𝑪𝑨𝑴𝑰𝑺𝑯𝑨 ♡ྀི.ᐟ

the sun had barely dipped below the horizon, casting long, amber shadows across the polished hardwood floors of the music wing, but room 304 was still buzzing with the faint, residual hum of the day’s final chords. for michael, this room was a sanctuary, a fragile ecosystem of sheet music, heavy velvet curtains, and the rich, woody scent of the grand piano that occupied the center stage. teaching high school music was a chaotic endeavor—most afternoons were filled with the discordant scraping of violin bows or students treating the drum kits like toys—but there was always one hour of the day that made the endless grading and administrative noise entirely worth it.

you.

in a senior class brimming with apathy and superficial talent, you were the undisputed anomaly. you weren't just the best student in the entire graduating class; you were a force of nature when it came to music theory, composition, and performance. while your peers struggled to memorize basic chord progressions or skimmed through the syllabus just to secure an easy passing grade, you lived and breathed the curriculum. you were the type of student who arrived early just to tune the instruments, whose notebooks were filled with meticulously scribbled annotations in the margins, and whose understanding of rhythm and harmony rivaled that of seasoned musicians.

and secretly, deeper than he would ever dare to admit aloud, you were michael’s absolute favorite.

he kept his professionalism locked tight behind a gentle, encouraging smile and a soft-spoken demeanor, but internally, his entire energy shifted the moment you walked through his door. you were incredibly studious, possessed a rare, innate discipline, and approached every assignment with a quiet, burning passion that mirrored his own lifelong devotion to the art form. to michael, watching you play or listening to you dissect a complex piece of classical arrangement wasn't just a part of his job—it was the highlight of his day, a breath of fresh air in an otherwise exhausting routine.

on this particular evening, the bell had rung nearly forty minutes ago, and the rest of the campus had emptied out into the quiet twilight, yet the two of you were still caught in the orbit of the classroom. you were sitting at the piano bench, the soft glow of a desk lamp illuminating the sharp focus in your eyes as your fingers hovered over the keys, working through a particularly intricate piece of counterpoint that michael had assigned.

standing just a few paces away, his arms crossed loosely over his chest, michael watched you with a mixture of intense pride and a strange, quiet ache that he had to constantly push down. he was wearing his usual teaching attire—a slightly oversized button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, a simple black vest, and his hair loosely tied back, a few stray curls framing his face. his dark eyes followed the movement of your hands, tracking the seamless transition from one chord to the next, entirely captivated by how effortlessly you commanded the instrument.

"no, wait, right there," michael said softly, his voice cutting through the quiet room like a warm melody. he stepped closer, the leather of his shoes tapping lightly against the floorboards as he leaned over the side of the piano, pointing a slender finger toward a specific measure on your sheet music. "you’re rushing the transition into the minor key. don't just play the notes, let the silence between them breathe. you have the technique down perfectly—you always do—but let yourself feel the shift."

you paused, looking up from the keys to meet his gaze. the proximity was dizzying, close enough that you could catch the faint, comforting scent of his cologne mixed with the old paper of the music books. you took a slow breath, nodding seriously as you re-centered your hands over the ivory.

"like this?" you murmured, playing the sequence again, this time deliberately lingering on the bridge, letting the melancholy of the chord hang in the quiet air of the empty room.

a genuine, breathtaking smile broke across michael’s face, his eyes crinkling at the corners with pure admiration. "yes. exactly like that. beautiful." he leaned a bit closer, his hand resting lightly on the polished wood of the piano just inches away from yours, his gaze holding yours a second longer than necessary. "i knew you'd get it right away. you always do."

the subtle shift in the air wasn't entirely lost on you. as his compliment lingered in the quiet room, you felt a sudden, distinct warmth blooming in your chest, your eyes dropping down to where his hand rested on the piano. it was so close that if you shifted your fingers just an inch, you would brush against the soft fabric of his sleeve. for a fleeting second, the space between you felt hyper-charged, heavy with an unspoken intensity that had nothing to do with sheet music or minor keys.

but you quickly shook the feeling away, forcing a polite, grateful smile to your lips.

he’s just an incredible teacher, you told yourself, packing your notebook into your bag as the silence returned to the room. he’s passionate about music, and he’s just happy to have a student who actually cares. it made perfect sense. michael was dedicated, deeply invested in his craft, and naturally gentle with everyone. there was no reason to overthink a lingering glance or a soft tone of voice. you were his top student, and this was just the bond of mentorship.

except the weeks that followed did absolutely nothing to help you keep that neat, comfortable rationale alive.

as autumn deepened, the boundaries of your ordinary student-teacher dynamic began to blur in ways that became impossible to ignore. it started with the little things during your advanced theory blocks. whenever michael lectured the class, his eyes would inevitably find yours, anchoring his gaze to the front row as if he were performing for an audience of one. if a classmate made a joke, he’d laugh, but his eyes would immediately dart to you to see if you were smiling too, sharing a silent, private language across the crowded room.

then came the afternoon study sessions. with the upcoming winter showcase approaching, you found yourself spending almost every free period in room 304, and michael never seemed to mind the intrusion. in fact, he welcomed it.

one rainy tuesday, you were sitting at a desk struggling with a complex orchestral arrangement, your fingers frustratedly tapping against the wood. without a word, michael walked over, placing a warm cup of tea right next to your papers.

"you've been staring at that page for twenty minutes," he said, his voice a low, soothing murmur as he leaned over your shoulder to look at your work. he was so close you could feel the heat radiating from him, his breath brushing past your cheek. "take a break. you're overthinking it."

"i just want it to be perfect," you admitted, your heart doing a strange, sudden flip at his proximity.

"it's already beautiful because you wrote it," he replied softly. he didn't pull away immediately. instead, his gaze dropped to your lips for a fraction of a second before he caught himself, clearing his throat and offering a small, almost nervous smile. "just... don't push yourself too hard."

by the third week, the doubt had settled deep into your mind, turning into a constant, dizzying hum. it was there when he gently guided your hands to adjust your posture at the piano, his long fingers lingering against your skin just a moment too long. it was there in the way his soft-spoken guidance became increasingly tender, and how his dark eyes seemed to hold a profound, aching vulnerability whenever the two of you were finally left alone after the final bell.

you couldn't deny it anymore. it wasn't just professional encouragement, and it wasn't just your imagination. michael was looking at you differently, treating you with a fragile, carefully guarded devotion that was starting to make your heart race every single time you walked through his door.

the university library was completely swallowed by twilight, the towering rows of oak bookshelves casting long, skeletal shadows across the carpeted floor. it was well past eight in the evening, and the usual bustling hub of students had thinned out to almost nothing. you were tucked away in a secluded corner alcove, surrounded by a fortress of heavy musicology textbooks, scribbled sheets of staff paper, and a cold cup of coffee. your eyes were burning from hours of reading, but your relentless drive to stay at the absolute top of your class kept your head buried in the pages.

the quiet click of leather shoes against the marble floor broke the silence of the aisle.

you didn't think much of it until the footsteps slowed down, stopping right at the edge of your cubicle. you blinked, lifting your heavy gaze from a complex breakdown of 19th-century symphonies, and your breath instantly caught in your throat.

standing there, half-illuminated by the dim, golden light of the library lamp, was michael.

he looked slightly undone from a long day—his tie was loosened at his collar, his dark blowed curls were beautifully unruly, and a soft wool coat was draped over his arm. he had a few reference books cradled against his chest, clearly having come to do some research of his own. when his dark eyes met yours, a look of profound surprise flickered across his face, quickly melting into something intensely tender.

"i thought i was the only one crazy enough to be losing track of time in here," michael murmured, his voice dropping to a low, velvety whisper to respect the silence of the library.

"just... trying to get ahead on the next composition block," you replied, your voice suddenly feeling very small, very dry.

instead of wishing you a good night and walking away, michael stepped fully into the narrow space of your alcove. the sheer size of him in the cramped corner made the air feel instantly thick, suffocatingly close. he set his books down quietly on the edge of your desk and leaned against the wooden partition, looking down at you with a gaze that was entirely devoid of his usual teacher-student boundary.

"you're always working so hard," he said softly, a faint, melancholic smile playing on his lips. he reached out, his long, slender fingers hovering over the edge of your desk before he gently, almost subconsciously, tapped the corner of your notebook. "sometimes i worry you forget to take care of yourself outside of my classroom."

in the quiet stillness of the empty library, the tension didn't just feel real—it was deafening. it was in the way the shadows fell across the sharp contours of his jaw, the way his dark eyes locked onto yours with a heavy, magnetic pull, and the absolute absence of anyone else around to pull the two of you back to reality. you could hear the steady, rhythmic ticking of a wall clock somewhere in the distance, but inside this tiny alcove, time had completely stopped.

your heart was hammering against your ribs so loudly you were terrified he could hear it. you looked from his eyes down to his parted lips, then back up, completely paralyzed by the sheer gravity of the moment. you couldn't pretend anymore. you couldn't hide behind the excuse of him just being a dedicated mentor. the raw, aching affection radiating from him was palpable, hanging in the inches between your faces like a physical weight.

"mr. jackson..." you whispered, your voice trembling slightly as you used his formal name, a desperate attempt to remind both of him and yourself of where you were.

but the name seemed to have the opposite effect. hearing it slip from your lips in that breathless whisper made michael’s gaze darken with something fierce and undisguised. he leaned in just a fraction of an inch closer, his breath warm against your forehead, his eyes fixed on yours with a terrifying, beautiful vulnerability.

"michael," he corrected in a breathless undertone, his voice thick with a longing he had suppressed for months. "when it's just us like this... please."

the moment the name left your lips, the last fragile thread of restraint between you seemed to snap.

michael’s breath hitched, a soft, barely audible sound that sent a shiver straight down your spine. slowly, deliberately, he lowered his hand from the wooden partition and let his fingers brush against the back of yours. his skin was warm, his touch incredibly gentle as his long, slender fingers slid over your knuckles, tracing the sensitive skin with a slow, feather-light caress. the contrast of his large hand enveloping yours in the dim, golden light of the library alcove was dizzying.

"yes... michael," you breathed, the confession slipping out before you could even think to stop it.

his eyes darkened at the sound of his name, a look of pure, unchecked devotion washing over his features. his thumb stroked the side of your hand, a rhythmic, intoxicating motion that made the rest of the world completely fade away. the tension in the tiny space expanded, becoming so thick and electric that it felt like a physical wire stretched taut between you. he leaned in closer, his face mere inches from yours, his gaze dropping down to your lips with a heavy, magnetic longing. you could feel the heat radiating from him, his scent wrapping around you, drowning out every rational thought you had ever possessed.

but just as he tilted his head, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around yours in a unspoken plea, the distant, heavy clang of the campus clock tower chimed the hour.

the sharp sound shattered the spell.

a sudden, cold rush of reality hit you like a wave of ice water. you looked at his hand wrapped around yours, then up at his face—at your teacher, the man who gave you your grades, the man whose career and reputation hung in the balance, just like your own future. a knot of intense panic and guilt tightened in your stomach. what am i doing the thought screamed in your mind. This wasn't just a lingering look in the classroom anymore. this was dangerous. it was completely unprofessional.

with a sharp, breathless gasp, you pulled your hand out of his grip, stepping back until your chair scraped loudly against the floor.

michael blinked, looking momentarily dazed by the sudden loss of contact, his hand left hanging emptily in the air. a flash of deep hurt and immediate regret crossed his features as he realized what he had done.

"i... i can't do this," you stammered, your voice shaking as you frantically began shoving your notebooks and pens into your bag, not even caring if the pages got crumpled. your hands were trembling so badly you could barely zip it shut. "mr. jackson, this isn't... we can't. it's not professional."

michael closed his eyes for a brief second, swallowing hard as he pulled his hand back, clenching it into a fist against his side. when he looked at you again, the intense longing was still there, but it was heavily masked by a painful, guarded restraint. "i'm sorry," he whispered, his voice thick and rough with emotion. "i didn't mean to—"

"i should go," you interrupted quickly, your heart hammering against your ribs as you slung the heavy bag over your shoulder. you couldn't look him in the eye, terrified that if you did, you would run right back into his arms. "it's really late. goodnight, mr. jackson."

without waiting for him to reply, you brushed past him, the fabric of your sleeves rubbing together in the narrow aisle. you hurried out of the secluded alcove and down the long, empty rows of bookshelves, leaving him standing completely alone in the shadows of the library.

the walk back to your dorm room was a blur of cold air and burning tears of sheer mortification. the moment you closed your door behind you, the weight of what had almost happened crashed down on you. you felt a suffocating, intense wave of shame pooling in your stomach. you had whispered his first name. you had let him caress your hand. you had sat there, completely paralyzed, almost letting your music professor kiss you in a dark corner of the university library.

the thought made your face flush with a deep, prickly heat. you felt incredibly embarrassed—not just because it was a dangerous violation of the rules, but because you had let your guard down so completely. you were supposed to be the top student, the serious, untouchable academic force of the graduating class. instead, you had acted like a cliché.

determined to fix your mistake, you made a silent vow to yourself that night: you were going to draw a thick, iron-clad line between yourself and mr. jackson.

when the next music block rolled around, the change in your behavior was immediate and drastic. usually, you were the first to arrive, sitting front and center, eagerly participating and exchanging knowing smiles with him. but now, you purposefully timed your arrival down to the exact last minute, slipping through the door just as the bell rang. you chose a seat near the back corner, hiding behind the larger students, keeping your eyes glued stubbornly to your desk or your notebook.

whenever he asked a complex question to the lecture hall—questions he usually directed straight at you with a spark of anticipation in his eyes—you kept your mouth shut, staring intently at your paper and pretending to be buried in notes. you stopped staying behind after the final bell. the second the class was dismissed, you packed your things in a flash and vanished into the hallway before he could even clear his throat to speak to you. you became a ghost in his classroom.

and michael noticed every single second of it.

to him, your sudden absence felt like a physical ache in the room. the vibrant, electric connection that used to fuel his teaching was completely gone, replaced by a cold, suffocating distance. during his lectures, his eyes would instinctively drift to the back corner of the room, tracking your quiet, averted gaze. he would linger on your face, his expression laced with a profound, quiet sadness that made his chest tighten. he missed your voice. he missed your insights. most of all, he missed the quiet understanding you used to share.

every time you brushed past his desk at the end of the hour without making eye contact, michael felt a heavy, dull pain in his heart. he knew exactly why you were doing it—he remembered the panic in your voice at the library—but seeing you shrink away from him, seeing the girl who loved music more than life itself suddenly trying to become invisible in his presence, was a punishment he could barely handle.

two weeks passed in this excruciating silence, the tension in the classroom building up like a heavy storm cloud, until michael finally reached his breaking point.

it was a rainy friday afternoon, and the final bell had just echoed through the hallways. true to your new routine, you shoved your binders into your backpack, keeping your head down as you stood up to escape. but just as your foot crossed the threshold of the doorway, his voice cut through the empty room—soft, trembling slightly, but carrying a weight that made your feet instantly freeze to the floorboards.

"please don't run away," michael murmured from the front of the room, his voice thick with an aching vulnerability that broke the silence. "just... give me two minutes. please."

the sound of his voice felt like a physical hand anchoring you to the spot. you closed your eyes for a brief, agonizing second, your heart instantly leaping into your throat. as much as every instinct screamed at you to run down the hallway and lose yourself in the crowd of students, you couldn't do it. he was still your professor. defying a direct, desperate plea from the man who held your academic future in his hands felt impossible, and worse, it would only make your guilt more obvious.

slowly, you turned around, the heavy straps of your backpack digging into your shoulders.

the moment you stepped back inside and the heavy wooden door clicked shut, the atmosphere in room 304 shifted entirely. the air became instantly thick, suffocating, and charged with a raw, undeniable electricity that made your skin prickle. you stood near the back row, keeping a fortress of empty desks between the two of you, but michael’s eyes tracking your every move made that distance feel entirely useless.

the tension wasn't just there; it was a living, breathing entity in the quiet room.

michael didn't stay behind his desk. instead, he began to walk toward you, his movements slow, deliberate, and entirely focused. he had discarded his usual gentle, careful demeanor; there was a newfound, intense gravity in his step that made your breath hitch. as he drew closer, navigating the rows of desks, his dark eyes never broke contact with yours. there was a fierce, burning hunger in his gaze—an unyielding, intense possessiveness that he wasn't even trying to hide anymore. it was a look that said he had endured two weeks of your silence, two weeks of you ghosting him, and he was absolutely done letting you slip away.

he stopped just a few feet away, effectively cutting off your easiest path to the exit. the sheer intensity radiating from him was dizzying. he looked down at you, his chest rising and falling with heavy, shallow breaths, his jaw set in a tight, desperate line.

"you've been hiding from me," michael murmured, his voice dropping to a low, velvety register that seemed to vibrate straight through the floorboards. it wasn't a question; it was an accusation, thick with a deep, aching frustration.

"i've just been... focusing on my work, mr. jackson," you lied, your voice trembling slightly as you tried to maintain a professional wall, backing up until your spine pressed against the cold plaster of the wall.

but michael didn't let the lie stand. he stepped even closer, completely invading your personal space until you were trapped between the wall and the overwhelming heat of his body. he leaned in, his shadow completely enveloping you, his scent of rich cologne and old paper locking you in place. he didn't touch you, but the way he hovered over you felt entirely dominant, almost as if he were claiming every single inch of the air you breathed.

"don't do that. don't look at the floor when i'm speaking to you," he whispered, his tone carrying a soft but terrifyingly commanding edge that made your knees weak. he tilted his head, his dark curls brushing against his temple, his eyes locking onto your lips before snapping back to your eyes with a desperate, fierce intensity. "i've watched you sit in the back of my room for two weeks pretending i don't exist. you think you can just vanish? you think you can just erase what happened?"

he leaned a fraction closer, his hand coming up to rest flat against the wall right beside your head, trapping you completely within his frame. the possessive pull in his eyes was blinding now. "you are the most brilliant thing in this entire institution. you belong in the front row. you belong here, talking to me. i won't let you become a ghost because you're scared of how much we want this."

pinned beneath the heavy shadow of his frame, your breath caught completely in your throat. you looked up into his dark eyes, searching the fierce, burning intensity hidden behind his gaze, and a sudden, terrifying wave of clarity washed over you.

he was right.

the realization hit you like a physical blow, making your heart thud violently against your ribs. you couldn't deny it anymore, couldn't minimize it, and couldn't hide behind the comforting lie that it was just an overactive imagination or a simple case of academic admiration. the way the air throbbed between your bodies, the desperate heat radiating from his skin, and the sharp, electric current that zipped through you whenever he breathed your name—it was undeniable. there was a profound, dangerous, and incredibly real connection stretching between the two of you, pulling you together like a pair of opposing magnets.

but as the truth crystallized in your mind, the sheer panic inside you only grew louder.

"michael..." you whispered, your voice a fragile, trembling sound in the quiet space between your lips. you wanted to lean into his touch, wanted to close the agonizing inches left between you, but the heavy weight of reality slammed back down on your chest.

you shook your head slightly, your eyes wide with a mix of longing and pure fear as you forced yourself to look away from his intoxicating gaze. "no. i can't. even if... even if you're right, it doesn't change anything. it’s not professional. you're my teacher, michael. if anyone found out, if anyone saw us look at each other like this..."

your voice cracked, the suffocating terror of losing your academic standing, your future, and seeing his entire career ruined flashing vividly behind your eyes. you were terrified of the sheer depth of what he was offering, terrified of how easily you could lose yourself in his possessive orbit.

"i'm scared," you admitted bluntly, a lone tear finally slipping down your cheek as your hands gripped the straps of your backpack like a shield. "i want to ignore it. i have to ignore it. please, just let me go back to the way things were."

the sight of that single tear breaking down your cheek seemed to crack something wide open inside of him. the fierce, possessive tension in his shoulders instantly melted, replaced by an expression of pure, agonizing tenderness.

slowly, his hand left the wall and his long, warm fingers reached up, his thumb gently catching the tear right before it reached your jaw. his touch was so incredibly soft, a feather-light caress that sent a violent shiver straight down your spine.

"shh, don't cry. please don't cry," michael murmured, his voice dropping to a low, soothing cadence that felt like a warm blanket wrapping around your trembling frame. he leaned down a bit further, his forehead nearly resting against yours, his breath mingling with your own. "look at me. open your eyes and look at me."

you forced your eyelids open, meeting the deep, liquid warmth of his gaze.

"you think we’re the first ones to ever feel this?" he whispered, a small, reassuring smile playing on his lips as his hand moved to gently cup the side of your face, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. "people understand, darling. things like this... a connection like ours, it doesn't just happen. it's rare. it's beautiful. no one is going to ruin this for us. i won't let them. i will protect you, i promise you."

his words were like a sweet, intoxicating poison, pouring directly into your ears and wrapping around your resolve. standing this close to him, feeling the steady, powerful rhythm of his heartbeat and the desperate sincerity in his voice, your mind was screaming at you to just let go. every single cell in your body wanted to lean into his palm, to grab the lapels of his vest and pull his lips down onto yours, to finally drown in the ocean of desire you had been fighting for weeks.

internally, you were locked in a brutal, suffocating war against yourself.

just collapse into him, a voice pleaded in the back of your mind. he loves you. he’ll protect you. just close your eyes and stop fighting.

but the logical, studious girl who had spent years working tirelessly for her future was screaming back, digging her heels into the dirt. no! it’s wrong, it’s dangerous, he’s your professor! you clenched your fists so hard your nails bit into your palms, your entire body stiffening as you fought against the magnetic pull of his chest. your breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, your lips parting as you struggled to find the strength to push him away, even as your heart begged you to do the exact opposite.

the moment he felt the slight, trembling hesitation in your frame, michael leaned into it, capturing your weakness with a quiet, devastating precision. he didn't pull away. instead, his touch became bolder, shifting from a comforting gesture into something deeply tactile, intoxicating, and intensely deliberate.

his hand slid down from your cheek, his long, warm fingers wrapping around the nape of your neck, his thumb lightly stroking the sensitive skin just beneath your ear. a gasp caught in your throat as a searing jolt of electricity shot straight down your spine. but he wasn't done. his other hand came up, resting firmly against your waist, his palm burning through the thin fabric of your shirt as he gently, unyieldingly pulled your body a fraction closer to his.

the sudden, total friction of his chest pressing against yours made your head spin. you were completely trapped in his warmth, entirely enveloped by the rich, masculine scent of his cologne.

"michael..." you breathed, a desperate, broken syllable that sounded more like a plea than a protest.

"i've got you," he whispered against your skin, his voice a dark, velvety murmur that vibrated straight into your chest. he tilted his head, his lips brushing the shell of your ear before tracing a agonizingly slow line down the column of your neck. "stop fighting it, darling. just let me..."

the sheer sensory overload of his touch was making it impossible to think. every point of contact felt like a live wire, burning away the neat, professional boundaries you had fought so hard to maintain. your hands, which had been pressed flat against his chest to keep him at bay, were losing their strength, your fingers instinctively curling into the soft fabric of his vest just to keep yourself upright. your knees felt completely weak, your body betraying you by melting right into his possessive hold.

the tension in the room didn't just rise; it reached a suffocating, feverish peak. the air was thick with the sound of your ragged, uneven breathing and the heavy, rhythmic thud of his heart echoing against your own. he shifted his weight, pressing you firmer against the wall, his gaze dropping to your parted lips with an unvarnished hunger that made you feel completely exposed—and utterly, dangerously tempted. you were standing on the very edge of the cliff, your entire body aching to take that final step into the dark with him.

the distance between your faces completely evaporated. michael tilted his head, his dark eyes fixed onto yours with a heavy, unblinking intensity that made your heart hammer frantically against your ribs. his fingers tangled deeper into your hair at the nape of your neck, his thumb caressing the soft skin of your jawline with a desperate, burning tenderness that made your mind go entirely blank.

slowly, inevitably, he leaned down. you thought his lips were going to meet yours, but instead, he shifted his focus, his gaze dropping to the exposed line of your throat.

he turned his face into the crook of your neck, his warm breath fanning across your sensitive skin a second before his lips finally made contact.

the first kiss was a soft, feather-light brush against your collarbone, but it sent a violent jolt of pure electricity straight to your core. you let out a sharp, breathless gasp, your hands clutching tightly at the fabric of his vest. michael groaned softly at the sound, encouraged by your reaction, and began to press a slow, rhythmic trail of warm, lingering kisses up the column of your neck. his lips were soft but incredibly firm, marking your skin with a possessive, aching devotion that made the last remnants of the classroom walls completely crumble around you.

