MJ

Your hands move over Michael’s body, greedy and desperate. He signed at your touch and held the back of your neck as you kissed him. Your tongues dance with each other, tasting and exploring each other’s mouths while you loosen the tie around his neck.

Michael shifted you onto his lap, hands resting on your clothed thighs, before they rubbed gently over them. You managed to get his tie off, slinging it to the ground before your fingers work feverishly to unbutton his shirt.

“Need you so badly, Mike.” You whisper, resting your forehead against his. He chuckles and pecks your lips. He dipped his hands beneath your t-shirt, pressing them flat on your bare back while you continued unbuttoning his shirt. When you fully unbutton it, you run your fingers over his chest, pulling a contented groan from him. Michael tilts your chin down and presses his lips to yours in another sweet kiss.

“Stand up for me,” Michael commands softly, patting your thighs. You comply, standing right between his legs, close enough that he can hook his long fingers on the strap of your leggings, pulling them down along with your cotton panties. You lift your feet to let the fabric pool at your sides while Michael tosses his t-shirt with them.

“Beautiful.” He whispered, guiding you back onto his lap. His fingers find their way between your legs, squeezing the warm skin of your inner thigh before he presses his thumb against your clit. You gasp and giggle excitedly when he pushes his index and middle fingers between your wet pussy lips. Without warning, he slips his index finger into you, then his middle finger, thrusting them into you, lazy and unhurried. Your hips grind on his fingers involuntarily, walls gently pulsating around them while he keeps that slow pace.

“Mike, I’m…” Your heartbeat quickens, and he hums, biting his lower lip with a wicked grin plastered across his face. With a shaky hand, you run your fingers through his hair, semi-focused on his expression as you ride his fingers.

Your inner thighs tingle as a soft orgasm threatens to come over you. Michael doesn’t let up. He curls his fingers just right with every thrust, hitting that perfect spot within you as he tilts his head to watch you fall apart. Soon enough, you cumming on his fingers. Your hand in his hair grips the back of his neck, lower lip between your teeth as you sigh loudly—a pathetic attempt to muffle your moans.

Michael scoffs at your reaction, shaking his head in disapproval. “Tsk, I don’t like that.”

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You lie completely naked on the king-sized bed in the main bedroom, your back against the cool duvet as Michael rids himself of his pants and boxers.

“Gonna make you cum all night, baby,” he teases, gripping the underside of your knees before pulling you to the lowermost end of the bed, “Gonna make love to you, then fuck you, then make love to you over and over again.”

“Fuck—” His words shoot straight to your middle, a hot, fuzzy feeling erupting right below your belly button. The slight friction burn from him yanking you forward goes unnoticed as he kneels between your legs and presses teasing kisses to your inner thigh. Your hips buck, needing more attention right where he’s purposefully ignoring you.

“So needy,” Michael blows on your clit, then kisses your thighs again. “What do you want, ma, hmm?”

“Please?” You whine, attempting to push his head forward.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart.” Mike resists your push, blowing on your clit again. His cool breath makes your body tingle, nipples hardening in response.

This is torture. He’s so close yet so far. You could easily push yourself forward and connect his lips to your needy centre, but he’d just pull back and leave you begging.

“Tell me,” Mike repeats, squeezing the flesh of your butt with two fingers.

“Eat my pussy, Mikey. Please.” You give in, pressing your head hard against the mattress.

“Good girl.” Michael praises you before diving right in. His tongue flattens over your vulva, then slides upwards before he presses open-mouthed kisses over your clit. He moans like a starved man, sucking and licking your wet skin with lustful eyes focused on your reaction.

Your back arches as he devours you, hands gripping the duvet while you moan uncontrollably. Michael lifts your legs up and places one on each shoulder, giving him more access to your dripping pussy. He circles his tongue over your clit, then slides two fingers into you. Your breath goes frantic when he sucks on your clit and curls his fingers inside of you, causing yet another orgasm.

“Oh my god—Mike!” You finally speak, voice strained and shaky. Your hips rock in tandem with his fingers, a tight knot in your belly so close to unravelling.

“That’s it, sweet thing,” Michael mumbles with his mouth still wrapped around your clit.

You fall apart again, eyes squeezing shut as you moan his name with a cracked voice. Your legs shake and press against Michael’s face, pussy oozing with arousal over his chin. Michael hums against you, lapping his tongue over your juices with a satisfied grin.

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You’re on all fours, face pressed into a soft pillow with your mouth slightly hanging open. Michael’s on his knees behind you. His hands are gripping your hips while he ploughs into you with unimaginable speed, leaving you mumbling sweet nothings, senseless and dumb. His dick, long and thick, stretches you out unapologetically with every sharp snap of his hips.

Michael—ever the tease—strokes the back of your head with a gentle touch, cooing to you in a voice so soothing it leaves your mind numb.

“Such a good girl, hmm? Taking me so fucking well, sweet thing.” He speaks between thrusts, dipping his other hand between your legs to play with your clit. He rubs slow circles on it, a juxtaposition to his feverish thrust. Your mumbles turn into cries of pleasure, eyes watering and dampening the pillow below, while your pussy clenches around Michael.

“Mike—Mike, slow down—shit!” You beg through whimpers, your hands gripping the top of the duvet.

“Are you sure? Ah—” Michael asks mockingly before he moans too.

You shake your head, whining a loud ‘no!’ as another orgasm takes over your body. Your moans are loud, really loud. Michael pulls your head up by the hair when you try to muffle your pleasurable whines in the pillow. You scream his name, pussy gripping his dick so hard he comes undone too. Michael’s seed pours into you, coating your walls with warm arousal as he groans over your back, falling flat on top of you.

You both lie there unmoving, breathing erratically while Michael strokes your head again. He chuckles, and you do the same, knowing damn well what he’s thinking.

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Michael pushes into you again, making you both whine at the contact. You’re on your back again, legs circled around his hips with your hands gripping his biceps as he uses your hips to guide himself in and out of your sensitive pussy. His thrusts are unhurried, rolling his hips with a lazy rhythm. He’s making love to you now, teasing your clit with his thumb while one hand cups your boob. Each push of his hips makes you sigh breathlessly. Your eyes stay closed most of the time, opening them when he almost pulls out completely just to push back in with that leisurely pace.

“So sweet for me,” Michael moans, pinching your nipple, “Wish I could lie in you forever.”

“Michael…” You whimper, raking your finger over his toned back when he leans down to press a kiss to your lips. Michael groans into the kiss, mouth parting to let your tongue slide over his lower lip. You suck on his lip, then bite it before licking to soothe it. To say you’re lost in a sensual  haze is an understatement. You’re completely gone. Your eyes are glossy with shiftless tears, hands gripping every reachable inch of Michael’s warm body while you moan and whimper mindlessly as he makes you come yet again.

This time, your orgasm is lethargic, drawing long and dazed moans of Michael’s name out of you. Michael buries his face in the crook of your sweat-slick neck, breathing in your scent while your pussy squeezes him with fluttering pulses.

“Fuck, you’re so tight—mmmm.” He whimpers near your ear, trying his best to hold it together. You wrap your arms around his neck and curl your fingers in his hair, moaning directly in his ear.

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Michael leads you downstairs, hand holding yours as your feet patter barefoot on the cool tiles. You’re both parched, throat dry from all the panting and moaning. He opens the fridge and grabs two bottles of water, popping one open and handing it to you. Your throat thanks you when you take a sip, letting the cold liquid slide down your pharynx.

“I ain’t done with you, you know that?” Michael sips from his own bottle, holding soft eye contact with you.

“Are you serious?” You almost choke on water, skin cooling down as you both stand in the kitchen naked.

“What did I say before you came on my mouth?”

Fuck

“Come on,” Michael tosses his empty bottle in the bin, placing yours on the kitchen island as he holds a hand out for you, “I wanna try something new with you.”

You raise your brows, curiosity evident in your smile as you take his hand in yours and follow him upstairs. On your way up, you poke his butt with your acrylic nail, making him scowl playfully.

“Watch it.” Michael turns around, dick hardening already for what’s to come.

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Michael lies on his back, calm and drunk with desire. He motions for you with a finger, eyes hooded and dark as you crawl on top of him. You drop your hips and straddle his fully-hardened dick, rocking over him. Your slick coats his length in your arousal as he ponders for a moment.

