isabella

“And when you discussed divorce—“

“Oh no, it was never discussed.” Lisa cuts in, camera zoomed in on her face, and her face only. “I was served with papers out of nowhere. I thought he was just being dramatic, that it might blow over if I just played a long.”

"And how long did you two not talk?"

Lisa pauses, pulling her lips into her mouth, glancing down. "We didn't talk for nearly eight months."

The interviewer gasps softly, "And there was no effort for reconciliation? Not even a conversation about that?"

"He wanted children. I already have two from my previous marriage, I thought they'd be enough for him, and I expressed that I was unsure if I wanted any more, but he was insistent. I needed some space, and one week turned into two, then four. I stopped hearing from my own husband. He wouldn't take my calls."

Michael huffs sharply, jaw clenched. I'm standing beside him, hand on his bicep as I watch the screen, not uttering a word. My heart is racing, pounding against my ribs.

"The next thing I hear from him is..." she trails off, glancing off camera. She lifts a hand to wipe under her eye, "is that he's set on divorcing me, and won't talk to me until I sign those papers. All because I wouldn't have his children."

"That's not true," Michael murmurs as I grip his arm, barely breathing. My heart sinks.

This is it.

This is where my reputation really dies.

"And now in comes Daphne Jones..." the interviewer says softly. Lisa's face hardens at the sound of my name just as I turn to stone. "How did you find out about that? That he'd moved on?"

"Same way everyone else did. On the news."

"So you had no idea he was seeing another woman?"

"Not at all. I thought there was still time for us to fix whatever went wrong between us. It had only been three weeks. I thought that all this would blow over, and I'd be able to have my husband back... we still spoke on the phone, he asked after the children. I was so confused."

I'm trembling, and only realise once Michael puts his arm around my shoulders and looks from the TV, to me.

"Is this why you wanted to do the interview? To set the record straight?"

"I just, I see what the magazines have written about me. About the situation. All this speculation about my divorce, about Michael and me. But they have no idea. They think it was some complicated thing, some long, angry divorce, or something. It wasn't. It was very quiet. One day he was my husband, the next he wasn't, and the day after that? He has a twenty five year old girlfriend who wears mini dresses and used to date rappers." She laughs, pushing some hair out of her face, "It's just crazy!"

"So what are you saying, that this is some mid-life crisis?"

"God, I don't know," Lisa mutters, wiping a palm over her brow, "you just have a picture of what you want your life to be like when you get married. The nice house, the kids, right? Happiness. At no point do you ever envision something like this happening. That you lose everything overnight and it gets gifted to some party girl."

"Have you spoken to Michael since?"

"No," she laughs sadly.

"If you could... would you get back together? If he came back to you?"

Lisa pauses for a long time, then says quietly: "yes."

"Do you think infidelity is involved, Lisa?" the interviewer asks carefully before adding, as if no one understood what she might've meant, "Do you think Michael has cheated on you with Daphne Jones?"

Without a second of hesitation she answers: "Yes."

"Fucking bitch!" I practically scream, even surprising myself at the sudden volume of my voice. "I knew she would do that!" Michael jumps as I snatch out my cell phone from my little clutch purse and storm out of the room. "Miserable god damn witch!"

"Daphne?"

I ignore Michael and call my agent, heart pounding out of my chest. "I fucking knew she would do that!" I snap again before she even picks up the phone. On the third ring, she does. "Did you watch it?"

"Daphs, we need to damage control, right now."

"I didn't sleep with Michael whilst they were together, he told me they were divorced!" I shout.

"I know baby, but the rest of the world doesn't. All they're going to be thinking is you're the other woman and that the respectful woman-adoring Michael Jackson is a cheater."

"Oh my god, I'm gonna cry."

"Don't cry! don't cry. Just leave it with me, I'll figure something out, okay?"

"I'm gonna cry," I squeak, just as there's a knock on the door, and it opens. Michael pops his head in, doe eyes peering at me. Just seeing him releases the flood. Tears well, fat and fast.

"I'm gonna call you back, okay? Just stay strong! I'll fix it!" My agent calls before the line drops. I lower my cell phone, bottom lip quivering. The distance between us closes in a few seconds, and he's pulling me into a hug. Which only makes me want to cry harder.

"I'm sorry," Michael says softly, "Baby, I'm sorry. I didn't want to wrap you up in this. I should have been more careful."

"What?" I ask tearfully, tilting my head up to look at him, "this isn't your fault."

"I'll fix it, I promise," he replies, as if he didn't even hear me. When he kisses my forehead, it has this strange affect on me. I quieten, leaning into him fully, wrapping my arms around him and breathe in his scent. My anxiety calms because I believe him.

"What do I do?" I ask.

"My team and yours will sort something out in the morning. Let's leave it for tonight."

"But--"

"What's said is said. If we act too fast, we look guilty." He smiles down at me, and I sigh, "Not my first rodeo, baby." he adds with a soft chuckle. "I didn't lie to you. I hope you know that."

I smile, tilting my head, looking at him through my lashes. "No?"

"I promise."

"You weren't just so taken with me it didn't matter?" I tease.

He grins brightly, but then it softens as he says, "I'm not a dishonourable man. I wouldn't have been there if I'd been married."

I pout at him, but then I'm curious. "What were you doing at that party? I didn't even know you liked hip hop."

He doesn't respond to me and instead just glances away and smiles. "We should go to bed, it's late."

"Don't ignore me," I say, laughing softly but I'm genuinely surprised he won't answer me. I follow him out the room as he walks away, fighting a grin and heads up the stairs. "Michael Jackson, I'm talking to you. What were you doing at that party?" I hurry up the stairs after him.

"Just supporting my community."

"You are not a rapper, sir."

He gives me a long side glance, and I grin at him. Of course I knew what he meant, but if he's going to ignore my questions, I'm going to irritate him. He keeps walking, heading towards the master bedroom. "Gosh, I'm tired," he says lightly, and stretches, pushing open the bedroom door.

"Well, wake up? did you go there just to find, like, any woman to take home?" I ask, pausing by the door. Then my heart sinks. "wait... am I just a rebound?"

He turns, sensing my tone and walks back towards me. When he sighs heavily, I squint and fold my arms. "Daphne."

"Tell me the truth right now, actually. I'm not playing."

He rubs the back of his neck.

"Mike."

"Just give me a second," he mutters, sighing. "I'm trying to figure out a way to phrase this so you don't get mad."

"Do not do that," I say, pointing at him. All my emotions flood back from just a few minutes earlier. My eyes well up, and my bottom lip starts shaking. "I just had my reputation destroyed, Michael." I hiccup, "Oh my god, I'm going home."

I whirl, ready to hurry back downstairs but Michael grabs my arm.

"Wait, baby, no," he rushes out, "I was at that party for a reason but not to just find anyone," he says quickly, then grimaces as I just stare at him. "I... wanted to meet you."

I stare at him harder.

He inhales, standing up properly and releases my arm. "Just let me explain," he says slowly, though I'm not mad. Perhaps my face says otherwise. He carries on. "Can we sit?" he gestures into the bedroom, to the cream couches sitting either side of a low coffee before the bed.

I follow him inside and sit carefully on the couch and eye him.

"I don't know if you'll remember," he says carefully, "it was a year ago. At at the MTV awards, in the fall." he waits for a few seconds. I blink. I was crazy drunk, and actually there with another man. I grimace. It had been a hip hop artist who had been nominated, but didn't end up winning. He'd been furious, and I don't think we spoke after that night because of how he'd acted towards me. Like it had been my fault.

"We met, briefly."

"We did?"

Michael nods, "It was just in passing. I wasn't there for long, but we walked by each other backstage. You told me you were a big fan." I blink at him, wide eyed. I don't even remember doing that. "It's okay, I know you were drunk. So was I," he laughs, "But... I just thought you were so beautiful. You grabbed my hand, gave me a big smile and a hug. It was innocent, but I didn't forget it. I couldn't." He glances down at his hands, those long fingers now intertwined. "Lisa and I had been having a lot of problems. A lot. I couldn't do anything right, and I think my mind had just tapped out. I felt awful for even finding you attractive for months."

I watch Michael talk intently, even though he's not looking at me much. Only glances up briefly.

"When we separated, I saw you on TV. Some event down at the beach, you were in this beautiful white dress. You were hosting some show."

"Oh... the MTV thing..." I trail off, since it's not really important.

"I think so." Michael nods, then he carries on gently, "I couldn't get you out of my mind. I felt like I was going crazy. I wanted to meet you again but my schedule got in the way, then there were rumours you were seeing some actor."

"Just a rumour."

"But, you know what I mean."

I hum, completely understanding.

"I was going through my divorce, trying to figure out how to sever things as calmly as possible so I could finally, uh, meet... you..." he sighs, rubs his brow hard. "I don't know what I'm damn saying."

"You had a crush on me?" I coo at him in a high voice. "And back when I was twenty four, too! EW!"

"Stop," Michael flushes, putting his head in his hands. I giggle wildly, getting up from where I am and closing the distance between us. I climb onto his lap.

"You wanted to fuck me so bad, oh my god."

"Daphne, come on."

He can't even look at me, which only makes this so much more fun. "Wait, so, okay." I continue, giggling, "So actually, this makes a lot of sense. No wonder you were so down when I approached you. We only talked for ten minutes, like an hour into the event."

"I would've spoken to you eventually."

"Maybe, unless I'd left with another man."

"You were not going to leave that party with anyone but me."

"There he is," I grin, "I don't believe that meek shy little act for a second, you were a man with a plan, and I respect it." I kiss him, just quickly, then lean back as another thought dawns on me. "At the awards show, was Lisa with you?"

"She was."

"Hm," I hum, my light mood slightly lessening. I think back to that night hard, flicking through the events. Arguing with that guy backstage after he'd performed, so irritated with the fact he'd cussed me out like it had been my fault he didn't win an award. I'd stormed out of his dressing room, but didn't want anyone to know I was pissed and kept a light smile on my face. I remember bumping into someone, a crowd of people around them, like security and stuff. I'd apologised, but then seen who it was.

I remember it then, holding onto Michael's forearm, leaning in for one of those cheek kiss-hugs, saying how much of a fan I was. I'd even squealed. He'd touched my back, had smiled big, thanking me. We'd held eye contact the whole time. When I'd stepped away, I'd placed my hand on his cheek, meant as a friendly farewell, but...