"michael... please," you whispered, the words trembling past your lips. you were trying so hard to hold back, to find that iron-clad discipline that had always defined you as a student, but your body was entirely refusing to cooperate.

every single touch of his lips was a devastating blow to your restraint. a deep, dizzying sensation was blooming in your lower stomach, a heavy, intoxicating warmth that spread through your veins like wildfire. you could feel the sharp friction of his belt buckle against your waist, the intense heat of his palm firmly anchoring your hip against the wall, and the heavy, ragged rhythm of his breathing echoing directly into your ear.

you were fighting a losing battle against your own senses. your eyes fluttered shut, your head instinctively tilting back against the plaster to give him better access, a soft, involuntary whimper escaping your throat as his lips pressed into the sensitive spot right beneath your ear. you were drowning in the sheer feeling of him, entirely consumed by a dangerous, illicit pleasure you had never experienced before.

without breaking the intoxicating rhythm of his lips against your skin, michael shifted his weight. his large hands remained locked firmly around your waist, his grip tightening just enough to guide you. with a slow, smooth deliberateness, he used the gentle pressure of his body to guide you backward, away from the cold plaster of the wall.

your heels dragged lightly against the floorboards until the back of your thighs hit the edge of one of the heavy wooden student desks.

before you could even process the change in posture, michael’s hands slid under your hips, effortlessly lifting you just enough so that you were sitting flat on top of the desk. the smooth, varnished wood was cool beneath you, a stark and grounding contrast to the overwhelming, feverish heat radiating from him.

the moment you were seated, the dynamic completely shifted. michael didn't waste a single second. he stepped forward, pushing himself flush against the desk and positioning his frame directly between your parted thighs, completely closing any remaining space between you. he was entirely commanding now, locking you into his orbit so securely that the rest of the empty classroom ceased to exist.

his hands slid back up to anchor fiercely around your waist, his long fingers digging into your skin with a brand new, unyielding intensity. the tenderness from before instantly morphed into something deeply passionate, a raw, heavy hunger that had been suppressed for months behind lesson plans and professional boundaries.

he brought his face back up to yours, his dark eyes burning with an unvarnished devotion before he buried his face right back into your neck. this time, his kisses weren't feather-light or hesitant. they were deep, bruising, and heavy with a frantic passion that left you completely breathless. his lips moved hungrily against the sensitive skin of your throat, biting softly at the juncture of your shoulder, making you arch your back instinctively into his mouth.

a ragged gasp escaped your lips, your hands flying up to tangle into the soft, thick hairs at the back of his head, pulling him even closer as the last bit of your restraint dissolved into the quiet, shadowed room.

the heavy friction of his lips against your neck was already making your thoughts fracture, but then, his touch shifted in a way that made your entire body go completely rigid.

one of his large, warm hands slowly detached from your waist. his fingers slid down the curve of your hip, moving with a torturously slow, deliberate precision until his palm brushed the fabric covering your thigh. you caught your breath, your fingers tightening convulsively into the dark curls at the back of his head, but michael was entirely consumed by the moment. slowly, his hand slipped further down, sliding directly between your parted thighs to gently, feather-lightly caress the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

the contact was electric. a sharp, searing wave of heat shot straight through your core, triggering a deep, undeniable pull in your lower stomach that you could no longer pretend wasn't there. you were becoming intensely aroused, your body reacting instantly to his dominance, the heavy ache of desire pooling between your legs with a terrifying force.

panicking at how fast your control was evaporating, you tightly closed your eyes, arching your back slightly away from him as you tried to suppress the feeling, desperate to mentally ignore the way your body was completely surrendering to his touch.

but michael felt the sudden, involuntary tremor that rippled through your frame. he felt the way your breathing hitched into a ragged, broken stutter, and how your inner thighs instinctively tensed against his hand.

he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

a low, deep hum of pure satisfaction vibrated against your throat as he realized how deeply affected you were. michael paused his kisses for a fraction of a second, lifting his head just enough to look down at you. his dark eyes were completely clouded with passion, a knowing, possessive smirk playing at the very corners of his lips as he watched your flushed face.

"you can't hide it from me, darling," he whispered against your lips, his voice a velvety, breathless growl that made your heart hammer frantically. his fingers moved just a fraction higher on your inner thigh, his thumb brushing against your skin with a light, intoxicating friction that shattered your last attempt at denial. "i can feel how much you want me. stop trying to fight it."

the cool air of the classroom hit your skin for a fraction of a second as michael’s hand slid beneath the hem of your skirt. his palm was blazing hot against your bare thigh, his long fingers tracing a slow, agonizingly deliberate path upward, moving closer and closer to your center. the sheer intimacy of the gesture, combined with the heavy weight of his body pressed firmly between your legs, sent a violent wave of heat straight to your core. you were drowning in the feeling, completely overwhelmed by how much your body was craving his touch.

but as his fingers brushed against the delicate fabric of your underwear, a sharp jolt of panic flared through your haze of arousal.

"michael... wait," you gasped out, your voice trembling as you placed your hands flat against his chest, weakly trying to create even an inch of space between you. you shook your head, your eyes wide and glossy with a mix of tears and desire. "i... i can't do this. please, mr. jackson, i really can't do this. it's wrong."

michael paused, his fingers resting still against your inner thigh, just inches away from making you completely lose your mind. he lifted his head, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that was dizzying. he didn't look angry; instead, his expression was filled with a profound, unyielding certainty that made your protests feel entirely futile.

he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your lips as his hand firmly but gently anchored your waist, pressing you down against the wooden desk.

"shh, don't say that," michael murmured, his voice a low, velvety purr that completely filled your senses. he tilted his head, his thumb brushing a soft, hypnotic circle against your skin. "it's not wrong, darling. look at how much we want this. look at how perfect you feel right here with me."

"but the rules... my grades... your career..." you stammered, trying to hold onto the logic that was rapidly slipping through your fingers.

"forget about the rules," he whispered fiercely, his gaze dropping to your lips before snapping back to your eyes with absolute devotion. "it is completely possible. it's acceptable because we care about each other. no one is looking, no one is going to know. just trust me. let me take care of you."

the touch was definitive, erasing any lingering illusion of control. michael’s hand slid the final, agonizing inch, his long fingers pressing through the thin lace covering your center. the moment his palm made contact with the heat radiating from you, he felt it—the unmistakable, slick dampness soaking through the fabric, a physical testament to exactly how deeply aroused you were.

your head snapped back against the desk, a broken, trembling gasp escaping your lips as his fingers moved slightly, spreading the intense warmth across your skin.

michael let out a low, breathy chuckle, a sound thick with pure satisfaction and an unyielding, possessive triumph. he didn't pull away; instead, he leaned his entire upper body over yours, his chest flattening against your breasts, trapping you completely beneath his heavy, intoxicating frame. his eyes, dark and heavy with a dangerous level of desire, locked onto yours, forcing you to look at him as he exposed your body's betrayal.

"see?" michael whispered, his voice a velvety, wicked murmur directly against your lips. his hand remained pressed firmly between your thighs, his fingers applying a torturously slow, rhythmic pressure that made your hips instinctively twitch upward. "you can say whatever you want with your mouth, darling... but even your body says the exact opposite."

you bit your lower lip so hard you could taste copper, trying desperately to swallow the whimper that was building in your throat. you wanted to argue, wanted to cling to the shred of sanity that told you this was a classroom, that he was your professor, but the sheer, agonizing pleasure of his hand moving against your damp skin was making it impossible to form a single coherent thought.

"look at what i do to you," he purred, his thumb sliding over the lace with a deliberate, friction-filled stroke that sent a jolt of pure lightning straight to your core. "you're so wet for me. you're completely ready. stop lying to yourself, my beautiful girl. you are mine tonight."

the last barrier vanished with a quiet, rustling slide of fabric. michael’s fingers hooked into the delicate edge of your lace underwear, gently but unyieldingly pulling it to the side, completely exposing your burning, aching center to his gaze and his touch.

the sudden touch of his bare skin against yours made you let out a sharp, ragged gasp that echoed softly in the quiet room. his fingers were warm and incredibly smooth as he brought his hand back, pressing his palm flat against you, immediately smoothing the slick, heavy dampness across your sensitive skin.

he didn't rush. instead, he began to lightly, agonizingly slowly caress you, his long fingers tracing soft, rhythmic circles directly over your core.

every single stroke felt like pure lightning zipping straight through your veins. any remaining shred of your internal struggle, your panic about the rules, and your fear of the consequences completely melted away, burned to ash by the sheer intensity of the pleasure flooding your system. it felt too good. it felt absolutely incredible. a deep, helpless warmth blossomed between your thighs, and without even realizing it, your hands moved from his chest to grip his shoulders, your fingers digging tightly into the fabric of his vest as you anchored yourself to him.

you completely stopped fighting. you let your head fall back onto the smooth wood of the desk, your eyes fluttering shut as you finally let yourself submit to his touch, a soft, breathy whimper escaping your parted lips.

michael felt the exact moment your body finally surrendered to him. a look of intense, possessive satisfaction washed over his features, his dark eyes watching your flushed face with absolute devotion. he leaned down, pressing a hot, lingering kiss right to the side of your jaw, his breath trembling against your ear as his hand continued its slow, torturous friction below.

"that's it... just like that," he whispered in a low, velvety purr, his thumb shifting to apply a fraction more pressure against your most sensitive spot, making your hips instinctively twitch upward against his palm. "give it all to me, darling. you feel so perfect."

the slow, rhythmic friction against your skin had already pushed you to the absolute limit, but michael was entirely consumed by the desire to see how much deeper he could pull you into his orbit.

with a slow, heavy breath that fanned hot against your cheek, his fingers paused for a fraction of a second. then, with an agonizingly smooth and deliberate motion, he curled his long, slender finger and gently slid it inside of you.

your eyes snapped wide open for a brief second before fluttering tightly shut as a sharp, gasping cry tore from your throat. the feeling of him filling you—slick, warm, and incredibly firm—was an absolute shock to your senses. it was an entirely new tier of pleasure, a deep, heavy ache that rippled through your lower stomach and made your inner muscles instinctively clamp tight around his finger.

"oh god..." you whimpered, your hips bucking up off the wooden desk completely on instinct, desperately seeking more of the incredible friction. your fingers dug so hard into his shoulders that your knuckles turned white, your entire body trembling beneath his frame.

michael let out a low, ragged groan at your reaction, the tight, burning heat of your body squeezing around his finger making his own restraint shatter. his dark eyes flickered with a fierce, possessive pride as he watched your face twist with pure, unadulterated ecstasy.

"you like that, don't you?" he whispered, his voice dropping to a dark, breathless undertone that vibrated right against your lips.

he began to move his finger, slowly sliding it in and out, testing your limits while his thumb firmly pressed down on your center outside. the combination was devastating. you were completely helpless under his touch, your head tossing from side to side on the desk as you let out a continuous string of soft, breathless whimpers. every single stroke felt like pure lightning, completely obliterating any remaining thought of the classroom, the rules, or the world outside. you were entirely his, drowning in a wave of pleasure that kept building higher and higher with every movement of his hand.

with his right hand maintaining that slow, devastating rhythm inside of you, michael’s left hand left your waist to explore the rest of your trembling body. his touch was smooth, burning hot against your skin as his long fingers slid up under the fabric of your shirt, tracing the sensitive curve of your ribs before flattening against your stomach. every single touch felt like gasoline poured on a fire, sending fresh waves of intense goosebumps rippling across your skin.

he slid his palm further up, his thumb lightly brushing against the underside of your breast through your bra, making you let out a high-pitched, broken cry that echoed loudly in the quiet, shadowed classroom.

you couldn't stay still anymore. the overwhelming sensory overload—the deep, rhythmic stretch inside you and the feverish caresses mapping out your skin—was completely driving you crazy. your hips bucked and writhed against his hand on the desk, your legs trembling violently as you subconsciously tried to swallow the friction, moving in every direction just to chase that agonizingly perfect feeling. your head tossed wildly from side to side on the wooden surface, your hair spreading out in a messy halo as a continuous stream of breathless, desperate whimpers escaped your parted lips.

michael leaned back just a fraction, his chest rising and falling with heavy, jagged breaths as he watched you unravel beneath him.

seeing you like this—completely broken down, thrashing and shaking under the absolute control of his hands—triggered something primal and fiercely possessive deep inside him. a dark, breathless smile tugged at his lips, his eyes completely wide and clouded with an unvarnished, hungry adoration. he absolutely loved seeing what he did to you. he loved that the brilliant, quiet, top student of his class was completely falling apart, reduced to a trembling, shivering mess solely because of his touch.

"look at you," michael growled softly, his voice a low, velvety whisper that vibrated with raw passion as he deliberately accelerated the pace of his finger inside you, his thumb pressing down even harder on your swollen center. "look at how beautifully you move for me, darling. you're so good... so perfect for your teacher."

the sheer intensity of the pleasure was becoming too much to bear, pushing you right to the absolute edge of a cliff you didn't want to step back from. your thoughts were completely fractured, evaporated into the heated air of the classroom. as his hand accelerated beneath your skirt, sending a devastating wave of friction straight to your core, you lost the last shred of your pride.

"michael... please, don't stop," you cried out, your voice a breathless, begging whimper that broke in the quiet room. your fingers gripped the fabric of his vest tightly, pulling him down toward you as your hips bucked up against his hand in an unspoken, desperate plea. "please, just... don't stop."

hearing those words slip from your lips—hearing his top, most disciplined student completely beg for his touch—sent a violent jolt of pure adrenaline straight through michael’s veins.

a low, deep growl of absolute triumph escaped his throat, his dark eyes darkening until they were almost completely black with desire. his satisfaction was immense, wrapping around his chest like a tight coil. it excited him to a point of pure madness to see you like this—completely unraveled, helpless, and begging him to keep commanding your body. the thrill of his control over your pleasure made his own breathing turn ragged and frantic.

"i won't stop, darling. i've got you," he whispered fiercely against your lips, his voice thick and rough with an unvarnished hunger.

he pushed himself even deeper between your thighs, locking his frame flush against yours on the desk. matching your desperation, he added a second finger inside your soaking heat, widening you completely as his thumb began to stroke your center with a fast, heavy, and merciless rhythm. the sudden fullness made your eyes roll back, your entire body shaking in every direction as you thrashed under the heavy weight of his chest. michael watched your flushed face twist with pure ecstasy, his chest heaving with heavy pants as he drove you faster and faster toward the edge, completely intoxicated by the sight of you falling apart in his hands.

the air in the room was suffocatingly hot, thick with the sound of your frantic, uneven breathing and the wet, rhythmic friction of his hand moving between your thighs. you were completely lost in the haze of it, your body shuddering with every single stroke, entirely at the mercy of his fingers.

michael paused his movements for a fraction of a second, leaving his fingers buried deep inside your soaking warmth, holding you perfectly still against the wooden desk. the sudden lack of motion made you let out a whimper of pure frustration, your hips instinctively twitching upward to seek the touch.

he leaned down, his chest pressing heavily against yours as his dark eyes locked onto your blown-out, glossy gaze. his breathing was just as ragged as yours, a stray curl falling over his forehead as a dark, fiercely possessive smile played on his lips.

"do you want more, darling?" michael murmured, his voice a low, velvety growl that vibrated straight through your core. he tilted his head, his thumb lightly pressing against your swollen center just enough to make you gasp. "tell me. do you want your teacher to give you more?"

"yes... yes, please, michael," you cried out, completely stripped of any remaining pride. you clutched at his shoulders, your voice breaking in a desperate, breathless plea. "please give me more."

hearing those words slip from your lips sent a violent, heavy rush of arousal straight to his chest. michael’s eyes darkened with absolute, unbridled satisfaction. he absolutely loved seeing you like this—so incredibly obedient, completely stripped of your usual academic restraint, and begging him for exactly what your body needed. the fact that you were actively asking for it, submitting to his authority in the middle of his own classroom, excited him to a point of pure madness.

"such a good girl," he whispered fiercely against your lips, his voice thick and rough with desire. "so obedient for me."

without making you wait another second, he slid his hand out of your skirt just long enough to frantically unbuckle his belt and lower his trousers. he positioned himself right at your soaking entrance, his large hands gripping your thighs and pulling them wide apart over the edges of the desk. he looked down at you one last time, his chest heaving with heavy, shallow breaths, completely intoxicated by how ready and willing you were for him.

the transition from the torturous friction of his fingers to the sudden, overwhelming reality of his full weight was completely breathless. michael gripped your hips with a fierce, unyielding intensity, his knuckles turning white against your skin, and with one slow, deep thrust, he slid entirely inside of you.

a loud, high-pitched gasp tore from your throat, your back arching off the wooden desk as your eyes flew wide open. the sheer fullness of him was staggering—he was so large, so incredibly warm, stretching you completely and filling the deep, aching void that had been building inside you for weeks.

for a few seconds, both of you froze, completely paralyzed and utterly subjugated by the sheer intensity of the sensation.

michael let out a low, ragged groan that vibrated deep in his chest, burying his face into the crook of your neck as his whole body shuddered. the tight, burning heat of your skin enveloping him was a sensory overload that shattered whatever remained of his professional restraint. he clung to you like a drowning man, his breathing coming in frantic, shallow pants against your skin.

clinging to his shoulders, your mind was completely spinning in a dizzying blur of ecstasy and disbelief. i'm actually doing this, the thought echoed frantically behind your closed eyelids, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. i am on a desk in room 304, being taken by my music professor. the absolute taboo of the situation, the knowledge of who he was, and the memory of him standing at the blackboard just hours ago lecturing on harmony made the pleasure ten times more acute, bordering on overwhelming.

but right alongside the shock was a wave of pure, unadulterated awe at just how incredible he felt. michael wasn't just passionate; he was precise, moving with a deep, natural rhythm that mirrored his lifelong mastery of tempo and cadence.

"michael... oh god, michael," you whimpered, your head tossing back onto the desk as he began to move.

he withdrew slowly before driving back in with a heavy, deliberate push that made you cry out, your inner muscles clamping tightly around him. he didn't rush the tempo; he kept it slow, deep, and utterly merciless, ensuring that every single stroke maximize the friction against your swollen center. the absolute mastery with which he commanded your body was terrifyingly good, completely obliterating any lingering shred of doubt or guilt. you were entirely at his mercy, utterly subjugated by the intoxicating rhythm of your teacher.

with every deep, unyielding thrust that slid inside of you, michael’s voice became another layer of your undoing. he didn't stay silent; his breath was hot and ragged against your skin, filling the quiet space of the classroom with a low, velvety commentary that made your ears burn just as hotly as your core.

"look at you... look at how perfect you take me, darling," michael growled softly, his voice thick with an unvarnished, heavy passion as he pushed deep against your center, making you let out a broken, high-pitched whimper.

he lifted his head, his dark eyes clouded with absolute devotion and an intense, possessive pride as he looked down at your flushed, undone face. his hands gripped your waist even tighter, anchoring you to the hard wood of the desk as his hips maintained that agonizingly slow, bruising rhythm.

"you're so tight for me," he whispered breathlessly, a low groan escaping his throat as your inner muscles clamped instinctively around him with every movement. "you were made for this. you were made for me, do you hear me? forget about everything else outside this room. right now, you are just my beautiful girl."

the absolute contrast of hearing his voice—usually so articulate, poised, and professional behind his podium—turn into this deep, primal murmur completely shattered your mind. you could only toss your head back against the varnished wood, your fingers digging frantically into his shoulders, leaving red marks through his shirt as you tried to ride the overwhelming waves of pleasure he was dictating.

"michael... please," you gasped out, your voice fracturing as he hit a spot deep inside that made your entire body shudder violently.

"tell me how it feels," he commanded softly, his tempo accelerating just a fraction, matching the desperate hitch in your breathing. he leaned down, his lips brushing against your earlobe, his voice dropping to a dark, intoxicating purr. "tell your professor how good it feels to let go. say it, darling."

"it feels... so good... please, michael," you cried out, completely stripped of your defenses, utterly obedient to his voice as the friction built to a suffocating, feverish peak between your thighs.

the visual in the dim light of the classroom was nothing short of breathtaking—a scene of pure, unadulterated eroticism. there you were, completely undone, your body arching and moving in every direction against the hard surface of the wooden desk, driven entirely by the overwhelming pleasure flooding your senses. your hair was spread out in a wild halo, your skin flushed and slick with a fine sheen of sweat, and your hips instinctively chasing the heavy, rhythmic friction of his body.

and above you was michael, dominating the space with a striking, hypnotic contrast of power and profound delicacy.

even as he drove deep inside you, his movements possessed an innate, poetic grace. he didn’t treat you roughly; instead, he took you with a fierce tenderness, his large hands worshiping every single inch of your body. while his hips maintained a relentless, intoxicating tempo that made you cry out, his left hand slid up from your waist, his long fingers trailing a path of fire across your stomach, over the curve of your ribs, and up to the sensitive skin of your throat.

every touch of his palm was a breathless caress, mapping out your frame as if he were memorizing the very blueprint of your pleasure.

he leaned down lower, his chest flattening against yours, pinning you softly beneath his heavy, warm frame while his lips traced a frantic line of kisses from your jaw down to your collarbone. you were thrashing beneath him, completely helpless and vibrating with ecstasy, while he anchored you with absolute devotion, his dark eyes fixed on your face to drink in every beautiful, vulnerable expression you made. the sight of your total surrender—coupled with the gentle, possessive mastery of his hands roaming all over your bare skin—turned the empty classroom into a private sanctuary of pure, suffocating desire.

he didn't let you drown in the silence of the room. with every heavy, deep slide of his hips against yours, michael kept his lips pressed close to your skin, his voice a ragged, breathless murmur that vibrated directly into your core.

"you feel so incredible, darling," he panted, his hands sliding underneath your lower back to lift you slightly, tilting your pelvis to make the contact even deeper, even more devastating. "look at me. open your eyes for me."

your eyelids fluttered open, your vision blurred with tears of pure ecstasy, only to find his dark eyes burning down into yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

"you're doing so well for your teacher," he whispered fiercely, a low groan escaping his throat as your tight warmth squeezed around him. "tell me you're mine. say it, beautiful. tell me you belong to me in this room."

"i'm... i'm yours, michael," you cried out, your voice fracturing into a breathless sob as he drove deep into that perfect spot inside you once again.

"yes, you are," he purred, his tempo accelerating just a fraction, matching the frantic rhythm of your racing heart. his fingers caressed the side of your face, brushing away a damp strand of hair with absolute, consuming devotion. "forget the world outside. right now, this is our classroom, and you are learning exactly how much i love you."

the quiet, empty classroom was completely filled with the sound of your undoing. you couldn't hold it back anymore; with every deep, relentless push of his hips, a loud, trembling moan escaped your lips, echoing softly against the high walls and the chalkboard. your whimpers turned into high-pitched, breathless gasps, a continuous string of pure pleasure that you couldn't suppress even if you tried.

hearing those beautiful, broken noises coming from you drove michael absolutely wild.

a heavy, ragged groan tore from his chest, his whole body shuddering against yours as he buried his face deep in your neck. the sound of your moans was like gasoline on a fire, pushing his excitement to a point of pure madness. he loved it. he loved hearing exactly how much he was making you feel, knowing that every single breathless cry was entirely because of him.

he lifted his head slightly, his dark eyes wide and darkened with a heavy, hungry satisfaction as he watched your flushed face. seeing your eyes rolled back, your lips parted as you cried out his name, and your body shaking in every direction beneath him gave him a feeling of absolute, intoxicating power.