“Come ride my face, sweet thing.” He taps his cheeks with long fingers. “Lemme taste that pretty pussy again.”

You wasted no time, crawling further up his body until your glossy centre’s inches away from his lips. Michael inhales your scent, humming in admiration before he tapes your round butt.

“Turn around for me. Want that ass right here.” Michael’s voice rumbles between your legs.

You raise a nervous brow, tilting your head to the side with an awkward smile. “Are you sure?”

“Do I look unsure?” He quips and licks his lips.

You look down at him and bite your lip, shaking your head in disagreement.

He looks very sure.

You turn around, legs on either side of his upper body. The new angel gives him complete access to your ass and pussy. He wastes no time, pulls you down to his lips, pushing his tongue into your needy hole. His tongue explores you as much as possible, lapping at your fresh arousal like a man dying of thirst.

You groan in surprise, fondling your tits as your hips rock against his mouth. When you look down, you notice his unattended dick lying hard on his thigh. As if driven by sheer hunger, you lean forward and wrap your hands around him, still moaning as Michael works behind you. You spit on his tip, thick silva trailing down his large length before you stroke him lazily. Michael’s tongue inside you halts for a second when he whimpers at your touch. Your hands squeeze him in between strokes, making him moan more and more against your dripping pussy.

When you wrap your lips around his tip, all hell breaks loose. Michael thrusts involuntarily into your mouth, whimpering around your clit, which makes you moan too. A sultry song between lovers breaks in your shared bedroom. Your moans vibrating through his body only make him moan, doing the same to you. Not only do your moans add extra friction between you two, but they also fuel you both on. You bob your head over Mike’s thick dick, slurping on your own slip, which trails down his length. Michael bucks his hips in unison with your head bobs, hitting the back of your throat with a twitching tip. He doesn’t stop eating you out either. His tongue buries itself in your pussy again, moaning over your clit while he messily sucks on it. His chin and cheeks are drenched in a mix of yours and his arousal, a mix of wetness and semen coating his chiselled jaw while he presses open-mouth kisses to your vulva.

You cum concurrently. Michael’s hands grip your soft ass while he spills into your mouth. His warm cum coats your throat, some dripping out of your mouth as you cough from choking slightly. You don’t stop stroking him. Your hands move up and down his dick while you suck on his oozing tip, milking him dry for all he has. When you cum, you cover Michael’s lips in slick arousal. He drinks it all, whimpering and lapping his tongue to capture every drop of your orgasm into his mouth.

“Tastes so good—fuck!” Michael groans, drinking your last drop of arousal. He smacks your ass then rubs the plush flesh, definitely leaving a bruise. Your legs finally give in, and you almost suffocate him with your ass when you fall against him. Michael laughs a hearty but exhausted laugh when he pushes you off his face.

“Sorry.” You giggle and rest your head atop his sweaty chest, wiping a drop of your cum off his lip. Michael grasps your hand and licks your finger clean, greedy for every drop of you. “Jeez, Mike.”

“What?” He shrugs and kisses your finger. “You taste good, ma.”

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Birds chirp outside, indicating the dawn of a new day. Michael flips you both on your side, spooning you under the thick covers. His hand cups your boob, then slides down to push your leg slightly forward. His dick lies hard on your thigh, ready for another round.

“Nigga, you’re crazy.” You whine, fighting sleep, but suddenly feel turned on again.

“I made you a promise.” Mike presses his tip to your entrance, asking for permission. “Sun’s not up yet.”

You nod and he slowly—lazier than before—eases himself into you. You both sigh. Michael drapes his arm over your belly, pressing his face to the back of your neck with closed eyes. Your eyes are shut too, cheek pressed against your pillow as you intertwine your hand in his.

He makes love to you again, hips thrusting sluggishly from all the sensitivity from your previous activity. He whimpers into your skin, praising how you feel and how much he loves you and your body. You’re utterly gone too, mouth ajar and drooling on your pillow. You whine his name over and over again, letters morphing into each other as you twitch from super-sensitivity.

“Sweet thing. You drive me wild.” Michael grazes his teeth on the back of your neck, dick twitching inside you. His pace lets you feel every vein and ridge of his length, turning you on more than you thought possible.

“I love you, Mikey.” Your voice cracks, and you orgasm one more time. “I—I love you so much.”

“Love you more, ma.” Michael fills you with seed once more, groaning pathetically on your skin as his hips falter. “I love you more.”

@pyt03 @lov3lylxvender @nobleumbrashrine @zerosugarcherrydrpepper @angeleface @beberock375 @michaeljacksonsleftnipple @xxhoneymo0n @kordulka @iiovey0u @michaeljacksonsbae @mikesbian @kneelarmhstrung @mikejacksbabymommaaaaa @nunusmoll @istayuptoolateonthisapp15 @funkaoverwar @khxna @uconnwbbloversworld1 @plan3tch1ld @theyluvchanel @18lkpeters @0-n-1-x @myhobari @lilitheebaddest @tojiswifeforlife @butt3rfleye @lover-of-games-horror-music17 @cloverjeanmj @star-gurl4life @michaelkisskissgirl @zero820 @justglennreading @peachypeanut @1andonlytashae @thebabykashmere @ghostlycrestcurse @delictezz @heyitsconysstuff @calicina @fruitysoulorg @ilikyo @likewf @sebbysbaby @blacclotusss @whimsicalangel07 @cunty000 @froggyreadsss @mjsbiggestlover @iimsopretty

The air in the grand ballroom was thick with the scent of expensive lilies and old-world perfume. The year was 1978, and the wedding of the decade had just concluded. Michael looked breathtaking in his white tuxedo, his eyes never leaving you as you glided across the dance floor. To the world, he was the superstar, the voice of a generation, but as he pulled you flush against his chest for their first dance as husband and wife, he was just a man trembling with a desperate, overwhelming love for you.

As the music slowed, both of your family members began to filter out, leaving the two of you alone in the dim, golden light of the reception hall. The silence that followed was heavy with anticipation. Michael didn’t let go… instead, he slid his hand down to the small of your back, pressing your hips firmly against his. He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear.

"I thought I was going to die during the vows," he whispered, his voice a soft, melodic vibration that sent shivers down your spine. "All I could think about was getting you alone. I want to feel every inch of you. I want to take you."

He began to move with you, not a dance anymore, but a slow, sensual grind. His hand wandered lower, cupping your rear and squeezing firmly, pulling you into the hard bump of his cock through the fabric of your wedding dress. You let out a soft moan, and the sound seemed to break something inside him. Michael whimpered, a small, needy sound, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

"Please," he breathed, his voice cracking. "Tell me you want me as much as I want you. I'm shaking, baby... I need you so bad."

The honeymoon house was a secluded haven where the rest of the world ceased to exist. In the master bedroom, the moonlight spilled across the silk sheets in pale, shimmering ribbons, casting a ghostly glow over the two of you. Michael was a wreck of nerves, his movements tentative and shaking as he helped you out of your dress. His fingers fumbled with the fastenings, his breath hitching every time his skin brushed yours. When the fabric finally pooled at your feet and you stood before him completely naked, the sight of you made him gasp. He stepped back for a heartbeat, his eyes wide with pure, unadulterated adoration, looking at you as if you were a miracle he wasn't worthy of touching.

He laid you down gently, his touch light and almost reverent, as if you were made of the finest porcelain. As he began to explore your body, his lips trailing a path of fire down your stomach, his voice became a constant, needy stream of soft pleas. "Is this okay? Do you like this?" he whispered against your skin, his voice trembling. "Tell me you love me, baby... please, I need to hear it."

When he finally positioned his hard, throbbing cock at your entrance, he paused. He didn't just push in; he stopped, resting his forehead against yours, their breaths mingling in the quiet room. He was trembling violently now, the sheer emotional weight of the moment crashing over him. "I want this to be perfect for you," he whimpered, a small, broken sound of desperation.

As he slowly pushed inside, the searing tightness of your pussy walls gripped him firmly. Michael let out a long, shaky groan of pleasure and effort, his muscles locking as he sank deeper into your heat. You gasped, your fingers digging deep into the muscles of his shoulders, and the sound of your first moan triggered something primal and starving within him.