"She must've sensed it."

Michael leans back against the back of the couch, bringing me with him. I curl into him, comfortable immediately. "Maybe," he mutters, then rubs his bottom lip. "Maybe I am the problem here."

"A man is always the problem."

He smiles, then pinches my thigh gently. I squirm, then relax against him. "Maybe she thought we'd been fucking this whole time."

"We've gotten comfortable very quickly," he murmurs. I hum, and lean in close, nuzzling his neck with my nose.

"I like you a lot," I say softly, "And you smell so good all the time."

He chuckles. "It's late, baby. And I'm old."

As if he already knew where my mind was going. I scoff playfully and sit up. "You're only forty," I counteract, "you should have some stamina left, surely."

"I'll fuck you in the morning."

I gasp, stunned at him cursing like that. He doesn't even react to my surprise as he hauls me up in his arms, stands, then deposits me on my feet. We get ready for bed, moving around each other like we'd done this a thousand times. Brushing our teeth, washing up. I use one of his shirts to sleep in, giddy at how baggy it is on me.

I snuggle up next to him, excited at this normalcy. Sleeping in the same bed... no passionate, mind blowing sex.

The moment my mind thinks of it, so does my body. I sigh, shifting. Then I turn to face Michael, wondering if he's awake. "What?" he asks softly. I grin, but try to play it off.

"I want a kiss."

I roll onto my stomach and edge towards him. He's lying on his back, watching me carefully with a little smirk. "Kiss me then," he says quietly, so amused by me. So I do. And I keep it a short peck. Just once. Then twice. He smiles more, then I kiss him a third time. He hums when I pull away, so I kiss him for a little longer.

"Okay, goodnight," I chirrup, and lie back down, turning my back on him. It's quiet for perhaps ten seconds then I feel his hand snake over my waist, and his body heat swarm my back seconds before he presses in close.

"You're awful," he mumbles, burying his head in my throat, kissing it. I sigh dreamily, leaning back into him, heat slipping low to turn my sex molten. His hand follows, sliding between my thighs, checking. He grins when he feels that I'm wet already. "Always so ready for me, baby."

"Always," I breathe, eyelids fluttering as he gently bites on my neck. The air around us heats as my body flushes. I press back into him, grinding my ass against his crotch. "Fuck me," I whisper as he grips my hip, keeping me against him. "Please."

He groans as he rubs my clit over my panties. I squirm, moaning softly as pleasure gently crawls through my veins.

Knowing that he wanted me for so long... God. It's driving me crazy.

"Michael," I whine, "put it in."

he smiles against my skin, still kissing my throat, licking. He slides my panties to the side, then his hand disappears. I gasp at the loss, but then he's pushing his tip into me and lifting my thigh. I whine shakily as he pushes inside so easily. I'm soaked, dripping for him, teeth latching onto my bottom lip as he starts thrusting.

Stars dance behind my eyes, with his soft groans in my ears, I feel like I'm floating. He just can't resist me, and I can't keep my hands off him. What if this was always meant to happen?

I twist my upper body, cupping Michael's cheek and bringing my lips to his. We kiss passionately, mouths locked together as he fucks me, obscene wet noises coming from both our mouths and lower.

Pleasure takes over me as his thrusts get harder, but not faster, pushing himself deep. He breaks the kiss, "I'm gonna take care of you baby," he whispers, I tip my chin up and kiss him, "Whatever you want, you can have it." That low voice strikes again, and I'm tingling all over, wanting more closeness. More more more.

I moan softly, then bite his bottom lip. "You can have anything," I whisper back, "anything you want from me."

He groans, thrusting a little faster. He grips my thigh, tugging me closer. I gasp as the pleasure intensifies. He starts hitting that spot, and I start getting deliciously lightheaded.

"Give me everything," I murmur, a half moan in my tone, he moans in response, pulling me closer, except my body is already flush against his. "I want all your cum. Inside me."

"Fuck," Michael hisses, our lips brushing together, though we don't kiss. We can't now, we're too far gone. His thrusts speed up. "You're mine now. Only mine."

I whimper into his mouth.

"Say it," he murmurs.

"I'm yours," I purr, holding onto him as he chases an orgasm. I whisper sweet words against his lips, that delicious tingle fuelling the words that pour out of my mouth. That, and his breathless moans that only push me over the edge faster. I squeak, the wave of intense pleasure hitting me so hard I can't even breathe for a second.

Michael's shuddering moan fills my head as he pushes deep inside me one last time and cums, digging his fingertips into the soft flesh on my thigh. "That was so good baby," he murmurs, kissing my neck, then my lips. I bask in the praise, blushing. Only to shiver as he pulls out of me as carefully as he can.

When I finally drift off that night, I'm curled into his side, barely able to keep my eyes open beyond the gentle aftercare.

The next morning I'm woken to a cell phone buzzing, and groan in irritation. "Sorry," Michael murmurs, shifting from behind me, "I gotta take this," he explains quietly before he slips out of the bed.

I'm in blissful peace for all of ten seconds before I remember that last night my reputation just got destroyed by my boyfriend's ex wife.

________________________________________________

End Notes: HERE WE ARE AGAINNNN, oh my god. Okay so what did we think!?

I have so much planned for how Michael and Daphne are going to deal with the press and it's just so much fun, actually. So yeah, if you'd like to stick around for some more slice of life, drama, and smut then please doooo <3

also let me know what you thought!! I love reading the comments so much, y'all make me laugh sm. We are all just in this mi-chosis together <3 <3

The gate buzzer goes. I glance up from watching TV, looking over my shoulder as my housekeeper heads to the small room beside the front door to check the cameras. I go back to watching my show, when a knock comes a few minutes later.

"Yes?" my housekeeper answers.

"Delivery for Miss Jones from a... Mr Jackson."

I'm up from the couch and padding over to the front door as two large bouquets are brought in, exotic and beautiful, already organised perfectly within their own cream vases, wrapped in pretty red ribbon. I coo, clapping my hands lightly as the delivery men bring them forward, and place them neatly on an accent table behind the couch.

I walk over to read the card attached to one, tossing my hair out the way and inhale deeply, preparing myself. He excites me so much, it's completely exhilarating. Even though it had been four days since I'd last seen him, every time I think of the night he spent here I flush as red as a tomato.

I all but rip open the card and stare down at his writing, unable to stop myself from giggling as he thanks me for a wonderful night last weekend and that he's looking forward to seeing me soon. "You horn dog," I murmur, smiling like a idiot. He goes on to explain why he's in New York, and when he's expected to be back. Most of which could have been a text, but this feels so much more romantic. So I'm swept away, blushing and smiling.

I keep the card with me, pressed to my chest, and smell the flowers. Then I'm grabbing myself a glass of wine and sitting back on the couch, wondering if I should call him. I'd been playing it cool so far, going with his flow. He seems so reserved, making sure each action he takes is well thought out and not rushed, or gimmicky. It's very attractive, really. A real grown man.

I exhale, reorganising my thoughts that try to slip back into a lust fuelled haze since there would be no point, as he isn't even in the state to come and satiate my increasing appetite for him.

I sip my wine and flick through the channels on the tv, settling on a random one. It's a gossip channel, nothing too serious or deep, and I'm about to switch when I hear it.

"-- And Michael Jackson's recent ex wife, Lisa Marie Presley, will be joining us on the show later in the week to discuss--"

At the sight of a picture of Michael and Lisa popping up on the screen with a massive red line through them, I switch the TV off abruptly. My heart pounds, and it suddenly feels like someone's turned all the lights on, and I've been caught sneaking around nude.

What the hell is she doing an interview for?

I fumble for my cell phone and call Michael, pacing in front of the couch. So irritated beyond belief I could slap someone. It rings for ten seconds, then he answers. "Daphne?" that soft, soft voice is slightly elevated, which means he's probably around other people.

But that doesn't stop me from blurting out: "She's doing an interview on a fucking gossip channel, Michael."

"Hold on." The phone rustles. I wait another few seconds until he returns. "Tell me," he says in the voice he uses with me now, that handsome low voice that sends tingles up my spine.

"Lisa is going on TV to do an interview."

He pauses. "That could be about anything." I know he's trying to reassure me, but it doesn't work. Mainly because I just have this feeling she's going to paint me as this whore-ish other woman who stole her man from her. My heart pounds against my ribs, beating so hard I can't even think about how to calm down. "Daphne?" Michael asks.

"She's going to talk about us, isn't she?"

"We don't know that." His voice becomes so gentle, it's as if he's right here, comforting me.

"She is. She's going to trash talk me. And I'm going to look like a whore on national television when they all take the footage and replay it." I sniff, and wipe at my eye as tears dew. "Everyone's going to hate me."

"Baby," he says softly, "where are you?"

"At home."

"I'll come back tonight."

"But what about--"

"Don't worry about that."

My chest warms, butterflies fluttering. I stay quiet for a moment, turning back to look at the flowers he'd just sent. "Okay," I say, "if you're sure."

"I don't want you to be alone."

The butterflies intensify, and I sink my teeth into my bottom lip.

"I'll see you soon, okay?" Michael then says, and I nod before I remember he can't see me. I say goodbye and hang up the call, curling back onto the couch and pull a pillow onto my lap. This shit has genuinely made me sick to my stomach nervous. I've never had a scandal. Not a real one, anyway. Just silly rumours about my dress sense, or how much money I spend, that I have no real talents, and stuff like that. I just know this won't go down well. I'll be known as the other woman for the rest of my life, especially considering this rumour won't be tied to just anyone.

Just arguably the most famous man in the world for the last two decades.

I wait more anxiously than I care to for Michael's arrival. But I'm in bed by the time he does get here, only one lamp on, a scarf draped across it so the light isn't too bright. At some point I drifted off, but don't even jump when he touches my shoulder and wakes me softly.

"Just me," he whispered, before the bed beside me sinks a little and he gets in. His cologne washes over me, musky and intoxicating. I'm turning around to face him just as he turns off the light.

Those butterflies are back, swarming like crazy inside me. He actually came. Gave up the rest of his week in New York to be here with me. I'm not even sure what he had been wanting to work on, but the fact he put that to one side...?

I'm gazing at him as he settles back on the pillows, then glances at me. When he sees that I'm awake, he smiles. "Did I wake you?" he asks.

