overthinker.

You & Michael are approximately 2 hours deep into this unexpected night, tipsy & staggered from the multiple drinks you’ve been bought from various people. Pulsing fluorescent lights reflect off your tanned skin as you move fluidly to the music, a sheen coat of sweat covering your bare arms from the humidity of the room.

Michael hadn’t been on the dance floor yet despite your pleas, he’s still a little shy even when he’s drunk. Instead, he’d prefer to watch you as he sat at the bar, sipping on some mysterious liquor Quincey had brought him. His thick curls stuck to his temples from everyone’s body heat pooling in the room, yet he still kept his flannel shirt buttoned up right to the top.

You’d look over your shoulder at him occasionally, relishing in the way he’d ogle at the lower half of your body with an unconscious bite of his lip. Or when he’d giggle around the rim of his glass when you’d gyrate your hips in his direction intentionally, showing off the curve of your ass in your jeans.

You’d love to tease him like that, testing his endurance. Michael was a faithful, religious man. He believed in the avoidance of sexual & lustful acts before marriage. He grew up around that motive all his life, especially with his family. But he’s an adult now with his own choices, yet he’s still stuck in the mindset of a 15 year old boy who has to follow the rules, or has to abide by what his parents taught him. He doesn’t fully realise he is his own man now, & his natural love for women doesn’t help.

He’d deny himself for months, stopping when things got too intimate with you, or made him feel something he didn’t know how to handle. It’s not like he didn’t want to, you’d feel the stiffness of his cock poke your thigh every time you two were making out, or even simply cuddling. But whenever you were just about to make it to the inside of his pants, he’d stop you politely, taking your hand away.

“Baby, not yet,” he’d always say.

Alas, being Michael’s girl was a positive experience. You got to live the upper-echelon life, such as being invited to private parties in Beverly Hills by people who worked alongside him. At first, Michael didn’t even want to go to this party, said it’s not his thing. You were in the middle, you wanted to get him out of his comfort zone & have fun for the night since you two weren’t up to much. In the end, you had convinced him enough to go, so here you were.

Michael turns his head, his trance broken as he hears a muffled voice call his name. It’s a trendy young man, probably successful or famous. He looks like he has money, though Michael doesn’t seem to know him. But of course, everyone knows Michael. The man’s smiling with all teeth, holding out his hand for a handshake.

Michael takes his hand immediately, smiling back as they share a quick & rough pat on the back.

“Love your music, man!” He shouts over the speakers.

Michael semi-yells a thank you that comes out louder & sloppier than expected. He averts his gaze back to you, already distracted by your femininity. Your hands flay in the air as your hair paints your face, you’re loving every second.

“That y'girl?” He shouts near Michael's ear.

Michael snaps his head at him & nods like he’s proud to say yes.

“Yeah, that’s my girl. Beautiful ain’t she?” He practically says to himself, his voice high and sweet. His half-lidded drunken eyes stay glued on you.

The man throws him a small nod of approval, a playful smirk on his face.

“Damn right she is. Treat her right, man. In both ways if y’know what I mean.” He laughs, nudging him.

Michael lets his words hang in the air for a few seconds before laughing back, not quite sure why he’s laughing. Deep down, he wants you so damn bad. He craves you, he hates that he can’t have you yet. He feels embarrassed that he can’t provide that side of intimacy to his girl as a man. But god, if he could, he knew that embarrassment would vanish in no time.

Before Michael could fully respond, the man was strutting away, yelling at someone else. What he said made something shift in his brain, giving him a surge of confidence. How can he sit away from something so beautiful? He tips the last drops of his drink down his throat before placing it on the bar table with a clank. You see him walk over to you on the dance floor with an anticipative yet hungry look on his face. Your face lights up in surprise as he gets closer, doing a reeling motion with your hands. He chuckles from slight embarrassment.

As soon as he reaches you he places his hands on the small of your waist, rubbing absentmindedly. He looks at you like you’re the only girl in his world, like you’re a gift from God. He leans down towards your ear, moving the hair away,

“I missed you.” He whispers hoarsely, you can smell the alcohol on his hot breath.