"Yes... please, yes, moan for me," he pleaded, his voice breaking. He didn't rush; he moved with an agonizing slowness, savoring every millimeter of friction, his breaths coming in ragged, needy whimpers. He wasn't just taking your innocence as you took his, he was worshipping it.

He spent what felt like hours just moving shallowly, the head of his cock teasing your entrance while he showered your face in kisses. He begged for reassurance, his voice a frantic whisper, asking if he was making you feel good, if you could feel how much he loved you. His heart hammered like a trapped bird against your chest, the rhythm accelerating as the tension built to an unbearable peak. When he finally lost control, he drove deep one last time, spilling his warm cum inside you with a loud, desperate cry of your name that echoed through the velvet silence of the room.

Long into the night, the sweetness evolved into a hunger. Michael had discovered how sensitive your body was, and it had become an obsession. He found you in the kitchen getting a snack, and before you could speak, he had you hoisted onto the counter, your night dress pushed up to your waist.

He didn't go for the penetration immediately. He spent an hour with his tongue, licking and sucking your clit with a rhythmic intensity that had you screaming. He was vocal, moaning loudly into your folds, whimpering when you arched your back.

"You're so wet for me... look at how much you want it," he gasped, looking up at you with blown-out pupils. When he finally slid inside, the friction was electric. He began to pump into you with a newfound urgency, his voice cracking as he begged you to tell him how good it felt. He pushed you to the edge over and over, refusing to let you finish until he had you sobbing his name, finally letting you peak in a violent explosion that left him shaking and spent.

By the next morning, Michael’s stamina had become tireless. He didn't just want sex, he wanted to consume you. He trapped you against the bedroom wall, his hands gripping your thighs and hoisting them around his waist.

"I can't get enough of you," he whimpered, his voice strained. "I need to be inside you every second of every day."

He fucked you with a raw, desperate energy, his hips slamming against yours with wet, slapping sounds. He was constantly talking, his singer's voice modulating between deep growls and high, needy whimpers. "Tell me I'm yours... tell me you'll never leave me."

He discovered that by flicking your clit while thrusting deep, he could make you lose control. You came three times in a row, your body shaking, but he didn't stop. He kept driving into you, his eyes locked on yours, obsessed with the way your walls clamped around him. He filled you to the brim, his cum pulsing deep inside you as he sobbed into your shoulder, overwhelmed by the intensity of his bond with you.

The obsession had shifted into something more intense. Your body had become so attuned to him that the mere sight of him made you ache. Once afternoon came, he walked into the room and simply brushed his hand against your inner thigh, you let out a sharp gasp.

When he pushed you back onto the bed and entered you in one smooth, deep thrust, the sensation was too much. The instant your walls closed around his cock, you screamed, your body snapping into a violent orgasm. A huge spray of fluid erupted from you, soaking his thighs and the sheets.

Michael froze, his eyes widening. "Did you... did you just cum from me just entering you?" he whispered, his voice trembling with excitement.

He didn't pull out. He began to move, and every single thrust triggered another wave. You were squirting uncontrollably, the bed becoming a lake of your juices. Michael was losing his mind, whimpering and moaning with every splash, his voice breaking as he realized he had total control over your pleasure. "You're so sensitive... my sweet, sensitive girl. I'm going to make you squirt until you're empty."

The final stage of his obsession was the desire to leave a permanent mark. He pinned you to the plush carpet of the living room, his eyes dark with a singular focus. He didn't just want pleasure; he wanted a family.

"I hmm- want to fill you," he whimpered, his voice a soft, needy rasp. "I want eighteen children, baby. Eighteen little versions of us. I need to fill you until your belly is round and you can't think of anything but my seed inside you."

He entered you with a brutal, possessive force, pushing deep into your cervix. Every time he hit that spot, you creamed, lubricating his cock as he hammered into you. He was vocal, pleading and begging, his voice cracking. "Please, take it all... take every drop. I want to plant a baby in you right now. Tell me you want my babies! Tell me you want to me to fill you!"

He didn't stop even when you were shaking from overstimulation, pushing through your climaxes with a relentless rhythm. As he reached his peak, he gripped your hips so hard he left bruises, letting out a loud shout as he unloaded a massive amount of cum deep inside your womb, whimpering with a mixture of love and lust, promising to do it again and again until his dream of eighteen children was a reality.

October 31th, 1935

21:00

Halloween, the night of spook and scare, where everyone dresses up as anyone or anything they please, and dress you they did. As you walk around the busy streets of Chicago with your girls, you take in the sight of everyone around, dancing, singing and chatting amongst each other. The streets are decorated with jack-o'-lanterns and all sorts of scary props.

“Let’s check out this club!” One of your friends pipes up as you fix your polka-dot skirt while dressed as Minnie Mouse.

You merely nod as you follow her and the rest of your friends, clearly not in the mood to be outside tonight.

Your friends had forced you out of the night, having been tired of watching you cry over whatever happened between you and your husband. You didn’t tell them what had conspired a month ago or what he had told you about his life and career. All you said was that you two were going through a rough patch and that you needed space. Nothing too descriptive to put him in line of trouble with the authorities. Even in the midst of your anger, you still chose to protect him.

You follow Daphne, Alana, and Keisha to a club. As you walk, a man runs past you, bumping into Daphne before giving a short apology and continuing to run into the alleyway of a nearby building.

“Asshole!” Daphne yells and shakes her head as she dusts herself off.

Three calm men walk past you a couple of moments later, their demeanour a sharp contrast compared to the lively scene in the streets. Two of them are only wearing masks — a shameful attempt at a Halloween costume. One, at least, is dressed as some type of feline, a leopard maybe. His black curls are pinned up to make cat ears, while his suit ends with a long furry tail attached to his backside. You giggle at the sight, not used to seeing men playing into the cat archetype, even for costume days like the one. Before you can comment about it to your friends, Keisha holds your hand and motions for you to follow her into a bustling nightclub filled with well-dressed men and women. The music is loud and upbeat, instantly putting you into a trans. Your hips sway to the beat with ease, you, Daphne, Alana, and Keisha losing yourselves to the rhythm.

Outside, those three men who passed you a few minutes ago continue to follow the man who bumped into Daphne. Their pace is controlled so as not to draw attention to them when they swerve through hot and sweaty bodies in the street. Soon enough, they turn to the alleyway that the man ran into, finding him trying — and failing — to climb up the barbed-wire fence.

The man dressed as a cat tilts his head at the sight and chuckles darkly, his eyes narrowing under his mask. His hands rest on the pistol strapped to his hips, legs spread apart in a dominating stance. The two other masked men behind him stand similarly, their arms crossed as they watch the other man slip off the fence again.

“Quit it,” the feline says snappily, “I told you what would happen if you didn’t pay what you owed.”

The scared man stands up straight now, not attempting to climb the fence. He’s petrified, eyes bloodshot and wide open as he faces the three men before him.

“I’m sorry, sir. I promise I will get you your—”

The man’s words are cut as one masked man holds his hands behind his back, pushing him down to his knees.

“Listen here, Kenny. Your name is Kenny, yes?” The feline asks, holding his gun up now. “You had one job: get the gold from point A to B. Did you do that?”

Kenny shakes his head frantically, “No! No, I didn’t. I’m sorry, please! I have a family”

“Well, you should have thought of your family before stealing from me.” The feline comments in a mocking tone, “I happen to have a family myself, a beautiful wife who I provide the moon and the stars for, but you, you decided to steal what I trade those things for. That’s why we’re in this mess, ain’t it?”

“Y-yes! I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry. Please! I’ll return your goods to you!” Kenny pleas.

“And how will you do that? The authorities seized my gold from your custody. What will you do, hmm? Break into the vaults like a Japanese ninja?” The feline chuckles darkly, shaking his head.

A pause passes through the four men before the man on his knees speaks again: “I’ll do anything to make up for it! Just please don’t hurt my family!”

“Your family? Oh, goodness, I would never.” The feline-dressed man speaks with a forced pout on his lips, the mask hiding his expression, though it’s obvious in his tone. “This has nothing to do with your family, Kenny. This is all on you.”

The feline swings his pistol in his hands, the golden gun glistening in the soft light from across the street. Kenny shakes on the ground, fear rushing through his veins like a cheap dose of snow would.