"Yes," I smirk, though it fades as he reaches over, grazes his finger down my cheek.

"How are you, baby?" he asks so gently I turn to liquid from head to toe. I sit up, already warm all over and molten elsewhere when I shift closer to him on my knees, then straddle him. He's watching me intently, moonlight leaking in from the window, bathing half his face. "It's late," he murmurs, but he's already holding my hips.

"You came all this way for me," I whisper, trailing my fingers down his chest. "How can I not say thank you?" I ask, tilting my head to the side, hair flopping over my shoulder.

He gazes at me with those big doe eyes, that look sending waves of pulsing need right down to my sex. His grip on my hips tighten as I lean in to kiss him, tasting mint. I moan softly, wrapping my arms around his neck, tingling all over as he kisses me back with just as much need.

I grind softly on his lap, moaning even more when I feel he's already hard for me, already needy. "What're you doing to me," he murmurs against my lips as I grind on him harder, pleasure rippling through me as his hard covered length massages me right where I want him.

"What d'you mean?" I whisper breathlessly, so excited to have him inside me I don't understand how I'm talking right now. He chuckles, pressing his face into my throat as he guides my hips back and forth. I'm soaking through my panties now, head spinning. I almost don't hear him when he whispers just how perfect I am for him against my skin.

My next moan sounds impatient. I lift up my hips, and pull my panties to the side. He's already pulling himself out of his boxers, angling himself just right so I can slide down onto him. He groans as I gasp, grabbing handfuls of my ass and gripping. I ride him, rocking my hips, holding onto his shoulders for balance, unable to control the whines and gasps that pour out of my mouth.

"Fuck, you feel so good," I moan, so needy, I can't even help how I sound. Everything just feels so delicious, every wave of pleasure driving me crazy. I pick up my pace, egged on by Michael soft groans and the way his hands grab and caress me, trailing up my spine or kneading my ass. "I wanna have your babies," I whine, and Michael shudders, pulling me closer. "Give them to me,"

"Daphne," He groans, brows furrowing, eyes so heavy lidded he can hardly keep them open.

"Please Michael," I purr at him, then capture his lips as he tilts his chin up, asking for them. I ease my pace as I kiss him, dizzy from the way out mouths lock together and move so passionately.

I break the kiss, "Please Michael," I whisper again, brushing my lips against his. I nudge his nose with mine, then kiss him gently. "please, cum inside me. I want your babies so bad." I ride him slowly, grinding him into me, sliding up and down his cock. His breaths are ragged, grip on me tight.

Tingles rise from my toes as I whisper sweet things against Michael's mouth, about how handsome he is, how sweet he is to me, how great his cock feels. He bites his own lip lightly, then licks them, reacting to my words.

A strong orgasm sweeps over me, and I gasp, stilling my movements, unable to do anything but pulse and tremble on him, even as Michael lifts my hips, encouraging me to keep going. But I've turned to putty, and he's all lazy handsome smiles as he eases me onto my back then slowly chases his own orgasm, thrusting careful, strong strokes into me.

I'm whining with need when he comes, pushing himself deep with a loud groan. I love that noise, and shiver with delight as he holds himself still. I can feel his cock pulsing, and just smile, rubbing his back.

"You're gonna make me go crazy," he chuckles softly, voice rasping. Before I can answer, he kisses me. Within a few minutes he's thrusting again, already wanting to go for another round.

By the end of the week I'm a wreck. Nervous tingles have completely overcome me, even as Michael tries to distract me by taking me out to dinner. It's our first public outing together that isn't completely accidental, and I'm finding it hard to focus on it. Considering tonight Lisa's interview airs, and the whole world will be watching.

There are no photographers when we arrive to the best sushi place in the area, but there are eyes. So many people watch as Michael steps out the car, a pretty white rolls Royce, then waits for me, offering me a hand to help me out too.

His driver takes the car away as we walk into the restaurant, the whole place dropping into complete silence as diners spot him immediately. Since, I mean it's not hard, he's just too well known for his own good. He has his hand on the small of my back as we walk through to a private room, table already set with a sushi boat and chilled champagne.

Murmurs follow us all the way to the back. I hear my name a few times, but it's mostly talk about Mike. And I really don't know how he does it, pretending as if none of them are looking or even talking about him within earshot.

We chat over dinner, getting to know each other a little more. It's nice, considering we've spent more time fucking than talking, and of course I need to get to know the man if we are going to survive as a couple. He tells me about his family and his childhood, sharing more personal stories about achieving stardom before he was even a teenager. I share stories about my childhood, and although I didn't particularly have a normal one either, it's nothing in comparison to Michael's.

But he listens intently as I talk about my parents. My dad's business, John Jones Department Stores, which are now all over the US and Canada.

"I like those stores," Michael responds, "very clean. Modern."

"Yeah," I giggle, blushing like crazy, for some reason. It's not as if I made them, but hearing his praise still feels good. "That sounded so rehearsed." I smirk.

"I meant it," he smiles, sipping champagne.

"I think you'd like my dad," I say, glancing down and away from him as I pick at some sushi. I've eaten my fill, but it's so good I can't stop nibbling at it.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, he's a big Motown guy. Adores it."

Michael nods, though now it looks like he's about to get in his head about something.

"What?" I ask. Michael hesitates, shifting in his seat. "Oh my god, you're thinking about the age thing again, aren't you?"

"You can't blame me."

"Michael, let it go, so what you're old?"

"Jesus, Daphne. I'm only forty."

I grin, unable to stop myself from giggling at him. "You dress like you're fifty," I say, nodding to his suit, "but it's hot, I like it."

He sighs, rubbing his face, but his cheeks flush a soft shade of pink and I can't help but grin at him even more. "Your dad is gonna hate me," he mutters.

"No, he won't," I say softly. "If you were any other man probably, but because you're Michael Jackson, he'll be too busy hyperventilating. My mom will probably faint."

Michael laughs at that, a loud happy one that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I sip my champagne and eye him, wanting nothing more than to crawl over this table and have my way with him, like I had done twice last night. Once this morning. All quick, insanely passionate bursts of lust.

I don't know what the hell he was doing to me, but I liked it.

"Let's go," I whisper, nudging him under the table with my foot. His eyes meet mine, and in the candle light I see his pupils expand.

"God, baby, you're gonna run me ragged," he chuckles softly, but he's standing up, and already taking out his cheque book to handle the bill. When we go to leave the restaurant, the waiter tips us off that there's a mob of paparazzi outside, blocking the street.

So we sneak out the back, into a nasty smelling alley, giggling to each other like we're teenagers, a little tipsy off too much champagne and call for his car. Even then though, as the car heads onto the main road, some pictures of us are still taken, and perhaps not quite at the right moment, considering I'd leant in to kiss him as a thank you for a yummy dinner just as a flash went off.

We're back at his place within half an hour, and I'm kicking my heels off, trying not to overthink what the public will think of those photos-- and then I remember.

Lisa's fucking interview.

I rush to the living room only to find Michael already watching it, jaw clenched.

________________________________________________

end notes:

what did we think!?!?

I'm getting so into this plot I'm actually ignoring the real life books I should be writing lmfaoooo, why do I do this. Anyway, thank you so much for reading guys and leaving such nice comments, they're so motivational, I love them <33 please keep them coming!!!!!!

I also can't stop picturing Daphne as Jessica Alba with that honey blonde hair now so yeah. I'm curious if anyone sees her differently or as someone else lmao.

[tag list: @weasleylovers @slickdickwitchbitchh @twilightdance-minerva @tellybearryyyy @lotuspetalss @allihavetodoiisdream  @mrs-dylanobrien265 @vivyoi @intoyouangel @inggu09 @yennabow @quietlyscornfulable @voicesinurhead @wildpandorasky @khxna @skiicoreee @romansbbg @lowbudgetdoll @enhapocketz @ilovolivegarden @amoravelee @nesiris21 - let me know if you'd like to be added!]

I abruptly hang up the call, eyes wide as I shoot a look back towards the closed bathroom door.

Wife?

He'd said he was divorced, even the paps had said he was. Was this all a damn lie? Had I been fucking a married man?

I all but scramble out of bed and stamp towards the bathroom, snatching open the door to see Michael in the shower, humming quietly to himself, covered in soap.

"Michael!" I snap loudly.

He turns, eyes slightly wide, "What?" Soap runs off his skin as the shower continues.

"Your fucking wife just called," I say loudly, holding up his cell phone. He just looks at me, then turns to twist the knob to turn the shower off.

"We're not married anymore, Daphne."

"That's not what she said." I'm still projecting my voice, irritated beyond belief. I don't care about being caught up in drama, whether it's people criticising my spending habits, or calling me a slut based on how I dress, or claiming I'm a fame whore, whatever, but to be seen as the other woman? I never have been, and never will be. Nor do I ever want to be. I don't get involved with married men ever.

I'm already storming back into the bedroom before Michael can say anything else. "Can't believe this!" I gasp to myself, grabbing my dress off the floor and tugging it on.

Where the fuck are my heels?

"Baby, hold on a minute."

"Do not call me baby!"

I walk out the bedroom, flouncing down the hall barefoot. I don't even know where my purse is. Michael calls my name but I'm hurrying down the stairs. It takes me a second to remember where the living room is, desperately trying not to have full body memories of last night, trailing through this house with Michael behind me, both of us lust drunk and excited to fuck.

I barely took in my surroundings because of that.

"Idiot," I hiss at myself, eventually finding the living room, slamming open the door and seeing my purse, jacket and heels in various spots amongst the nice furniture. Michael it seems has had enough time to get dressed, and is already down the stairs by the time I slip on my heels and jacket, and briefly check my purse to see if my cell phone is in there.

I'm calling for a car when he appears behind me, takes my phone out of my hand and ends the call. "Hey!"

"Just listen," he says, still so soft spoken. Those doe eyes fix me where I stand. "I'm not with Lisa anymore, but the divorce is still being finalised. So technically, yes... She... she is still my wife."

"Oh my god, Michael!"

"Just legally--"

"You are still married! We've fucked--" I pause, counting the actual times we've been together properly on my fingers, "Oh my god, we've fucked like three times!"

"Daphne."

"Oh my god! You have been inside me raw, Michael."