You feel heat pool to your cheeks, a small smile creeping up the edges of your glossy lips.

“I missed you too, finally decided to come over huh?”

You place your hands on his shoulders as you push yourself up to pepper a kiss on his cheek. The second your lips were about to touch his face, he turns his head to meet you in the middle for a messy kiss, stealing the air from your lungs. His breath hitches immediately, his brows furrowing as he pushes his body flush against yours, his hands growing tighter as they grab the fat of your hips.

He wastes no time in opening his mouth & wrapping his tongue around yours. His chest heaves as he tilts his head to the side, making an impossible attempt to deepen the kiss & get closer. You were caught off guard by his forwardness, he never usually initiated makeouts first, it was always you. You weren’t complaining though. You’d been waiting months for this energy, & now that is was finally here you were practically buzzing.

You sling your arms over his shoulders, connecting your hands around the back of his neck as you kiss him back with the same amount of desperation. The tips of your fingers play with his curls at the nape of his neck as you hum pleasantly on his lips.

You feel Michael’s breaths fall shallow, panting in your mouth as the same feeling he’d usually try to avoid starts to crescendo inside of him. That’s when you feel something hard poking on your thigh, you knew it was him.

You break the kiss breathlessly, a thin glistening line of your mixed salvia snapping.

“Michael—“ you mumble. You look down between his legs.

The sight before you has you frozen. His bulge swells beneath his brown courdroy pants as if it wants to escape, almost looking painful. His chest continues to rise & fall as he looks down, instinctively covering it with one hand.

“M’ sorry, just want you so bad. I don’t know why I feel like this tonight,” he says sloppily, his lips puffy & wet.

He can barely stand on two feet, constantly swaying from side to side. You giggle as you put your hands on his chest to steady him, the little circles you trace making him swallow. His eyes are glassy under the light, laced with this lust & neediness that you secretly love. You wanted to put him out of his misery so badly — but he’d never let you.

“How much did you drink tonight?” You tease, your voice as sweet as candy.

“A lot, I think.”

Your hands make your way to the top button of his shirt, attempting to undo it. His hand flies to yours to stop it.

“What are you doin'?” He giggles.

“Relax baby, It’s just so hot in here, are you not burning up in this?” you say smoothly.

You knew that wasn’t the only reason. You just wanted to loosen him up, step by step. He lets his hand down as he watches you undo his top button, then the second, then the third. His exposed chest glows under the fluorescent lights, deep & rich in color.

You run a hand along his bare skin, looking at him for any sign of discomfort. You don’t find any, for once he doesn’t look that nervous at all. His hands find your hips again, pulling you in against his frame as he gnaws on his bottom lip. He leans forward towards your neck, drawing in a deep inhale through his nose. Your sweet feminine scent drives him crazy. The way his warm breath gently grazes your neck gives you goosebumps. You squeeze your thighs as you feel your cunt start to pulsate.

“Do you always smell this lovely?” He whispers against you as he continues smelling your neck area like a feline.

“Baby, what’s gotten into you?” You chuckle.

You just stand there, letting him smother himself all over you. If you’re being honest, his sudden wave of confidence threw you off guard, now you’re the one all nervous.

You gently slide one of your hands in between your glued bodies, making your way to his thighs. Your other hand on his lower back. You caress one gently, the sensation immediately making him wince. He flutters his eyes shut as he leans forward to press his lips against yours, not knowing what to do with himself.

You both end up deepening the kiss, the sides of your mouth growing wet. He whimpers your name into your lips as if he’s physically struggling to contain something. He pulls away a mere inch just enough to murmur,

“God help me.”

You feel him lightly grab your hand, moving it lower & lower until it reaches his bulge. Your eyes shot up at him, twinkling with mischief. That’s the last thing you expected him to do.

His forehead falls onto yours as he presses your palm against his cock, rewarding a low & relieving groan from his throat. He feels like rock in your grasp, making you salivate. Thank god you’re practically in the dark. You can feel his entire shaft as if there's no material on it, that's how erect he is. You give it a singular stroke from bottom to top, causing his mouth to fall agape.

“Mikey—“

“Let’s go home, I’ll call a cab” he plants a kiss on your collarbone, then on your lips, “Please.”