“Here’s what’s going to happen, Kenny,” the feline starts, “I’m not in a very good mood. See, my wife found out about my occupation and left the house a few weeks ago. I was planning on using the gold you stole from me to make her something nice. You know? Get on my knees and beg for her forgiveness, all that jazz, but I can’t do that now, can I?”

Kenny shakes his head.

“So, I’m going to make you eat a bullet for troubling me.” The feline speaks, his voice rough and enraged. He places the nozzle of his shiny pistol in Kenny’s mouth, licking his lips as if this is all amusing to him.

Kenny’s face falls, all the blood in his face draining and leaving him pale as a ghost, as if already dead. His mouth tastes the cold metal of the gun, eyes fixed on the leopard-dressed man. The two other masked men stay silent, already preparing an escape route as soon as their leader pulls the trigger. One of them works easily to cut open the chains of the fence Kenny tried climbing over, while the other holds Kenny down, ready for the blood splatter to hit his legs.

22:00

You continue dancing with your girls, semi-drunk from all the free drinks men have bought you. The music is blurring into one, consistent noise, muffling all the rage and angst you once felt about Michael.

“Look at you, girl!” Keisha cheers from behind you as you both bounce to the beat.

The night seems to be going great. Alcohol, candy and music fill your body as it moves with everyone else in the club. As the music continues, a sharp pop erupts from outside. Everyone in the club pauses for a second before carrying on to the rhythm of the beat. You, however, can’t shake the feeling that something bad has just happened.

“Hey, relax. It was probably a firework that went off too early.” Daphne yells over the music, holding your hand as she jumps.

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s all it was,” Alana repeats, holding her 3rd martini.

23:00

An hour passes as you and your girls hop from club to club, enjoying the different spooky vibes curated to each building. You’re sitting down at around this time, watching Keisha flirt with a tall man by the bar. Alana is drunk now, bouncing her body to the sound of her favourite song while Daphne bickers with a lady who’s dressed exactly like her — you told her that the whole bunny look would be popular tonight, but she hadn’t listened.

You huff and watch people all over the club, kissing, dancing, eating candy and even doing things that should definitely be kept in the bedroom. Eyes are closed, bodies move in dazed unison, and hearts thump to the beat of the drums. A few bodies enter and exit the club here and there, some drunk or high, some dragging their significant others to dark corners to touch deeper.

A man catches the attention of a few eyes; the same man who you saw earlier. Women ‘ooh’ and giggle in a flirting manner while men eye him with curiosity. His leopard tail swings as he sways his hips to the music, raising his hands in a fluid motion to swing them to the rhythm. You chuckle and roll your eyes at the sight, pressing your legs together as you watch the masked man lose himself to the everlasting music.

“Can you see that man over there?” You point, and Alana looks up drunkenly.

“Ha! That’s a first,” she laughs a little, “it’s hot though, ain’t it?”

You look the man up and down. You’re a drunk now, so your eyes roam his body as he swings his hips without a care. That goddanm tail sways like a snake attracting its prey. Without thinking, you stand up and slowly walk over to the man, gently pushing past the bodies that stand between you and the slim feline you want to be close to. The alcohol is definitely playing a role in boosting your confidence. When you reach him, you stare up at his masked face, the music slipping into a more sultry tune.

The feline looks at you and pauses for a short moment. His smile widens into a devious smirk beneath the mask.

He recognises that beautiful face.

You’re drunk, that’s clear as day, no wonder you haven’t recognised him yet. Does he play into that or toy with you for a little longer?

He’s going to toy with you.

“You like it?” His voice is loud enough to be heard over the music, swinging his hips to show off his tail.

You bite your lower lip and nod, eyes fixed on his hips, fluid and loose.

There’s something so familiar about those hips, how they swing to the rhythm of the night, how fluid they are, and their lean shape under those leopard print pants. But you’re too drunk to piece it together.

“Hold it.” He speaks right by your ear, bending down to whisper softly to you, his mouth still stuck in a smirk.

Your hands slowly move towards the tail, holding it between your warm palms. The fur is delicate, tickling your soft skin as you stroke it. The man is halfway turned away from you, watching you play with his prop. If only you knew what that was doing to him.

“Naughty girl,” he gently takes the tail away from you and begins dancing again.

You sway your hips with him, holding the tail in a way that has your arms wrap around his waist. He chuckles and shakes his head, wondering how long it’ll take for you to recognise him.

“Maybe I should take the mask off.” He thinks to himself.

“Come with me, naughty one,” he holds his hand out to you, mask still on, smirk still hiding behind it.

You know you shouldn’t accept his offer. In your mind, he’s a stranger, and you’re still married.  You’re well aware that his outstretched hand is an invitation to a sin you vowed never to commit. But who cares? Your husband is a killer; he doesn’t deserve your loyalty after that…right?

November 1st, 1935

00:00

The feline leads you upstairs to the VIP section of the club. Your hands stay wrapped around his tail. drunkenly stroking it without a care. When you pass the table you once occupied, Alana raises an eyebrow at you, nudging Keisha — who now sits with the tall man — to look in your direction. They both exchange knowing looks, wondering how far you and this catlike man will go once you’re alone.

You reach the top of the stairs and walk towards a separate VIP room, watching the slim man hand a bartender a large wad of money to book the section off for you both. Once inside, the door closes, and he’s on you with pace. His hands roam your body, squeezing your hips and thighs, humming softly against your neck. His mask is still on as he lifts your leg to rest it over his hip, unbuckling his pants before ripping the thin stockings you’re wearing. A heavy piece of metal you felt while dancing with him hits the ground with his pants. Your core is exposed now, and he revels in it, running a rough index finger between your soaked lips.

“Still don’t recognise me, naughty girl?” He speaks as he presses your back against the cool brick wall behind you.

You don’t respond; instead, you hold his large length in your hands, lining it up with your entrance.

“Answer me, darlin’.” He holds his mask, ready to take it off.

“I…know who you are,” your heartbeat speeds up at the nickname, finally realising who he is, “but I don’t need formalities. Fuck me.”

Michael’s breath hitches for the first time you’ve ever known him, your tone taking him aback. Without hesitation, he pushes his hard cock into your heat, giving you a few seconds to adjust to him before he thrusts into you at a tantalising pace. Your bodies roll together, slow and sweet as he pushes himself deeper and deeper into you. Your back arches as he lifts you completely off the ground, thrusting faster into your wet cunt.

“Fuck, darlin’. I missed ya.” He groans into your neck, hands gripping your waist tightly to keep you up.

“Shut—ah!” You moan as he hits your sweet spot, “Shut up.”

Michael groans, pulling off the mask in a swift motion before throwing it to the ground. He looks…tired, exhausted even, but he looks at you with soft eyes as he thrusts reverently into your warm core.

“I have much to say, darlin’,” Michael whispers into your ear, thrusting faster, stretching you out like he used to before it all fell apart. “Let me speak, please, my love.”

Your mouth hangs open as drunken moans of pleasure slip out of it. You wrap your hands around Michael’s neck, holding onto him for dear life as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge. Every thrust feels like a silent plea for you to hear him out, to listen to whatever he has to say, but you’re too drunk for that now, and quite frankly, you don’t care.

“Mmngh— Michael!” You whimper, your chin resting atop his head, squashing one of his cat ears, but he doesn’t pay it any mind. His moves are fluid, his hips snapping like waves in the ocean. He presses you harder against the wall, pulling you down an inch to fully put his cock in you.

“That’s it, sweet thing. Let go for me, let go.” He groans, looking up at you with softness you missed in the month apart. How a man could look so innocent while rearranging your insides still makes no sense to you, but here Michael Jackson was, doing exactly that.

Your eyes squeeze shut as your warm walls suddenly flutter uncontrollably around his pulsing dick. Loud cries of pleasure escape your open mouth, though the thought of you being heard by someone outside doesn’t bother you at all. Your orgasm lasts for a few long moments, and Michael continues to push into you. His moves are sloppy now, fishing for his own pleasurable release. He groans your name ever so often through soft moans of his own before finally finishing deep inside of you.

When he puts you down, he keeps his mouth shut, lifting his pants up and buckling his belt before secretly strapping his gun on his hip again. You attempt to make yourself presentable as well, completely taking off the ripped stockings and deciding to go commando for the rest of the night. Michael picks up his mask and holds it between his slim fingers, watching how your gaze stays off of him now.