He tips his head to the side, squeezing his eyes closed. "Alright," he murmurs, then wipes a hand down his face as he turns away from me slightly. I take him in quickly, in the relaxed clothes, a sweatshirt and loose pants, both in dark colours. He looks at least about ten years younger out of the suit set up, which throws me off out of nowhere.

I scoff as completely inappropriate thoughts worm their way in to the chaos in my head.

"Give me back my phone," I snap, snatching it out of his hand and redialing the car company. I scowl at him as I brush past, heading out the room and wander a little bit, attempting to find the damn front door. I get the call through, and all but shout the address down the phone. When the driver confirms he'll send someone ASAP, I say a polite thank you, and hang up.

I find the front door and wait by it, arms folded, my left foot tapping.

"Daphne, don't leave," Michael says softly, padding into the foyer from the hallway I just came from. "We haven't done anything wrong."

I turn to look at him. "Was that stress about my age real? Or was it because you were stepping out on your wife?"

His jaw works. "Don't talk to me like that," his voice lowers to a more natural, masculine tone and I pause, eyeing him carefully.

I ignore the tingle up my spine and swallow, snatching my eyes away from him. "Whatever."

"Lisa and I will be legally divorced by the end of the month at the latest. We've been separated for six months, barely spoken in eight. We are not together, Daphne." He's still using that lower voice, and I squint at him as he walks closer to me.

I catch a whiff of his cologne and shift, hating the effect it has on me. "Stop," I whisper. He does, and just looks at me with those eyes, hands in his pockets.

I huff, refusing to look at him back.

He waits, glancing over me, when I make no effort to continue the conversation he sighs, and glances around. "One of my guys can drive you home," he murmurs, speaking softly again.

"I already called a car."

"If you want to stand there for half an hour, it's up to you."

One of his bodyguards drives me home. We're both silent the whole way, and I even put up the partition between us so it feels less awkward. I alert my housekeeper to me coming home, and cover my face as we enter my road and drive through the gate, since paparazzi are still hanging around outside.

I thank Michael's guy for taking me home and try to tip him, but he laughs gently and refuses to take it. Once in my own house I just stand there in the foyer, irritated. "Bad night?" Lauren, my housekeeper asks as she closes the front door and locks it.

"No. The night was good, just the morning sucked." Is it weird to want to cry? I had a vision, a plan. Now it's ruined.

"I'm sorry, Miss Jones," she places a hand on my shoulder, gives me a warm smile. "What can I do?"

"Nothing, it's okay," I mumble, then make my way upstairs, ready to sleep this bad mood off for the rest of the day. Perhaps even the week.

I've been in hibernation for more than a few days when my friends finally get a hold of me. I'd been anxiously watching the tabloids and gossip channels, waiting for something to come out about how I was then other woman, but all remains quiet. Only repeats of what happened last week, when I'd left with Michael from the album release party. I'd finally seen the pictures of us.

Me in that rich brown, low cut silk dress, hair in big waves, pinned to one side, and Michael in his suit, hand on my lower back as he waits for me to climb into his limousine, sleek dark hair hiding part of his face as he watches me. Neither of us had even seen the photographers.

I don't tell my friends what happened when they ask where I disappeared to, only that I had a bug of some kind and looked like hell. Which wasn't true, I was just watching old romance movies, hair up, make up free, and eating popcorn for four days straight, irrationally pissed off I didn't get my way.

It's Friday night. A whole week since I'd first gone home with Michael, which I desperately kept trying to put out of my mind, when I'm out again. Hair done, sleek waves pouring down my back, and in a baby pink halter neck mini dress. Six inch heels to match.

I'm waved into the club automatically, smiling to the bouncers, following Vanessa and Serena. Pictures are being snapped of us left and right, our names being shouted from the line as members of the public wave to us.

The club was packed at ten to midnight, music blasting out the speakers, practically deafening. We shift through the sea of bodies up to the VIP section, waved through once again. I wave at a few familiar faces and start mingling, smiling, flirting with all the actors or musicians. Just having fun, nothing serious.

Out of the corner of my eye I catch an unfamiliar face watching me, then turn away once I look over. They're on the phone as they step away, disappearing into the crowd of A-Listers drinking and dancing, but I don't really think anything of it.

Drinks are bought, and within the hour I'm perhaps a little more than tipsy, dancing on a table next to the DJ booth with Serena, singing along to Music Sounds Better with You by Stardust. I toss my hair around, swaying my hips and basking in the lights. I feel a hand on my leg and glance down, seeing another drink being offered to me. "Thank you," I coo lightly, seeing an eager faced actor, Leonardo, handing it to me, grinning.

Serena nudges me, smirking but I pretend I don't understand what she means as I sip the pink cocktail until it's finished. Then, I need to pee. I hope down from the table and shift through the crowds to the private bathrooms, walking in on a few models doing drugs by the sink.

"Hey Daphne!" one smiles as I grin at them and slide into a stall. When finished, I try to find my friends, but they've just disappeared into the sheer mass of people. There's a commotion, even with the loud music, people are shouting and screaming, rapid fire flashes coming from the other side of the club.

I'm so drunk and confused I just stand by the wall, frowning, until a space frees up on some seats, and I climb up onto a table to see what's going on, like others are doing.

The moment I realise what's going on, is when the DJ blends the song currently playing into the chorus of Dirty Diana. Blood drains from my face the moment my heart rate kicks up.

Michael makes his way through the crowd towards the VIP section with a few friends and his big bodyguards clearing a path. He's smiling gently, lifting his hand in brief waves, dressed in a full suit, embroidered vest with those gold pocket chains, even one of those hats. All of it.

I stop breathing.

Seeing all the girls screaming, jumping up and down. I kind of forgot just how famous he is. The effect he has on people. Someone even faints, suddenly dropping back into the sea of people, causing those around them to gasp in shock, try and help them up.

Michael makes it unscathed to the VIP section, sliding by the bouncer smoothly. So many people go up to him, eager to shake his hand, to have a moment of his time. I think about leaving for a second, then climb down from the table. We hadn't spoken since the day I stormed out of his house, five days ago.

I hover, turning my back on the scene, debate what I should do. I didn't even know he went out like this. Clubbing? He didn't seem like the type.

The music returns to what they were playing before, loud hip-hop. I can feel my tipsy haze wearing off as the bass pounds in my ears.

I need to find my friends. Maybe we can go somewhere else.

I turn, and he's in front of me. I lock up, then huff out a breath. "Daphne," he says, though I can't really hear him because of the music. I can read his lips, however. I blink at him, teeth latching onto my lower hip, brows furrowing. I don't really know what to do. Seeing him in front of me... God, I miss that man. "How are you?" he asks.

I'm aware of eyes on us.

"Fine," I say back, neutralising my expression just in case anyone takes a picture. "What are you doing here, Michael?" I ask. He frowns, then dips his head towards me, turning his ear so I can repeat myself. I do, and get a whiff of his scent and have to clench my hands into fists so I don't touch him.

He returns to standing up properly again, glances around us then gently takes hold of my arm, walking us further back and out of the density of people, closer to the bathrooms and those private rooms where all the musicians go with their dancers. We're out of sight of most eyes, in a dark secluded corner. Which is way too intimate for my state, since my body is finding it easy to ignore that we're meant to be mad at him.

"I wanted to see you," he confesses, speaking close to my ear, standing in front of me so my back is against the wall. "You haven't returned my calls."

"I blocked you," I retort, glancing at him only briefly before I look away at him and fold my arms.

"Huh," he says, "Why'd you do that?" he asks in that low voice, dipping his head to catch my eye. I give him a look. He smiles wryly, and I roll my eyes.

"Did you just come here to corner me?" I ask.

"I was in the area."

"Yeah? Doing what?" I'm being snarky, using that tone he corrected me on. I see his brows twitch to frown, but he doesn't follow through with it. Instead, he glances over me, and licks his lips.

"Let's go somewhere else. I don't want to talk here."

"No."

"Daphne, stop pouting and come on." The sharp edge in his tone, paired with that lower masculine voice? My mouth snaps shut. I'm following him out the VIP section before I can even catch myself, a giddy kind of shame flushing my cheeks as we emerge into the mob of flashing paparazzi. A black limousine is already waiting outside, as if he hadn't planned to be here that long.

If I had been less drunk perhaps I would've hidden my face as cameras are shoved into it, but I don't. Not even as Michael waits by the exit of the club for me to pass him, then is half a step behind me, arm extended, keeping the photographers back as if he's my bodyguard.

I'm pink in the face as we slip inside the car, all outside sounds muffling as the door locks. The car's already moving within a few short seconds, leaving the paparazzi and crowds behind.

Stubbornly, I sit in complete silence as Michael watches me, though as the minutes drag by, he doesn't say anything either. As if to deliberately irritate me.

"You know," I begin, "considering you just rudely interrupted my night, you should at least have something to say."

"Should I?"

"Why did you ask me to leave with you if you're not going to talk?"

Michael presses a button beside him, and the partition slides up between us and his driver.

"You were in a mini dress dancing on a table at the club," he begins and I throw my head back with a hard eye roll, "You're drunk, accepting drinks from whoever--"

"Oh, whatever."

"-- anything could have happened to you, Daphne."

"I do this every week."

"You want to piss me off?" he asks, that stern voice returning. I shut my mouth and stare at him. "Is that was this is about? I told you I'm not married anymore."

"And I don't believe you."

"Well, you should. Because I'm not lying. If anything, this says more about the kind of men you're around if you think I am automatically."

I frown at him hard. "Don't put this on me. She called you up at the crack of dawn snapping at me saying she's your wife. I'm sorry, but you can't blame me for being cautious."

"This is not being cautious, this is reckless."

"Oh, fuck off," I snap. His attention snaps to me fully, face blanking. I open my mouth to give him a speech, then see his face.

"Do not talk to me like that again," he murmurs, "I mean it. Or I'll stop this car and you can get out." He points at the door with one of those long fingers.

Perhaps if it had been any other man, this would've pissed me the hell off. But that stern, low voice...

I fold my arms and sit back against the plush leather seats, bottom lip jutting out as my leg folds over the other. "I was just enjoying myself with my friends," I say quietly after a few minutes whilst not looking at him and pointedly looking the other way, "I spent all week in my house, pissed off at you."

"If you hadn't blocked me, we could've talked about it," he says gently.