This is the first time Michael’s ever made a move like that. That was the first time you’d ever felt him down there, your heart skipped a beat the second you touched it. You’ve dreamt of that moment for months, him being all needy for your touch.

Michael called a cab the second you agreed to leave, rushing outside as he held your hand tight. You didn't even get a chance to say goodbye to anyone, his first priority was to get you home.

You gave the cab driver a hard time when you got in. You were all over each other on the ride home. You were both already spent, breathless & hot as you rammed your tongues down each other's throats, occasionally missing due to the darkness of the backseat. You could tell Michael was still trying to keep things safe, only making out with you. Not touching your 'lady parts' or anything, as he would call them. His hands would tremble as he held your shoulders tight, pushing his face into yours. You slide your hands under his flannel shirt, running your hands over his taut n’ clammy abdomen.

Kissing was the only thing he knew, the only thing he could do without feeling sinful. So it makes sense why his kisses feel so heated & desperate, his body needs more, yet it’s like he’s only restricted himself for kissing.

The red light at the junction illuminates the back seat, temporarily revealing your faces to each other. Michael looks down at your chest, your breasts almost falling out of your skimpy little top. He gently touches your necklace hanging above your cleavage, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"So beautiful, you're heaven-sent." He says, his voice cracking from being unused for the past 20 minutes of straight kissing.

When the taxi finally pulled up outside the house, Michael was already reaching for the door handle before the engine had fully settled. He shot a look at you, his face full of nerves & anticipation. You couldn’t help the smile that crept up on your face.

“Thank you,” you tell the driver. Michael was already out the car in a hurry, waiting on you.

Neither of you said anything as you scurried onto the front porch, desperate to be alone together. Michael drops the keys as he tries to get the lock open as soon as possible.

You didn’t quite know what it was Michael was rushing for, you had an idea, yet it seemed completely unrealistic given his morals.

Finally, he manages to get the front door open, ushering you in first before shutting it behind him with a slam.

He places the keys on the console table, turning to you. He burries his face into your neck, his hands running down your thighs. You laugh breathlessly, looking down at the floor.

“You’re gonna have to tell me to stop cus’ I can’t keep my hands off you, I’m sorry.” Michael cooes, his pants feeling tighter around his crotch again.

Telling him to stop was the last thing on your mind, that would be absurd. You look up at him through your lashes, puckering your lips a little, toying with him.

“I like it,” you whisper.

You plant a kiss on the sweet spot of his neck. His scent is warm & alluring, notes of fresh soap, vanilla, & a night out. You twist your head more, opening your mouth as you let your tongue glide wetly against his supple skin.

He’s never been kissed on the neck by you before, so the feeling immediately makes him freeze & contract, his eyes threatening to roll back to his head.

“Oh my—“ He whimpers.

He pulls away before you can get into it, grabbing your both your hands.

“Come upstairs with me.” He asks you, his words slurred as he starts to pull you towards the stairs.

You both make it to your bedroom, but it’s pitch black. You hear Michael click the door shut. Neither of you say anything for a second, the tension is thick in the air. You feel your cunt start to dampen due to the anticipation.

You stumble across the floor towards where you think your bedside lamp would be, you find it & flip the switch. The lamp casts a dim amber atmosphere. As soon as Michael sees where you are, he walks towards you, guiding you to the bed by your waist.

He plops himself down on the mattress, keeping his hands on you firmly. You stand between his open legs as you stroke his head, he looked so cute like this. His big brown eyes stay fixed on yours, never faltering. He moves his hands higher up your waist so they’re sitting a little below your breasts.

“What is it you want, Mikey?” You say just below a whisper, tilting your head.

“I want you.”

His voice is laced with confusion, like he feels ashamed to even admit such an obvious thing. He can’t help his boyish urges, it’s only biological & one can only take so much before it cracks.

His hands travel to the bottom of your shirt, lifting it up to reveal your bare stomach. He plays with your belly button piercing first, giving it a little kiss. He continues to drag his face along your skin, his breath hitching as he peppers kisses at the same time, his lips felt burning hot against you.