“Darlin’—” he starts.

“No. not tonight.” You cut him off, your hand held up in a defensive manner. Michael, however, doesn’t listen.

“You must understand, I did not wish to tell you about my life the way I did. Please, my love…” He’s at a loss for words, noticing your reserved demeanour. Without another word, he slips his mask back on and stands up straight, watching you leave the room with your ripped stocking in your hand.

00:25

“Now, woman, what in the world?” Daphne’s eyes widen at the sight of your stockings, her lips curl into a naughty smile as he pieces together what you’ve done upstairs. “Was it good?”

You nod and look at your skirt as you sit, “It was Michael.”

The girls gasp and look at each other in shock. You look up and see Michael trot down the stairs alone, heading directly to the dance floor to continue where he left off half an hour ago.

“You’re telling me that that leopard over there is your husband? As in the man who only speaks in single sentences when I talk to him?” Keisha scoffs, rolling her eyes as she watches a woman attempt to throw herself at Michael.

“Yes, that Michael.” You respond and look at the dance floor too. An uninteresting chatter between your friends breaks out as you stare at Michael, their voices fading into the music while your eyes roam over his dancing figure.

A large masked man pushes through the crowd toward Michael. When he reaches the feline, he whispers something in Michael’s ear, stopping Michael’s dancing. The two men stare at each other for a few moments before they swiftly make their way out of the club. You ask yourself why they’d make such a rushed exit, your drunk mind racing for any answer.

01:00

The sound of sirens emerges from outside the club, and a dozen police officers barge into it without warning, completely stopping the celebrations. The band stops playing, and the crowd murmurs amongst themselves about why the authorities are here. Six policemen walk around the club, clearly looking for someone, while 5 others begin questioning a few dancers. The remaining officer stands on the band stage and speaks into the microphone.

“Our apologies for disturbing your celebrations. We are in pursuit of an individual.” He begins. “A man who is reportedly dressed in a catlike costume is wanted for murdering a man just a few blocks from this very club. Anyone with information on his whereabouts is encouraged to share such information with authorities now, and to the rest of you, I encourage you to head home. We do not know if this man will kill again tonight.”

What. The. Fu—

3 November 1935

14:00

You storm into your shared home, having not been there for so long. You look for Michael with your heart thumping in your chest.

“Michael?!” You yell as you walk through the large doors, jogging into the large living room and then the kitchen. “Michael?”

You look around and see Diane.

“Mrs Jackson! It’s good to see you again,” she exclaims with a warm smile.

“Where’s Michael, Diane?” You ignore her pleasantry and dart your eyes around the house.

“Oh…did you not get word from Bill?” Diane enquires with a small frown as she folds fresh laundry. You notice the leopard costume folded neatly on the ironing board.

“What word?” You pause.

“Mrs Jackson… Mr Jackson was arrested last night. Three policemen came round and put him in handcuffs without much explanation.”

Your eyes widen, and you freeze. Every fibre in your being sizzles at the news, stuck between running out of the house towards the station and staying there where you’re safe.

“What did they say?” You ask.

“They said they were arresting him under suspicion of murder, Mrs Jackson. As I heard it, a man was executed on Halloween night in the city.” Diane explains as she folds a pair of socks

The sharp pop you heard that night, the hard metal around his waist before you made love…It’s all coming together now. No matter how upset you are, he’s your husband; you need to protect him.

You must protect him.

Your hands pick up the leopard costume, heading towards the fireplace without a second word to Diane. She curiously follows you, keeping a safe distance.

“Mrs Jackson—” She starts, but she gasps, her eyes fixed on you tossing the costume — along with the mask and tail — into the fireplace before pouring whiskey on top of it and lighting it up.

“Listen, Diane, you must promise me something.” Your face is stern but not unkind. “You must promise that if the police come here, you do not tell them about what I just did.”

Diane nods frantically, clasping the fireplace poker, turning the clothes to help them burn evenly. You rub your face as you realise she may know more than she’s letting on, but you don’t probe, too busy worrying about Michael.

15:05

Bill drops you off at the police station, having driven you reluctantly after almost an hour of you nagging him about it.

“Mrs Jackson, Michael told me not to take you there.” He had said before giving in.

“Michael Jackson. I’m looking for Michael Jackson.” You walk into the station and speak directly to the desk clerk, your eyes fixed on the hallway of cells on the right

“And who might you be, ma’am?” The man spoke in a calm and somewhat annoyed tone.

“I’m his wife.” You speak bluntly, and the clerk goes through documents on the table.

“Ma’am, Michael Jackson is currently being held in the corrections facility. He has been charged with murder and will be held there until his trial or until bail is met.”

Your heart drops to your belly, breath coming out in shaky puffs. Your husband is in jail…locked up like some—

“Thank you,” you shake your head and walk out to the car where Bill waits, “Bill, he’s in prison.”

Bill nods solemnly, helping you into the car before starting the engine, “I suppose you want me to drive you there, ma’am?”

“Yes. Swiftly, please.”

15:30

Both you and Bill walk through the guarded corridors of the prison, wardens sizing you up with bitter looks; perhaps wearing your expensive fur coat and LV heels wasn’t such a good idea.

“You really shouldn’t be here, ma’am,” Bill whispers to you, feeling uncomfortable about bringing his boss’s wife to a prison, of all places.

“I must see him. I must, Bill.”

A warden opens the door to an interrogation room. One table and two chairs occupy the small, poorly lit room. You look around and see Michael standing in the corner with a cigarette in his mouth.

“Michael.” You run toward him and wrap your arms around his neck, squeezing him in a tight hug before pressing your lips to his in a slow kiss. He reluctantly hugs you back, trying his best to hide his anger about you being in this classless place.

“Darlin’, why are you here, hmm?” He asks you, his gaze fixed disappointedly on Bill for disobeying his orders.

You pull back from him and take a step back, looking at the awful orange jumpsuit they put him in. Your frown deepens as the reality of the situation sinks in.

“Not my colour, right?” He snorts, inhaling a long puff of smoke from the cigarette. How can he be joking right now?

“Tch, what is the matter with you? You’re in prison, Michael. This is not the time for senseless quips.”

Michael scoffs and sits on one of the chairs by the table, watching you from the corner of his eye. You walk towards him and sit on the other chair, eyes fixed on his carefree stature. It’s as if none of this is bothering him at all; in fact, he looks comfortable, happy even.

“I’m fine, darlin’”, he starts calmly, “Everything’s fine.”

You shake your head and take a deep breath. “You’re in prison for murder—”

“I killed nobody.” He interjects softly, flat-out lying.

“Well, the police think you have,” you scoff, “look at where you are, what you’re wearing.”

“The police?” He laughs bitterly, and Bill shakes his head by the door as if sensing where this conversation is going. “Darlin’, you have no clue how deep my influence runs, do you?”

You slump in the chair, eyes shut as you reign in your frustration. Your heartbeat quickens at the insinuation he’s making. The small lightbulb in the room flickers a couple of times before staying on again. Bill stands behind you as still as ever, clearing his throat as he senses the thick, tense air between you and Michael.

“What are you saying?”

“What do you think I’m saying?” Michael tilts his head, face twisting into amusement as if entertained by your naive questioning.

A pause.

Another pause

Michael smiles, winking at you when he sees your face contort with emotions. You’re not angry anymore, not even sad, but another third thing you can’t place your finger on.

“How much?” You ask.

“All of it.” He points to his hand, closing it to symbolise his hold on something — everything really.

“Good god, Michael,” you push out of your chair and pace around the room, your hands flying up to your face, cupping it in absolute shock, “What else? Who else?”

Michael sighs quietly, a soft pang of guilt rushing through him. He should have been honest with you about all of this before he married you, before you fell in love with you. He knows you inside and out. He knows you’re all in with him, even if it’s something as criminal as this. That fact alone makes his chest ache with reverence for you, knowing very well that you’d do anything to keep him safe, even if it means committing a crime yourself.

Like burning up evidence.

“Chicago’s mayor, CPD, stores, clubs, schools…” He relaxes in his chair. “Everything.”

Your mouth falls open. Who the actual fuck did you marry?