"yes, darling... cry out for me," michael growled breathlessly, his voice thick and rough with passion as he deliberately accelerated the tempo, his thrusts becoming faster and harder against your soaking center. "let me hear you. i want to hear exactly how good your teacher is making you feel."

the overwhelming build-up of friction was becoming too much to handle, a tight, electric coil winding tighter and tighter deep inside your lower stomach. with every fast, breathless thrust michael made, the pressure intensified until you could feel the edge right there, just seconds away. knowing you were so close to the precipice didn't make you hold back; instead, it gave you a sudden, frantic rush of motivation.

your hips began to move even faster against his, arching up off the wooden desk completely on instinct to meet every deep push, desperately chasing that final, shattering release.

"michael... oh god, michael, i'm... i'm close," you cried out, your voice breaking into a ragged, desperate sob as you wrapped your legs tightly around his waist to pull him even deeper inside you.

seeing your sudden surge of desperate energy, michael let out a low, victorious growl that vibrated heavily against your chest. he felt the intense, involuntary tremors beginning to ripple through your inner muscles, clamping around him like a vice, and it pushed him right over the edge of his own control. his hands gripped your hips with an unyielding, bruising force, locking you in place as he threw his entire weight into a fast, merciless, and blindingly deep rhythm, driving both of you straight toward the finish line.

he felt the frantic, helpless tightening of your body around him, your breath coming in shallow, desperate gasps as you teetered on the very edge of the precipice. a heavy, ragged sigh escaped his lips, his dark eyes fixed entirely on your flushed face, watching the pure ecstasy take over your features.

"go ahead, darling... just let yourself go," michael whispered fiercely against your mouth, his voice dropping to a low, velvety command that completely broke your remaining restraint.

"give it all to me," he growled breathlessly, his hips driving into yours with a final, mercilessly deep tempo that sent you completely over the edge, anchoring you tightly as your world completely shattered into brilliant waves of pleasure.

the sight of your body completely convulsing beneath him, your eyes rolling back as you surrendered to a shattering climax, was the absolute breaking point for his restraint. the tight, rhythmic squeezing of your inner muscles around him sent a violent, blinding shockwave straight through his entire frame.

michael let out a low, deeply primal roar of pure triumph, his voice thick and entirely unrecognizable as it echoed off the classroom walls.

his fingers dug bruisingly deep into the soft skin of your hips, locking you flat against the wooden desk as his body took over completely. with three final, heavy, and devastatingly deep thrusts, his entire frame shuddered violently. he collapsed heavily against your chest, burying his face into the crook of your neck as he released everything inside you, his breath coming in ragged, frantic gasps against your burning skin as both of your heartbeats hammered wildly together in the quiet room.

the heavy, suffocating heat of the classroom slowly began to settle around you, the only sound left being the ragged, synchronized rhythm of your breathing. michael didn't move. he stayed exactly where he was, his full weight pressing you down against the smooth wood of the desk, his face buried deep in the crook of your neck as his heart hammered wildly against your ribs. his skin was hot, slick with a fine sheen of sweat, and he held you with a quiet, fierce intensity, as if letting go would mean letting the reality of the outside world rush back in too soon.

for a long, quiet moment, he just held you, his chest rising and falling in deep, exhausted pants.

slowly, the frantic racing of his pulse began to ease. with a soft, trembling sigh that fanned warm against your collarbone, michael shifted his weight. he pushed himself up slightly, resting his forearms on either side of your head so he could look down at you. his dark eyes were incredibly soft, completely cleared of that heavy, hungry clouds of desire, replaced instead by a gaze of pure, unvarnished devotion.

he reached up with one long, slender hand, his thumb gently brushing a damp lock of hair away from your flushed cheek, his touch incredibly tender.

"darling..." he murmured, his voice a low, velvety whisper that sounded completely raw in the quiet room. he stared down at your undone, breathless state, a faint, melancholic smile touching his lips. "i need you to listen to me for a moment. just look at me."

you blinked your glossy, heavy eyes open, looking up into the face of your professor, your heart still fluttering from the aftershocks of his touch.

"from the very first day you walked into my classroom... i knew," he whispered, his thumb lightly tracing the line of your jaw. "i sat behind that podium, watching everyone else just drift through the lessons, but you... you were entirely different. i saw it in the way you listened to the music, the way your mind worked, the quiet discipline you carried yourself with. you had this brilliance, this deep, rare understanding that completely captivated me from the start."

he leaned down slightly, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead before looking back into your eyes, his gaze intense and unwavering.

"i tried to be just your teacher. god knows i tried to keep that distance, to follow the rules," michael confessed softly, a low, breathy laugh escaping his chest. "but it was impossible. every single day, seeing you sit there, you completely pulled me in. you are so special, darling. so completely unique. i knew from the beginning that we were going to end up right here... because a soul like yours doesn't just come along every day. you're the only one who truly understands me."

hearing his words—hearing the deep, vulnerable confession coming from the man you had admired from afar for so long—felt like a final, beautiful shattering of the wall you had built around your heart. the tears that had blurred your vision finally slipped down your cheeks, warm and free, as a shaky, breathless laugh escaped your lips.

you reached up, your trembling fingers wrapping around the back of his neck, pulling him just a fraction closer so you could look directly into his dark, earnest eyes.

"i love you too, michael," you whispered, your voice cracking with the sheer weight of the emotion you had kept hidden for months. "i love you so much... and it completely terrified me. every single day i walked into this room, i was so scared of what i was feeling, scared of how much power you had over me just by standing there."

michael’s eyes widened slightly, a profound, breathtaking softness melting across his features as he listened to you speak your truth.

"i thought i was losing my mind, thinking about my professor like this," you continued, a soft, relieved smile breaking through your tears as your thumb brushed against the soft skin of his nape. "but hearing you say all of this... knowing that you feel the exact same way about me... i'm just so incredibly happy. i've never been happier, michael."

a radiant, incredibly tender smile broke across michael’s face, erasing every last trace of his usual gravity. he let out a low, breathy sigh of pure relief, leaning down to press his forehead firmly against yours, his closed eyes squeezing tight as if to lock this exact moment into his memory forever.

"oh, darling," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion as his hands cradled your face, his thumbs gently wiping away the tears on your cheeks. "you have no idea how much it means to hear you say that. you don't ever have to be afraid with me. we're in this together now."

the heavy weight of the secret they now shared seemed to soften the air around them. michael slowly shifted, carefully withdrawing from you with a low, reluctant sigh. instead of immediately pulling away, he remained close, his hands remaining incredibly gentle as he began to help you sit up on the smooth wood of the desk.

your body felt completely heavy, liquid and beautifully exhausted from the sheer intensity of what had just happened. seeing your slight tremble, michael immediately moved to support you, placing a strong, steady arm behind your back to guide you up.

with an innate sense of chivalry and care, he didn't just let you fend for yourself. he reached down for your scattered clothing, his long fingers carefully gathering the fabric. one by one, he helped you slip your clothes back on, his movements completely devoid of urgency, treated with the same meticulous precision and tenderness he gave to everything else. he smoothed down your shirt, his hands lingering on your shoulders for a brief moment just to ground you.

once you were fully dressed and sitting securely, michael stepped closer, framing your face with both of his large, warm hands.

his thumbs lightly traced the curve of your cheekbones, wiping away the very last traces of tears and sweat. he looked down at you with a gaze so pure and fiercely protective that it completely banished any lingering shred of anxiety or guilt that might have tried to creep back into your mind.

"look at me, darling," michael murmured, his voice a low, velvety purr that wrapped around you like a warm blanket. a soft, incredibly reassuring smile touched his lips as he leaned down to press a tender, lingering kiss to your forehead. "everything is okay. all that fear, all that worrying... it's gone now. everything is going to be alright now, i promise you."

The sound of the gate opening and a running engine gradually approaching roused you out of whatever sleep you were just about to fall into. You hopped off the hood of the red car that you were sitting on top of, anxious to finally to be released from the shackles of watching this game. Michael stepped out of the car and greeted all of you before excitedly making his way over to the trunk. Once Bill opened the trunk, Michael yanked a familiar game out of a big blue shopping bag.

"Guys look, I got Twister! You wanna play tonight?" Michael just barely finished his sentence before all the boys started laughing at him.

"Twister? Really?"

"What are we gonna do with Twister?"

The smile that made Michael's face radiate like the sun depleted ever so slightly. "Come on, it'll be like the old days," he countered.

"We'd love to, Mike, but I gotta be at home with the family, I can't be playing games," argued Jermaine before immediately reverting his attention back to the ball.

"And the rest of us are going out tonight."

"Yeah, Marlon's got a hot date."

Michael cradled the box in the nook of his arm, a subtle look of dejection lingering in his eyes. "Marlon, what time are you gonna be home? We can play then."

Before Marlon could respond, Tito answered for him. "Marlon's gonna be playing his own game of Twister tonight."

They all went back to laughing, and in a series of rather fortunate events, you swooped in to snatch your chance of getting what you came here for: some alone time with Michael.

"I'll play with you," you said, and the light came back to his eyes as quickly as it left.

"At least there's one person around here who knows how to have fun," Michael responded, speaking indirectly to his brothers. "Come on then, the faster we get to my room, the more time we have to play." 

With haste, Michael bolted to the front door of the house as you chased after him, laughter from the both of you filling the air as you ran past.

Whether 30 minutes had passed or 3 hours, it was difficult to tell. You and Michael had played an unfathomable number of rounds, and that same yawn that you stifled earlier started haunting your throat again. Michael on the other hand still had enough energy to play until the cows came home.

"Let's play one more round," Michael said, mimicking his words from the past 5 rounds while smoothing out the mat.

You weren't sure if you'd be able to handle another round of the same dreary game. It's not that you wanted to stop playing, it's just that you wanted to spice things up a bit. Twister would've been a blast to play on its own for 50+ plus rounds back when you were in grade school, but you were an adult now which meant you had a different, and slightly more raunchy idea of fun.

Just as that thought passed through your head, a light bulb went off and a devious grin crept on your face. Oh yes. Not only would the brilliant idea that just popped into your head make for a much more interesting game, but it would lead you right to where you wanted to be with Michael. Right to where you've wanted to be with him for years now.

"Michael, why don't we switch it up a bit? Play a different version of Twister than the one we've been playing this whole time?"

"A different version? Like what?"

"Strip Twister."

His head shot up. You could tell he was physically trying to restrain his eyes from popping out of his head. "Strip Twister?"

"Yeah, I learned how to play it from an old friend at summer camp several years ago. You play the game like how you normally would, but every time someone falls, that person has to remove an article of clothing and the game doesn't end until one of us is naked."

Michael chuckled uneasily. "I don't know if it's a good idea to play that version."

"Why not?" you asked in feigned oblivion.

"Because one of us is gonna end up seeing the other naked!" Michael exclaimed, though his tone of voice and body language didn't really express the same level of opposition as the words coming out of his mouth.

"Oh please, I took sex ed in school, I know what boys look like down there. Besides, we're not strangers. It's not that much different from seeing each other in our bathing suits."

Michael's face was unreadable. Worried that you had overstepped a boundary, your brain scrambled to find a way to go back in time 30 seconds and never mention the Strip Twister, but what Michael said next nearly made your own eyes pop out of your head.

"50 bucks says I'm the last one clothed by the end."

The same devious grin from earlier revisited your face, and you both shook hands to seal the deal; the last instance of purely platonic physical contact that you two would engage in for the rest of the day.

At the end of round 1, your socks were sacrificed. At the end of round 2, it was Michael's turn to sacrifice his socks. The finale of round 3 constituted the removal of Michael's plain white t-shirt, but round 4 was where you had to give up your Jordache jeans. After Michael's arms gave out on him in round 5, you teased him with a wolf-whistle as he discarded his black sweats, revealing the Mickey Mouse boxers he was wearing underneath. You nearly broke the skin on your bottom lip biting down on it to suppress your laughter. Round 6 was a close game, but your halter top was the next article of clothing that ended up on the floor at the end of that round.

Now in nothing but your second skins, the stakes were at an all time high. Michael was determined to be the last man standing (or clothed in this case) but you needed him to lose this next round to carry out your master plan as intended.

Michael was virtually heaving at this point and sounded breathless every time he spoke. You were shocked that he hadn't gotten a boner yet, especially considering the way he couldn't take his eyes off of your body. He spun the wheel right next to him. "Alright, right hand red."

Bullseye. There was no better body part/color combination that the arrow could've landed on, because with just one convenient placement of your right hand on the red dot all the way to the far edge of the mat, you were now promoted to hovering on top of Michael. The cloth prison that your breasts were still confined in left little to the imagination as your nipples prodded through the thin fabric in perfect line with Michael's gaze. His breath was hot on your cleavage and you could hear just the faintest bit of shakiness in it. And it wasn't long after you got into the new position that you felt something lightly press up against your underwear with more and more force by the second. It was as if whatever the mystery object was that was pressing up against your core was growing. The tiniest gasp escaped from Michael's mouth and he lowered his body as close to the ground as he could without actually touching it. There it was. You now wished you could go back to the crab-walk stance to see the mountain growing in his boxers in real time.

You leaned forward to be able to reach the arrow on the wheel and determine Michael's fate. He had turned his head to the side out of politeness when he saw you reach forward, but his willpower to remain gentlemanly was subpar at best because you clocked several instances of him glancing back at your breasts in the 5 seconds it took for the arrow to land on left foot red.

A Robin Hood Bullseye. Michael's left foot was all the way on the green dot farthest to the edge of the mat in line with where your right hand was. There was no way he would be able to get it all the way over to red without losing his balance and falling, especially with you on top of him limiting the amount of space he had for his leg to move.

He looked up at you with pleading eyes once he realized how rigorous this feat would be to accomplish, but he was only met with a witty smirk in return.

After a great deal of stalling, Michael revved himself up to hoist his left foot off of the green spot and plant it onto the red spot directly next to the one your right hand was on, but his strategy was foiled when his foot got stuck to the mat and caused him to collapse dramatically underneath you.

You cheered in victory, lifting yourself off of him to jump in the air and chant your triumph as he lay in the same position he fell in, his arms crossed weakly on top of his torso and his head rolled back in laughter. As much as he hated losing a game to you, he loved watching you put on a show every time you won. Once you finished rubbing your victory in his face, you plopped down right next to him and Michael briskly lifted his left knee up to hide the front of his boxers.

You rubbed his arms up and down, gently squeezing his lean biceps. "The $50 you can give me later, but Mickey Mouse is gonna have to say goodbye right now." You transitioned your hands from his biceps to the waistband of his underwear, and even through his deep brown skin, you could see the faintest hint of red looming on his cheeks before he covered his face with his hands and playfully tried to kick you away.

"No! Please!" he begged through a fit of giggles. "C'mon, let's do best out of 3."

"It doesn't work like that, applehead."

Michael carried on with his laughing fit for some time while you continued to toy with his waistband. At this point, he was fighting back less and less with each graze of your hand past his navel. In fact, he wasn't really putting much effort into hiding his erection anymore either. His legs now lay completely relaxed and flat on the floor, giving you a full view of the outline of his thick cock laying off to one side and protruding through the fabric, begging for some form of escape.

Curious as to whether he was no longer hiding his growing appendage on purpose or if he simply forgot it was there, you tugged his boxers down the slightest bit, just enough to see where the dark curls of his pubic hair began. He didn't stop you. He simply shuddered as another row of muffled giggles came out of his mouth. When he finally removed his hands from his face, he gazed up at you with a glimmer in his eyes that was anything but platonic.

"You're not stopping me," you pointed out.

Michael shook his head, looking as though he just got hit with Cupid's arrow.

You crossed your arms and sat back on your heels. "You figured out the reason why I suggested Strip Twister in the first place, didn't you?"

Michael nodded.

"So then you know where this is heading?"

He nodded once more.

"And you want me to continue?"

"Please," he squeaked, struggling to quell a smile that almost touched his eyes.

"Well," you swung a leg over to sit on top of him and bent down until his face was a blur in your eyes, "since you asked so nicely."

The gasp that emerged from Michael's mouth as you seated yourself directly on top of his aching bulge was briskly silenced by the delicate kiss you planted on his lips. You pulled back after the first initial peck to catch his reaction, and you were pleasantly surprised to see him lift his head up off the ground in a desperate attempt to meet your lips again.

Your hand found its way to the back of his head, cradling his curls, dampened by preliminary sweat, as you brought your lips to his once more. You lingered there for a little while longer this time, making sure to savor his taste. You hadn't realized just how starving you were for him until now, and neither did he. His hands maneuvered to your back to hold onto you, pulling you in until your bodies were pressing against each other. As your lips fought to consume one another, you grabbed hold of his hands and guided them to the hook of your bra. With a swift unclasp, the bra slid right off and down your arms before being thrown onto the pile with the rest of the discarded clothes.

A mini sigh of relief fell from your lips and trickled into Michael's mouth. Your breasts lay freely on his chest and your hearts synced together, thumping at a rapid pace as the dizziness in your heads made you both feel like your brains were being carried by ocean waves. Was this actually happening? Or did you fall asleep while watching the brothers play basketball and you were just dreaming right now? You would've pinched yourself to know for sure, but you much preferred the feeling of Michael's fingers desperately gripping your thighs as opposed to your own.

As much as Michael's sickly sweet lips satisfied your craving orally, your core still remained starved for the delicacy that lay between his legs. Lightly, your hips began to rock back and forth on his clothed member. Michael whimpered, his legs wriggling beneath you and his hands dancing in a mixture of balling themselves into fists and retracting.

The slickness from your cunt began to coat the entire bottom of your panties, making the part of Michael's boxers that his shaft hugged so tightly sopping wet as well. For whatever part of his boxers wasn't soaked from your juices, the precum oozing out of him finished the job.

What started as a gentle back-and-forth motion eventually turned into aggressive grinding. These damn panties and boxers were in your way, barricading you from the real thing, and no matter how hard you rubbed yourself on Michael, it wasn't enough. He must've felt the same way, because while you were both still tongue-deep in each other's mouths, you felt his fingers tuck themselves into the sides of your panties, signaling to you that he wanted you to take them off.

You lifted yourself up, met with a whiny protest from Michael, and bit your lip as you smiled pompously. "I'm sorry, was I the one that lost Twister?" you asked him.

He shook his head, his eyes stark on your tits.

"That's right. You were the one that lost, which means these have to come off first," you said, playfully tugging at his boxers.

You teased him for what was realistically about 2 minutes, but to him, it felt like hours. You snaked your hands underneath the boxers to squeeze and knead his trembling thighs before migrating them over to his cock, which was still fully clothed, giving him a lazy hand job that made him squirm and writhe defenselessly.

"Please… Just take it off… I can't… I need… Mmph."

You giggled, butterflies going haywire in the pit of your stomach. You had never seen him act like this before, so needy and entirely helpless at your disposal. You would've teased him for even longer just to see how much he could handle before he cracked, but at this point, your legs were starting to quiver as well, and you had become so wet that you could physically feel the fluid dripping out of your pussy in real time.

"As you wish," you gladly stated, and with one sturdy pull, his boxers were dragged down from his hips and off of his legs.

Michael sighed in relief as his dick sprang free, slapping his stomach and leaving a thin string of precum connecting his glistening tip to the spot that it hit before standing fully upright.

You swallowed your breath. They say that the camera adds 10 lbs. Well, it must've been the case that Mickey Mouse boxers subtract 10 lbs, because the silhouette of his dick in his underwear could not even begin to compare to how big it looked when it was wild and free.

Slightly curved towards himself with speckles of lighter skin all around and a broad vein running down the shaft, you guesstimated that his dick must've been at the very least 7 and a half inches, maybe even 8. You became a bit nervous. You weren't a virgin, unlike Michael, but none of the other guys you had been with in the past were even remotely close in size to him. Was all that going to fit inside of you? There was only one way to find out, and God, you couldn't wait to find out the answer.

In a tantalizing manner, you grabbed hold of his hands and tucked his fingers into the waistband of your panties, silently giving him permission to do what he wanted to do 3 minutes ago. With shaky hands, he carefully slid your underwear off of you, his hands gliding down your thighs before you briskly passed your feet through the holes and threw them onto the pile, topping it off like the star on a Christmas tree.

Eager for the main event with your slickness now crawling down onto your inner thighs, you pounced on top of Michael, grabbing hold of his face and planting your lips onto his once more. As your tongues danced with each other and his hands went back to caressing your body, focusing on the parts that weren't accessible to him until now, yours slithered down, gliding past his throat where you could feel his heart beating inside of it, past his chest covered in a thick sheen of perspiration, past his stomach where you traced the lines that made up his delicate abs, and past the mound of curly black pubic hair until they wrapped around his pulsating cock.

Michael expelled a drawn-out mewl as you stroked him thoroughly, starting at the very bottom of the base and pushing up until his foreskin swallowed the tip before you glided your hand back down and the glistening head bloomed once more. The squelching noises accompanied by Michael's kitten-like whimpers were music to your ears.

"Please, please," he begged as you continued to fondle him, rotating your hands as you went up and down to ensure that no part of his dick was left unstroked, "I just wanna be inside you already, please…"

You fought hard to suppress a shudder, having almost came right then and there from hearing him say that. You had spent this whole time having a ball teasing Michael to the point of madness that you hadn't realized just how close you were to your own tipping point until he said those magic words in that delectably high-pitched voice of his. It was in that moment that you released your hands from his cock and pulled him up so that he was sitting upright, leaning against the edge of his bed as opposed to laying flat on the floor like he had been this whole time. You needed to be face to face with him for this moment.

You maneuvered yourself to hover over his cock, wrapping your arms around his neck and touching your foreheads together as he gripped and kneaded your ass with desperation. It almost felt like he was trying to push your hips down. You took the hint and finally lowered yourself onto him at long last. As his lubed tip began to pierce through your hole, shockwaves of pleasure emanated through the both of you, starting at the base of your groins and dispersing all throughout your bodies until you could feel the tingles passing through each follicle of hair on your scalp. Michael's head rolled back as a moan of intense relief escaped from his throat, and your mouth hung open as you felt his member stretch your ribbed walls inch by inch.

Your thighs trembled like mad trying their absolute hardest to hold your weight as you slowly drew yourself down. 1 inch, 2 inches, 3 inches, 4 inches. It burned so good. You viciously sucked on his neck trying to distract yourself from the pain, knowing that pure bliss was coming soon, and the vibrations that his moans set off on your teeth helped open your cunt to let him in deeper. 5 inches, 6 inches, 7 inches…

Soon your pussy swallowed all 8 inches of him and your trembling thighs were finally rewarded with resting on top of his as you both let out a low-drawn groan in unison. You stayed there for a little while, wanting to relish in the feeling of his dick being hugged tightly by the slick walls of your cunt.

"God, you're so big, it's making me so full," you whispered breathlessly against the skin of his neck. "You want me to start moving up and down?"

An incomprehensible noise emitted from Michael's throat as he furiously nodded his head, a couple beads of sweat shaking off of his curls as a result.

"I need an audible answer, baby."

"Hmmph," he said, digging his fingers into your hips in an attempt to try and lift you up.

Dissatisfied with him not listening to you, you snatched his wrists and yanked them up so that his hands hung above his head. He looked at you with a feeble pout, his eyes beginning to turn glossy from the tears of desperation that were burning in the back of his skull.

"You are gonna answer me with a verbal 'yes' or 'no' like a good boy or I'm gonna put my clothes back on and walk out of here right now." You were bluffing, of course. You wouldn't dream of walking out of the room during a moment as beautiful as this, but Michael didn't need to know that. "One more time, do you want me to start moving up and down?"

"Y-yes please. Please just move, hmph, I've been waiting forever for this, just please do it already~"

"I've been waiting forever for this." There it was. The proof you needed that the feelings you had for Michael for years now were indeed mutual. And no amount of "please's" or magic words were as effective in giving Michael what he wanted as that sweet phrase that you yourself had waited forever for.

"As you wish," you repeated yourself from earlier.

Fighting through the ache in your thighs, you lifted yourself all the way up until nothing but the very top of his tip was still inside of you and slammed yourself back down, both of your thighs creating a deafening clap on impact.

A stunned wail erupted from Michael's throat at the initial drop. He clung to you as if a gust of wind was enough to drag you away from him, burying his head into the crevice of your shoulder. You could feel the warm tears leaking out of his eyes and onto your collarbone as you maintained the same pattern of stroking his cock with your pussy from tip to base.