You drop your head back slightly at the feeling, muttering his name as your hands stay in his hair.

He leans away, starting to pull up your shirt slow & steady. He looks at you as if to earn your approval. You hum in agreement as you help him lift your shirt off, leaving you in your white laced bra, your t-shirt forgotten on the floor.

Michael gawks at your plumpy breasts, his eyes darting back & fourth from them to your face, as if he can’t believe you’re real. The fit was a little too small for you, so the tops were on the verge of falling out which didn’t help him.

You reach around as you begin to unclasp your bra, startling him.

He looked like a deer in headlights, about to freak out or something. You place one hand on his cheek, stroking him with your thumb.

“You wanna see them?” You ask, your voice wooing him deeper.

Michael nods slowly, looking a little ashamed. He can’t even utter the courage to physically say yes, like if he does he’d be struck down.

You return your hand to your clasp, undoing it completely. Your full, perky breasts fall free once the material falls, sitting neatly in-front of his face while your nipples stiffen up from your arousal.

Michael’s gawks at them, his lips slightly parted. He didn’t know what to do with this sweet piece of ass in front of him, he couldn’t handle it. He’s never seen a naked woman in front of him before. Sure, he’d seen them when he’d flip through Playboy magazines in secret before he met you, but never in person. He’d always feel guilty for simply looking, or for the way his cock would twitch.

“They’re so pretty.”

“Thank you, honey. You can feel them if you want.” You reply.

You take his hands, pulling them up & placing them on your breasts. You let his hands go, allowing him to get used to the feeling. He wastes no time in rubbing & squeezing them, his pupils blown out as he looks at you, completely enamoured.

You watch him come undone every second that passes, his body becoming less stiff, more fluid & relaxed. Finally, his mental restraint snaps. He holds one in his hand as he leans forward, latching his mouth onto your right nipple with a warm, gentle pull & a swirl of his tongue. The sudden shock of pleasure draws a breath from your lungs, making your thighs clench.

“Oh my god Michael—“

His other hand reaches up, rolling your hard nub between his fingers in time with each wet pull of his mouth. He continues this for a few minutes, completely fine with doing it for hours.

He releases you from his mouth with a wet pop as you push him back onto the mattress. His belt buckle rattles as you fiddle to get it open. You manage to slide it off in one motion, throwing it behind you. You undo his button next, inching him to lift his hips up so you can remove his pants.

Michael grows impatient as he scurries to help you push them down to his thighs until you take over & pull them off completely. You feel your mouth start to salivate at the sight of his cock standing tall under his white boxers, the outline & shape clear as day.

Honestly, you didn’t expect him to look as big as he does. You wonder how it will even fit inside of you. The way it swells makes you pout, feeling even more obliged to put him out of his misery by milking him dry.

“You sure you wanna do this baby? We can stop y’know.” You reassure him, running your hands up his prickly thighs.

“Please, I don’t care anymore. I need you, God I need you. It hurts to say no to you.” He practically whimpers the words, dragging a hand over one of your breasts.

You automatically bite your lip at his desperation, moving your hands to the bottom of his shirt, lifting it over his head.

You grab the waistband of his boxers & start pulling them down slowly, his shaft revealing itself more & more the farther down they get. His cock springs free as soon as you get them completely off, slick pre-cum already pooling at the top of his head.

His cock was visibly perfect, his tip a deep mauve tone. Long veins were raised beneath the delicate skin, gently pulsating.

You feel Michael’s hand wrap around your hair, grabbing gently as he anticipates your mouth.

“Please, please—“ he begs.

You wrap your hand around the shaft, giving his tip a small kitten lick, lapping up his juices. The saltiness of his fluids made you hum, the vibrations sending him over the edge.

His body contracts the second your tongue touches him, lengthy groans ripping from his throat as he struggles to stay tame. One of his hands grips the sheets, his knuckles turning white as the other remains tangled in your hair.

You begin lowering your head, attempting to take him all in one go. Your nose grazes his pubic hair, his size causing soft gags to erupt from your throat.

“Ah—y-yes!” He cries, his eyes gradually making their way to the back of his head.