Bill shifts on his feet as we watch the entire thing unfold. He had advised Michael to fill you in on all of this as soon as he began courting you, but being the stubborn man he is, Michael postponed over and over again, until he completely forgot about it altogether.

“So, why are you here then? In prison like some lowlife crook.” You enquire with a breathless voice, sitting down again.

Michael takes a moment to reply, his mouth twitching in annoyance; not at you, but something else. He looks at Bill, who nods before fixing his large eyes on you.

“Because someone decided to defy me,” his jaw ticks, “That man they found in the alley…”

Michael stands, walking to you before crouching beside the chair you occupy.

“…well, you seem to know who did that, don’t you?” Michael coos softly, and you nod. “I have a rat roaming my streets, darlin’.”

You sigh and run a hand through his messy curls, “Michael…what have you gotten me into?”

He ignores your question, “I’m going to find my rat.”

“How?” You question his plan.

Michael motions his hands around the room and the prison. He’s clearly got a plan here, but you're finding it difficult to piece it together in your non-criminal head.

“Every rat has a family, yes?” He explains, and you nod, “My rat happens to house is shitty family in here. They’re scum of the earth who commit foolish crimes and get themselves incarcerated for petty offences.”

A pause.

“Now you can imagine how idiotic this rat was for bringing me here, in his house, where I control those in charge…where I can get rid of rodents if they enter my cell, for instance.” He licks his lips and stands up.

“I did something really bad,” you admit, and Michael shakes his head in disagreement, somehow knowing what you’re referring to. Perhaps Bill informed him of the little fire you burned this afternoon.

“They have nothing on that case, darlin’. I need you to stay out of this from now on. Do you understand? Stay away from the prison, too. I do not want to see you here again.”

You stand and reach out for him, but he stops you.

“I love you, darlin’. I’ll be home soon.”

Michael whistles, and a warden enters the room, cuffing Michael before leading him out into the depths of the prison, plotting his first rodent extermination.

March 1st, 1932

22:00

You take a deep breath in as you examine your surroundings. You can’t believe you’re going on a date with a man your friend, Aubrey, set you up with.

It had been a long time since your separation from your long-time boyfriend. The split was painful. You remember it every so often; sometimes the emotions of the split build up at random times of your day, leaving you teary and shaking with sadness. He promised you the world. Maybe that was the first sign of his infidelity. No man promises a woman the world three months into a relationship. It was all bull from the beginning, but could you have known? You were in your late teens, naive and lovestruck. You couldn’t have known.

Now, here you are, in front of Club 30, in a shimmery black dress, draped with a white fur shawl and sleek golden heels. Your hair is beautifully done in a top bun with a few loose curls draped behind your ears. You fiddle with one of the multiple rings you have on, contemplating whether you should go in. You take in one final breath before pushing open the heavy oak doors, ready for whatever the late night has in store for you.

The bass of the jazz band rumbles through the smokey air as you walk in. You notice a large crowd on the dance floor. Their bodies rock from side to side to the rhythm of the 4-count music. To the left are several tables designed for an assembly of friends. The booths are decorated in a simple brown leather with each table covered with wine-red cloths designed to give you an intimate feel as friends conversation.

There are 4 young men there right now. Their head all turned to you. You give them a small smile which excites them butyou ignore it and look to your right. That way is the bar. That’s where you’re expected. You clear your throat and slowly walk to the bar before taking a seat on one of the many high barstools. The array of alcohol beautifully decorates the large wall before you. From wine to whiskey, it’s all gracefully shelved, disguising the liquid poison as something beautiful.

“Can I get you something to drink?” The bartender interrupts your thoughts. His smile was genuine and calm, indicating his expertise in customer service.

You return the smile, your red lipstick morphing into a gracious grin as you speak. “I’m not too sure what to order. Any suggestions?”

“Of course, ma’am. Do you have a taste for a sweet or bitter drink?” He leans on the counter, clearly taken aback by your allure.

“Sweet, please.”

“I would suggest a lemonade or strawberry daiquiri.” He looks you up and down with his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Strawberry, please.” You giggle, rolling your eyes as he nods before turning around to prepare your drink.

While the bartender works on your beverage, you fix your gaze on the large clock. 22:10. Aubrey had said your date would be by the bar by 22:00 but he’s not here yet. You decide to shrug it off and wait a little longer.

“Here you are, ma’am. A strawberry daiquiri.” He carefully slides the drink your way with a wink.

You take a long sip through the paper straw. The sweetness of the strawberry fizz compliments the thick rum. You’re quiteimpressed by the taste. Having never drank this before, your tongue enjoys every drop of it, and soon enough, you’re asking for another one.

22:30.

You huff.

“Are you expecting someone?” The bartender inquires, sliding you your second daiquiri.

“Yes, I am, but I’m afraid I’ve been stood up.” You take a sip of your drink with a frown.

“That happens here quite a lot, unfortunately,” he starts, “Just a few hours ago, an older lady sat here with me and waited for her date to arrive. Alas, he never did.”

You sigh and nod. Maybe the same fate had met you.

“Don’t fret. I’m sure he would have been a waste of time anyway.” He grins, tapping his fingers on the marble counter.

You nod again, accepting your circumstances. Instead of moping about your current fate, you turn to face the band across the bar. They play a more upbeat tune now. Something that has the dance floor cheering and whistling. The sight lifts your mood. Your head begins to rock to the rhythm.

“You should join the crowd, let loose!” The bartender encourages you.

“I’m not much of a dancer,” you lean back to turn the suggestion down.

“Oh come on, ma’am. I’m sure you’re great at it. Plus, why come to Club 30 if not to dance? This is the place to dance, and I know–”

The bartender’s words are cut off as he notices the large oak doors open again. The thick, smokey air in the club shifts, as if it’s being controlled by something greater than it; something that makes the jazz band mess up the rhythmic jam.

“Oh no. Tonight of all nights?” He whispers behind you and you fix your gaze towards the two large men who you assume are bodyguards.

Before you can respond, another man walks in. He’s dressed differently from the black-suited large men behind him. You glance at his white tailored suit. The expensive fabric hugs his slim figure perfectly, accentuating his toned arms and legs. Beneath his white suit jacket is a soft pastel blue shirt sleekly complimented by a white tie. His hair, curly, thick, and long is topped off with a white fedora. His presence has undoubtedly changed the club’s mood. What you cannot decipher is if this shift is a good or bad one. What you do know, however, is that his arrival has garnered the attention of everyone in the club.

As swiftly as he arrived, his bodyguards escorted him to the far corner of the club. He sits between them as if he is royalty of some sort. He examines the room, seated in the perfect place to see every corner of the club; to see you.

You hadn’t noticed that you were staring at him the entire time he had sat there until he finally fixed his gaze on you. With a nervous smile, you wave at him. He tilts his head, but before he can do anything else, his table is surrounded by a cluster of girls ready to throw themselves at him.

“I wouldn't if I were you. That man is trouble.”

You turn to face the bartender whose face is painted with concern.

“Why’s that?” You smile inquisitively.

“He’s known for doing shady business around these parts of Chicago. Rumour has it that he’s taken a life just outside the club, in the back ally”

You scoff.

“I doubt that's true. If it was, we’d see news of a death on the papers, no?”

Before the bartender could answer, one of the large men from the corner table tapped you on your shoulder.

“Excuse me, ma’am. My boss would like to speak with you.” The large man speaks with an even tone.

You look at the bartender who shakes his head in disagreement with the request, but you; not having anything better to do here; smile and stand up to follow the black-suited man.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” You reassure the bartender before you walk to the designated table.

A dozen eyes watch you as you make it to the alluring man. The girls that once squealed with excitement at his arrival now fix their eyes on you with bitter jealousy. That doesn't stop the white-suited man from motioning you to sit beside him. You slowly scoot your way onto the leather seat, sitting just a few inches away from him.

“Leave us.” He commands, and as if they’re filled with fear, the two bodyguards make their way to the dance floor. The girls, on the other hand, linger.

“All of you. Now.” His voice is stern now, his piercing gaze scaring the girls away with those simple words.

Now, you’re left alone with him. With nobody around, his scent floods your nostrils. A deep sage with a mix of vanilla surrounds him. What an intoxicating scent, one you could inhale for aeons.