"Ooh, ah, ah, it feels so good... You feel so good~" Michael's voice wobbled with every bounce you did. After several strokes, you had finally gotten used to his size and could pick up the pace, bouncing so fast that Michael could no longer keep his head buried in your shoulder. You lifted him up by his curls and giggled at his face. The face of a man who was in shambles at this very moment in time. The face of a man who didn't have an ounce of control over anything and liked it like that. The face of a man who would do whatever you wanted right now, so long as you kept riding him.

His tear-stained eyes couldn't pull themselves away from your breasts jiggling to the rhythm. You were just about to start getting close, you could feel it, but you needed an extra push.

"Michael, baby," you cooed, "d'you wanna be a good boy and suck on my titties for me?"

No verbal response yet again. Instead, he answered by grabbing your right breast and enveloping his lips around your areola, visibly trying to shove as much of your tit into his mouth as he could. You moaned in surprise pleasure, enraptured to see him so eager to fulfill your request without second thought.

You continued riding him at a steady pace, both of your juices blending to form an off-white elixir that presented itself as a ring around the base of Michael's cock where you landed with each recoil. Your hands gripped and kneaded his curls, forming knots in his hair that he could care less about as his tongue swirled in circles and figure eights around your erected nipples. He sucked and slurped your breasts like it was his last meal, his toes curling as you pounded down onto him repeatedly.

It was when he began to lightly tug at your nipples with his teeth that you could start to feel it. That fire kindling deep within the pit of your stomach that gave you the warning. Hastily, you shoved Michael's face deeper into your chest, not wanting him to stray even a centimeter away from where he was, and he obliged with pleasure as you thrusted yourself all the way down onto his member and started to vigorously grind your throbbing clit on top of his pubic mound.

"That's it, Michael, I'm almost there… Oh God, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna fucking cum~"

The friction from Michael's course pubic hair against your clit sent you into a frenzy as you felt the sensation of fireworks going off inside of you. Your hips stuttered against his as your diaphragm squeezed itself against your will to fill the room with your boisterous moans. Your nails dug into his scalp and your eyes rolled back until you could see nothing but the unidentifiable color of your eyelids. As you bucked your hips, riding out the last bit of your euphoria, your thighs squelched as all of the juices that expelled from your pussy found its way past the barrier that Michael's rock hard dick planted inside of you and spilled out of you and all over him, leaving itself as a glimmering puddle on his lap.

Your grinding slowed as the aftershocks of your cunt pulsing every few seconds like a heartbeat squeezed Michael's cock, but he frantically urged you not to stop now as his high was nearing.

"No, no, no, please, I've been a good boy, please don't stop now, I feel it coming~"

Suddenly regaining all of your energy, you went back to riding him in full force, pulling him away from your breasts and into your line of view so that you could watch his climax in all its glory.

"Yes, you've been such a good boy," you assured him, knowing full well that the floodgates would burst open the more you praised him. "You'll be the best boy in the world if you cum inside of me, baby. Don't be afraid, just let it all out."

"Uuuuughhh, mmmmph~" His eyes squeezed shut in concentration and his hips started to buck against yours, causing you to fall out of rhythm for a few seconds before you both found the right beat, your thighs pounding against each other with resounding claps before Michael's breathing hitched, his back arched, and he latched onto you.

"Ohh, ahh, I'm cumming, oh my God, I'm cumming!" he cried out. Your name fell mercilessly from his lips as thick ropes of warm cum spurted out of him and splattered onto the rigid walls of your pussy. Your cunt dragged his creamy liquid up and down his shaft, coating his entire dick as you still continued to ride him while he was finishing, doing your best to milk him dry. Loud wailing moans soon turned into mewling whines as the last bit of cum weakly dribbled out of Michael's fully pumped cock and you slowed down in time to feel him pulse inside of you before shrinking back down to his flaccid size.

None of you said anything for a while as you both caught your breaths and tried to register what just happened. Michael's head rested on your shoulder and you rubbed his back while murmuring praises in his ear about what a good job he did. Although when you did so, you could've sworn you felt one last gush of cum expel out of him as he jolted ever so slightly in your arms.

"Do you feel better?" you asked him. He lifted himself off of your shoulder, nodding his head and gulping heavily as if attempting to swallow a tablespoon of peanut butter before reaching over to his wallet, which had been resting on the ottoman pressed up against the bed this whole time, and pulling out a crisp $50 bill. You chuckled, having completely forgotten about that part of the deal before snatching the bill in between your index and middle finger like it was a cigarette and grabbing your jeans from the pile to tuck it into the pocket of.

"So, uh," Michael gulped once more, "what should we do now?" He was visibly love drunk, though you weren't sure if a cold shower would be enough to sober him up.

At this moment in time, you knew that it was in your guys' best interests to clean yourselves up and get dressed before anyone came in, but just for the sake of wanting to be funny, you had to ask:

ever since the night of the 1980s grammys, your relationship had been rewritten into something insatiable.

you had both come home riding the high of the awards and lost your virginities to one another, and god, did that unlock a monster.

they always say that once you finally cross that line, it changes your body completely.

it was true.

giving your innocence to one another didn't satisfy the craving; it only made the hunger twice as bad.

now that your bodies knew exactly how good it felt to fuse together, the physical need for each other had become an actual addiction.

it was like a switch flipped, and suddenly neither of you could get enough of each other. you were just as obsessed with him as he was with you, but michael was so much worse at hiding it.

he would literally whine and beg to take you, his voice cracking with a needy pitch that left him embarrassed afterward – yet he just couldn't help himself.

he got hard the absolute second you crossed his mind.

sometimes that desperation got so overwhelming – so violently thick between you, that there wasn't even time to pull your clothes off. he’d get so needy that he would grab you by the waist, dragging you onto his lap to straddle him.

you’d both start humping against each other like animals in heat, grinding together with a feverish friction that left you both mewling into each other’s necks as you chased the relief. 

your underwear would already be drenched, soaked through with your slick arousal. michael would lose his mind at the wetness of it, his hips jerking uncontrollably against yours, fucking into you harder and harder until he’d choke out a broken cry as you both came, soaking right through your clothes.

it was a constant, beautiful torment for him.

frequently, you’d wake up in the dead of night to the heavy press of his weight. he’d be trapped in the grip of a vivid wet dream, his long fingers subconsciously wrapped around your waist to anchor you tightly against his hips.

hearing his frantic breaths and the desperate whines vibrating against your neck, you'd reach up to gently run your fingers along the ends of his curls, softly whispering his name to pull him out of it.

he’d wake up with a shudder, his movements coming to an abrupt halt. the second he realized he’d been dry-rutting you in his sleep, he’d squeeze his eyes back shut and bury his face deep into your shoulder, his skin burning hot.

"’m sorry," he’d mumble, sounding embarrassed.

“‘s okay, baby” you’d whisper, stroking his hair to settle him as you reached back down between your bodies, your fingers slipping under his waistband.

michael would let out a gasp at the contact, his body locking up tight. he’d be too embarrassed to say anything else, just letting out a small, needy whimper as his hips instinctively jerked forward into your palm, his body quivering as he shot his cum straight into your hand.

and it didn't matter how public or innocent the setting was; his mind was entirely corrupted by you.

just a few weeks ago, during a particularly hot day by the pool, the backyard had been full of his siblings laughing and playing music. you had been sitting on the edge of a lounge chair, completely oblivious, casually eating a blue popsicle to stay cool.

across the pool, michael had been completely hypnotized.

he watched the way your lips wrapped around the popsicle, his chest tightening as his mind drifted to how good it felt when you hollowed your cheeks to suck him just like that, or how incredibly filthy it would look to see his creamy white cum dripping against the bright blue stain on your tongue.

his eyes dragged down, eyeing just how good your body looked in that swimsuit, fiending over the sight of you.

he couldn't stop staring at your soft curves, his gaze locked onto how plump your ass looked pressed against the lounge chair. 

he felt so dirty – so guilty for thinking that way about his sweet, precious girlfriend, but the blood rushed straight to his dick so fast it made his head spin. he just couldn’t seem to look away.

it could be something as sweet as you gently playing with his curls, absentmindedly tracing shapes on his chest while cuddling under a blanket, or even just the mere scent of your perfume. all of it – every single little thing you did – had him losing his mind.

whenever you caught him like that – feeling the thick length of him pressing against you during a simple hug – you couldn't resist teasing him.

you’d shift just enough to grind subtly against it, whispering a soft, teasing comment about how bad he wanted you, even though the sheer sight of his needy state made your own thighs rub together, completely soaked with the knowledge that the slightest thing you did could turn him like this.

which was kinda how you ended up in this predicament tonight.

you were standing by the edge of the dining room, just listening to the loud chatter of the family gathering, when you felt the unmistakable warmth of michael hovering right behind you.

without speaking a word, he leaned over your shoulder, pressing a soft kiss against your jawline before trailing a slow path down the sensitive skin of your neck.

your stomach flipped. you quickly looked around the crowded room, your heart hammering against your ribs as you tried to make sure no one was watching.

"michael..." you whispered, your voice a nervous warning as his mouth sank right into the crook of your shoulder.

he didn't care.

he didn't even look up at the crowd, engulfed by the scent of your skin. his fingers slipped down to lock tightly with yours, his palm burning hot as he gave an insistent tug and started guiding you away from the room. you obviously didn’t object. you wanted him just as bad.

so you swallowed hard, letting him lead you quickly past the noise of the hallway and straight up the steps.

the second you crossed the threshold of his bedroom, the door clicked shut, wasting no second to lock it.

michael didn't even give you a second to breathe before he was pressing you back against the wood.

he leaned in, his lips finding yours in a kiss that started out deceptively gentle. it made you melt against him, but it only lasted for a heartbeat.

you let out a soft sigh, and his tongue took advantage of that, pushing past your lips. he completely consumed your mouth, his tongue deep and demanding as it slicked over yours with an uncoordinated hunger.

you could hear the wet, sloppy friction of your lips sliding together, the heat of his saliva slicking your chin as he tilted your head back to get a deeper angle.

he swallowed your quiet gasps as his mouth tasted you, his tongue stroking yours with heat. you mewled into his mouth as your thighs shifted together, trying to relieve the ache between them.

“michael–” you tried to gasp out, your hips jerking forward to grind against his cock.

he interrupted you, muffling the sound of your voice under another kiss, his mouth sliding hungrily over yours. you managed to pull your mouth away from his, your breaths coming in ragged pants.

“michael, wait– they’re gonna notice we’re gone,” you breathed out, your head tilting back against the door to look up at him.

he didn’t care though, his eyes were glued to your mouth. instead of answering, his lips dropped to your neck. he sucked hard, bruising the sensitive skin under your jaw, leaving a mark that will definitely darken later. his tongue lapped at your skin as a moan escaped your lips, which only drove him crazier. your moans alone were pulling guttural groans from his chest.

his hands were all over you.

his long fingers dug bruisingly into your waist, anchoring you tight before his palms slid down, his large hands roughly cupping the plump flesh of your ass through your clothes and lifting you slightly to grind his rock-hard cock right into your dripping center.

a breathless whimper tore from his throat into your mouth, his grip tightening as his hands slid back up your torso, his palms slipping hungrily under your shirt to map out every inch of your bare skin.

he was squeezing your waist, his thumbs tracing the curve of your ribs, utterly fiending for the feel of you as the kiss grew messier.

“oh god, baby, please– need y’so bad,” he gasped out against your lips.

michael's hands slid down your sides to hook firmly under your thighs. he hoisted you right up off the floor, your legs locking around his waist. keeping you anchored against his chest, he stumbled away from the door, his long legs moving quickly across the room towards the bed.

he leaned forward, laying you down flat on your back as he climbed over you, his frame crowding over yours. he was breathing like he’d been running, his fingers shaking as he hooked them into the hem of your shirt.

"take it off, baby. lemme see you," he rasped.

he yanked it up and over your head in one clumsy motion, tossing it onto the floor. you didn't wait either, your hands scrambling to take his shirt off, peeling the fabric off his shoulders.

you planted your open palms firmly against his bare chest and gave him a push, catching him off guard just enough to roll him over onto his back, shifting your weight so you were the one straddling his lap.

your hands flew down to your waist, quickly peeling your bottoms and underwear off your legs and kicking them away entirely.

sitting bare on top of him, you felt his throbbing cock pressing perfectly against your soaking core through his jeans.

“need to be inside you,” he rasped.

you reached down to unbuckle his belt and pop the button of his pants, shoving the denim down his hips just enough to let his length spring free. his cock was obscene – flushed dark, with veins raised under the skin, the tip slick with precum.

you leaned your weight forward, holding yourself up with your hands as you ground yourself over him, a slow slide from the base of his cock all the way to the wet tip.

the friction was dizzying.

the contrast of his searing heat rubbing directly against your sensitive, soaking folds felt so overwhelming, sending a wave of electricity to the pit of your stomach.

michael looked like he was losing it beneath you. his head rolled back into the pillow, his jaw locked tight as his chest heaved for air. he could feel every single ridge of his cock being squeezed and slicked by your wetness.

"baby, please... you're killing me," he choked out, his voice strained with desperation.

his fingers dug bruisingly deep into the flesh of your hips, his knuckles turning white as he completely lost his grip on his self-control. "i can't... i can't take it– need to feel you..."

before you could grind against him a third time, his large hands clamped down hard on your waist, halting your movement. with an upward thrust of his hips, he guided his tip and buried himself all the way inside you in one deep push.

your head snapped back, a loud, high-pitched moan ripping from your throat that michael quickly caught by throwing his hand over your mouth, his own body trembling violently as he filled you completely. he let out a shuddering groan against your neck, his eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy.

"y'have to be quiet, sweetheart" he choked out, his hips twitching inside you as he adjusted to the heat of your core.

the sensation of being buried deep was too much to handle.

a broken whine tore from his throat as his body took over, entirely overriding his brain.

he completely lost control of his hips, his lower body jerking up against yours in frantic, uncoordinated twitches. his cock pulsed within your gummy walls before he could even find a rhythm.

"can't– baby, i can't stop," he panted, his eyes completely blown out.

michael gripped your waist and pushed you backward, forcing you flat onto your back. you let out a squeal as his large hands slid down to hook under your knees, lifting your legs high and draping them over his shoulders.

he let out a high, pathetic mewl at how incredibly tight you felt from this angle, his face flushing a deep red.

he didn't waste another second.

gripping your hips for leverage, he began fucking into you, slamming his pelvis against yours with a frantic urgency.

the bedroom filled with a symphony of filthy noises. loud schlick, schlick, schlick sounds echoed with every thrust, his cock dragging a creamy ring of mixed precum and your own arousal out before plunging right back inside.

the lewd sound of skin slapping against skin was deafening. every single time he slammed flush against you, his pelvis hit perfectly against your clit.

both of you were miserably failing to muffle your noises. the force of his desperate ruts was so intense that the headboard began slamming violently against the wall.

any thought of staying quiet was completely forgotten. despite his own warning, michael was far too gone to care anymore, letting out loud, unbridled whines with every slam of his hips.

"ah... god, you're soakin' through the sheets, baby," he rasped. "milkin' me so hard... it's so wet, makin’ such a mess."

hearing those vulgar words come out of his usually polite mouth made a hot blush rise to your cheeks. a thrill shot through you, causing your walls to instinctively squeeze around him.

"m-mike, michael," you stammered out, your voice cracking, completely breathless as your head thrashed against the pillows. you were so overwhelmed by pleasure that you could barely mutter coherent words. "you feel so fucking good–"

the words dissolved into a high whine as he gave a particularly deep thrust right into your sweet spot.

it felt so heavenly, the pleasure was so intense, that hot tears slipped from the corners of your eyes and dripped down your temples.

his pace sped up even more, his curls damp with sweat as he looked down at you like you were his entire world.

"’m so close, mikey, please," you whined, your hands tightly clawing at his bare shoulders.

michael let out a broken moan at your begging, a breathless sob tearing from his throat. he looked so overwhelmed – almost in pain from how good it felt.

"gonna give it all t'you, baby. every single drop," he choked out.

he didn't slow down for a single second. the headboard battered against the wall as he buried himself to the hilt.

michael went rigid after he gave one final thrust.

a high, broken cry tore from his throat, his head dropping onto your shoulder as his eyes squeezed shut.

the first rope of his cum shot out of him with a pulsing force, flooding your womb.

michael let out a trembling sob against your neck, his fingers digging bruisingly deep into your thighs as his cum spurt inside you in heavy ropes, painting your insides, filling every single fold and crevice until you were overflowing with his seed.

the volume of it felt endless, coating your walls and sending a wave of pleasure that triggered your own climax.

"baby, baby, baby," michael whimpered as his hips continued to twitch helplessly against yours.

he was spent, his chest heaving heavily against yours as he melted into you.

even as the spurts slowed, he didn't pull away.

he collapsed into the crook of your neck, his face buried deep as his skin burned hot. he let out small, shuddering breaths as the creamy mixture of his cum and your slick slowly began to leak out from between your thighs, cementing the mess you had made together.

michael shifted slightly, lifting himself up on his elbows just enough to look down. his gaze drifted to where you two were still joined, staring right at the thick white mixture slowly oozing out onto the sheets as he pulled out.

"you're so nasty, michael," you teased, though you couldn't take your eyes off it either.

michael huffs out a breathless laugh, biting his bottom lip as a deep blush rushes to his cheeks.

"you're lookin' too," he mumbled softly.

"but you looked first," you countered with a soft laugh, fingers gently tracing at the nape of his neck as he shook his head at you.

once the silence of the bedroom settled over you both, the house suddenly felt terrifyingly quiet.

michael shifted slightly, his cheek pressing against your shoulder. he blinked for a second, the fog in his brain clearing just enough for the stillness of the house to register.

"christ..." he breathed out. "do y'think they heard that?"

you let out a weak laugh, your hands playing with the ends of his hair. "michael, you literally slammed the bed into the wall for like fifteen minutes straight."

he raised his hands, hiding his face as his skin burned a bright red. "don't say that... oh, god, please don't say that. we're never going back downstairs."

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───

sorry i always get carried away w/ sub!michael

also i edited this like 8 times n i got sick of rereading so if anything sounds off PLEASE let me know n ill take a look

thanks for reading :pp

The flashing lights were blinding, seeming to hit you much harder now that you had been apart from the chaos for a week. The click of the cameras snapped into your eardrums, the scent of cigarette smoke filling your nostrils as you made your way through the swamped street. Michael was tugging you as close as he could, gripping your jewel-clad hand, before deciding to instead rest his arm around your waist securely.

Shouts of your name and your husband's were hurled at you from men you couldn't even see the faces of, but you were used to this. Sure, a week of pure tranquil bliss had meant that a return to such invasive chaos had shocked your system, but it was a system well-attuned to that chaos all the same.

The part you disliked was having to somehow angle yourself toward every camera in order for each one of the paparazzi to get what they wanted. Whenever you and Michael were anywhere other than a dedicated public appearance, you refused to glance at even one camera—because you'd die on the hill that they had not a single right to follow you around outside of events, given that there were more than enough public appearances for them to catch you at. But on nights like these, you understood it was best to be graceful, to give them a show-stopping smile, to display your sexy elegance with confidence, no matter how tired you felt inside.

Tonight you were consumed by exhaustion due to jet lag, but primarily, your body was engaged with a bone-deep enervation; an urgency to be away from the excessive, overwhelming buzz of media attention, and instead to be where you belonged—at home with your husband, in the master bedroom of your LA mansion.

Los Angeles could be real hell out amongst the ruthless men behind the cameras, but in your home with Michael, the outside world never mattered. Last week, staying in an exclusive 1,400-acre private island in Saint Vincent, you caught a glimpse of what life could be if that indoor bliss could meet an outdoor normality, a silence that would give the two of you complete serenity. Since you were teens, it seemed there was nowhere on earth that you wouldn't be recognised—although you knew that assumption was hyperbolic. You and Michael never had an inflated ego that assumed you were the greatest stars on earth; rather, it was just difficult to believe that there was a location in which you wouldn't be spotted, because everywhere you went you risked getting mobbed.

So, that was why you'd both chosen the island of Mustique as your destination to take a well-deserved break, while Michael’s mother Katherine took care of your three children at Hayvenhurst for the duration. You always scheduled your careers around each other’s so that you could take turns looking after the kids if you couldn’t both be with them at once, refusing to rely primarily on a nanny, but sometimes you’d leave them to Katherine or other family members when you really craved a vacation.

You'd stayed in a private oceanfront cottage, tucked away among lush tropical gardens draped in bougainvillea, right beside the edge of a small crescent beach. Unbelievably, your exact location was cut off from absolutely everybody. It had been just the two of you, and for once it felt like you were semi-reliving your honeymoon in '81. You spent your stay swimming, messing around, singing, skinny-dipping, making sweet love at all hours of the day... Never had you both felt such freedom before. Unfortunately Michael couldn’t be out too long in direct sunlight, due to his lupus and vitiligo, so the hottest hours of the day were spent with him ploughing you into the mattress—or sometimes in the shade of a tree—before you’d enjoy evening walks and night swims later on. It was all so serene.

But tonight you were back to reality, and the extent of it swarmed around you the moment you'd stepped off your private jet, before the gala had even started.

Now, while you dealt with the exhausted ache running through your limbs and your bloodstream—the ache that told you how desperately you needed to catch up on sleep—another kind of ache ran deeper, pressing at you more insistently. Earlier, sitting by each other's sides at the ceremony, Michael's hand had traced circles up and down your inner thigh beneath the table, and with a few whispered lines back and forth you'd clarified together that tonight you wished to make love until the break of dawn. The kids would still be at Hayvenhurst until tomorrow morning, so you had all the privileges of an empty house. And you’d probably doze off after the first two rounds, because even one earth-shattering orgasm from Michael could send you to sleep as quickly as a lullaby could to a newborn, but the arousal coursing through your veins proved that at least the intention to go at it all night was accurate.

That was all you could think about as you stepped through the crowd, pressed against your lover's side, stiletto heels hitting the sidewalk. You were wearing a metallic olive-gold mini dress, and Michael had intentionally coordinated, where he sported a black suit embroidered with a thin pattern the same shade as your olive. His classic aviators sat on the bridge of his nose, shielding his pretty eyes from the crowd, saving the seraphic sight for only one lady later that night.

Michael was smiling at everybody—a smile much more genuine than yours, although you knew he hated this as much as you did. His approach when it came to addressing paparazzi was that as long as they weren't pushing and shoving, hurling abuse, or getting too close, he had no particular issue. He understood that it was their job, and while he'd rather his public life not have to be this way, reality ensured that unfortunately, there was no other option. Since childhood, you had both lived this anarchic, tumultuous lifestyle together, but it never felt any less oppressive. Michael was just better at staying calm. Moreover, he believed that one had to go through distress and bother to truly experience gratitude for the good; and upon knowing exactly what he would be getting up to with his girl after arriving home, he identified tonight as a great example of that philosophy.

Except, all of that optimism dissipated very suddenly, when a moment occurred that woke up the primal instincts belonging to the man with the soft demeanour and the sweet smile. Because just as you had almost been sure to declare yourself done with the seemingly-never-ending street of paparazzi, you felt a sudden, aggressive squeeze on your behind, followed by a sharp smack.

Immediately, you felt dizzy, the assault shocking your sensory apparatus and inducing a feeling of nausea. It had been a long time since something like this had happened to you—whereby it used to happen a lot in the early days of your career, a young woman constantly the object of disgusting men loving to take advantage—and sustaining that safety streak since had been largely thanks to Michael, who never let go of you wherever you went. When you went out alone, he always made sure you had not only your bodyguard close by, but his too.

A man shouted from somewhere behind you, his tone playful, but in the deliberately dominant, hostile manner that demanded the subjected woman to turn and give him what he wanted. "Hey, honey, why aren't you lookin' at us? We all know you ain’t shy!"