You couldn’t imagine how Michael must’ve been feeling right now, containing all that horniness for months only to get his cock sucked in the most vulgar way possible for the first time.

Trails of your saliva run down the sides of your mouth as you begin bobbing your head with a steady rhythm. You yourself were drunk, so keeping a rhythm & not sucking messily felt hard.

Michael’s hand guides your head up & down as if it has a mind of its own, not aware what he’s doing. He was too far gone, he’s entire body stiffened up from the intense pleasure you were giving him.

He opens his eyes as he rises his head up, looking at you worryingly.

“I feel something happening,” he warns as his abs start to clench. “If you stop now, it won’t count, right?” He barely manages to get the sentence out, his voice cracking.

You release him from your mouth with a pop, stroking him absentmindedly. You chuckle to yourself, he really thinks if you stop before he cums, this sinful act won’t count.

“It’s okay to want want me, Michael” You mewl.

He throws his head back on the sheets, accepting his defeat. His body still twitching as you stroke him.

You stand on your feet as you start to unbutton your jeans, sliding them down & off your feet. He sits up, sliding his hands across the hem of your lace panties before slowly pulling them down, watching the way your pussy reveals itself to him in awe.

Before you could do anything else, Michael presses his face into your glossy folds, holding your ass in place so you don’t fall.

A pornographic moan spills from your lips as you tip your head back, followed by your eyes. He moves his head down for a better angle, lapping & sucking up all your juices. His tongue swirls around your entrance, hitting your clit occasionally making you wince.

“More, please more—“

He flips you around onto the bed, immediately diving between your legs to continue feeding off you. You keep your legs open for him as he holds the backs, pushing them forward. He flattens his tongue against the bottom of your slit, dragging it all the way up with a groan. He continues doing that a few times for his own gain, sending you over the edge.

You pinch your eyes shut as you start to feel your thighs clench around nothing, a familiar sensation starting to grow in your lower belly.

“You’re gonna make me come if you don’t stop.” You moan out.

If anything, he speeds up. You tug at the sheets while the messy slurps from his drunken mouth bring you closer. Your breathing falls shallow, paired with little whimpers as the feeling grows stronger until it finally takes over you.

“Right there, y-yes, coming!”

Black spots cloud your vision, your thighs trembling in his grasp as the cord in your belly snaps. You’ve never came so hard in your life, it was almost painful.

Michael crawls on top of you like a cat as he brings you in for another kiss, addicted to your lips alone. You hold his face, his hands braced next to your head. You exhale as you feel his cock tap against your pussy, wanting to enter.

Michael moves himself up & down, his tip sliding against your slit beautifully. Both of you being so so wet makes the sliding easy, almost slipping in every now & then.

“Want it so bad, ma. Please say yes.” He whispers in your ear, his head resting on your shoulder as he continues dragging it along your slit.

“Take it baby, t’s all yours.”

You push his ass, slowly crowning his tip inside you. A bittersweet sting forms as he plunges himself deeper inside, every inch forcing a moan out of the both of you. You sling your hands around his shoulders, keeping your legs open as wide as possible in hopes he’ll fit completely.

“So—tight, God.” He breathes out, pushing the last inches inside.

Once he’s fully in, he’s already panting, the feeling of your warmth wrapped around him making him weak. He takes a minute to get used to the feeling before starting to move. A few seconds pass & he starts moving, dragging his cock fully out before plunging back in.

Your breasts move beneath him with each gentle thrust, making him latch mouth onto one momentarily, greedy to have every part of you at once. His cock hits your g-spot perfectly with precision every second, you honestly felt like you could cum at any moment if you let yourself.

It doesn’t take much longer before he’s speeding up, the slick plaps of skin meeting skin starting to creep up the harder he goes. A sweet, foamy ring of white starts to form around the base of his cock with each thrust.

Michael would rather keep his eyes open to look at your pretty little face, yet he finds it very hard. His eyes are pressed shut, trying to hide from the sinful reality. His face dug into your neck as he mumbles gibberish to himself, completely pussy whipped.

“Feels—good Mikey, you feel so fucking good.” You say, your voice jumping from his searing thrusts.