"You could've tried harder to reach out."

"I did. I sent flowers."

I'm about to dismiss that when I remember seeing the large bouquet of red roses in the kitchen. I didn't even look to see who they were from. Considering it's not unusual for me to get flowers regularly, this went over my head.

I glance at Michael, sighing softly. "You embarrassed me."

He tilts his head, doe eyes watching me intently.

"I had a plan."

"You can still have a plan," he replies, so so soft in his tone I feel myself literally melting into the seat, tension oozing out of me.

"I don't want to be some other woman. That's humiliating, Michael."

"Daphne, there is no one else. I'm not that kind of man, I promise you."

The weight of that hangs in the air. I swallow, body warming. I just keep looking at him, brows lightly furrowed, eyes a little wide. My best doe eyed look.

"Stop looking at me like that," he whispers, "I don't want to hurt you, baby."

The pet name sends a shiver up my spine.

I exhale and dip my gaze. I hate to admit it, but I was hurt, and I don't see why a few sweet words should change my mind. The car slows, and I glance out the window to see we're back at that house Michael acquired in bel air. He doesn't move, and neither do I.

I just know... if I step into that house, we're going to end up having sex. Already my body is already hyper aware of him. Of where his gaze goes, of his cologne lingering in the air. I want to. God, I want to. But I just don't know if I should.

I can't believe he came to get me.

"How did you even know I was at that club?"

"Some acquaintances of mine were already there, and let me know."

I think back to that man I saw watching me, then step away to speak on the phone. I want to be annoyed, but surprisingly, I'm not. I don't even have a reaction.

"Come inside," he murmurs, car door finally opening, cool night air sweeping in. "Eat something."

When I slip out his car, he places his hand on my lower back, and guides me into the house.

We don't have sex that night, and he puts me up in one of the spare rooms so I can sleep off how much alcohol I've drunk that night. I'm driven back to my villa in the morning, Michael having disappeared somewhere in the night, leaving no note.

I'm irritated again, because if he considers this us making up he's going to be disappointed when I don't respond to his calls. Even if I've unblocked his number.

Maybe it's selfish of me, but if he really is divorced, or on his way to being divorced, then I can still have him. And just seeing the way people responded to him in that club? His power over people... is exhilarating and magnetic.

The next time I hear from him is a few days later. My bedazzled cell phone rings on one of my few quiet nights in, when I can pretend I am a regular twenty five year old and catch up on my shows. I reach for it without looking away from the TV and answer. "Hello?"

"It's Michael."

I pull the phone away from my ear and glance at the caller ID. He's right, it is him. "Yes?" I reply.

Unfazed by my tone, he asks: "Are you at home?"

"Yeah," I say quieter and stand up, heading to the window in the living room that just about looks over my drive, but I can't see the gate, really.

"Open the gate."

"What?" I hurry away from the window and head upstairs, to one of the spare rooms that does, and see a van waiting outside the gate, the side of it stating some floral company I've never heard of. None of the paparazzi, that have been camping outside of my home ever since news broke of Michael and I heading home together, seem interested in it.

"Open the gate, Daphne," Michael says again. I put the phone away from my ear and shout for my housekeeper. Within a few minutes the gate is opening, and I'm nervous. I don't have any make up on, and I'm just in my matching pink Juicy set. I didn't expect anyone. My hair's flat, for god's sake.

I consider running to my bedroom to get half-ready, but it would be no use. I don't see why I should hide what I look like dressed down, actually. This is my damn house.

I'm just nearing the front door when there's a knock. My housekeeper emerges from the kitchen area to answer, but I intercept, and open the door myself, leaning my weight on one hip as I say, "What?"

Michael is dressed down. Big tucker cap on, plane shirt and pants. My brows crinkle at how normal he looks. Oddly, I like it. It's rustic and sexy... very dad.

"Hello to you too," he smiles, big shades on hiding his eyes. I glance behind him at the truck, wondering if that was his way of zipping around unnoticed in densely populated areas. "Can I come in?"

"Fine," I murmur, automatically remembering his distaste for my attitude, and suddenly get giddy.

"See the press?" he asks, walking into my place and glancing around as he slides of his shades. He doesn't say anything, but I see the approval in his eyes. It may not be a massive house like he likes to dwell in, but it's perfect for me. And private, aside from the paps camping on the public road outside.

"I have," I murmur. The gossip magazine is on my coffee table. A big shot of Michael and I leaving the club with the headline: 'PARTY GIRL IN TROUBLE-- RESCUED BY POP ICON BOYFRIEND.'

"You okay?" he asks.

"Have you spoken to Lisa about this?" I ask quietly. I don't want to fight about it again, but I do want to make sure we are all on the same page. He turns to me, doe eyes guarded for a moment, until they're not. He sighs carefully, swipes off his trucker hat, messing up his dark hair. He gives a quick head flick, then smoothes the strands down.

"I have."

"What did she say?" My arms have folded again, but my gaze is steady.

"Daphne, I don't..." he murmurs.

"Do you want this, Michael? Do you want me?" I ask him genuinely. No games, no teasing. He locks his gaze with mine. "I want a clean slate, and I don't want to share you with another woman."

His pupils expand, and he inhales slowly. "I want you. Clean slate." His voice has lowered, so coaxing and husked that it sends tingles all over me. He steps towards me, intent on touching me, but the moment he gets close, I lift a hand and press a finger into his chest, holding him at arms length as I look at up him.

"Call her and tell her that."

His head tilts.

"Right now. In front of me."

He watches me for a long moment, then slides out his cell phone from his pocket, actually doing it. I hide the surprise in my expression as he presses a few buttons before putting the device to his ear. He still looks at me, expression a little blank, and yet his eyes are so expressive. I can't tell if I've irritated or impressed him.

"Lisa?" he asks, when I hear another woman answer on the phone. She replies and he takes a deep breath. "You can't contact me anymore," He says gently. Though it stokes my ego, for he speakers even softer to me. She says something I can't decipher, and Michael winces. "It has nothing to do with her."

I keep my face impassive, despite desperately wanting to frown.

"We're divorced, alright? I want to move on." We're still looking at each other with steady gazes. On the other side of the phone, I can just about hear a series of curse words, and something that sounds similar to threats. I twitch, ready to reach for that phone, but I snap out of it. "Goodbye, Lisa." He says sternly. Michael hangs up, and all his focus is fully back on me.

Perhaps if I was a better woman, I might let him have a moment to process what he'd just said, but I'm not. So I pounce on him. Our lips lock together, moving frantically. He grabs at me, pulling my hips close then bending slightly, grabbing handfuls of my ass before lifting me. I gasp into his mouth, impressed at his strength. "You're just full of surprises," I mumble against his lips. My whole body flushes, sex tingling in anticipation.

"Yeah?" He asks in between kisses, carrying me to the stairs.

"That low voice, and then this?" I say, kissing him hard, "You're so strong."

He grins so wide he can't kiss me, so I settle for his neck, kissing the smooth skin there, squirming against him. He doesn't find my room, instead he nudges open the first one he comes across, a spare room, and kicks the door shut behind us.

I'm wet before he can drop me on the bed, sex pulsing beneath my panties. I'm undoing the zipper of my sweatshirt, throwing it to one side as Michael undoes the buttons on his shirt, both of us breathing hard, so excited to have at each other again.

He gives up on his pants, and reaches for mine, big hands grasping at the pink velvet and pulling them down. I'm panting, pulling off my bra, dragging my underwear off. My attention darts to him pulling himself free from his boxers, both of us already on the same page as I twist onto my front, and push my ass into the air.

"been waiting for this all week," he mutters, "so beautiful." His tip pushes into me, and my eyes roll back as he slides all the way inside, filling me up deliciously. My arousal seeps out of me, dripping down my inner thigh, and it's so embarrassing until he murmurs, "good girl, so wet and ready for me."

I bite into my lower lip hard, eyelids feeling so heavy as my face presses into the sheets.

Then he's thrusting, hard and fast, chasing an orgasm as he grips my hips, digging his fingers into the flesh. My moans pour out of me as dizzying pleasure fills my veins, and makes my head swim. "So good," I whine, lips pouting as he keeps pounding into me, over and over.

"I need to fill you," he groans, slowing his pace, but keeping it hard and deep. "Do you want that?" He asks, voice husked and delicious. I keen, arching my back and pressing my ass back into him. He slaps me, and my right ass cheek stings. "Do you want that?" he asks again. So stern and sexy.

"Yes," I moan, "fill me," I beg, "come inside me,"

"Jesus," he hisses, picking up his pace again. My body burns, absolutely exhilarated, so turned on its like the dial is broken and keeps hitting its limit. "I want to put a baby in you so bad," he groans. "you're god damn incredible."

I gasp into the sheets, meeting his thrusts half way, pushing myself back into him as violent tingles rise from my toes. We're a mess of moans and groans, vulgar sounds escaping where our bodies keep meeting, wet, needy and sensuous.

"Fuck, Micheal," I whine, my voice cracking into a squeak as my orgasm wrecks me. I'm trembling like crazy, head spinning, sex gripping Michael's cock so tight he cums only seconds after me, thrusting himself deep and holding himself there.

My heart races, but I'm breathing slow, now completely relaxed, flopping sideways after Mike eases himself out of me. "You're a god," I compliment, eyes closed.

He chuckles, and I feel the bed dip as he gets onto it, beside me. It's only then I actually register what he said about twenty seconds ago. "You remember I'm on birth control right?"

"Yeah," he says softly, "it's why I do it."

I roll onto my stomach, eyeing him. "Really?"

"You like it, don't you?"

I smile, blushing. It's a massive turn on, for some reason. It's a surprise to me, since I didn't even think I wanted kids. Yet, the act of making them... now that's something I know that I like. Though my gaze scans Michael slowly, and I find myself asking: "Do you want children?"

He nods, and sits up, looking so thoroughly fucked, with his disheveled clothes, it's hot. When he starts speaking, I mentally shut the lustful thoughts down. "It's why Lisa and I split."

"Hm?"

"She didn't want anymore children."

"You... you already have children?" I ask, blood draining from my face as my whole body tenses.

"No," he replies, looking down at me. "But she does, from a previous marriage. She didn't want to have children with me."

"Why not?" I ask before I can stop myself.

"You really want to talk about this just after I made love to you?"