You half-wanted to turn, but you truly thought you were about to throw up, and that the sight of his sneering face might actually trigger regurgitation. At the assault and at the sound of his voice, you grabbed Michael's hand tighter. He felt the squeeze just as he'd registered what the man behind you had said, and immediately he bit the inside of his cheek, jaw flaring. Men often did call out at you that way, and he hated that he had to let it slide for the sake of his positive image. His hold on your waist tightened, and he considered retorting, but the reason he didn't lash out instantly was that he had no idea what the man had done to you physically.

"Almost there now, baby," he leaned over to whisper in your ear, pressing a kiss to your cheek. The press were still shouting the same repetitive intrusive questions that they'd started with upon your exit from the event, therefore it was no wonder that amidst the noise Michael hadn't noticed the vile action that had taken place just moments prior.

Beneath the chaos, you heard a sweet lady's voice—unfamiliar, but it was a nice break from the masculine aggression surrounding you. "Hey, are you okay?! I saw that man touch your—"

And then you heard a teenage girl beside her ask the same thing—although you hadn't a clue how they'd managed to get past all those domineering men.

You faked a smile to respond to their concern, unable to do anything other than conceal your anxiety, because Michael always kept you so protected that in a moment like this you felt incredibly submissive and unable to fight back with anything—not even words. You couldn't fault your husband for being so protective, but it just meant that naturally your nervous system couldn't deal very well with the shock whenever something did happen.

And now, Michael heard exactly what the lady said, as well as what the young girl had reiterated beside her. His heart skipped a beat.

"What are they talkin' about, angel?"

His words were muffled beside you—not in reality, but through your perception, because all you could focus on was how you were still somehow not in sight of Bill's limo yet, and the man who'd groped you was coming closer again.

"Honey," Michael said, his tone raised louder, arm still settled as an anchor around your waist, slender fingers continuing to ground you as much as they could in such an awful moment as this.

You looked at him, and a tear threatened to spill. But even without the liquid's exit from your orbs, Michael knew something was seriously wrong. The emotion hidden behind his aviators was threatening to be veiled no more.

"Did he touch you?" he asked into your ear, anger already lacing through his words because he could already surmise that his assumption was correct.

You bit your lip and nodded, taking a deep breath before looking ahead again, and smiling for a few more photos. God, you hated these people.

Michael kissed your cheek, then cupped your jaw to bring your attention back to him, and again he murmured in your ear. "Which one, baby?"

"I don't know, Mikey, I didn't turn back."

More shouts filled the limited space around you; from ahead, from the sides, and behind. "Sweetheart, we need one more! Give us your best!"

You were no longer in the mood for even the slightest fake smile. You were an object for their own economic and authoritative benefit, where they lived on the assumption that you'd always give them whatever they asked. It bothered you extremely that you had to play into it, and there had been enough obligation on your part for one night. So, now you looked only at Michael, and in your peripheral you finally caught sight of the limo you'd soon take refuge in.

As you focused on your husband, you noticed he was looking around, his expression largely unclear with the obscurity of his eyes, but he looked like he meant business. You realised that he must have been looking for the man who'd assaulted you, while Bill was tapping him on the shoulder incessantly, trying to get his attention about something. In all the disarray, you'd forgotten Michael's bodyguard was even there. All you’d been thinking about was his vehicle you yearned to be whisked away in.

But Michael waved him off. Surely he wouldn’t be able to find the exact man given the fact that neither of you had seen who it was, but what he did encounter was a sleazy guy in a suit, sneering at the two of you as he snapped more pictures. Indeed, it had been him—so very amused by how he'd managed to irk Michael to the point that he'd turned to face his camera head-on, achieving the most valuable shot of them all.

Yet, the man couldn't have predicted what came next of the calm-mannered celebrity before him.

"Hey, what the fuck do you think you're doin'?" Michael shouted, jaw held even tighter than the hold he had on you. "It was you, huh?"

You took another deep, shaky breath. Michael hardly ever got like this, and when you were the focus point of such anger, it was hard to provoke him to snap out of it. For a man that dealt with so much suffering constantly, in all areas of life, it was a surprise that his only weakness was you. The world had never even seen Michael Jackson so much as curse.

"Aw, what was me, Jacko?"

That really got him. Immediately Michael lunged, taking the bait even though he always knew that was exactly what they wanted.

"Michael," Bill warned gravely, taking sharp hold of his wrist to bring him back to earth. Luckily, he'd intervened before the man had been on the receiving end of Michael's fist, or before the camera had been smashed into pieces.

"Don't touch my wife ever again, I swear." Michael's voice had dropped several tones, now partially removed from his soft-spoken nature as he snapped at the man before him, ditching the sweet cadence for one of more assertion and depth. "She's not a piece of meat."

"Sure looks like it, though, right?" The guy continued to snarl, trying to provoke him even more, but while Michael opened his mouth to give in yet again, Bill thrusted him forward with a necessary force.

"You really can't be doing that, you know, Mike," he murmured into his ear.

"Michael," you gasped, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles to try to ground yourself. "I was fine, baby, you didn't need to say anything."

He shook his head. "No, I did need to. Can't let 'em think they can walk all over us, angel. C'mon, we're here now."

Finally, you'd reached the shiny black stretch limousine. Bill opened the door for the two of you, and you both slid into the backseat, Michael ushering for you to go first. Bill then checked on you to make sure you were alright, and ensured to investigate the situation tomorrow.

"Baby, why aren't the windows dimmed?" you asked as you settled into your seat. The cameras were now closing in on the car, housing every inch of the reflective space, and you felt suffocated, still reeling from the effects of what had happened. Not only had you been sexually assaulted, but Michael would be getting even more abuse than usual now, due to his 'inappropriate' response. You tried not to think about it, to calm down instead.

"I don't know, honey," Michael replied softly, his gentle tone having returned so seamlessly. "But we'll pass 'em all soon. C'mere—on my lap, angel."

Without needing to be told twice, you scooted over to your husband, sitting sideways on him, and eagerly snuggling into his warm chest. The beautiful, intimately familiar scent of Bal à Versailles wreathed through your senses, the notes of patchouli, incense and sandalwood intwining with vanilla-musk acting as a literal sedative for your overwhelm and anxiety.

"Hey, mama," Michael whispered, wrapping his arms tight around your waist and rocking you gently in his hold as you clung to him. "You're okay now, beautiful. Safe w'me..."

"Thank you, my love." You kissed a sliver of skin where the suit jacket slightly revealed his chest. "I hate how they treat me like a fucking object."

"I know," he murmured, smothering little kisses all over your face. "There was no way I was gonna let 'm get away with that. You tell me if anything ever happens again, alright? If anyone touches you in any way, talk to me about it, baby."

"Mhm," you hummed into his chest, not wanting to think about the possibility of that sort of thing happening again, even though you knew you were the prime prey for those disgusting men adjacent to the industry, or within it.

"Pretty dove," Michael muttered against the crown of your head, now holding up your chin with two fingers. Then he returned to kissing your warm forehead, warm from the heat of the gala and the stress of the attack. He remembered that you'd both intended to have a night of lovemaking, but now he expected that you were no longer interested, given that you'd just been through sexual violation.

"Y'not in the mood no more, princess? When we get back, we can just go to sleep. Whatever y' want..." He smiled reassuringly, making certain that you understood he didn't at all expect sex from you tonight.

But you were still interested in the plans you'd made. The only way to take your mind off the revolting invasiveness was to replace the memory of that man's touch with the contemporary presence of your own man's sweet, adoring touch instead.

"No, I need a distraction, honey. Need you..." you whispered quietly, and enveloped your fingers in his. As if on instinct, Michael brought your hand up to his lips and warmed the knuckles with his kiss.

"Alright mama, y'just tell me how y'want it. Always want my girl comfortable."

"I'm never uncomfortable with you, Mikey," you smiled, curling up into him even closer. "I love you," you spoke against the fabric of his suit, "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"We couldn't ever live without each other," Michael said sincerely, with a small smile as he kissed your nose now. His lips couldn't seem to leave you alone, and you hadn't even made it into the house yet, let alone the bedroom.

The car suddenly dragged over a speed bump, and it triggered your body to knock against him a little. Michael's hand instantly moved to cradle your head, with his arm tightening its grip on you, smoothing his free hand over your bare thigh beneath your mini dress.

"I need to forget about that disgusting freak's hand," you sighed.

Michael rubbed with a little more pressure over your ass and your thigh, up and down to soothe. The environment in the limo was placid, gentle-natured, a sharp distinction from what had just passed.

"This okay?" Michael whispered, referring to the reassuring movement of his fingers on your leg as he rested his head against yours. "No one touches my wife and gets away with it. Such a goddess, baby... Those shitheads can't keep their hands to themselves..."

"Mm, can't wait to be home, Mikey..." You shuffled a little on his lap, heart fluttering at how protective he was over you. He'd been this way since you were both blossoming into adolescence and a guy at school had taken you out for your first date. Michael did not play when it came to you. That was evident even in the way he elicited curse words solely when in defence of you.

Bored of being unable to see his face in the position you were in, you now moved to straddle his hips. Without asking, you pushed his dark sunglasses up onto his head, because even though he did look so sexy in the aviators, you disliked how they covered his beautiful eyes. "Angel face, lemme see you..."

Michael chuckled, his cheeks flushing a little as you pecked his nose, leaning forward to give him a butterfly kiss between your lashes and his. He made a soft noise of appreciation, an adorable sound that made you giggle, and within seconds you'd entered a makeout session, rocking your hips against his in the backseat.

While your tongues wrestled, you felt his bulge harden beneath his slacks, which only provoked you to writhe over him further. The sweet sound of your moans harmonised together against the wet smack of your mouths, and Michael's minty breath was seriously addictive.

But in your arousal-induced desperation, you'd forgotten all about Bill in the driver's seat.

"Hey, you two be careful back there," he said, startling both of you into finally dragging your faces from each other. "And don't go any further than that, please. For my sake."

You laughed against each other's lips. It was safe to say that unfortunately for Bill, he had seen way too much intimacy from you and Michael. The problem was that you were so obsessed with each other that you often forgot there were other people nearby. That was what always happened every time you performed onstage together too, although sexual chemistry in that context was often encouraged.

You turned your head back to respond with a grin. "We'll be good."

Then you were cupping Michael's cheek and kissing him again, but softly and more PG-friendly this time, after Bill's humorous reminder. Michael's grip around your waist was so tight, ensuring you didn't fall off his lap at any other speed bumps.

You leaned forward to rest your chin on his shoulder, no longer facing him but loving the feel of how his head now rested in the crook of your neck.

"My pretty baby... honeypie..." He whispered syrupy words over your chest, into your cocoa-scented skin. Your hands tangled in his shoulder-length curls, scratching lightly at his scalp, careful with his scarring in mind.

"Sweet angel..." you sighed into the air. "Can't wait to be home..."

Michael only continued to kiss at your neck and collarbone, toying with the hem of your dress where your cleavage was appealingly displayed.

Bill rolled his eyes with a knowing sigh.

"Mikey, he can see us, y'know," you giggled.

"I know, and I'll wait," Michael groaned. "But I just wanna have y' all to myself, mama—right now... Y' curves are killin' me..."

You kissed the top of his head and beamed at his words, stomach fluttering at how he loved on you, but you refused to tease any further until you were home.

"Y'sure you're okay for sex, darlin'?" Michael asked quietly. "I don't wanna press y' or anythin'."

"No, Mikey, don't worry, I told you—I just need to forget about what happened."

"Yeah, well, I'm not gonna forget about it. Tomorrow mornin' 'm gettin' my entourage to go over those tapes and the pictures, and we're findin' out the name of the man who did that to you. It won't be hard, considerin' they took about a million photos out there.”

"Thank you, baby," you sighed into his curls, but shuffling on his lap accidentally, and therefore eliciting a groan from his throat.

"You alright there?" you laughed, subtly rocking again—even though you knew you shouldn't.

"I'm great, honey." Michael smirked against your chest, biting his lip, before starting to kiss and suck up and down your neck again. "Gonna take such good care of my lady... soon as we get into our bedroom…”

You hummed airily.

"How'd y'want it, mama? 's your night, tell me..."

In truth, it was always your night where Michael was concerned. Everything he did was with you in mind.

You laughed in his ear. "Can't decide if I want it hard 'n fast or slow 'n deep."

"Well, how about we mix the two together, huh?" He gripped your asscheek with one hand, the other still tight on your waist.

You gasped, reaching your arm down immediately to smack his hand away. "Michael!" Bill's comment really hadn't deterred him at all.

He gently pushed your head backward so that you were now facing him as he looked up at you. "Dollface!" he teased.

You rolled your eyes, unable to do anything but smile. And then swiftly, Michael repositioned you back to resting sideways across his lap, curled into him. You yelped happily, purring against his chest, wrapping your arms around his neck like a koala. "Mikey..."

His hands continued to caress all over you, doting on every inch of your body that he could reach. One hand tugged softly at where your dress kept riding up your thighs. You felt so safe in his arms, he your anchor.

Finally, Bill pulled up at your mansion. "Alright, we're here now, lovebirds."

"Yay," you giggled against Michael, trying to prevent a yawn from slipping out, because then he'd instruct you to sleep instead. You only half-managed to prevent it, but he didn't notice, too busy angling your figure, preparing to bring you inside in a bridal carry.

It always felt heavenly when he carried you, for it was so easy to get lost in his touch, that touch which inherently possessed the safety he provided just for you.

"Thanks, Bill! G’night!" Michael called back as he headed to the front door, swaying your pretty body in his arms while you smiled.

"Yeah, bye, Bill!" you sung too, trying to crane your neck to see him, but you were nestled perfectly into Michael's chest.

You had almost forgotten entirely about what happened earlier, but of course the weight of the assault still lingered in your mind, and you knew that tonight Michael would do his utmost to truly distract you. He also wouldn't stop at mere distraction—he had to ensure you felt entirely comfortable, that you wouldn't be going to sleep that night with any anxiety.

Entering the door and into the lounge, Michael set you down on the floor, watching as you bent over for him, pretending to look for a piece of jewellery. You laughed, syrupy sweet, arching your back as you hiked your dress up to your hips, revealing a lace black thong.

Michael stood there stunned, lip between his teeth, wondering if he should just take you then and there. He loved to have sex while standing, and you looked so fucking pretty in your tight mini that had you half-naked now.

"Come get me, baby," you grinned, slowly pulling down the straps from your shoulders so that they hung loosely. "Don't just stop and stare."

Michael didn't wait a moment more to step forward. He stood behind you, his aching cock pressed up against your ass through his slacks, hands squeezing the supple skin of your lower curves.

"Want me to come get ya, huh?"

"Mmhmm," you whined, even more in the mood now. You reached one hand back to stroke his clothed shaft, gripping sensually. "Mikey, you're so hard for me..."

"Yeah, can you blame me, sweetheart?"

"Nope," you laughed, knowing exactly how sexy you were—especially in that dress. The colour complimented you so much, and the tightness of the fabric accentuated every perfect feature of your body.

You spun around, and Michael hooked his arms beneath your thighs, picking you up again so that your arms and legs wrapped around his strong physique. You didn't even get a chance to look at each other properly before your lips collided, amalgamating into a messy smash of saliva, tongues dancing. You whined in his mouth as he groaned into yours, now rushing up the staircase with you held tightly against the warmth of him.

You kicked your heels off while in his arms, the sound a loud clatter against the marble, and it was a good thing none of his entourage were here tonight, like they were whenever you stayed in hotels. It was always a loud night between the two of you, and during your vacation you hadn't had anyone to disturb. Now life was back to normal, and when your husband would continue the Bad world tour next week, unfortunately working for Michael Jackson meant hearing every devoted noise of passion as he made love to his wife each night they had the privilege of being together. Your careers and lives as parents meant that sometimes weeks or months would go by where you couldn't achieve a perfect night, so when you did get an opportunity, you used the hell out of it.

The master bedroom sprawled across nearly half a floor, more private penthouse than sleeping quarters. Cream-coloured marble gleamed beneath pools of warm lamplight, combining with the gold accents scattered through the room. A massive platform bed dominated the centre, draped in ivory silk sheets and crowned by a towering padded headboard upholstered in champagne suede. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around one side of the suite, exposing a glittering ocean of stars beyond.

Michael dropped you onto the bed with desperate force, though still with a gentleness somehow. You turned on all fours and arched your back for him, displaying the divine curves of your ass, olive-gold material decorating your torso and ending at your hips. You moaned softly as you arched, intending to tease.

"Aw, honey... You wan' it like this, yeah?" Michael asked, assuming you were initiating backshots.

You shook your head. "No, I'm just teasing ya, Mikey... Want you on top of me."

So you crawled up to the top of the huge bed, tugging down your panties, the soaked fabric almost fully clinging to your puffy folds. With a smirk, you threw the panties in his direction, where he now kneeled in front of you, and immediately they went in the pocket of his slacks.

"Such a perv, baby," you teased, spreading your legs wide and reaching down to rub your aching clit. Your breasts were literally spilling out of your tiny dress, the material virtually useless now, but you knew Michael enjoyed it when you looked as slutty as possible. He had countless polaroids and tapes of you half-naked, cleavage accentuated, head thrown back in pleasure—in some ways it aroused him more than seeing you fully nude.

Michael shook his head with a chuckle, in disbelief at how lucky he was to have you. And then before you knew it, he was settled between your legs, arms hooked around your thighs as he gazed at his pretty prize.

"Aw, mama..." he moaned, prodding at your entrance with his thumb, before beginning to rub it up and down your dripping slit. "Perfect pussy, baby. All for me, no one else..."

"Need your mouth, handsome," you sighed, one hand moving to wreathe your fingers through his thick hair as you shut your eyes, ready to embrace the pleasure.

"Be patient, angel," Michael whispered against your skin, before pressing his tongue flat against your cunt, dragging it upward in one clean swipe.

"Oh—"

"Yeah, I know, baby love, I know…” He continued to lap at your centre, smothering your pussy in his licks and kisses as he moaned and grunted.

“Michael—fingers, please—fuck, oh—” you gasped and moaned as you writhed over the sheets, the wetness of his tongue providing you the most perfect sensation.

The wet squelching sounds that filled the large room were filthy, while he ate you like a man starved. And then he slipped in two fingers, slowly, and your eyes clamped shut, toes curling as he hit your spot with ease. Onstage you’d watch from the sidelines as he would make thrusting motions with his fingers, and you knew it was how he felt the music, but it never failed to make you insanely horny. And what made things even better was that you knew how much those sort of movements had girls all over the world going crazy, while really their idol only had eyes for you. It was only you who would experience the talent of those beautiful hands.

“Yeah, like this, mama?” Michael murmured against your clit as he sucked the sensitive nerves into his passionate mouth, doing so while continuing to hit your spot with every thrust of his two digits.

“Mhm, just like that, baby…” you sighed, gripping the strands of his curls but again being careful not to do so over where he’d been scarred. “Oh, I love you, honey…”

“I love y’ too, baby girl… my beautiful wife,” he said into your folds, licking side to side against the soft flesh, fingers plunging into your walls. Michael was so incredibly talented in the bedroom—no man could possibly compare. Every little action of his was perfection. Oh, how grateful you were to have the privilege of calling him your husband.

It wasn’t long before you reached your first orgasm, followed by Michael kissing all over your thighs, continuing to press suctioned licks to your cunt as you came down from your high. Michael adored foreplay—he’d happily live in it forever, but at the same time he yearned to be inside you, to feel your tight walls squeeze and overwhelm his thick cock that was pulsing with need. He had incredible stamina, so you could go all night whenever you wished.

After viewing the beautiful sight of your man shedding his clothes, he pushed into you so slowly, caging your body with his to make you feel his utmost protection. One hand cradled your face, the warmth adding to the stimulation of down below, and the other hand kneaded your breast that he pulled out of your dress as he began to thrust.

“Baby, you’re so big—” you whined, always finding it difficult to initially adjust to the stretch of his girth, and the fat head of his cock pressing insistently within you.

“I know, pretty angel, but you’re takin’ me so well, like y’always do,” Michael whispered, rubbing one thumb over your cheek and his other over your extremely sensitive nipple, making you cry out. “Yeah, that feels good, sweet girl?”

“So good, baby…”

Michael’s pretty curls were splayed everywhere now, sexy strands dipping into his eyes and adorning the side of his face. You cupped his cheek too, staring into his eyes as he delivered the most passionate, achingly slow thrusts.

“Wanna give it to y’ slow 'n deep tonight, mama, is that okay? Need t’ make love to my baby all night… Don’t wanna stop ‘til the sun comes up…”

“Mhm, yes Mikey, don’t stop—this is perfect, baby…” You locked your legs around his torso, attempting to provoke his cock to nudge deeper into your womb.

“Don’t stop ‘til you get enough,” he laughed, and you smacked his arm playfully, a giggle protruding from your throat with another moan.

“Oh, you’d never get enough.”

“No way,” he shook his head with a grin, before leaning his head onto yours, gazing deeply into your eyes. “Y’so beautiful, my angel girl… Love feelin’ y’ squeeze me.”

Each line was punctuated with a deep thrust, the perfect slow strokes sending your eyes rolling into the back of your head each time he delivered another.

“Mm, thank you for tonight, baby,” you murmured, kissing his nose. His hips continued to snap into you, pounding your sweet spot with every slow drag. “Y’take such good care of me.”

“Always, princess,” he hummed under his breath, before speaking with clear sincerity, never letting up the sensual thrust of his hips. “You’re my lady. My precious goddess—you’re the most special thing that exists in my life.”

“Oh, angel…” you cried out, feeling your second orgasm approaching already. “Faster, please, baby…”

So Michael sped up, hitting your core with slightly more aggression now, born of the overwhelming emotions of passion felt within. Accompanying these faster strokes, he continued to talk to you.

“You’re always safe w’me, babydoll. Always in my arms, in our bed at the end of the night…”

You gripped at his shoulders, switching between that and raking your nails along the plane of his upper back.

“Grabbing at me like an animal, honey… Feels that good, huh?”

You nodded, but he didn’t see because his head was pressed against yours.

“Hm? Tell me, pretty baby.”

“Can’t—Mikey, 'm gonna—nnghh—cum—” you whined loudly, literally unable to form a coherent sentence because the pleasure was just too much.

Michael chuckled in your ear, a deep, warm sound, and it almost sent you over the edge. “Love makin’ you cum, mama, wanna do it over and over again… Put all my babies in you…”

“Angelface,” you smiled amidst another throaty moan.

“Don’t call me that,” he giggled shyly, trying to stay in control as his hips thrusted even harder. “You’re the one who came from heaven, honey.”

“Shh, Mikey, maybe we came down together,” you whispered, caressing the soft skin of his cheek. “Whatever helps you to listen to me. Mm—thank you for always taking care of me… Oh, baby, I’m gonna—”

“That’s alright, princess,” Michael cooed in your ear, speeding up his pace to meet what you craved. “I’ll get ya there. Oh, mama, y’so tight, 'm not gonna last much longer…”

And then your climax hit you, overwhelmingly so.

“Michael, oh!”

It was too much all at once—his honeyed voice, each deep thrust of his cock, his hand cradling your face and your breasts… The coil in your abdomen came undone, pleasure coursing through your veins as you shuddered through your orgasm.

“Shhh, that’s it…” Michael talked you through it, pounding you as hard as ever now. He’d ended up giving it to you both slow and fast as he’d intended to earlier, and it was the most perfect feeling. No matter the pace, Michael gave you his all.

“Oh, sweetheart, fuck, 'm gonna cu—oh—”

Another thing about your man was that he was incredibly vocal, exactly as he was onstage. In fact, the performance of his hips mirrored his onstage skill too, so in all respects he was a true performer in the bedroom.

As he writhed through his orgasm, torso pressed to yours, your bloodstream seemed to be infused with ecstasy. Those pretty sounds that spilled from his lips, the sweat from his forehead dripping into your hair, the erratic thrusts as he came down, the feel of his hot seed shooting in messy spurts directly into your womb… Sex with your husband had to be the single most beautiful thing on earth.

You weren’t even on the pill currently, but that didn’t matter, because since the seventies Michael had wanted eighteen children, and while that number was certifiably insane, you would give him as many as your body could handle, once your careers mellowed. He was never forceful about breeding you—he just adored you so much and loved to watch you carry and bear his kids. And of course, he was also insanely enamoured by the feeling and the sight of filling you up with his fertility. He loved to see your pretty cunt dripping with his pearly-white cum.