You feel his tongue graze your neck as his mouth opens, attempting to respond but to no avail.

He continues snapping his hips into you, his pelvis hitting your clit perfectly every-time. Not one second goes by where you don’t feel pleasure, it’s trapping you.

You feel him swell larger inside of you, knowing he must be close. He lifts himself up, holding your hips to push himself into you impossibly deeper.

“Fuck! Right there!” You cry out, the head of his cock abusing your sweet spot even more than before.

“I feel it, It’s coming,” He pants, his eyes practically watering as they stare at you for support.

You reach down to try & grab him, forgetting you weren’t wearing any protection.

“You have to pull out baby, can’t come inside.”

There’s no sense of urgency in your voice, you were too consumed & wrapped up in the feeling he was giving you. Part of you didn’t even care, all you knew was now.

Michael’s thrusts start to become sloppy & erratic, his release only seconds away as his body begins to stiffen up, his thighs shaking.

The sudden change in his thrusts caused you to cum again suddenly. Your walls strangle him as you cry into your hand. The neighbours never entered your mind once.

The tightness of your unexpected orgasm catches him off guard, tipping him over the edge.

“Fuck, m’ sorry, I’m sorry—“

His hips snap into you one last time before he freezes, his warm seed spilling inside of you, painting your walls. His body falls limp as he flops down onto your chest, drawing out a long singular strangled moan into your cleavage, followed by little high pitch whimpers. The sensation of him filling you up makes you whine, definitely one of your guilty pleasures.

After a few minutes of breaths being caught, he lifts his hips, pulling his flaccid length out of you. His thick white release drips out instantly, pooling between your ass. You watch the colour drain out of his face as he stares between your legs. He reaches forward, rubbing the fluid between his fingers.

“How do you feel about being a daddy?"

a/n: can you guys tell i've been in heat this week?

— side note, this fic idea is not meant to take advantage of, or exploit michael’s personal beliefs/religion

Silence. Just the heavy, frantic sound of his breathing. Then a broken, self-deprecating laugh. "Yeah. M'sorry. Can’t stop. Not when it’s you."​

Your breath stutters, a prickle of heat blooming low in your belly. "You’re getting off to me? On the damn phone?"

​"Every time," he admits, his voice rough and needy, but with a sudden edge of raw honesty. He wants you to know. He wants you to feel the weight of it. "Think about you all the time. That mouth. Those tits. The way your ass looks in those shorts." His pace picks up, the slick, lewd sounds of his hand working his dick filling the line. "Fuck, I’d do anything to see you ride me, just once. Just to see what that look on your face is like when I’m deep inside you."

​You bite your lip, your pulse kicking against your throat. "That’s disgusting. Using my voice to get your nut. You’re nasty."​

He groans like you’ve just blessed him with a touch. "Yeah, I know. But you're all I think about... you’re the only thing that gets me this hard."​

"That's nice, honey. But you really shouldn't think of me like that... you know we're just friends," you murmur, your own hand sliding down to rest heavy on your thigh, the silk of your shorts cool against your palm.​

"Don’t say that." His tone cuts sharp now, all the nice playfulness you've come to love is gone. "I’m not your fucking friend. You call me every day. You tell me you love me. I told you from the start—I’m not your friend." His breath hitches, the wet sounds of his fist speeding up, becoming more frantic. "You let me talk to you like this. And you let me—You let me be in your life knowing how I feel about you."​

Your acrylic nail drags slow across your bottom lip. "Maybe. But I can't give you what you want, and I do love you, but don't throw it in my face," you drawl, a cruel, satisfied smirk pulling at your mouth.

"It’s kinda sad. Stroking your dick to a girl you’ll never have. We'll never be together. I’ll never let you fuck me. All you get is your hand."

​He chokes out a moan, his hips snapping up into his fist with a raw, mechanical rhythm. "Yeah? Then give me something else. Show me. Facetime me, ma. Please."​

You hesitate, the heat pooling heavy and agonizing between your thighs. Then, you click over.​

The screen flickers to life. His camera is shaking, his breath filling the dark room. Sweat beads at his temples, his face flushed a deep, beautiful bronze, his lips parted. You know that tremor in the camera—it’s the force of his fist moving fast.​

"Thank you," he exhales, the word almost reverent as he takes in your appearance.