I grin, then giggle. "Made love," I mock, "You're so old." I get up as his expression flattens, "and you're right, I don't want to talk about your ex wife or her womb."

"Good."

"You can have mine," I tease swaying my hips as I walk naked to the door, wanting to go to my actual room. Michael sits up a little straighter, gaze sliding up and down me, like one look just wasn't enough. "You can try and put a baby in me all night, if you want."

And try, he does.

______________________________________________

end notes:

dudes high key this is the smuttiest shit I've ever written in my life, LMFAO. a breeding kink is something I didn't even realise was like a hot thing to write until I read it a few weeks ago and was like YOOOO, I'm using that. Anyway, let me know what you thought!!!!!!!!!!!!

also just FYI I haven't made Michael randomly like a 6ft something dude, Daphne is just short. I love a good height difference, I'm not sorry xxxx

Did you catch any future drama hints? I dropped a few ;)

[tag list: @weasleylovers @slickdickwitchbitchh  @twilightdance-minerva  @tellybearryyyy @lotuspetalss @allihavetodoiisdream  @mrs-dylanobrien265 @vivyoi @intoyouangel @inggu09 @yennabow @quietlyscornfulable @voicesinurhead @wildpandorasky @khxna @skiicoreee @romansbbg @lowbudgetdoll -- please let me know if you'd like to be added!]

No Diggity blasts out of my pink convertible’s speakers as I cruise along road, afternoon Californian sun beaming down. I sing along to the chorus, vibing and happy, hair and nails done.

I’d been on the road for about half an hour, flown in from New York that morning, and was heading back home to my house in Beverly Hills when my cell phone rings on the passenger seat. “Oh my god, wait,” I mumble to myself, fumbling for the volume on my stereo. “Wait wait wait!”

I reach over to grab it, gasping when my car accidentally swerves. “Oops! Sorry!” I call as another car honks. I snatch up my phone and answer, “hello?” I sing.

“Daphne? It’s Michael.”

“Michael who?” I grin, already giggling to myself when there’s a long pause. “Mikey, I’m kidding!”

“Oh,” his light voice sounds. I giggle louder. “Right,” there’s a soft chuckle and I pout my lips, silently cooing over him. “Where are you?” He asks.

“Cali,” I say, tucking the phone between my shoulder and ear as I turn onto my street. I chew gum and wait for a second, but he doesn’t say anything. “Why?”

“I wanted to…” he trails off.

I drive up to the gates of my house, sighing when I see the vans parked out front, the paps hanging around, smoking. “Mikey, hold on a sec.”

I put my phone down and quickly check my appearance in the rear view mirror. Just as I do, I hear someone shout my name. “Miss Jones!” A pap calls. Within seconds the cameras start clicking rapidly, shutters firing. I grin and wave, pressing the button to my gate, having to awkwardly wait as it opens slowly.

A big camera gets shoved too close, lens practically in my face as a camera man shouts rapid fire questions at me, “what did you do with Michael Jackson in New York? Did you sleep with him? Do you know he just got divorced? What will his ex wife think of you?”

I just smile, pretending like I didn’t hear him, and avoid looking at that massive camera all together. When the gate opens, I glide through, already pressing the button to close it as I head down my short drive that curves round the back of my pretty villa.

I grab my phone before I hop out, front door already opening as my housekeeper spots my car. I wave and grin at her as a couple of my home security guys step out to get my bags.

“Mikey?”

“Still here,” he says softly. I slip into the house, heels clicking on the tiles as I make my way upstairs, passing through the cream and dark wood halls.

“What did you want to see me about?” I ask, walking to my bedroom. I have a suspicion, but I want him to say it.

I hear him sigh, and somehow I can picture him perfectly, rubbing his brow, fretting over something. Perhaps it was still my age.

I smirk.

“Baby, spit it out, would you? I’m gonna age like five years.”

“I’d like to take you out tonight.” He says.

“Oh!” I chirrup then wince, closing my bedroom door behind me, walking to my closet and nudging open the door. “Baby I’m sorry, I have dinner plans already.” I kick off my heels, and drop six inches.

There’s another pause. “With who?”

I could lie and say it’s another man just to see what he says, but I’m sure he’d see it in the tabloids anyway. Speaking of…

“Just the girls. Did something come out about us?”

The line on Michael’s end rustles. I hear a male voice murmur something, then the distant whine and hum of a jet engine. “Pictures. From the event last Friday.”

“Oh,” I hum. I want to see them. “Do we look good?”

He chuckles softly, “yes.”

“Where are you off to?”

He clears his throat. “California.”

My stomach lifts, excitement bubbling up. I blink and suddenly I’m back in that hotel room, dawn breaking through the glass, and Michael’s behind me, thrusting into me, long fingers digging into my hips as my moans and his groans fill the air.

“Will you be free tonight?” I ask.

“Probably,” he murmurs. “I can send a—“

“I’ll come to you. Text me the address.”

We say goodbye, as he’s about to take off to head down here, and I have to contain myself for a second once I hang up.

My body is already tingling, desire curling through me in a way I’ve never felt before. What has that man done to me?

I’ve never really been a fiend for sex, like I find it fun, and it’s enjoyable with the right man, but I’ve never felt this before. Sheer excited need, before he’s even in front of me.

I close my eyes and shake it off. I only have a few hours to get ready, and considering my make up and outfit needs to not only match a dinner but a hook up too? I need to think and plan….

It takes my friends almost the whole dinner to not bring him up. When they do, I can only laugh at how tactful they’re attempting to be.

“So… did you do it?” Serena asks, gripping her cocktail glass as she waits for my response. To her left, Vanessa stares at me too. Anxious and curious.

“Do what?”

“Stop that right now, Daphne,” Vanessa scolds, “did you fuck Michael Jackson?” She whisper-shouts, three cocktails deep.

I don’t confirm or deny, only smile into my pink cosmo, and say nothing. They both squeal, shouting wildly, unable to contain their excitement. “Stop it!” I gasp as other diners glance over.

“I can’t believe it!”

“Was it hot?” Serena asks.

I’m tempted not to say anything again, but my cheeks flush as full body flashbacks remind me coming on his cock twice in one evening. “Oh my god, you absolute slut,” Vanessa gasps, cupping her mouth. “Look at her she’s fucking beaming.”

I take a long sip of my cocktail, folding one leg over the other.

“Was it good?” Serena whispers. They both lean in close.

“So good,” I whisper back. They can barely contain their excitement as they smack and grin at each other.

“You guys looked so hot in those pictures though. Have you seen them?”

“Not yet,” I murmur.

“He looks like a vampire.”

“Don’t be mean,” I scold immediately.

“I’m not!” Vanessa cries, “I meant like a sexy vampire, and you’re his bronze skinned bride. Like I was into it.”

“Did I look orange?”

“No, not at all.”

“I feel like I was a bit orange.”

“The brown dress kind of balanced it, I think.”

When the time comes to say goodbye to the girls, the paparazzi are already outside, snapping flashing pictures of us. Vanessa covers her face, flipping them off as she pushes her way past, heading to the car we called to drop us off at our various destinations. Serena smiles as she slides into the car, and I wave as they shout questions at me about Michael, who had landed an hour ago and was heading to the place he’d sent me the address to.

Because of the address, the driver drops me off first. I stumble out the car, a little tipsy from dinner, then right myself. “Don’t forget to wear a condom!” Vanessa shouts out the window, and I grin and wave as they drive off, giggling loudly.

“Miss Jones?” A low voice asks. I turn, and startle as a big security guard stands just a few metres away.

“Jesus, you scared the hell out of me,” I mutter.

“I apologise,” he says, “this way. Mr Jackson is waiting for you in the living room.” He shows me through a side gate to the large property. It’s unassuming, big and fancy, yes, but this part of Bel Air doesn’t have many celebrities living in it. Perhaps that’s why he chose it.

I’m shown into the big white house and through to the living room where Michael awaits, sitting calmly on a plush cream sofa, dark drink in one hand, book in the other. I tingle, already smiling. He’s so… dreamily older that my knees almost turn to jelly. I can’t wait for this.

I slide off my short fur coat and dump it in a nearby arm chair. Michael looks up as the door clicks shut behind me. He smiles, parting his lips, but pauses once he sees my dress. Short, tight and black. Completely strapless, pressing my breasts very close together.

I slide my heels off as he looks over me, taking in my legs, then bouncing back to my chest. “Do you like my dress?” I ask, swaying my hips over to him. He closes his book, places it down beside him, and leans back just in time as I sit sideways on his lap.

I smile even more when he doesn’t know what to say for a few seconds. “It barely covers you.”

“I know,” I purr, unable to keep my hands off him as I fix the collar of his fine shirt, and smooth it down, as if it’s not perfectly ironed. “I thought you’d like it.”

“You went to dinner like this? In public?”

“Mhm,” I nod, gazing at him, smiling coyly, “is that bad?”

He frowns, glancing down at my thighs again, at the hem of my dress that’s so high now you can practically see my panties. When he sighs, I only giggle, grinning as I bite my bottom lip. “Don’t like the idea of other men looking at me, hm?” I ask, curling my finger under his chin. I’m just toying with him, but when he glances at me, I gasp. “Oh, you really don’t.”

“Stop,” he mumbles, motioning me to get up. I try not to laugh, but it comes out as a long hum as I shift off his lap and onto the couch. “Would you like a drink?” He asks, changing the subject. I shake my head, but reach for the amber drink he has in his right hand and take it from him. “You won’t like it.”

I take a sip, then cringe, barely able to swallow it.

“— my god,” I mumble, passing it back as he chuckles softly, “how can you drink that?”

“I don’t mind it.”

He stands, moving over to a table close to the tall window where some drinks are, bottles of expensive spirits, all lined needy. He takes a short glass, adds a large chunk of ice from a covered metal bowl, then pours something dark for me. It’s only a little, barely half a fingers width. “Try it.”

I do as he asks, noticing that glint of approval in his gaze when I do. The liquid slides down my throat, cooled by the ice. Still strong, but less violent. I hum lightly. “I like it,” I chirrup.

“Good,” he says softly, sitting down beside me gracefully. I eye him, taking in his outfit. That dark suit and pretty embroidered vest with the gold chains connecting to the pocket.