That same desire was how you’d ended up with three, despite being in the busiest decade of your lives. And if the two of you hadn’t been world-famous popstars, you truly would’ve had an entire football team of kids by now. Three was a tiny number compared to what Michael dreamed of, but it was all you could manage given that you were both in the prime of your careers.

Despite how confident Michael was sexually, he always grew so shy afterward, burying his head into your neck and interlacing his fingers with yours if they weren’t already; all the while refusing to look at you. Although, he couldn’t have been that modest, because his softening cock still filled you to the brim.

You stroked his hair soothingly, breathing in his gorgeous scent as he pressed kisses all over your neck and the side of your face.

When he lifted his head to kiss your earlobe, you squeezed his cheeks in one hand and dragged his face to yours. “Look at me, handsome. Stop hiding away like you’re shy or somethin’. You always do this.”

Michael flushed, grinning bashfully. “Wha’s that perfume you got on, baby?”

“It’s Poison,” you giggled. “By Dior.”

He nodded, taking a deep breath and settling a little downward to lay into your neck and chest, inhaling the rich scent of plum, tuberose and spice clinging to the dress that you were still scarcely clad in, below where your breasts had been dragged out of the fabric by him earlier.

“Suits y’, honey. Just magical…” His voice trailed off as he hummed the words into your skin, his usual post-sex whimsicality breaking through the persona he reserved for the stage and the bedroom. “Y’wanna watch some cartoons?”

“Of course, baby,” you chuckled, kissing his pretty head. His stamina was amazing, but there were often times like tonight where he grew so sleepy and soft after lovemaking, especially when he was worn out to begin with. And you really needed to catch up on sleep—you both did—but if your sweetheart wanted to stay up watching cartoons after giving you two orgasms in a row, you would accompany him happily.

Now he smiled with glee, nipping at your neck and your breasts. “Not done yet though, my love… Still need t’ make love t’ you some more… 'til dawn breaks through these windows…”

Speaking of those floor-to-ceiling windows, if anyone had been looking, they’d have seen pretty much everything. It was lucky you lived in a secluded area in Beverly Hills, but that still didn’t stop you from risking becoming accidental exhibitionists.

“Mikey, I love you, pretty boy…”

You knew how much he cherished being spoken to in that way when he was at his softest, essentially asking to be babied in your arms. Earlier he had been the dominant one, but moments of beautiful vulnerability like these were a huge part of your relationship too. Not only did Michael crave the feeling of being cared for so gently, but you thoroughly believed it was what he deserved.

He suffered through so much, never experiencing any real peace when not with you—and even with you sometimes the outside world made it difficult—so in your quietest alone time you made sure that boy felt so loved. Of course you would stay up until dawn with him to watch cartoons and make love, because you knew that even while he wouldn’t burden you by admitting so, he struggled terribly with sleep and suffered with chronic stress—especially as tour was about to begin again.

“You want me to put on Mickey or somethin’?” you asked him, combing your manicured nails through his mass of curls.

“Yeah,” he hummed. “Uh, the Disney LaserDisc. Mickey and the Beanstalk.”

You laughed quietly, cradling his soft, defined jaw. “You’re asking me to go over there and turn on a Disney cartoon while I’m dressed like a slut? Honey, y’haven’t even pulled out of me yet.”

“You’re not a slut—don’t call yourself that,” Michael murmured against one of your breasts.

“I didn’t say I was one. I said I’m dressed like one,” you corrected playfully, scratching lightly up and down his bare back.

A few moments of silence passed, and you thought Michael might’ve dozed off, but no—he was still wide awake, enjoying the innate peace exuding from your body.

“Michael.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you gonna pull out, or…?”

“I thought y’liked me to stay like this,” he muttered drowsily, so adorable pressed into your chest.

“I do, baby. But you’re asking me to turn on a cartoon and I can’t exactly do that from here.”

“Okay, whatever. Forget Mickey, 'm stayin’ just like this…”

You chuckled, sighing in content. He was all over you, body caging yours; genitalia intwined, cum drilled deep and seeping out onto the sheets in slow drops. You’d love another round, but if your beautiful boy could fall asleep on you right here, completely merged with you, you’d feel more glad than ever. All you could do now was attempt to send him off to sleep, cuddling him so close and whispering sweet words the way he always did to you. That’s what made your marriage work so well, even in the face of the inevitable setbacks—because you each knew when the other needed to be loved on, and you also knew exactly what was necessary to fulfil such a need. The last two hours had been the most admirable example of that dynamic.

hiii! this is my first michael fic within my series. feedback is appreciated, mwah ♥︎

And at first, you blamed circumstances.

Eventually, you started blaming yourself.

The following weeks were a disaster, diva.

You changed your hair, changed it again. Then you became convinced the first version had actually looked better and spent three days mourning it. You switched nail colors so many times that your nail tech eventually stopped asking questions and just started staring at you with growing concern because you were starting to work her nerves. Long nails! Short nails! Red! Pink! Nude! French tips! Nothing seemed helped. Every appointment had the optimism of a woman who was genuinely convinced that the solution to her problems might be hiding inside a bottle of acrylic powder. It never was.

You bought new clothes.

You rearranged your makeup routine.

You spent a ridiculous amount of (his <3) money on skincare products advertised by women who were so obviously professionally done in makeup.

At one point, you became convinced that a boob job would somehow save your relationship.

A boob job would not save your relationship but mostly because your relationship wasn’t actually in danger. But to be fair, you just didn’t know that yet.

The problem was that once insecurity took root, it became impossible to think normally. Suddenly every mirror was an enemy, every picture of yourself fueled your dilemma and every minor flaw you found turned into a very big one. You stood in front of mirrors turning your head from side to side like a confused puppy.

Maybe it was your hair.

Maybe it was your body.

Maybe your skin looked weird.

Maybe your face looked weird.

Maybe you needed botox?

The theories became increasingly unhinged.

By the end of the second month, you had somehow managed to convince yourself that Michael no longer desired you because of a collection of microscopic imperfections that literally nobody else on Earth had ever noticed. The longer Michael avoided sex, the easier it became to convince yourself that there had to be a reason. A person didn’t simply wake up one day and stop wanting someone they loved.

So naturally, the explanation had to be you.

There was simply no other possibility.

Certainly not Michael Jackson, like.. thee Michael Jackson? Get real. A man who instinctively apologizes to inanimate objects after bumping into them. A man who asks you to send his food back because he doesn’t want the staff to feel bad. A man whose default response to conflict is both palms up and hoping the issue is resolved without much confrontation.

No. Clearly the issue wasn’t him.

By the time Michael finally came home from the studio that night, you’d already prosecuted the case, delivered the verdict, and sentenced yourself accordingly. The only problem was that nobody had bothered informing the defendant.

Michael knew something was wrong the moment he walked through the front door.

And not because you said anything weird. In fact, the opposite. You greeted him with a bright smile and an enthusiastic, “Hi, baby!” before immediately returning to furiously wiping down a perfectly clean kitchen counter. The surrounding area smelled aggressively of purple fabuloso. Every surface sparkled pristinely, the furniture had been rearranged—there wasn’t a single thing out of place.

Michael glanced at the clock on the stove. It was nearly two in the morning and exhaustion lingered in the slope of his shoulders. The Bad sessions had been consuming him lately, turning days into nights and nights into mornings. Normally he returned home looking drained, tonight however, the fatigue seemed to disappear the second he got a proper look at you.

He smiled to himself.

Stress cleaning.

He’s learned this quirk of yours long ago. Stress cleaning only happened when something was deeply upsetting that pretty little heart of yours. Normal people cried. Some people yelled. You wanted to flip houses. And that was okay.

“How was the studio?” you asked cheerfully, already moving on to a cabinet door that did not need cleaning. Michael slowly set his bag down on the kitchen island. The smile on your face looked.. suspiciously forced and assembled in a hurry, your eyes red and puffy.

“It was real good.”

“That’s good.” You continued scrubbing.

For a few moments, Michael kept watching you. The way you moved from one task to another without actually accomplishing anything. The way you wiped surfaces that were already spotless. The way your smile appeared and disappeared depending on whether you thought he was looking. A lesser man might have missed it. Michael didn’t.

Slowly, he crossed the room. “Baby love.” The nickname was soft, gentle. And it usually made you look at him.

This time, it didn’t.

Michael’s smile faded slightly. He’s worried.

“Hey.” His hand settled lightly against your arm, stopping your endless circuit around the kitchen and only then did you glance up. The concern in his eyes nearly made you cry all over again. After spending weeks convincing yourself that Michael no longer wanted you, it felt deeply unfair that he still looked at you like that. With that stupidly beautiful face like your sadness mattered.

“You okay?” The question was simple.

And you hated it because it would’ve been much easier if he’d been cold. So much easier if he’d actually done something wrong. Instead, here he was. Standing in front of you after a fourteen hour day, still more interested in your feelings than his own exhaustion.

You nodded too quickly. “I’m fine, Mikey.”

Michael tilted his head. Patient. Skeptical. And entirely unconvinced. “You’re not.”

His statement wasn’t accusatory, it wasn’t even challenging. Just super matter of fact like noticing rain through a window.

You laughed weakly and turned back toward the counter. “I am.”

“This spot is about sick of you wipin’ it..” Your hand froze and Michael’s mouth twitched. “You wiped it about five times.”

The laugh that escaped you sounded suspiciously close to a sob. Immediately, the hint of amusement vanished from his face. Without saying anything else, he gently took the rag from your hand and set it aside. And he reached for you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against his chest.

Michael rested his cheek against the top of your head, one hand slowly smoothing over your back as he held you there. Waiting. Patiently. The way he always did. Because Michael had never been the sort of person who demanded answers.

The problem was that once you finally opened your mouth, you weren’t entirely sure you could stop.

The first sound that escaped you wasn’t a sentence.

It was a wail.

A loud, ugly sob that seemed to surprise even you.

Michael immediately froze.

Because one second he was rubbing slow circles into your back and the next he was staring down at you with wide eyes, completely confused. “Hey..”

“I’ve been tryin’ to fix it!” You managed to get out through your cry.

“Fix what?”

“Whatever’s wrong with me!” You wiped your nose. “I changed my hair. I changed my nails. I bought all those dresses!”

Michael looked bewildered. “Why? Why would you think you need to fix somethin’? There’s nothing wrong with you, pretty girl..”

“Because!” You cry again. “You won’t fuck me!”

Silence settled over the kitchen.

Complete, suffocating silence.

You watched the realization arrive in stages. First confusion, as he tried to understand what you were actually saying. Then understanding. Then immediate, unmistakable embarrassment. His entire face went red so quickly it was almost impressive. The color climbed from his neck to his cheeks and straight into the tips of his ears. Michael looked away at once, suddenly finding the refrigerator, the cabinets, the floor, and quite possibly the structural integrity of the kitchen tiles more interesting than making eye contact.

“Oh.” The word emerged strained.

You sniffled miserably. “’s what I've been talking about this whole time..”

Another pause followed. Michael rubbed the back of his neck, his expression growing more flustered with every passing second. He looked like a man desperately searching for an emergency exit that didn’t exist.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“No, not okay,” He corrected immediately. “I mean..” His voice trailed off and the poor man looked completely mortified.

“That's what this is about?”

You stared at him in disbelief. “Yes, Michael!”

Michael squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment.

Because he was embarrassed.

Utterly, completely embarrassed.

For months you’d apparently been carrying this hurt around by yourself, blaming your hair, your nails, your clothes, your body, your face, your existence. Meanwhile, he had been operating under an entirely different misunderstanding. Now he had to explain himself, which unfortunately required discussing a subject that already had him blushing so hard he looked overheated.

The heat spread further down his neck.

“Michael.”

“I’m trying..”

”You’re making me anxious!”

He groaned softly and covered part of his face with one hand. “’m trying to figure out how to say it..”

You would’ve laughed if you weren’t actively fighting back tears because the sight would’ve been funny under different circumstances. Here you were having the emotional breakdown while Michael looked seconds away from dissolving into the floorboards.

“Baby,” he said quietly.

“What is it, Michael?”

His gaze dropped again. “You really thought I didn’t want you.. like that anymore?” The sheer disbelief in his voice almost offended you.

“Well, what was I supposed to think!” The question seemed to connect the dots for him because from your perspective, the conclusion made perfect sense. And suddenly his embarrassment gave way to guilt.

Deep, genuine guilt.

Because now he understood what these past months had looked like through your eyes. You hadn’t been obsessing over your hair or your dresses because you were vain, not that he would even mind anyway. You’d been trying to solve a problem, trying to fix something you believed was wrong with you.

When in reality, it had never been about you at all.

Michael swallowed then looked down at the floor. “It’s spreading.”

Your brow furrowed. “Huh?”

There’s long pause. “The vitiligo.” His voice had dropped almost to a whisper. “It’s spreading.” It seemed like he might stop there, he’d already said more than he wanted to but he forced himself to continue.

“On..” He swallowed. “Those parts.” The blush returned.

“Oh.” Your expression was unreadable.

Michael laughed softly, humorlessly. “It looks different now.” His eyes remained fixed on the floor. “I know it shouldn’t bother me.. but it does.” The words came out small as he continued. “I just..” He shook his head. “It’s ugly.”

You just stared at him and then stared some more. Blinked.

Because you were furious.

Absolutely, incandescently furious.

Months?

You had spent months without his dick, crying in bathroom, changing your hair, buying new clothes, and conducting increasingly deranged investigations into your own appearance while this man had been convincing himself that you would somehow stop loving him.

First of all, you didn’t even play like that.

“Ugly?” You repeated.

Michael visibly shrank. “Lovey, I—”

“Ugly?”

His eyes squeezed shut.

Before Michael could start apologizing, you grabbed his face in both hands and kissed him. Hard. And the sound he made was mostly surprise as you felt it more than heard it.

When you finally pulled back, Michael looked thoroughly stunned, curls slightly disheveled, cheeks still hot.

“You are ridiculous.”

“Okay.” Its all he can say, really.

Another kiss. “You are the most ridiculous man I’ve ever met.”

Somewhere between your outrage and Michael’s flustered attempts to explain himself, the conversation dissolved completely. Every time he tried to apologize, you interrupted him with a kiss. Every time he attempted to look away, you guided his attention back. By the time you found yourselves stumbling toward the bedroom, Michael looked overwhelmed in the particular way he always did whenever he realized he was being loved much more aggressively than he’d anticipated.

Michael lingered at the edge of the bed, still looking uncertain with the traces of insecurity that had brought the two of you here in the first place. You could see it in the way his shoulders were drawn tight, the way he avoided your gaze.

You moved closer as you sat between his thighs on your knees. “Michael.”

He glanced up at you. “Show me.”

Michael blushed as he slowly unbuttoned his jeans, hesitating before lifting his hips an inch to slide them down along with his boxers in the hooks of his thumbs. His initial reaction when he settled back down was to cover himself, for his big hands to hover protectively over his cock to shield your pretty eyes but he knew better. His hands trembled slightly as he revealed his semi hard cock, glancing up at you with eyes that look like he’s maybe expecting rejection or laughter. But he’s not met with any of that. He swallowed hard, closing his eyes because you’re staring at it and maybe if he closes his eyes, it would make him invisible. Michael knows it won’t but, it makes him feel a little better about exposing the dick he’s hid for months.

He hesitantly reached down, his beautiful fingers trembling slightly as he wrapped them loosely around his length. He gave it a gentle tug upward, his breath hitching at the soft sound that escaped him. The motion was tentative—careful he was unsure if he should even be doing this in the first place. Was this even a good idea? What was he thinking? What are you thinking?

Michael opens his eyes a little, to peek at you. Wait. Why were you looking at him like that? Like you.. like this or something? His cheeks burned with embarrassment and he kept his gaze lowered, unable to meet your gaze.

Because.

The look in your eyes was genuinely humiliating. Women had fought for your right to vote and own property only for you to sit there staring at Michael like you’d never had a coherent thought in your life. The look in your eye wasn’t remotely mysterious. There are novels worth of yearning written across your face.

You looked at him with shameless affection and a viseral need that would’ve embarrassed a lesser woman. Every thought seemed to be written plainly across your face. A very obvious: oh my God, it’s so fucking pretty. I need this in my throat.

Your hands slid slowly up his thighs, feeling the slight tremor in his muscles beneath your touch. He let out a shaky breath as you gently pushed his hands away, replacing them with your own. His hips twitched instinctively at the contact and he squeezed his eyes shut again, face burning as you slowly wrapped your fingers around his length instead.

Fuck, its been so long since you had his dick in your hands.

You could see what he’d been referring to. What he’s been so insecure about enough to hide from you and lose sleep over.

It’s different than what it was the last time you saw it. Yeah.

But his vitiligo had created a beautiful, unique pattern across his cock. His shaft was like a piece of abstract work of art; creamy ivory petal shaped patches mixed with brown and pink sections in a way that reminded you of neapolitan ice cream. His balls sat beneath with the same splashes of paler pigment.

“It’s so pretty, Michael.. You were hiding this from me?” you murmured softly, leaning in close. Before he could stammer out a response, your tongue darted out to taste him, starting at the base of his beautiful marbled shaft. You dragged your tongue upward along one of the paler patches, earning a sharp, breathless gasp from him.

Michael’s thighs trembled under your hands as your tongue traced the intricate patterns across his sensitive flesh. “You—you think it’s still pretty?” he breathed, voice cracking with disbelief as he finally looked down at you through lidded eyes. His hips bucked forward instinctively as you swirled around his tip, his shyness melting into need. ”I always thought it was ugly..”

“So pretty, baby..” You murmured against his cock. “Can’t believe you were worried about me not liking it.. God, Michael, he’s gorgeous—can’t wait to feel him cum. Missed him so much, did he miss me?”

“Don’t—don’t talk like that about it..” He manages to say.

The pattern continued across his pelvic area, lighter patchwork breaking through some of his deeper skin tone like poured cream, soft patches drifted across his mons pubis into delicate maps of contrast. Further down, his thighs bore the same mesmerizing pattern, ivory splashes dancing along the inner and outer legs that stretched down toward his knees.

Michael had gotten very good at hiding it. The lower half of his body was easy enough. He rarely wore anything that revealed much skin anyway, so long pants, socks, loafers, and layers concealed most of the areas the public never saw. It was the visible places that required the real effort. His face. His hands. His arms. The parts constantly photographed, filmed, and scrutinized. Topical treatments and makeup helped even out some of the discoloration there, making it easier to step in front of cameras without drawing attention to every new change.

The areas hidden beneath clothing were different. There was no makeup artist touching them up before an appearance. No careful lighting or tricks to soften what he saw. They existed entirely in private, which somehow made them harder to ignore. Michael knew his body intimately and because he spent so much time looking for changes on his face and hands, he noticed every new patch everywhere else too. What most people never would have thought twice about became impossible for him to overlook, leaving him alone with insecurities nobody else even knew he carried.

Standing at its full size, Michael’s cock was a sight—thick and long but it wasn’t.. overly large. He had perfect boyfriend dick, a dick big enough to stretch you out but not so big it would hurt every time you attempted to just sit on it.

He looked down at himself, then at you and his cheeks flushed deeply as he realized how hard he was and just how good you were sucking his dick. He’s not going to last long.

Your mouth closed around him, taking him deep into your throat while your fingers gripped the sparse curls of his pubic hair. Michael let out a broken moan, head falling back and surrendering completely as your warm mouth overwhelmed his usual hesitance.

You pressed your tongue flat against the sensitive underside of his cock, dragging it slowly from base to tip. The broad and smooth surface of your tongue applied pressure against a particular throbbing vein, earning a deep and guttural moan from him. His hips jerked involuntarily, his knuckle in between his pearly whites as he watched you with furrowed brows.

It was filthy.

“M gonna—finish, gonna—’M gonna..” He whined, voice strained. ”Where do you want it? In your m-outh? On your face? Don’t know where to put it..” His hands gripped the sheets tightly, tugging just slightly as his body coiled with impending release.

You pulled back, wrapping your hand around his cock instead, jerking him off fast and tight just how he liked it. ”Cum on my face, baby.” You urged, looking up at him with lust glazed eyes. “Paint me so pretty, just like this fucking dick..”

It only took three more rough strokes before he was cumming, a strangled moan escaping his throat as thick ropes of cum spilled across your face. It landed on your cheeks, dripped down your chin, splashed across your lips and even some hitting your forehead and hair. His hips stuttered against your fist as he emptied himself completely, trembling as the waves of pleasure crashed through him. “Baby.. baby..”

As the last few drops dripped onto your face, Michael slumped forward slightly, breathing heavily as he looked down at you with gratitude. He gently moved to cup your face, thumbs brushing away some of the cum that coated your skin. “Thank you..”

You smiled sweetly. “My turn.”

The second you opened your eyes from your deep drunken slumber the next day, you felt this unrelenting sense of confusion that started the hammers pounding in your skull. You didn't know whether to feel elated that Michael helped you with your needs, even in the most erotic way possible, or feel disgusted with yourself as a woman.

You swore you never wanted to touch another glass of wine after mulling over what you had done that evening, & all you wanted was to just take back what happened. Alas, you simply couldn't help being attracted to Michael, very attracted. The alcohol was simply a catalyst for what you've always dreamed of doing: fucking his brains out. You knew that it wasn't a true mistake, & you hated yourself for it.

Truthfully, you felt like a slut. You felt easy, & you were terrified Michael would also think the same of you. You knew you weren't at heart, but you'd never even attempted or thought of doing something so lewd & taboo in your life, so you surprised yourself. Not to mention your relationship with him had just started blossoming into something beautiful & trustful, and you started to feel like family instead of a worker. You felt like pulling the hair out of your scalp, knowing you practically threw all that out the window, the relationship you had before, gone.

The thought of Michael potentially hating you for your foolish, lustful acts clouded your mind the same morning. You knew it was his idea to help you, yet you couldn't shake the feeling that if you politely declined his request, he'd respect you more. You two never even shared a friendly embrace anymore.

The tension in the house from then on was unbearable. You've never been so grateful to work in a mansion, being able to avoid him easily. Any room before he entered felt sparse & light. When he did come in, it immediately felt small & cramped, like you wanted to escape from embarrassment. You swore you would catch him looking at you at times. Lingering in doorways, watching you leave a room. But when you'd turn your head properly to look at him, he'd be gone or looking somewhere else. You truly couldn't remember the last time he'd looked you in the eye. Yet somehow, when your back was turned, you'd always feel his gaze. You'd still pass each other by in one of his many hallways as he'd attempt to throw you a feeble smile that wasn't even a smile, but more a downturned frown that you assumed said,

I acknowledge your presence, yet I don't want to be in it.

You absolutely adored Michael's kids like they were your own. Your heart would shatter in your chest when you'd see them catching onto yours & Michael's sudden change towards each other. Yes, he was their father, yet you were like a second mother; it hurts them.

You'd be tucking them into bed, slowly pulling the covers up to their necks with a gentle peck on their forehead. You always tried to leave their rooms as soon as possible, knowing they would try to question you. You didn't make it this time. You'd hear one of their little voices mumble your name as you were just about to crack open the door to leave.

"What's wrong with you & daddy? Do you hate him?"

You felt like crying, you didn't hate him. You hated yourself.

"No, I don't hate him. Nothing is wrong, you guys sleep now. See you in the morning, okay?" you'd whisper, leaning on the door.

You never visited the living room after you put the kids to bed anymore, especially knowing Michael would be there. Old habits die hard.

The dinners were the most painful endurance; having to sit with all of them in one room for an hour felt like centuries. The satisfying sounds of laughter & small talk, now replaced by deafening silence & the clinking of cutlery on china plates. The only thing that made you feel like you could still function was the size of his dining room, large golden chandeliers hanging from the ceilings, & a substantially large cedar table that seperated your distance from him enough to breathe. You'd subconsciously look for escape routes if things got too uncomfortable, pathetic.

The children would compliment the taste of the dinner you prepared while eating, Michael's head never turning your direction, only his children.