​"Hi, baby. Let me see your face," you don't ask it like a question. You order it.​

He obeys instantly. His face fills the screen, his jaw tight and corded, his sharp fade a bit messy from the heat and the friction.

​"You look good," you compliment, but the little laugh that follows makes it sting.

​"Keep talking." He’s close, you can hear the strain in his voice. "Don't stop."​

"I want to see."​

He blinks, his eyes glazed and dark. "What?"

​"I'm not repeating myself."

​He lets out a breathless, desperate laugh, knowing your patience is thin. "Take your shirt off then. Let me see what I'm working for."​

You narrow your eyes at the audacity, but you reach down and tug the pajama top off anyway. Your lace bra catches the light, the fabric straining against the fullness of your breasts. You don’t cover yourself; he’s seen you in less, and you want him to see exactly what he’s missing.

​"Fuck," he groans, a sound of pure, unadulterated pain. He flips the camera.​

Your breath catches. Your mouth goes dry. His dick is a complete mess—his fist is working tight and fast, the dark, veined length of him glistening with pre-cum. White streaks of cum are already dried tacky over his thighs from previous rounds, and his stomach is flexing with every pull. His abs are glistening, his skin slick with sweat. His thumb smears a fresh bead of precum over the flushed, velvet head until it gleams, dripping onto his knuckles.

​You bite your lip hard, heat twisting through your belly, your shorts already sticking damp between your thighs.

​His moan rips through the line, a guttural, animal sound.​

You whisper his name, your voice low, trembling, and possessive. "... I really want you in my mouth."​

His head snaps back against the pillow, a broken curse ripped from his lungs. "If I had you here? I’d fuck that throat till you cried. Till you gagged around me and begged for air. I’d hold your head and make you take every fucking inch."​

You hum, a low, taunting vibration. "You’re not tough enough for that."​

That pulls a dark, dangerous laugh from him. His hand works faster, the veins straining down his forearm. "Say that shit again. I’d hold your face down and shove my dick so deep you’ll feel me in your chest. I’ll make you swallow every drop."

​Your thighs squeeze together, wetness soaking through the crotch of your shorts. "All talk. You’d fold the second it touched my tongue."​

He groans, deep and pained. "God, you drive me fucking insane." His breath stutters, then—"Take your bra off for me. Now."

​You tilt your head, slow and teasing. "You want a show?"​

"Take it off." His voice is rough, a plea threaded with a hard command.

​You hook your fingers into the lace, slipping it down your shoulders, letting it fall. Your breasts sit full and heavy in the camera’s glow, your nipples tight and peaked in the cool air.​

He chokes on his own breath. "God, look at you. Perfect. Fucking perfect."​

Your fingers lift, tugging lightly at one nipple, rolling it between your fingers. "Like this, baby?"​

His hand drags hard down his dick, the slick sound of it filling your ears. "Yeah—play with them for me. Pinch ‘em. Roll ‘em." His eyes roll back for a second, his mouth slack. "Fuck—I wanna cum all over those tits. Paint you, watch it drip down your stomach. You’d look so good messy with my cum."​

You coo, your voice dirty and soft. "Yeah, baby? You wanna ruin me like that? Wanna cover me ‘cause I’m yours?" You pinch harder, moaning low. "Mmh, I’d let you do it however you want."​

His hips jerk up into his fist, his cock flushed dark, thick, and veined. The head is shiny with slick, and your eyes stay locked on it, transfixed by the weight of him in his palm.​

You whisper, almost reverent. "I can’t stop watching your hands. They're so big and veiny. So strong. You're twitching in your grip—look at you, baby. All that for me."

​He groans raggedly, his fist slapping wetly down the length of his shaft. "All for you. Always for you." His voice cracks, desperate. "Squeeze 'em, touch your tits harder. Let me see you play with those pretty nipples."

​You squeeze your breast, pinch your nipple harder, tugging it until you gasp, your eyes locked on his fist pumping. The sound of it—wet, obscene, skin slapping skin—is the only thing in the world.​

"Fuck," he grits out, his voice frayed. "I’d drag you down and smear every drop over you. I wanna fill you up."