I sip the drink again, taking a longer one this time. God he’s hot, like super hot, in a sexy glamorous way. I shift, sex tingling between my thighs. “Are we going to have sex tonight?” I ask.

He’s about to sip his own drink, but pauses, glass an inch from his lips. “Daphne…” he says lowly. Is he scolding me?

Excitement zips up my spine.

“What?” I ask, tilting my head. “Or would you like to romance me first, like a gentleman?” I shift closer to him, touch the collar of his fine shirt. I can smell his cologne, and it’s acting like catnip, for gods sake.

“I am a gentleman, not just play acting as one like guys your age.”

“Ooh,” I say coo lightly, “okay, well then, can you hurry up and romance me then because I want to fuck.” I whisper the last bit so it’s practically inaudible.

He exhales, side glancing me with a long look as he sips his drink. I smile sweetly at him, but inside I’m practically salivating like a feral animal. Desperate for a bite of him. “You like this normally?”

“I’ve had three cocktails,” I state. Then show him my empty glass. “And this.”

“Right,” he nods, finishing his drink. He takes mine from me and places them on a nearby side table. “Tonight we’ll do it your way.”

I’m about to question him when he’s on me, capturing my lips, devouring them. I moan eagerly into his mouth, wrapping my arms around his neck, kissing him hard as I shift as fast as I can so I can lie back on the couch.

Then he’s resting between my thighs as we make out, big hand clutching my thigh against his hip. I squirm needily as his tongue glides against mine.

I want him. I need him.

My heart’s pounding against my ribs as he breaks the kiss and kisses down my throat. I’m already ready for him, soaking my panties as he palms my breast over my tight dress. “Can’t believe you wore this thing outside,” he mumbles, taking a look at it as I’m panting underneath him, legs open for him.

I giggle, but it’s breathy, giving away everything I’m feeling. I glance down, seeing that it’s ridden up, not that it had to go far, exposing my lacy red thong. Then his slender fingers are there, tracing a line down my covered slit. I whimper, flushing when he pulls his hand away and rubs my arousal over his fingers with his thumb.

God, I can’t wait.

I lick my lips and reach down to slide my panties off but he stops me. “Upstairs.”

“What?” I gasp, “you want me to walk upstairs right now?”

He nods, smirking and gets up. When he does, I see how hard he is underneath those fine suit pants. Which only makes everything worse. My legs are jelly when I stand up.

I scowl at him, tugging my dress down back over my ass as he gives me this stupid handsome grin. “Come on,” he murmurs, turning me around. He nudged me forward, then lightly slaps my ass. My heart stutters, and I have to calm down because the effect he’s having on me is insane.

He guides me upstairs, and we walk through this massive house until we reach the master bedroom. “Is it just you here?” I ask as he closes the bedroom door behind me and locks it.

He nods, turning to face me, unbuttoning his vest, then his shirt. “Take it off,” he says so softly as he nods to my dress. I’m putty for him, doing it immediately. It pools at my feet before I kick it away, leaving myself in only my thong. No bra. “Your breasts are perfect.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, eyes tracking him as he walks towards me, and I back towards the big four poster bed. I’m burning up from the inside, arousal slipping down my inner thigh, escaping my underwear.

I didn’t even know it could do that.

He’s shirtless by the time the back of my knees hit the bed and I tip backwards, sitting down with a bounce. I just stare up at him, eyes wide, breathing hard.

He slowly undoes his belt, and my gaze dips to watch him ease his cock out. I’m already kneeling in front of him before he can tell me to, sliding him into my mouth. My eyelids flutter, cheeks flushing as he licks his lips slowly, “good girl.”

Oh god.

I’m trembling, sucking him hard, saliva dripping out of the corners of my mouth. This is messy, but I’m in a lust fuelled daze that’s making the mess so exciting. I push him to the back of my throat, then deeper, and deeper. I’m showing off now, wanting him to praise me. When he shudders, slowly stroking my hair, whispering how good I am, I genuinely think I’m going to cum just from this.

I ease him out of my mouth and gasp for air, lips covered in spit and precum. He doesn’t even speak, just tips his chin to the bed. I’m up and on it in a second, tossing my hair back from my face. He’s watching me closely, pupils blown, cheeks a little flushed. “So pretty,” he murmurs, and I can just about manage a smile despite my body screaming for him. “On your front.”

I twist, and push my ass into the air, back arched.

“So wet for me,” he murmurs, “you want this?” His tip pushes against my entrance.

I gasp. “Please, please, please,” I whimper.

When he pushes inside, my body ignites, vision whiting out. I’m gasping for air, spasming around his cock, gripping the sheets. He chuckles softly, holding my hips as I tremble, whole body tingling. “Want me to stop?” He asks gently.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” I say perhaps too aggressively.

I hear another chuckle, so smug and proud of himself. Then he’s moving, thrusting deliciously into me. I bite my bottom lip hard as pleasure spreads all over my body again, dizzying me.

His soft groans fill my head as obscene noises come from between our bodies. I’m so wet it’s embarrassing, but it feels so good I can’t even be bothered to be humiliated.

When I move onto my back, I know I’m done for. He’s between my thighs again, and I can watch him move shamelessly, filling me up with his cock. My moans are loud and heady as I hold onto Michael’s shoulders. “Kiss me,” i say breathlessly, needing more access to him.

We kiss as he fucks me, pushing himself deep, barely even pulling out as his thrusts get harder, stronger. “Come inside,” I whisper against his lips, “please.”

He groans, holding the eye contact as I gaze at him. I almost say something else, but I catch it before it can come out. Unsure of why I’d even beg for something like that. “Come, baby, please,” I plead for him, grasping my own breasts, pushing them together. I feel another tingle rising from my toes, and shiver, toes curling as he keeps going, thrusting harder and harder.

“Oh god!” I squeak, tipping my head back as another orgasm rushes over me. Stars wink in my eyes and Michael groans low and hard, thrusting himself into me one more time before he finishes.

I feel him pulsing hard and smile, dazed and sex drunk.

“Jesus,” he hisses, breathing hard as he keeps himself still and inside me. "You did great baby," he praises softly. I lie there, smiling, muscles relaxing one by one, completely at ease.

“That was so good,” I say, sighing dreamily.

Michael huffs, easing out of me, still hard and glistening. I shiver, watching him intently as he walks to the bathroom and comes back with a damp rag. I smirk. I expect him to just chuck it at me, but perhaps I should know better. I almost feel bad when he cleans me up himself, gently gliding the soft cloth against my sex.

“Thank you.”

He smiles.

“How many women have you slept with?” I blurt.

He frowns, on his way back to the bathroom. “I’m not answering that.” He disappears behind the door, and I hear the cloth get dropped into the trash.

“I just mean… are you sleeping with anyone else now?”

“Aside from you?” He glides his hand through his hair, but it flops back seconds later. “No one.”

I smile widely, clapping my hands. “Good, because I think we should date.”

He blinks at me, pausing on his way back to the bed. “You’d like to date me?”

“Yes,” I say lightly, then frown. “why’d you say it like that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is it the age thing again?” I ask as he finally moves, returning to the bed and sitting down with his back to me. I move immediately, crawling over to him. I lie on my side and smile up at him.

“A little,” he murmurs. He rubs his brows. “Daphne you’re twenty five, you should be dating another twenty something year old. Not me.”

“But you’re happy to fuck me,” I say lightly. He locks up, gaze jumping to mine. “I’m not angry. I think it’s great, but I want a boyfriend.”

“I’m sure you have a line of men waiting for you.”

I groan, “guys my age suck, you even said that.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“You don’t want me?” I ask, pouting. “Well then I guess I’ll go home to that line of men, then. I’m sure they’ll like my little dress.”

“Wait,” Michael blurts, “don’t go. I didn’t say that I didn’t want you.”

I hide my smile, and instead fold my arms and give him a hard look. Well, more like a pouty look.

“I got divorced a month ago.”

“There are already pictures in the tabloids of us leaving together last Friday.”

“I know,” he sighs. I don’t back down, only watch him confidently. I always get what I want, and I know he wants me. Now I’m just waiting for him to say it.

“I want to, but let’s just… ease into it.”

He speaks so softly it feels like he’s coaxing me out of a tantrum. I smirk, but then act like I’m considering it. “Okay.”

He exhales slowly, “alright.” He settles into bed, adjusting the sheets over him. I lean over and kiss him, basking in the way his lips pout against mine. I pull away then get up, padding to the bathroom to clean up properly before bed.

The next morning I wake to something buzzing loudly. I hum, irritated, and twist in bed to see what it is. Michael’s gone, but on the nightstand on his side is his cell phone.

And it’s ringing.

I register the shower running as I reach for his phone and check the caller ID.

Lisa?

I squint and open it, answering the call, tossing my hair away from my face. “Hello?”

There’s a pause. “… hello? Who’s this?”

“Sorry, who’s this?” I say back to her, lying on my front, still nude from last night.

“Where’s Michael?” The woman asks.

“In the shower. I can pass on a message if you want?”

“Why do you have his phone? Who are you?” She asks and I frown, pulling my phone away from my ear and checking the caller ID again.

“Who are you?” I respond, sleepy and irritated.

“His wife.”

end notes:

*high pitched squealing* okay y'all part twooooo! why did I lock in lmfao. I have low key some drama planned, but please let me know what you thought! and if you'd like a part 3 !!

if anyone is curious, the kind of vibe I have for Daphne is like a younger Jessica Alba, when she had honey-blond hair in like the 2000s era. like below:

ALSO, If you'd like to message me and suggest anything for the fic, like any scenes you wanna see, I'd be happy to take a look and try and work some in! <3

thanks for reading xx

His cologne envelopes my nose, musky and delicious. My head swims with desire as I pull back from the kiss.

“I haven’t been with an older man before,” I say softly, perched on his lap in the back of his white limousine. I run my fingers over the details of his fine suit, the embroidered vest… god, his style. He's so sexy.

Michael hums, hands gently resting on my hips. “And… how old are you again?” He asks quietly, so reserved and polite, I can’t believe I managed to convince the Michael Jackson to come home with me. I’m practically purring in his lap, rubbing on him like a cat in heat. And all he’s done is kiss me.

“Twenty five,” I say, gazing at his face. I tilt my head, and my long soft honey blond curls slip to the side. “Am I too young for you, baby?” I tease, tilting his chin up to meet my lips. I kiss him again, and he groans quietly, so embarrassed that he can’t resist me.