"Tastes really yummy, thank you," they'd murmur shyly, feeling the energy shift themselves.

"You're very welcome, make sure to try & eat it all, yeah?"

You'd continue cutting your food with your head down, your posture straight on your chair.

"Tastes good, well done." Michael would say barely above a whisper as he nodded to himself.

You'd shoot your head up in his direction from sheer surprise, both of you exchanging a 2 second glance before resuming the silent treatment.

When the time came for you to wind down in your bed, you were left to drown in your thoughts with nowhere to go. You'd look at the baby pink paint on your walls, the fresh white coving & that pretty little vanity he got installed for you with a clear vase and roses situated in it. Your room was always a reminder of how kind-spirited Michael was to you, how pure your relationship was. Now you don't know how to feel when you look at your room. It's like everything is a reminder of what will never be. Your eyes fall on your sundress hung up in your closet, memories just rushing back like a tidal wave.

Sure, you feel regret & disgust with yourself. But there will always be a part of you that didn't regret it. The way he made you feel that night, emotionally & physically. You've felt from no other. You've never had someone arouse you so much to the point it feels like constraint. So much so you'd masturbate to the thought of him every consecutive night, while smelling one of his t-shirts you took from the laundry hamper.

You couldn't help it, you'd wait till Michael went to sleep too, making sure he wouldn't be able to hear your little whimpers & moans as you fingered yourself, the t-shirt propped on the pillow next to you as your head buried into it. You'd imagine the way his cock felt as it dragged in & out of your walls, the way he smelt, the way he felt in your grasp. Every attempt you'd ever had at masturbating in the past has failed; nothing was able to make you finish.

Michael was the only one who could make you cum, whether it was him giving it to you himself, or the thought of him in your own privacy. He was the only one.

You'd bite your bottom lip till you tasted blood as you grew wetter & wetter towards your orgasm, all the while trying to hide the sounds of your slickness under the duvet.

"Michael," you'd whimper breathlessly into his t-shirt, his familiar musk filling your nose just right.

You knew you were obsessed with him, you hated yourself for it, but you'd always had an innocent little crush on him since the day you were hired. One last muffled squeal into your pillow & you'd cum, hard. Your fingers suffocated by the sudden tightening of your pussy. You'd still be feeling surprised you're actually able to do that. You always wonder to yourself if he ever does the same to you, still thinks of you like that. You've had the assumption that he doesn't, so you'd try to stop doing it yourself. Yet, you'd always be betrayed by the hyper-realistic sex dreams you'd have of him nearly every night. You didn't know whether you felt trapped or horny, perhaps both.

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It was another predictable & tedious evening in Michael's kitchen, you were preparing a lasagne you learned from one of your favourite recipe books. You used it for half of the dishes you prepared for his family, & every single one came out perfect. You smile to yourself as you smell that satisfying scent of fresh herbs in the air, proud of your craft. Your hair was tied up loosely in a chic French twist, your regular polka-dot apron tied firmly around your taut waist. Soft interludes of gentle lounge music play on the radio on the windowsill as you hum along, grabbing some fresh tomatoes from the fridge as you start unwrapping them. As traditional as it sounds, the kitchen is where you felt the most peaceful after what happened. It cleared your mind, like white noise in your brain.

You placed three tomatoes on the cutting board & pulled out your knife. You could say confidence got the best of you, you diced one of them furiously, trying out a new technique. You hiss through your teeth sharply as you shake your hand, cutting yourself suddenly. You look at your trembling finger, blood rolling down to your palm.

“Shit.”

You make sure to not let any drip on the food, yet some reaches the floor. You quickly turn around & grabbing a tea towel from the oven handle, wrapping it tight around your finger. Sure, you were panicking because you just damn near sliced off your finger, but you also didn’t want Michael to see. He was too kind-hearted. Even in the current state of affairs between you two, if he saw you right now, you knew he’d try to help you & intervene. You didn’t want that.

You practically fled the kitchen, attempting to get into the bathroom before accidentally bumping into Michael, knowing he was already occupied in the front room, which was dangerously close to the bathroom. You manage to make your way in, immediately locking the door behind you & turning the tap on, placing your open-wounded finger underneath. You let out a sigh of relief as you watch the red water simmer down the drain, the pain starting to die down. Though, the relief doesn't last for long.

You hear 2 knocks at the door, making you jump out your skin, water droplets spraying your face.

You don't know why, but you have this horrible feeling it's Michael. If it were his kids, they would call out. You know they would. The silence that follows is deafening; your mouth falls agape, trying to think of something to say. No words come out; you turn back to the sink, deciding not to reply. You hear another knock.

"Can you open the door?"

Michael. His voice was soft & gentle with a hint of concern, the sound making your stomach drop. You haven't heard him speak to you directly in what feels like forever.

You close your eyes, of course he'd make this harder. You shut off the tap, keeping your hand over the sink. The bathroom even more silent than before.

"Im fine." You semi-shout, trying to sound as normal & uninjured as possible, your eyebrows pressed taught from the raging sting in your finger.

"There's blood on the kitchen floor, open the door."

"I'll clean it."

"It's not the floor im concerned about, please just open the door, let me help."

You let out a deep sigh, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear with your uninjured hand. You don't know why you're trembling. A few weeks ago, standing close to Michael or talking to him hadn't frightened you. Now the simple, pathetic act of opening a door felt impossible. You straightened your back, swallowing your pride hard & painfully. You moved to the door with caution as you placed your free hand on the lock, hesitating. Before you would let any useless thoughts invade your brain, you turned the lock quickly. Your adrenaline had you practically swinging open the door.

Michael stood in the doorframe, the sleeves of his usual white linen shirt rolled up, dark blue jeans sitting loosely on his waist. And of course, concern written plainly across his face. Surprisingly, he looked a little relieved the second he saw your face.

For a second neither of you spoke, just basking in each other's long-lost presence. Your little heart was pounding in your chest, how he didn't hear it bemuses you. You hated how badly you still wanted him deep down. Your gaze drops to your finger, blood resurfacing itself again.

"Let me see," he whispers.

You hated how gentle he sounded.

"It's really not that bad Michael-"

"Please. That's not what I asked." He snaps. A hint of intensity on his face.

The second you assume you're irritating him, you hold out your hand reluctantly. He takes it with no hesitation, making your breath catch in your throat. It'd been weeks since he touched you, weeks since he'd looked at you properly, weeks since he performed those nasty acts on you. The simple touch of his hand sends you right back, making your cunt jump in your panties a little; you tried not to think about it.

He sucks in his teeth at the sight of your knawed finger. Stroking the blood around the wound softly. Your heart pounds even faster.

"& you said that's fine?" He scoffs.

He grabs the tea towel hanging off the sink, wrapping it back around your finger.

"Keep pressure on it, I'll grab some wipes & bandages okay? Don't go anywhere."

You nod, taking a seat on the toilet as you keep the pressure around your finger, just like he said. You watch him leave the room, listening to drawers being rumaged in a nearby room, you're not sure which one.

He comes back with bandages in one hand & antiseptic wipes in the other. He kneels down in front of you, taking your hand.

"How did you even manage to do this?" He mutters, looking up at you.

You look down at him, your plump lips fallen open. You try to find the words, a sudden conversation with him is not what you expected this evening.

"I didn't mean to, I was just cutting tomatoes. Too fast" You say, watching him unwrap the wipe sachet.

Michael looks visibly stiff, yet he still manages to let out a laugh at your clumsiness.

"Silly girl." He tuts.

Once he gets the sachet opened, he hesitates before swiping it across the wound, looking at you for approval, knowing it's gonna hurt like hell. A little smile creeps up around your lips, you nod.

"Should be fine if it's quick, right?" You say.

Without warning, he presses the wipe to your wound, the burn penetrating through your nerves as you hiss. Michael strokes your knee gently, cooing to himself.

"I know, I know, you're doing great."

A few more seconds pass while he cleans your wound. Your eyes fixated on him the entire time, reverting back to the floor if he looked at you again. The collarbones peaking through his half-open shirt nearly made you consider making the same mistake again; you can't help yourself.

He throws the wipe in the nearby trashcan, keeping one hand on your knee, stroking with his thumb, making your cunt pulsate in your jeans. After what seems like ages of him over-analysing your wound, he finally pulls out the bandages & starts unravelling them.

You give him your hand to take as he starts gently wrapping it around your finger.

"Do you regret it?"

His voice was hoarse all of a sudden, still looking down at your finger while he wrapped it. You shoot your head up, locking eyes with him momentarily. The same pair of eyes you saw on top of you a few weeks ago. Your body practically freezes as you think of the right thing to say, already subconsciously trying to please him. You decide to just be yourself, say what you really feel.

"I do & I don't, if that makes sense." You say, watching his face intently for any sign of emotion shift. You swallow,

"& you? do you regret it?" You continue.

You expect him to reply instantly, seeing that he was the one who asked the question first. Yet, surprisingly, he doesn't. He just keeps wrapping tediously, eyes focused a little too hard on your hand as if there's something very interesting about it. The silence stretches further than you'd like, & you wish it didn't hurt as much as it did.

Michael smooths the edges of the bandages before letting go of your hand.

"That should be fine now." He says, standing up.

Your chest sinks as you stay on the toilet, feeling even more embarrassed than ever before. You couldn't give yourself a definite answer to whether or not he disliked you. He still cares for you, still touches you, yet he's blocked off certain areas.

"Try to keep it clean for a few days."

Before you can find the courage to press on with the conversation, he's already heading out of the bathroom. Your head falls into your hands; dinner is going to be hell.

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Dinner was as usual, silent clinking of cutlery & deafening silence. This time feels a little lighter than before, knowing you & Michael broke the ice a little. You'd give each other little glances & smiles across the table at times, & you'd notice he wouldn't just be looking at his children, this time he'd look at you too. You felt light, you hadn't felt this much relief in a long time. Even finding your designer purse you left on a park bench after forgetting it was less relieving than this. You knew he didn't hate you. You saw a longing in his eyes, some sort of want that you also knew he saw in yours. It was a mutual feeling, & you both felt it.

"Despite your finger, you did great." Michael compliments you, chewing on the lasagne, a little tantalising smirk plastered on his face followed by a wink.

The wink awakens a feeling that'd been lying dormant in your belly, butterflies. You wave your bandaged finger in the air, giggling a little.

"Couldn't have done it without you."

The children smile, seeing their two favourite people communicating again must feel warm. The whole atmosphere of the dinner started to pick up towards the end, small talk wavering its way in. & this time, you swear Michael placed his seat closer to yours.

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You spent the rest of the evening trying not to think about what happened in the bathroom. You zoned out as you washed the dishes The same memory of how everything started between you two giving you deja vu. Being distracted from Michael should've been easy. The children kept you busy with their demanding requests, dinner came & went, rooms needed to be cleaned, lunches needed to be packed. Yet every time you glanced down at your bandage, Michael on his knees in front of you flashed into your mind. The way he gently touched you, gently spoke to you like you were this little delicate entity, & the way he completely ignored your question.

By the time you tucked the children into bed & the house had fallen silent, your thoughts were once again unbearable. Just like before. You sat on the edge of your bed, absentmindedly brushing your hair after just finishing your nighttime routine at your vanity. The room was dimly lit by your bedside lamp, casting an amber glow over the walls. Despite your raging thoughts, things felt peaceful tonight. It was the first night in a while you felt a little lighter, you couldn't stop thinking of him. His smell was addicting; it took up that entire bathroom while he was in it. Intense vanilla & sandalwood.

Your brush slowed as your mind wandered back to the bathroom.

"& you? do you regret it?"

Your words replay in your mind like a mantra,you genuinely wish you'd never asked. You promised yourself you wouldn't let your pride be a factor when it comes to Michael, but you couldn't help it. You wanted to take it back. That silence he gave you afterwards made you want to scream. Apart from all the guilt & disgust you felt initially, you were scared that your feelings & wanting for Michael were unrequited, that he didn't want you the way you still want him. Part of you knew you could be wrong, you'd see the way he used to gawk at your body, your legs, your tits. You hated how it turned you on. You placed your brush down on your bedside table with a little sigh, your hair blowing. You quickly slip out of your silk pyjama pants, leaving you in your usual pink camisole & your panties. You slip under the covers, staring out the window.

A knock at your door makes your entire body tense; you know who it is. Your heart instinctively starts pounding.

“Who is it?” Just to be sure.

“It’s me.”

You pull the covers up a little higher.

“Come in.”

You hear the door creak open as Michael steps in, shutting the door behind him, making you frown in confusion. He’s changed into his usual grey sweatpants & a plain white T-shirt. His hair is a little more dishevelled than when you last saw it, he also has his glasses on this time. The ones you love.

Michael sees you laid up in bed with your hair down, your tanned shoulders peaking through the covers. You see him swallow & re-adjust himself.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is this a bad time?”

You sit up, shaking your head. The thought of knowing Michael is in the same room as you while you’re practically half naked under the covers makes you feel exposed.

“No, I wasn’t sleeping anyway.”

Michael hums as he takes a seat at the end of your bed, fiddling with his fingers.

“I just wanted to talk. I feel like it’s been weeks since we’ve spoken properly.”

You nod along, agreeing with him. it has been weeks, & it’s been killing you.

“You’re right, but you never actually answered my question earlier,” you say, raising a brow.

He takes his glasses off, letting them hang on his shirt. His head falls into his palm momentarily, looking a bit hesitant.

“No, I don’t regret it.” He says, looking in your direction.

Your body feels even lighter than before. You stare at him, hoping for an elaboration.

“I know I’ve never admitted it because it feels wrong, but I can’t help my attraction towards you. & I know you work for me, but I didn’t care at the time. I wanted to help you feel things. What’s wrong about that?” He questions.

You can’t help the smile that threatens to invade your face, your thighs tense under the sheets. You place a gentle hand on your chest, trying to steady your heartbeat.

“Nothing's wrong, I feel the same way.”

“I know you do.”

“What?” You furrow your brows.

“I’ve heard you.”

Your heart stops beating, your stomach feels like a washing machine as you feel your mouth becoming dry. Your lashes flutter as you blink rapidly, trying to talk. You’re terrified to ask what he’s referring to, hoping it’s not about you playing with your pussy to him every night. You go for it.

“Heard what?” You stutter, trying to appear stoic.

“I’ve heard you touching yourself, I heard my name. I know how you feel about me, so don’t feel ashamed.”

You don’t know whether to accept it or try to deny it. Either way, what difference would it make? You’ve already fucked the man. Though what Michael wasn’t telling you is that he’d do the exact same.

Michael had been masturbating to the thought of you ever since he fucked you. You were like human superglue on his mind, he couldn’t get you out even if he tried. He’d imagine the way your tits bounced beneath him, the way your teary eyes looked up at him for guidance, & how damn tight your pussy was. He’d be gripping his cock tight, brows pressed together as he grits his teeth, stroking desperately. He’d wait till everyone was asleep, not wanting to be bothered. That’s how he heard you, he’d sneak by your room to check for any noise, any sign you were awake. His cock would twitch at the sound of your desperate little whimpers & the wetness of your pussy, spurring him on even more. His heart dropping when he heard his name. You could’ve been thinking about anyone, but hearing his name in your mouth felt right.

“You still want me?” He says, his eyes piercing your soul. You have nowhere to go, nowhere to run. It’s like he’s cornered you on purpose. All you can do is swallow the lump in your throat & lick your dried-up lips.

"I've been trying hard not to, but I'm sorry I did that, I’m sorry I touched myself.”

Michael's face softens, inching a little closer to you, placing a hand on your leg under the duvet.

"Why didn't you say anything? Had me suffering for weeks, thinking I did something terrible. If only you told me this earlier." He says.

You exhale a breathe, he has no idea.

"I didn't tell you because I thought you hated me or something. I thought you regretted it & looked down on me, like I was..."

He tilts his head, eyebrows tight. "Like you were what?"

"A slut."

"Oh baby," he mewls, now stroking your covered leg. The sensation travelling right up to your core, you feel yourself getting a little slick down there.

The pet name sends you into shock. The last time he called you that was during the act. Safe to say he sent you right back.

"I don't think you're a slut for wanting to feel good. I simply provided a service, & I don't regret it. I'll say it again."

You nod, thanking him for reassuring you. You realised how stupid you were those past few weeks. He never thought you were a slut, never looked down on you. Hell, he wanted you just as bad.

Michael shifts on the bed, his hand leaving your leg to place on the mattress, assuming the conversation is coming to an end.

"Thank you for telling me that, Michael." You say sweetly.

He doesn't respond, his attention caught onto something tucked beneath your pillow. You feel like you're going to end up having a heart attack the way it keeps fluctuating in speed. Your fingers fist the sheets beneath you a little, your body tense. You know exactly what he's looking at, his t-shirt.

Before you can react, he reaches over & pulls at the corner of the exposed fabric. His familiar grey t-shirt slides free, he just holds it in front of him, his lips falling agape. For a second, neither of you says a word, you feel your face burn hot immediately, feeling like you want to vomit.

"What's this? Is this mine?" he whispers, almost to himself.

He doesn't sound mad, more surprised or impressed. His eyes flick from the shirt back to you, & the classic look on your face seems to answer the question for him.

You lunge forward instinctively, attempting to get it back. He gently turns away, still looking at it like he can't believe it's real or something.

"I know it's mine because I've been looking for it."

"Michael, don't be mad, please."

He chuckles, "I'm not an angry person, & you know that," he says, gently placing the shirt on the bed.

He shifts closer to you, closer than before. He notices your chest rising & falling rapidly. He places a hand on it, stroking a little with his thumb.

"Hey, breathe. Im not mad." He says, leaning down a little to get on your eye-level.

"God, I'm sorry." You mutter, your voice starting to crack.

You feel yourself becoming teary from the searing humiliation, it felt like someone broadcasted all your secrets worldwide at once. Your bottom lip starts to quiver, your eyes looking wet as you drop your head, feeling shameful. The second Michael saw your face crumple, something inside him seemed to break.

"Baby, don't cry." he says softly.

You look away instantly, not wanting to look him in the eye. He didn't give you a chance to shy away, he gently took your wrist & pulled you towards him. He made sure the movement was slow enough for you to stop him or pull away. The moment his arms wrapped around your frame, you buried your head onto his shoulder, small little sobs ripping from your throat.

"It's okay, don't feel ashamed. It's okay, I'm not mad." His voice high pitched & gentle.

One of his hands settles against the back of your head, his fingers slowly playing & moving through your glossy hair, smoothing it back from your face as he juts your chin up to face him. The gesture was so familiar. You look up at him through your thick n' wet lashes, your lips puffy & all cried out.

Michael's thumb brushed beneath your eye, catching another tear before rolls down your rosy cheeks. You hated how easily he seemed to unravel you. He kept his eyes on your face, admiring your beauty, as if he hadn’t been doing that anyway. You could see him studying every detail as if he was trying to memorise it for later. You could hear your heartbeat slowing in your ears.

"You know what the worst part of all this is?" He mutters.

You blink, "What?"

A slight smirk tugs at the side of his lips, bringing his face closer to yours. So much so you could smell the mint on his breath.

"You've spent all this time thinking I hated you, when really, I've been trying not to walk into this room every night."

His words sat heavily and soppily between the two of you. Those doubts you had weeks before feel even more dumb.

"You have no idea how hard you've made this for me. I've wanted you so damn bad." he continues, stroking your cheek with the knuckle of his index finger.

A strange yet unrelenting sense of confidence rushes over you. Perhaps it was the relief, or the way he was looking at you like you were sweet candy. You felt tired of holding back your desires. You realised that for those few weeks, you'd convinced yourself that wanting him was something to be ashamed of, looked down upon. For once in your life, you didn't give a damn.

Your eyes flicker down to his parted lips before looking back up at him. You feel your mouth start to salivate, like you're ready to eat. Your heart hammers in your chest against his.

"Then show me." You say just above a whisper, keeping those eyes on his. You know he loves that.

Michael smiles with all his teeth, grinning at your sudden confidence. He strokes a hand through your hair again, leaning in closer. You don’t move an inch, just stare at him.

Before you know it, his hands are cupping both sides of your jaw so gently you can barely feel it. One hand travels to your chin, inching it up a little as his lips hover dangerously close over yours. Your little shallow breaths hit his lips, making him shiver.

Finally, he presses his lips to yours, they’re practically burning hot & supple as anything. You hear a little moan from him the second you two connect you lips, making you furrow your brow. You’d been dreaming about kissing him again after what happened, daydreaming about it while grocery shopping. You never wanted him to stop kissing you, never.

By the time he broke the kiss, he didn’t move far. He leaned his forehead on yours, playing with your bottom lip with his thumb. You pout a little, wanting him back like a baby would with their favourite treat.

“Are you convinced yet?” Michael mutters.

You nod, a vulnerable & pleased expression on your face.

“There you go.”

Michael slid his thumb across your chin, his face completely unreadable. You keep your gaze on him, not faltering. Suddenly, you feel his thumb graze & rub on your pouty lips.

“Open.”

You hesitate before opening your mouth into a small O. His Thumb slowly slides into your mouth, resting against your tounge. Your mouth warm, wet, & inviting.

“Suck.” He whispers hoarsely.

You start blinking rapidly, not used to him acting such a way. He’s always been so gentle, so soft-spoken, almost shy. Yet the way he’s acting right now, it’s like you bring out this erotic side of him, & you can tell he relishes in it.

Without thinking any longer, you latch your lips & tongue around his slender thumb, the slight salty taste making you hum. You flutter your eyes shut, swirling your tongue around it. Michael watches you like he’s in a trance, his eyes half-lidded, full of pure untainted lust.

You release your mouth of his finger.

“I wanna taste it,” you say, palming his cock through his sweats. The stiffness of it takes you by surprise.

“I didn’t get to last time & I’ve been dreaming about doing it, can I?” You continue.

Before Michael could even answer, you were crawling out of the bed desperately, your little ass perched up in the air momentarily as you made your way to the floor.

You situate yourself in between his legs, kneeling. You never realised how long & lanky they were until now.

“I don’t want you feeling uncomfortable on that floor,” he protests, yet you can see his bulge swelling up more & more with each second.

You giggle, flipping your locks to one side as you slide your hands up his meaty thighs, making him twitch.

“That’s what you’re worried about?” You smirk, a dangerous twinkle in your eye as you pull at his waistband, signalling him to take them off.

"Didn't want your little knees getting hurt, but if you say so."

He hesitated before grabbing his waistband himself, lifting himself up as you took over & pulled them down his legs impatiently.

His thighs were dad thick, the subtle hair on them made your hands tingle as you rubbed them up & down. You knaw on your bottom lip as you slide a hand over his boxers, gently playing with his bulge.

The subtle sensation makes him weak, he throws his head back as a low & lengthy groan escapes him. He braces one hand beside him on the mattress for support, the other playing with your hair tediously.

You waste no time slowly pulling the hem of his boxers down. He lifts himself, allowing you to fully slide them down to his ankles. Your mouth is practically watering at the familiar sight of his cock sprung free in front of your face, standing tall. The tip mauve & deep, the skin warm, & incredibly soft as you traced your finger across a singular vein.

You wrap your hand around his lower base, inching your head up to look him in the eye as you stick your tongue out, slapping the tip on your tongue a few times. You've always been a slow love maker. You feel him viciously throb around your grip, glistening pre-cum starting to pool on his head.

"Quit teasin' ", he giggles softly, rubbing the back of your head.

You lower your head, licking one long, painfully slow stripe up his shaft, followed by suckling on his tip. His hand grips the sheets roughly, knuckles white as he lets out a sharp hiss through his teeth. You keep your eyes on him at all times, noticing the way little beads of sweat collect at the sides of his temples. It doesn't take much to please him.

"Oh my god," he moans.

Finally, you sink your ripe lips down his length as much as your throat can take. You reach his base, gaggling slightly as you feel his hand travel to your breast, groping it over your camisole.

You continue your work on his cock, rhythmically bobbing your head up & down his length at a safe pace as you jerked his lower half, not able to take him all. He tasted clean & a little salty, you loved it.

You realised your mouth off him with a wet pop, stroking him.

“You taste so good.” You whisper seductively.