“What’s a pretty young thing like you doing here, all alone at this hour?” He asks.

His voice is surprisingly softer than the tough visual that he is. He shifts closer to you, closing the gap you had left before looking you dead in the eyes. His deep brown eyes glisten in the mellow lighting of the club. Something is confusing about those eyes. They appear so innocent, but something in them hints at a darker reality.

“I- I had a date tonight,” you fidget with your rings, “regrettably, he never showed.”

He takes a slow sip of his drink, which you’ll come to learn is whiskey. His gaze never leaves yours as he drinks.

“What a foolish man he is to leave a woman hanging like that, especially a woman of your…stature.”

You giggle. He loves that. The sound of your giggle eggs him on.

“My stature?” You probe and he nods.

“An enchanting woman like you shouldn’t be treated so poorly.”

You’re taken aback by his words. Looking away from him you fiddle with your rings. He notices this and gently places his hand on yours. You look at it. It’s much larger than yours with veins travelling to and fro. You look up surprised and are greeted by a soft grin.

“The name’s Michael. Michael Jackson. Yours?”

Without a second to waste you tell him yours. His smile brightens at your response, a few crinkles surround his eyes as he smiles.

“It’s very nice to meet you, darlin'.” Michael whispers into your ear in a sultry tone, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

“Now, tell me. What nonsense was our little bartender telling you about me, hmm?” He leans back into the leather seat.

“That you’re trouble.” You shrug bluntly, tapping your slim fingers on the table before you.

“Oh really?” He motions for his bodyguard, “What kind of trouble did he say I am?

Before you answer, he whispers something to his bodyguard before shooing him away. You watch the large man walk to the bar.

“That you’ve done some shady business here and even…”

“Even what, darling?” He coos.

The bodyguard returns to you and places a strawberry daiquiri in on the tabl before turning and leaving for the dance floor once again.

“Thank you.” You smile and take a sip. “He said you’d killed someone behind this very building.

Your words provoke a loud chuckle from him. His head tilts backwards as he laughs, exposing his Adam's apple.

“As you can see, Louis over there has quite the imagination.” He clears his throat and drops his expression into something more serious. “Don’t believe everything you hear about me around these parts. People love to gossip about my occupation. They know nothing of what they speak of.”

You sigh a sigh of relief and drink the last of your beverage, continuing the conversation. He remains calm and collected, only sharing enough to keep you intrigued, but not sufficient to satisfy your curiosity.

September 14th 1935

Three years into your relationship you’ve come to learn that Michael would always be that way. Not even the fact that you’re his wife could change that. Anytime you ask about his work, he’ll give you a short answer. Nothing too specific, just enough to reassure you that he’ll be safe on the next business trip he’d be heading to. Lately, things have changed. Your husband had no longer told you where he was headed. He’d simply leave a note alluding to where he’d be and what he’d be dealing with.

To say you were annoyed by his behaviour is an understatement. You spent the past 3 months with your housemaids. They knew the ins and outs of your new grand home, the home you moved into with Michael when he married you two and half years ago. You grew friendly with them in the early stages of your marriage which you thank yourself for doing because you can ask them what exactly your husband gets up to while you’re asleep or away with friends and family.

“Two weeks ago, he had three men here. They were all dressed in expensive-looking suits, and we were all ordered to serve them with whatever they pleased,” said Diane with an admitting tone.

“And a month before that, he had a woman here,” Claire adds, “but worry not. He did not lead her to your bedroom or anything of that sort.”

You listen to them intently, your fists clenching and relaxing as they tell you just how much Michael has been hiding from you.

“Do you know where he’ll be later tonight? You two are the eyes and ears of this house. I’m sure you heard word of his night excursion.” You look at them both.

“Yes. Of course!” Diane speaks. “I overheard him talk to his chauffeur, Bill, about being at Club 30 tonight at 11pm for some business.”

“Perfect. Once he leaves for that, be sure to have a car for me to follow him there.”

Diane and Claire nod and disburse as your so-called honest husband makes his way to the kitchen where you’re situated.

“Good day, darling.” Michael coos, placing a soft and long kiss on your lips. “What were you all discussing just now?”

You kiss him back and hum, knowing not to tell him the truth. “We were planning for our housewarming party tomorrow.

“Ah, I see,” he sits beside you, placing his large hand on the small of your back, “I’ll make sure to get all the alcohol needed tonight, okay?”

You nod and cup his face with your warm hands, “Thank you, my love. You’re a lifesaver.”

He smiles, rubbing your back slowly before turning his attention to the newspaper. You notice his jaw clench as he reads the front cover, so you turn to the newspaper.

“Two Bodies Found at The Docking Pier Near Club 30”

“Oh my,” you gasp, catching Michael’s attention, “Poor souls.”

“It’s shocking indeed, darling,” he says not because he means it but because he has to in order not to alarm you. You can tell he knows more about these deaths than he’s saying so you probe.

“When did they find them?”

“The morning of September 9th.” He answers as he continues to read.

“Were you not there the night before?” you lean closer to him.

“What are you sayin’?” He slowly turns towards you.

You huff and look him dead in his eyes. ”Surely you would have seen something.”

Michael’s Gaze hardens and his hand clutches the newspaper tightly. It’s not the first time you’ve angered him this way. There have been times when you asked him about his whereabouts, noticing how they always seemed to correlate with the discovery of a dead body. This time, however, you prob further. Gone are the days when you simply say “Okay fine” and let it go. Today, you want to know as much as he’ll tell you, even if it means he’ll be infuriated by your unwavering questioning.

“Darlin’…” He takes a deep breath to calm himself. “Why would I know a thing about this.” He asks irritated, shaking the paper firmly.

“Because you were there the night before, no?”

He nods.

“And the paper says there was a quarrel around the same you where there for a drink.”

You observe his increasing anger, his breath getting deeper as he attempts to keep himself from raising his voice at you. One thing is for sure; he has something to hide, but he won’t dare yell at you. He knows better than to treat his woman with such fury. He would rather die than create room in your heart for you to fear him. If he did that, he would have failed as a husband, as a man, but God, were you pissing him off right now.

“Darlin’, I do not witness the fights that break out at the club. I’m gone by then.” He speaks bluntly.

“So why’d you come home so late that night?”

“Listen,” He snaps but quickly lowers his voice, “what I do in my spare time is not your concern. All you need to worry about is the goings-on of our home and yourself. Is that clear, Darlin’?”

His tone is stern as if to discipline you like a child. He’s never used such a tone while addressing you. You knew now that he was not telling you the complete story.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have to get ready for work.” That's the last thing he said to you that day before he disappeared out of the large wooden doors of your home to do God knows what.

19:00

Michael had arrived back from work an hour prior. He did not spend much time with you that evening, and soon, he was out the door. The only thing he said was that he’d be back with the alcohol for tomorrow’s housewarming. Why were you having a housewarming two years into moving here? You didn’t know, but that's not important. What's important is to figure out exactly what he has planned for the night.

23:17

“Mrs Jackson, the car is ready for you,” Diane whispers and you nod.

“Thank you, Diane. You and Claire be sure to take the day off tomorrow. We’ll have other servers here in your place.” Diane nods hastily at your words before she and Claire disappear into the servants’ quarters.

23:45

You thank the driver before stepping out of the car. Here you are, in front of Club 30 once again. It had been months since you were here, having feared that you’d meet the same fate as those two young men who were found dead that morning. That fear is now replaced with pent-up rage from your husband's lies. You were done with the secrets. Tonight, you’ll find out the truth, and nothing will stop you from completing that mission.

You walk into the ally and sneak your way into the club through the back door.

“Thank you, Louis. You’re a gem.” You give the bartender a soft kiss on the cheek as he helps you through the club’s kitchen.

“He’s here already. Two men came in shortly after him,” he blushed at the kiss, “Then two other men followed. They’re all seated together in his booth.”

You nod with a frown. “Do you know what they’re up to?”

“No, ma’am. They’ve had the jazz band playing to cover up their conversations, but the band will retire for the night soon.”

You follow him to the club’s end of the kitchen. To your surprise, the band has already left, leaving the five men, including Michael, to their own devices. Their conversation is clear as day. Both you and Louis lean on the door to listen in.

23:50

“How did they find the bodies?” Michael asks, his tone cold.