Our lips move together, softly, but passionately. I moan into his mouth, pulling myself closer to him, pressing my breasts into his chest. A soft sound escapes him as the limousine glides through New York city to my hotel, car horns sounding outside as R&B gently plays from the speakers.

He's so old school, it's crazy hot. Such a gentlemen. I couldn't name how many of these big artists or rappers would just outright ask me to fuck, knowing damn well they wouldn't call me the next morning, or even learn my name.

But Michael? God.

He'd asked my name, asked what I did. Held eye contact as I talked about the artist we were both here to support, mentioned how I knew him. He was so soft spoken it was driving me crazy. When I'd just had enough and asked if he wanted to take the conversation back to my hotel, he'd agreed. Softly saying, “lead the way, Daphne.”

God.

I wondered if he had understood what I meant, but from the way his hand slid down my back to almost touch my ass as we walked to where his driver would meet us...

I pounced the moment that door car door shut.

I didn't even care if anyone saw us leave together.

I kiss his throat, then nibble on his earlobe. He sighs, holding my hips, gently squeezing. "I don't usually do this," he murmurs.

"No?" I purr, kissing his jaw. He's already hard, I can feel him between my thighs. I smile coyly, cupping his face as I kiss his neck again. God, he smells so delicious.

"I got divorced… recently."

I sit up and look him in the eyes. I didn't even know he was married, or rather... still married. Him and his wife hadn't been seen in public for a while.

"I'm sorry," I say gently, pouting my bottom lip a little, "when?"

"A month ago."

My head tilts. He still has his hands me, holding me firmly. "You wanna stop?" I whisper. He glances over me, swallowing, gaze lingering on my low cut rich brown dress, how my breasts peak out from the gap, glistening with glittered body oil. He shakes his head and I smile slowly, "I can make you forget for a little bit," I murmur, grinding on him gently. "If that's what you want."

"I do," he murmurs.

"Yeah?"

He nods, swallowing again, and I gently bite my lip as I feel his grip on me tighten. "You're beautiful," he practically whispers. I bask in the praise, goosebumps skittering over me. I kiss him, cupping his cheeks. I can't quite believe I'm straddling Michael Jackson's lap right now, but I am. And he wants me.

His hands slide over my ass, taking a firm grip of the flesh. I moan, then squeal as he slaps me gently. I bite his bottom lip, then kiss him harder.

We pull up to my hotel not long later. The street outside is quiet, and so is the foyer. Michael's security does a quick sweep of the hotel and my room after I give them the key, then we're on the move. I'm so excited, i’m practically vibrating out of my panties as we wait, standing separately in the elevator. He watches me with those pretty doe eyes and I watch him back, still in disbelief that I get to fuck him tonight.

I take him to my room, and the moment the door is shut, I slide off my silk dress and reveal my body to him. His eyes graze over me, and he slowly slides off his long coat. His outfit is so finely put together it would be a shame to take it off, but... I want him. I want him bad.

He loosens his tie as I smirk and sway my hips to the bedroom, bending over purposefully and sliding off my thin black thong.

"God damn," he mutters from behind me as I climb onto the bed and wait for him, lying on my back.

His fine embroidered vest slides off, then his shirt, then those tailored pants. "You sure about this?" he asks me gently, moving over to the bed, so hard beneath his boxers I suddenly can't really think. My body burns, sex pulsing.

"Take them off, and fuck me."

He smiles, teeth latching gently onto that bottom lip briefly. He eases his cock out from his boxers, then beckons me over with a twitch of his long fingers. "Come here."

I gasp, excited, and shift onto my front, crawling over to the edge of the bed where he's standing, hard and ready. I know what he wants. My lips are one of my best features. Or at least People Magazine seems to think so.

I kneel, then ease his cock into my mouth, gazing up at him and pout my lips whilst sucking on his tip. His eyelids flutter as I suck harder, slathering him in my saliva. His hand rests gently on my head, then slides down to hold my cheek as I slide his length in and out of my mouth. "Beautiful," he murmurs, and I feel him pulse in my mouth as I moan for him.

His lustful sighs are so intoxicating that my own arousal drips down my inner thigh. I squirm, pressing my thighs together I ease Michael's cock deep into my throat and hold him here. He pulses, precum oozing so much I can taste him. "That's it," he praises softly, caressing my cheek with his thumb, "that's it, baby."

My eyes water as I slide him out, gasping for air. I blink the moisture away and lick my lips, gazing up at him.

"Lie back."

I do as he asks, completely entranced by him. My heart races as my thighs spread, revealing myself to his eyes. I slide my fingers down my stomach, towards my pussy. I'm soaked, completely, and I might've been embarrassed if it had been any of those random guys but Michael seems so into it that I'm into it too.

He touches me, grazing those long fingers through my slit before easing one inside of me. Pleasure tingles through me, but I want more. Right now.

"Please," I whine, spreading my thighs further, "Please, please, please."

He smiles, still so reserved despite his focus being locked in on my cunt. Then he's moving over me, positioning himself at my entrance, sliding inside. I gasp as my toes curl, my back arching as he fills me.

"Jesus," he hisses, using his forearms to hold himself over me as he stills between my thighs. I whine more, squirming against him, wanting more friction. Then he's moving, hips thrusting into me, pleasure spreading all over my body.

"Oh, fuck," I moan, caressing my hands up his arms to his shoulders. My legs bend and press back into the mattress, spreading myself wider for him. He groans, noticing my flexibility, pushes himself deeper, thrusts faster, more eager.

Obscene sounds leak out of where our bodies connect. I'm so wet, I can hear each movement. But I don't care, this man is insanely hot. I've never been this turned on before. I whine, wanting his lips and pout my own, "Kiss me,"

He does, and I wrap my arms around his neck as his hips continue to pound himself into me.

Then he's pulling out, motioning with a flick of those long fingers for me to turn over. I do so, eagerly pushing my ass in the air as he holds my hips.

This is exciting, so exciting. I'm keening, blushing and smiling as he pushes his cock back inside me, groaning as my wet heat envelopes him again. From this angle he hits a sweet spot inside of me, sending fireworks up my back. "God," I moan into my pillow, gripping the sheets as he grips my ass, smoothing a palms over the flesh then lightly slapping it.

"Feel good, baby?" he asks, voice hushed and so gentle I press myself back into him.

"Yes," I reply, glancing at him over my shoulder, "so so good. You're a king, baby."

His thrusts harden, grip tightening on my hips. An orgasm begins, tingling up from my toes, making me whine needily. "Don't stop," I plead. He groans, quickening his pace. "Just like that," I gasp, tingling rising faster and faster.

"Inside me," I beg, so overcome with desire and pleasure I don't want anything else but to feel this man release inside me. "Cum inside me, please."

His groans turn into a moans, thrusts hard and fast. My own orgasm hits me, and my vision whites out. I cry out, trembling, pulsing around him. With one last thrust, he cuts, pressing himself deep, holding himself there.

I can feel him throbbing, moisture sliding down my inner thigh. I'm panting into my mattress, dazed and relaxed as Michael caresses my hips, then slowly pulls out of me. I squeak when he pops free, surprised at how tightly my sex was holding onto him.

I flop forwards, then twist onto my back, looking to the man who made me orgasm harder than I have done before. "Where're you going?" I ask softly as he stands, reaches for his boxers, cock still hard and glistening.

He glances at me, face calm, despite the slight flush in his cheeks. "What do you mean?" he asks.

"Stay," I command in a light voice, patting the bed beside me. There is more than enough space, and I plan on having him again before dawn. I hold eye contact, knowing I'm going to get what I want, since I usually do. He watches me for a moment before he moves back onto the bed, lies next to me.

I smile, pleased, then get up, heading to the bathroom to clean up, wash my make up off and everything else. "Don't go anywhere," I tease, padding nude to the bathroom. He smiles a little, though I can see it in his face he can't quite believe we fucked.

When I reemerge, clean and ready for bed, he's still there. I climb into bed beside him, smiling at him. "What is it?" I ask.

"You're so young," he mutters.

"I'm twenty five. A full adult, actually."

"I mean in comparison to me."

I grin, and he glances away from me, lifting his hand to rub at his brow, as if he is genuinely stressed about this. I giggle at him. "Oh stop fretting, old man," I grasp his wrist, pulling his hand away from his face, "our age gap isn't that bad, I've been approached by eighty year olds."

He looks at me, frowning, "And you accepted?"

"No! I'm not a hoe."

He sighs, looking back to the ceiling. I want to laugh at him so bad because I can still see him thinking about our age gap. Which is not even that bad. Only fourteen years.

"Want to take me out to breakfast tomorrow?" I ask. He glances at me. "If it'll make you feel more like a gentlemen."

"Sure," he agrees. I yawn into my hand and snuggle close him, deciding in that moment, as he puts his arm around me, that I think I'd like to keep him. I've been thinking about getting a boyfriend for a few weeks now, actually.

"Are you on birth control?" Michael asks once we've been quiet for a few minutes.

"Yes," I say sleepily, eyes closed as I rest my head on his chest. "Disappointed?" I ask the quiet. He huffs, and I smirk.

We fuck again when morning comes, finishing inside me when I ask him to, then he does as he said he would, and takes me out for breakfast. I'm smiling like crazy at the odd romance of it all. He chooses a nice place for breakfast that gives us a private room so we can drink mimosas and eat smoked salmon.

I kind of half expect him to bid me farewell for good when his limousine drops me back at my hotel, but when I'm about to get out, he says: "wait."

I glance back at him, fluttering my eyelashes. "Yes?"

"Your cell phone."

I bite my lip as I grin, sliding the device out of my little pink purse. I hand my phone to him, and he gives me his, though frowns when he sees my rhinestone covered device.

When he hands me my phone back, I smirk at his contact. "Michael Jackson," I say, as if I wouldn't know who it is. The fact he put his full name is hilarious. "Cool," I grin, "call me, okay?"

He nods, so serious and so reserved. I'm giddy as I step out of his limousine and head back into my hotel, heels clicking with a big fat smile on my face.

Yeah, I know that man is mine now.

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End notes:

Okay so what did we think?! I’m low key in such a mature Michael Jackson phase that I’ve been devouring all content like a maniac omg.

Let me know if you guys want a part 2! ❤️💋