His mouth is practically pryed open as he watches you stroke him, amazed by your talent & desperation.

Just before you're about to go down on him again, he stops you.

“Enough of me, I wanna touch you.”

Without any further notice, he’s grabbing you by your armpits, lifting you off the floor with a groan. He situates you on the bed, pulling the straps of your camisole down as he pulls your top completely off. Your full breasts sitting cute in front of him, nipples hard from arousal.

“So damn pretty.” He says, latching his mouth onto one, sucking gently, humming to himself. He’s exactly where he’s dreamed of being.

You throw your head back as you whimper, the feeling of his slick tongue on your sensitive nipple sending you onto overdrive.

He releases himself from your breast, turning his attention to your hot pink panties, stained & just begging to be removed. He slides two fingers across your clothed folds, whispering profanities under his breath as you spread your legs wider. It’s like your body knows who he is & reacts as such whenever he touches you.

“Mhm, there,” You let out a guttural moan, your eyes falling to the back of your head from the sensation of your clit being grazed.

He leans down, groping the squidgy skin of your inner thighs as he kisses your damp lips, sucking & tasting you through the fabric.

“I can feel you throbbing, want more?” he chuckles, looking up at you momentarily.

“Yes, yes,” you beg, nodding aggressively. You don’t care how desperate you may seem, if you want something, you want it.

He latches his finger around the hem of your panties, pulling them to the side to reveal your glossy slick folds.

“Sexy pussy,” he coos, playing with your swollen clit a little before latching his mouth onto it. He laps up your juices from bottom to top as if he wants to physically consume it, his shoulders hunched.

You let your mouth fall completely open as you fall back on the bed, your thighs trembling as you listen to him slurping you up, your hands flying to his hair.

“Fingers please,” you beg, barely audible as you struggle to talk.

Michael listens to your command, sliding 2 of his lengthy fingers into your weeping entrance. One hand flies to your mouth covering it as you arch your back into an aggressive C. Suddenly, you’re painfully aware the children are in close proximity.

“Remember, baby, the children. Try to be quiet for me.” He says, slowly sliding his fingers in & out.

You nod, clamping down on your bottom lip till you taste blood as you struggle.

“Please Michael, wanna come again so bad.”

He speeds up the pace with his fingers, licking & sucking your sensitive nub with a calm gentle rhythm driving you over edge.

“Give it to me baby, I want it,” he presses.

You start to feel a familiar sensation crescendo in your lower belly again, the same feeling on the couch & in your bed at nighttime, you knew what it was. You squeeze your eyes shut as your mouth hangs open, anticipating your release.

“Michael I’m gonna come! don’t stop don’t stop,” you warn, gripping his hair even tighter.

“Yes,” he hisses against your pussy, “cum for me, there you go.”

With a muffled cry, your let your orgasm tear through you. Your thighs like jelly as your pulse booms in your ears.

Michael sits up, crawling over you as he grabs your face for a messy kiss. He kicks his boxers & sweats off his ankles. You have no time to come back to reality after your orgasm, desperate to have him inside of you.

You shift your panties down your legs, both of you now completely stark naked infront of eachother. You both pause for a second, taking in eachothers bodies. You rub your hands along his chest, it’s taught & defined. You pepper little kisses along his collarbone as you signal him to flip over & lie down.

“Lay on your back.” You say, flipping your hair out your face.

Michael props himself against the headboard, lying flat on the bed. He’s already holding his hands out awaiting you. Heat creeps up your cheeks as you crawl over on top of him, throwing your legs on either side of his hips. You situate yourself on his shaft, your bare pussy now pressed against it. He lets his hands rest gently on the curve of your hips.

“You’ve gotta be the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, y'know that?” He says lowly, grazing his hands up & down your ass with a light slap.

“& you’ve gotta be the most handsome man I’ve ever seen, or boss.” You giggle.

His lips twitch into a smile as he holds your lower half up, allowing you to take a hold of his stiffened cock. Little whimpers fall from your lips as you rubs his slick tip across your folds, both of you are so wet & you haven’t even started. You’d love to tease him a little, sitting down a on his tip allowing it to sink in a little.

Your actions would only make him harder, a small bang from the headboard whenever his head would fall.

Finally, you slowly sink down on his length. Every inch that enters you feels suffocating yet extremely pleasurable. Your eyes flutter shut as you squeal under your breath, placing both your hands on his chest. Your pussy practically sucks him in like a hoover, not letting him go anywhere.

His hands instinctively inch you down a little further, desperate himself to be inside of the girl that’s been living in his imagination for weeks.

You wiggle your ass as you get comfortable, now fully seated on his cock. Your chest rises & falls, the pleasure so intense you’re scared to move, you feel like you could cum already.

“So tight, oh my god.” He groans, raking a hand through the ends of your hair.

"Wanted to do this for so long," you whine n' pout, rolling your hips back & fourth.

Michael hums as he guides you back & fourth on his length, your hair flying & sticking onto your lips. His tip violently hits your g-spot with each roll making your legs almost give out. You try your hardest to keep your eyes out your head & on Michael at all times, you wanted to remember this.

Your cheeks flush a light rose color, already fucked out. You start to bounce impatiently, loving the feeling of him entering & re-entering you. Your tits bounce freely in front of him, automatically making him lean forward & hold one, latching his mouth onto your right nipple.

"I love it," you moan pornographically, "It's so big."

His ego swells up at your comment, spurring him on more. He grabs onto the fat of your hips a little harder as he manually bounces you on his cock, mouth still latched onto your breast. The subtle sound of skin meeting skin fills the emptiness of the room, the air humid & warm with the aroma of both of your unique scents now melted together.

"Feeling good ma?" Michael breathes, his face red and fucked out already, his body jutting up & down from your continuous bounces.

“So good,” you whisper, leaning down into his ear.

He plants a peck on your cheek, wrapping his arms around you as he flips you over so you're on your fours.

One thing about Michael was that he loved missionary, that was one of his favourites. Sure, he'd loved seeing that pretty little face of yours tear up as you came. But truthfully, he'd been fantasising about having you bent over for the past 2 weeks, & he feels elated that it's no longer a dream.

You point your ass up in the air for him, eager & starved. You wrap your arms around his t-shirt, the one you'd been touching yourself to for weeks. You let your head rest on it as you look back at him waiting for him patiently.

He positions himself behind you, for a second he just admires the view of you bent over & waiting for him. He loathes in it, & you loathe in the attention, all on you. He plants a semi-rough slap on your left cheek, leaving a red mark. You whine into his shirt, smiling.

"Always wanted to do that, seeing you around the house lookin' all pretty."

Before you can reply, you feel his cock return to your slick folds as he drags the tip over it a few times, collecting your arousal. He strokes a hand from the nape of your neck to your lower back, keeping it there as he pushes himself into you.

You drag out a whine, biting on his shirt to muffle yourself. He starts of slow, just watching the way your cunt swallows him like it knows who he is.

"My god," he whimpers, both hands on your hips now.

You feel your body jolt as he starts to speed up, a white ring of sweet elixir forming at the base of his cock. Moans n' whimpers fall from your lips uncontrollably as you happily take him.

He loved watching the way your ass recoiled against his thighs, growing even harder inside of you.

"I'm trying not to swear, goddamn." He groans.

He leans forward, pressing his clammy chest on your back with one hand on the mattress and one guiding your hips back & fourth. Michael's greedy, he doesn't know whether to look at your face or ass. Both just as hypnotising as each other.

You look back at him, your eyes half lidded & glossy.

"Michael, I think I'm gonna come again," you whine, your voice breaking.

You feel his breath hit your ear as he leans into it. Both his hands now on your hips, driving you onto his cock even harder.

"Come with me, I'm so close," he pleads with you.

"Mmyeah, please don't stop." You beg, twisting your neck as far as you can to kiss him.

You share a passionate kiss as you feel another searing orgasm crest in your belly. Your brows pinch together as you try to keep your lips on his. The second he feels your cunt tighten up, he nods, pushing you on to finish as you feel his own thrusts speed up.

"Fuck, Im coming!" You cry.

"Me too, baby, shi–"

Your head falls into his shirt beneath you as your release tears through you once again without warning, your walls tightening around him violently, bringing him to a sharp halt as he releases himself inside of you. You hum in satisfaction as you feel his warmth pool deep in your pussy, little bits trying to escape out the sides.

He finally pulls out of you, watching the way his seed drips out of you in awe, collecting some on his fingers.

"So much," he says to himself.

He finally flops down next to you, both of you half-dead & useless as you stare at each other with your chests rising and falling rapidly. Reality rushes in once again, though this time felt a little less heavy. Neither of you seemed to care, you were content & bliss.

You share a final kiss as Michael wraps his arms around your small frame, pulling you tight against his sticky chest. The smell of his sweat & cologne an addictive mix.

You look up at him from his arms,

"We didn't learn anything from the first time did we?" You mutter, a small smirk on your face.

Michael shakes his head, looking elsewhere.

"No, I definitely learned somethin" He replies.

"& what's that?"

"That I don't wanna stay away from you."ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

thank you guys for your patience with this fic, I had so much fun writing it 🥹

you didn't care if he knew it was an act. you just wanted him to notice you – to feel a fraction of the ache you’ve been feeling.

tonight was supposed to be the same, but you lost track of time.

you meant to be upstairs before he got home. but after spending the afternoon getting your hair done and soaking in a long bath, you end up curled on the living room couch with a book. your skin still smelled faintly of your favourite lotion, and a short slip silk dress clung softly to your body underneath your matching robe.

you were so absorbed in your book that you didn't even hear the front door open.

“good book?”

you startled, your head snapping up.

michael leaned against the archway, his jacket slung over his shoulder as he watched you. his eyes took in the gleam of your skin and the way the silk clung to you. he looked exhausted, but his gaze was piercing.

you didn't answer.

michael pushed himself from the archway and took a step toward the couch.

but you were stubborn, so by his second step, you snapped the book shut and stood up, pulling your robe tightly around yourself as you walked right past him toward the stairs.

michael didn't try to stop you. his eyes dropped to the hem of your dress, which rode up just above the swell of your ass as you moved. he closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and let out a heavy sigh, lingering for a moment before following after you.

by the time you hit the master bedroom, his steady footsteps were right behind you. you reached for the door to shut it, but he was already there, pushing it open and stepping inside.

“baby, don’t do this,” he sighed.

you ignored him, walking over to drop your book onto the vanity. "i'm tired, michael. i'm going to sleep."

"you weren't tired downstairs," his voice stayed calm as he shut the bedroom door behind him with a firm click. 

he rolled his sleeves up his forearms, keeping his eyes on your reflection.

"you’ve been playing this game for days. turning your back on me. pretending you’re asleep whenever i get home.”

you crossed your arms, looking at him through the mirror.

"maybe i'm just saving you the trouble of talking to me,” you muttered. “since you're so busy."

michael let out a low chuckle that sent a chill down your spine.

he wasn’t arguing with you, which was even more concerning.

instead, he stepped closer, his large hands settling on your shoulders. the warmth of his palms against the cool silk of your robe made you shudder.

he leaned down, his lips brushing the sensitive skin under your ear, his breath warm against your neck.

"is that what you think?" he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "you really think you're saving me trouble, baby?"

you swallowed hard, staring at your reflection.

you tried to shrug him off, but michael’s fingers drifted down your shoulders, trailing along your bare arms. goosebumps rose instantly across your skin.

in the mirror, his eyes were hooded and fixed on you. your knees weakened.

still, you refused to give in.

“i don’t know, you tell me,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “seeing as you practically live at the studio now, i’m surprised you even remember what i look like.”

“you can be as sarcastic as you want, baby,” he murmured, his tone still soft. his thumbs rubbed light circles into your skin.

he didn’t give you the argument you were practically begging for.

the familiar scent of his cologne was completely clouding your head, and after days of barely touching him, the feeling of his hands on you was enough to turn you to mush. you found yourself subconsciously leaning back, melting into his chest.

but then you caught yourself, forcing your spine rigid.

he had been so mean for ignoring you all week, completely neglecting your needs and leaving you alone in that giant bed, and you weren't about to just give in that easily.

he let out a soft hum as his thumbs traced along your collarbone.

"y’missed me? that it?" he whispered, watching your chest rise and fall rapidly in the reflection.

a faint smile tugged at his mouth. “your whole body is shaking."

his hand slid down to the front of your robe, catching the silk belt.

with one quick tug, he undid the knot.

he parted the fabric, pushing it off your shoulders until it pooled around your ankles, leaving you standing there in just the slip dress.

he admired the view for a moment, his hands lingering on your hips before he let go. 

“you can stand there and act as stubborn as y’want,” he murmured. “but you’re not gonna get what y’want by bein’ a brat.”

you bit your inner cheek as you tried to hold his gaze in the glass. 

the silence stretched.

and the longer it did, the more you realized he was right.

you wanted his attention so bad, but now that he’s giving it to you, you were still pushing him away.

"step back f’me," his voice was soft as he nodded toward the bed behind you.

you bit your lip, the sudden loss of his touch making you dizzy. you backed up until the back of your thighs hit the mattress.

to your surprise, michael didn't follow.

instead, he crossed over to the armchair in the corner of the room, turning it so it faced the bed.

he sat down, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other, looking completely at ease.

"sit down," he said softly, his gaze fixed on you.

"touch y'self."

your jaw dropped slightly. "michael–"

"shh," he interrupted, lifting a finger to his lips before resting his jaw in his hand. "y’wanted my attention so bad, sweetheart. y’have it now.”

his eyes never left yours. “all of it.”

he leaned back in the chair. “but since y’couldn’t even be bothered to talk to me… let’s see how well y’do on your own."

“go on, show me how much y’missed me.”

the sheer audacity of him sitting there and watching you made heat creep up your neck.

you wanted to refuse and hold your ground, but you couldn't.

it hit you all at once that the quiet war you’d been waging all week was finally over.

the truth was, you’d missed him.

after days of feeling invisible, having his full attention on you made your knees weak. you were too starved for it to care about your pride anymore. 

slowly, you sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly feeling shy under the unblinking intensity of his gaze.

as you shifted, the thin strap of your dress slipped down your shoulder, exposing a sliver of bare skin to the cool air.

michael’s eyes immediately dropped, burning through the small patch before tracking back up to your face. 

with trembling fingers, you slowly worked the silk hem of your dress up your thighs. 

the fabric bunched higher until your little lacy panties came into view.

michael swallowed hard.

you leaned back onto your hands slightly, your legs parting just a fraction under the weight of his stare.

in the center of your panties, a dark patch of dampness was clearly visible, ruining any excuse you had of being indifferent to him.

michael’s jaw tightened. a soft, breathy "fuck..." escaped his lips before his eyes snapped back up to meet yours.

"take 'em off," he murmured. "let me see your cute lil’ pussy... look how wet you are."

the contrast between his soft voice and the filthy words sent a shiver down your spine.

your hands shook so badly you could barely catch the edge of your panties, but you managed to wiggle the lace down your hips. as the fabric cleared your thighs, a thin, slick string of your arousal clung to the lace, stretching against your skin before finally snapping. you kicked them off until they pooled on the carpet.

"such a good girl when y’listen," he breathed, a faint smile touching his lips as his eyes locked on your bare center. "now touch y'self. right there. let me see."

your heart hammered against your ribs as you slid your finger down, parting your own slick warmth. 

god, you were so wet already, practically dripping. the moment your fingers made contact, a thick, messy heat coated your hand. a soft gasp escaped your lips at the friction. 

"keep your eyes on me while y’do it," michael said softly.

you forced yourself to hold his gaze as your fingers settled into a slow rhythm. you slipped two fingers inside your slick entrance, stretching yourself open under his unblinking gaze. 

all you could hear was the wet, squelching sound of your own desire filling the quiet room along with your breathy gasps.

having him watch you like this, combined with the fullness of your own fingers, had you unraveling fast. your hips twitched against the mattress, your breath hitching into short, ragged pants as the pleasure steadily built.

"ah... michael," you whimpered, your head tipping back before his soft voice pulled you right back.

"no, look at me," he murmured, his tone gentle but firm. “show me how good my girl takes it.”

your breath hitched, your vision blurring as your pace quickened. you were so close, your body trembling as you chased the edge.

and looking at him wasn’t helping.

the way he was watching you made your head spin. it didn't even feel like a punishment anymore.

you just felt dizzy with how bad you wanted to please him.

your attention drifted over him as your hand kept moving.

he looked so fucking good sitting there – long legs crossed, dark hair slightly mussed around his face. there was a quiet hunger in his expression that made your stomach flip.

you couldn’t seem to look away.

your body trembled harder, your hips rocking helplessly against your fingers.

you were a filthy sight for him.

your arousal squelched loudly with every stroke, drenching your thighs and dripping onto the sheets below you. 

but it all felt wrong. you wished so badly it was his hands on you instead – craving the heat of his palms and those long, slender fingers. your mind raced with every memory of how beautiful his hands were, the subtle map of his veins tracing over his skin, and how perfectly they’d always fit inside you.

your own touch was just a miserable substitute for his. 

you could nearly feel the memory of him driving you crazy. the way he’d slide his fingers deep inside and hook them upward, relentlessly hitting your sweet spot until you were a sobbing, shaking mess–

"stop."

a frustrated sob almost tore from your throat, but you swallowed it down before it could escape.

anger rushed in to take its place.

you froze, your fingers trembling against yourself as you glared at him across the room, your chest heaving.

michael didn't say a word. he seemed completely unfazed by the daggers you were throwing at him.

he uncrossed his long legs and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. his dark hair fell forward over his sharp jawline as he stared at you.

"d’you want t’cum?" he asked.

you stared at him in disbelief.

you couldn't believe he was asking you such a ridiculous question.

so you kept silent because if you opened your mouth, something mean would come out.

"use your words, baby," michael murmured, failing to hide the hint of a smile as he bit his bottom lip.

the ache between your thighs was a screaming throb that was driving you crazy.

so, biting down on your pride, you looked away from his intense gaze and muttered a barely audible, "yes."

michael tilted his head slightly. "can't hear you."

your eyes snapped back to him, your glare returning in full force.

you bit the inside of your cheek so hard you could taste copper, your eyes stung with a mix of frustration and arousal. but your need for him outweighed everything else. 

"yes," you said, your voice a bit louder this time, the word trembling but clear.

instead of answering, michael lifted a hand from his knee. his fingers curled inward in a beckoning motion, whispering a “c’mere.”

a heavy silence hung in the room. you weren't just going to blindly give in and let him have all the control. if he wanted you to come to him, then fine – you could play along.

but that didn’t mean you were going to make it easy for him. you knew he wanted you just as bad. and if you were going to give him what he wanted, you could at least have a little fun with it first.

slowly, your furious stare melted into something much more calculated. you slid off the edge of the mattress, letting your knees sink into the soft carpet. you kept your head tilted low but turned your gaze up, looking right at him through your lashes, fluttering them deliberately.

you leaned your weight forward onto your hands, arching your back just enough for the low neckline of your dress to dip. 

with your eyes locked onto his, you put on a little show, beginning to move across the small distance between the bed and his chair. with every forward shift of your palms, you subtly swayed your hips.

michael didn't blink. his jaw tightened while his eyes tracked the roll of your hips.

by the time you settled between his open legs, your face was only inches from his. 

his hand slowly came up, his large palm resting against your jaw to cup your face.

"such a pretty thing," he murmured, his voice so low and soft it sent a shiver down your spine.

your heart hammered against your ribs.

the heat radiating off him completely enveloped you as his thumb brushed lazily over your cheek before trailing down to your lips.

he pressed the pad of his thumb against your mouth, dragging your lower lip down for a moment before letting it slip back into place.

you didn't back down.

holding his gaze, you lowered your head slightly and caught the tip of his thumb between your lips.

slowly, you parted your lips and drew his thumb into your mouth.

michael’s breath hitched, his fingers tightening slightly against your jaw as your lips closed around him.

you swirled your tongue right against the sensitive pad of his finger, tasting him, before hollowing out your cheeks to create a tight suction.

michael inhaled sharply, his jaw going slack at the sight of you.

he stared down at your face, completely transfixed as your eyes stayed pinned to his, your head slowly bobbing as you slid your mouth along his thumb.

you bit back a smile, loving that you were affecting him like this. you knew he was thinking of a million ways to fuck you right now. it was written all over his face.

he pulled his thumb out of your mouth with a soft pop, his eyes still locked on yours.

"stand up," he murmured.

he rose to his feet with you, completely towering over you. his hands gripped your hips and turned you around in one quick motion, facing you away from him. he guided you forward, pushing your upper body down until your hands caught the arms of the chair. your dress rustled as he hitched the fabric past your thighs, his body crowding over yours from behind.

"you're so perfect f’me," he breathed against your ear. "jus’ like this, baby."

his fingers found your sopping heat, slipping deep inside. he pumped them in a slow cadence, stretching you out until your knees felt weak. you buried your face in your arms with a loud gasp, but he just pressed closer, his lips moving against your neck to whisper praises, telling you how good you felt – how much he missed this.

he kept up the steady pace, his thumb rubbing circles against your clit until you were completely breathless and clinging to the seat. just as you neared your peak, he pulled his fingers out, leaving you aching and gasping for air.

before you could protest, he gripped your waist and pulled you off the chair. he walked you backward to the bed, pushing your upper body flat against the mattress, hitching your hips high.

he wasted no time unbuckling his belt and pulling his zipper down. freeing his length, he guided it straight to your opening 

he drove all the way inside you in one long stroke. your breath hitched sharply. 

he thrust a few deep, hard hits that had you lifting off the mattress to meet him.

he began to drill into you, pounding into you so deep that you could feel him in your lungs. you felt full.

every thrust hit all the right spots, forcing you to scream into the sheets. michael reached down, grabbing your arms and pulling them back, trapping your body flush against his chest as he ruthlessly pounded into you from behind.

"look at you taking it so good f’me," he panted against your ear. "such a good girl, taking all of it. look how tight y’are around my dick."

his words only made you wetter, your hips rolling back against every hit. but michael wanted more. gripping your hips, he flipped you over onto your back, pinning your thighs wide. he loved seeing your face when he fucked you.

his eyes locked on yours as he drove back in, hammering into your slick warmth.

the friction was building too fast, having had you near your climax twice now. you whined, your voice cracking as you cried out. your hands were clawing at his back as your hips started to twitch, desperate to chase the climax.

michael slowed his pace, drawing almost all the way out until just the head of his dick was teasing your opening.

"michael, no please," you gasped, arching into him to urge him back, but he held your thighs down, keeping you still.

"uh-uh," he panted, his chest heaving as he stared down at you. "you gotta promise me you're done actin' like brat. no more of this silent treatment."

"i promise," you whined. "i promise, michael, jus' please–"

"say it," he said lowly. his thumb rubbing just once against your clit before pulling away. "say y'gonna stop."

"i-i'll stop," you cried out. "i'll stop being a brat. please, please just fuck me."

he rewarded you with a kiss on the cheek, driving back in all at once, burying himself to the hilt, hitting your sweet spot over and over.

"god– missed this pussy so much," he groaned as the brutal force of his pace picked right back up. "i missed you so much, sweetheart. ‘m sorry– shit, i'm sorry f'leavin' you alone all week, baby.”

you whined high in your throat, your voice cracking as you rocked up against his thick length.

"i missed you so bad, michael–" you cried out, your breath hitching as he slammed into you again.

you wrapped your arms tightly around him, pulling him down to bridge the last of the distance.

michael leaned down and caught your mouth, his tongue sliding past your lips in a sweet, passionate kiss that completely took your breath away.

you came hard. your pussy was clenching around him, practically milking him. michael groaned into your mouth, his body stiffening as his dick pulsed, emptying deep into your core.

he stayed buried inside you, his chest heaving against yours as his breathing slowly leveled out.

after a long moment, he reached up, using the pad of his thumb to gently graze your cheek before cupping your jaw.

"'m sorry, baby," he murmured. "should've talked t'you. shouldn't have left y'feelin' like that." he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead. "next time, tell me, alright? don't sit there hurtin' all by y'self."

you reached up, cupping his jaw as your thumb brushed across his cheekbone.

"i will," you whispered.

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