxury car returns, heavy and suffocating, broken only by the sound of your combined, wrecked breathing. Jiyong collapses his weight onto you, his face buried in your hair, his heart hammering a frantic, matching rhythm straight against your chest.
He shifts his head, his lips moving lazily against the damp skin of your neck. He begins to kiss you there—sloppy, wet, and heavy open-mouthed kisses that trail from your collarbone up to the sensitive spot just beneath your jaw. It’s a slow, content rhythm, completely devoid of the urgency from before, just purely hedonistic and thoroughly satisfied.
You let out a soft, low hum of pure contentment, the vibration rumbling in your throat. The last remnants of the alcohol and the fading electricity of your double orgasm leave your limbs feeling heavy, loose, and completely safe beneath him.
Slowly, you lift your arms, your hands coming to gently caress the short, dark strands of his hair. You run your fingers through the jet-black locks, your palms brushing against the nape of his neck.
Jiyong lets out a long, heavy sigh against your skin, a sound of absolute surrender. He tilts his head into your touch, letting your fingers soothe him as his breathing finally begins to level out.
Slowly, he pushes himself up on his elbows just enough to look down at you. His hair is completely messy, his smudged eyeliner casting dark shadows beneath his eyes, making him look devastatingly handsome in the faint pink and purple streaks of light filtering through the window tint. He stares down at your flushed face, his gaze incredibly soft, before he reaches up to brush a stray lock of hair away from your forehead.
"Are you okay?" he rasps, his voice incredibly deep, rough, and completely stripped of his usual stage confidence. It's just Jiyong now.
You look up into his dark, hooded eyes, a soft, breathless smile tugging at your lips as your fingers continue to play with the hair at the back of his neck.
"Yeah... I am," you whisper honestly, your chest rising and falling gently against his. "And you?"
A slow, genuinely happy smirk spreads across his face, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners in that iconic, boyish way that completely contrasts the heavy, dominant lover he was just seconds ago. He drops his head back down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.
"Amazing," he murmurs against your mouth.