“We don’t know, boss. Don said he’d take care of it but-” One of the men tries to defend themself but is cut by the other.

“I never said I’d take care of anything!” You assume that is Don talking.

“Boss told you too! You always mess up the simplest jobs.”

“Enough!” You hear Michael shout as he delivers a loud bang to the table. “I will not tolerate such childish behaviour from anyone tonight. You all need to shut up and listen.”

A shiver runs down your back at his commanding voice. His soft-spoken nature seems to have shifted into something darker, something you didn’t recognise. Was this your husband? Of course, it was, but this was a side of him you were not acquainted with.

“But first. I must deal with something,” Michael begins, “Louis, bring her here.”

You dart your eyes to Louis, whose hand has already grasped yours, pulling you out of the kitchen and into the club's main room. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment as Michael stands before you, his curls messy and suit well-kept. He clicks his tongue and circles you slowly, shooing Louis away with a knowing nod.

“Now, what do we have here?” Michael speaks with a disappointed tone.

You’re frozen in place. The shock of Louis having sold you out fogged your mind. All you can do is dart your eyes as he continues the torturous dance around you. At that moment, you feel small. Like a rabbit waiting for the cheetah before it to pounce. 

“I- I can explain-”

Michael chuckles. “What happened to all that spunk you had interrogating me this morning, Darlin’? Was it all a front?”

You have no choice but to look down abashedly. You’ve been caught, your plans ruined by someone you thought you could trust. Oh, once you get out of here, you’ll be ripping Louis a new one.

“Come. Sit.” Michael grabs your arm and leads you to the booth. You fall onto the leather seat and face the four men who sit across from you and Michael on hard wooden stools.

“Explain yourself, darlin’.” He commands.

The anger you’ve bottled up finally spills over as you begin: “Explain myself? You have a lot of nerve to say such a thing! How dare you lie to me about your life to this degree? Shame on you! Shame on all of you in this room right now!”

You’re seething with anger, your hands clench tight around nothing, your jaw tight, and your brows furrowed. Your eyes roam your surroundings. The four men facing you don’t react to your words. One, however, smiles contently.

“I never knew your wife could yell like that, Boss.” Don smiles.

“Neither did I,” Michael admits, “You’re full of surprises, young lady.”

“And you’re full of shit!” You spit at Michael, provoking a twitch of disapproval across his face.

“Watch yourself.” He lifts a finger, reprimanding your outburst. “I know you want answers, but I will not accept such foul language, darlin’. Understand?”

You shake your head, cross your arms and look anywhere but him or his lackeys. “Speak.”

Michael chuckles at your attempt to be tough. “Oh, you’re too cute, my love,” he says as he sits beside you, “As you wish. What would you like to know?”

“Who are these men?” You start with a simple question.

“These are Tony, Don, Trevor, and Allen. They’re my cleaners, my boys.” He sips his whiskey.

“Cleaners? Meaning what?” You raise a brow at them and they all bow their heads in acknowledgement.

“What an innocent mind you have” He coos. “They clean up after me. You know, after I deal with someone.”

“What?” You raise your voice.

“We get rid of anyone he kills, Mrs Jackson. That’s our job, but someone didn’t do it right on Friday.” Tony hits Don on the heads

Michael shifts in the seat and shakes his head. “You are all so childish.”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing. Your husband, the man you love is a killer. A cold-blooded killer. How did he never show any sign of this sick side to him?

“Michael, you’re a killer?” You look at him with your cheeks red.

“Darlin’, it’s much more complicated than that-”

“Then explain yourself” You snap.

Michael sighs before nodding. He stands up, holding his hand out for you to take it, but you don't. Instead, you stand and follow him to the balcony on the second floor.

00:00

The hustle and bustle of Chicago has slowed down significantly at this hour. As you and Michael stand outside, you hear a dog bark from afar and a car rumble through the empty road. This calm view of the city lights does little to nothing to ease your stress. It seems as though nothing he has to say with change how you feel in the moment.

“Listen, I know what you’ve heard is concerning to you, but I must assure you, my love, that You have nothing to worry about.”

“Is that so?” You huff. “How am I supposed to do that when you’re running the streets killing people?”

Michael lifts his finger to hush you. The last thing he needs is to have the patrolling police listening to your heated conversation.

“It’s not that simple, my love.”

“Simplify it for me,” You cross your arms.

“You won’t believe me, but alas, I’ll explain.” He leans onto the rails, lighting a cigar before taking a long breath of the smoky substance.

“Remember when I told you about my upbringing? My family always had to move from state to state.”

You nod.

“Well, that was because my father was involved in criminal activity. But you know that part.”

You remember Michael telling you about how his father was killed in prison by a gang he worked in opposition with.

“Go on,” you command.

“When my father died, my older brothers wanted nothing to do with the life my father led, so I took over as boss.” Michael wraps his lips around the cigar, sucking on it as it fills his lungs with the smoky air. He puffs rings of smoke out as he watches for your reaction.

“You're some kind of mafia boss? here, in Chicago?” You cough as the aftersmoke hits your throat.

All Michael can do is nod. His eyes stay fixed on you as you take in everything you’ve heard. 

How long was he going to hide this? What would he have done if you were in trouble? What did he expect you to do if he got arrested or hurt?

“I would never let myself get hurt, let alone put you in any form of danger, darlin’. I swear.” He reassures you with one hand on your face and the other holding the burning cigar

“You’ve already endangered me by not telling me this from the beginning.” Your voice cracks.

“How could I tell a stranger that I’m a criminal?” He runs his fingers through his curls.

“You’re calling your wife a stranger? Jeez, Michael. I never knew you were this cruel.” Your head shakes as tears roll down your cheeks.

“Darlin’…I meant no harm. believe me.” Michael wipes a tear from your eye which does nothing to soothe your sorrow.

“I cannot do this right now.” You turn away from him.

“My love…” his voice falls small.

“You’ve lied to me for three years, Michael. Three years.” You sigh and take a step away from him. “I cannot bear to look at you without feeling betrayed. I cannot be around you right now.”

You walk away, leaving him on the balcony with a cigar in his hand and a tear threatening to fall from his beautiful brown eyes.

00:38

As you hastily pack an overnight bag, you look at your shared bed with teary eyes. The thought of you sharing a bed with a killer haunts your mind and breaks your heart. You had to get away from here, from him.

Right now, nothing could stop you from seeing him as a monster, and that hurt to admit.

You married a criminal. You married a killer.

Above all else, Michael’s favorite thing about you is your heart, your mind, your very being. He loves the way you think, how your mind works, how you express your feelings, your love for him, your love for anything else. He adores the ways in which you inspire him, each and everyday, in every conceivable way. That’s a poetic answer Michael will be happy to give, if you can get through his stressed-and-pacing headspace and make him aware that there is such a thing.

When it comes to your body, though, Michael is beyond the realms of devoted. At his core, he is a man, so is a natural lover of the most intimate parts of you, but his adoration runs so much deeper than that. He loves your silhouette, seeing it displayed in the form of a shadow; he loves the curve of your hips, your waist, your legs, and he will sing your praises (literally) for every intricate detail of your body. But, if you pay close enough attention, you’ll notice that Michael does - very subtly - favor your face, specifically your eyes and lips. You are the person to see the eyes behind his sunglasses more than anyone else, and if Michael could dedicate his life to staring into your eyes, he would in a heartbeat. And your lips? Every time you speak, it’s like he’s watching a tennis match between your eyes and lips, the way his gaze flits from one to the other. There is no better feeling in Michael’s mind than your lips on him, blessing him with the sweetest kisses. While he does, obviously, love kisses that he can return, the way the feeling of your lips lingers on his cheeks long after your kisses have left his skin…it’s heaven, and that heaven can’t wait. To say Michael’s a sucker for your kisses just doesn’t cut it.

“Baby, baby, one more. Just one more.” He pleads, his voice no more than a soft murmur against your lips, barely kissing yours in between words because if you call them out he’ll tell you these kisses don’t count.

“Hm, just the one?” You question quietly, a little breathless.

“Three more. Maybe four. A hundred, my girl, if you’ll let me.” Michael’s voice is no more than a whisper now, and with his last syllable, his lips are on yours and there’s no room for another word.