​You laugh softly, mean but sweet. "Yeah? You’d mark me up? Cover me so everybody knows this pussy’s yours? Even though you’ll never get to fuck it?"​

He groans, almost breaking under the weight of the tease. "Stop—don’t say that. I’d fuck you stupid, ma. I’d split you open. Make you cry for me."​

You hum, stroking your breast with slow, deliberate circles. "I bet you would. But right now? All you’ve got is your hand. And me watching."​

His grip tightens, his strokes becoming rough and fast. His stomach flexes, his breath tearing ragged from his chest. You lean close to the screen, your voice low and syrup-thick.​

"Cum for me, baby."​

He moans, a high, guttural sound.​

"Yeah," you coax, squeeze your breast, shifting them again, "make a mess for me. Let me see you shoot it all over yourself. Come on. Show me how much you want me."​

"Fuck—" His hips stutter up into his fist. Precum spills slick down his shaft, his knuckles shiny and wet.

​"Begging you, sweetheart," you whisper, cruel and filthy. "Paint yourself for me. Cover that stomach, those big hands—show me what I do to you."​

He chokes, his eyes squeezing shut, his jaw locked tight as his body begins to coil for the release. "M’close—oh fuck, I’m gonna—"​

"Do it," you purr, sharp and commanding. "Cum for me, baby. Now."

​His whole body jerks. A shout rips from his throat, raw and primal, as thick, hot ropes of cum spill over his hand, his chest, dripping down his stomach in heavy white streaks. He pumps through the release, groaning brokenly, the cum splattering messy and hot across his skin.

​You sigh, watching the way it looks against his skin, your voice turning sweet again. "That’s it. Good boy. Look at that dick, dripping for me. You made such a mess."

​He’s panting, ruined, his hand still twitching around his softening length. "Fuck... fuck, I love you."

​You tilt the camera, watching him still sprawled—sweat dripping, stomach streaked with cum, hand twitching.

​"Mmh," you hum, soft and wicked, "look what you did, baby. Got me all wet."

​His head snaps up, eyes heavy but blazing. "Show me."

​You smirk, slipping your hand under the waistband of your shorts, dragging the damp fabric aside. Glossy, honey-thick strings pull as you spread yourself open, the phone angled just enough to flash him a glimpse of your soaking wet center. "See that? All for you."

​He groans, his chest heaving. "Touch it for me. Play with yourself—please, ma."​

Your laugh is low and cruel. "Not a chance. You already got your show."​

His jaw tightens, his voice rough. "Don't play with me. You don't let me watch, I'll make you beg next time. I'll make you sorry."​

You lean close to the screen, your smirk sharp and triumphant. "Try me. You don't scare me, baby. I said no."​

His fist curls against his stomach, frustration pouring through the camera. "Then... at least—fuck—at least let me listen. Please. Let me hear it."

​You bite your lip, dragging your fingers slow through your slickness, making yourself whimper. "You’re nasty."

​"Yeah," he rasps, desperate. "For you. Only for you."​

You sigh, soft and sweet, pressing two fingers against your clit until your hips twitch. "Fine. You can listen. But that’s it. Just your ears."

​Your moans slip out, low and syrupy, filling the line. His breath shudders at the sound, ruined but hungry again. Your fingers circle your clit, the wet, squelching sounds of your own pleasure bleeding into the line. You bite your lip, letting a whimper slip, knowing he’s eating every sound alive.​

"That’s it," he rasps, his voice still raw from cumming. "Rub that pretty pussy for me. God, I wanna be there so bad—wanna hold your thighs open and eat you till you’re crying."​

Your head tips back, your breath shaky. "Mghn—You talk so nasty, baby."​

"You don’t even know," he grits out. "I’d spread you out and pound that pussy till you scream. I’d fuck you till you smell like me. I'd never let you leave the bed."​

A moan rips out of you, high and breathless. Your fingers circle faster, your hips rolling up off the bed as the tension coils.

​"You like that?" he groans. "Knowing how bad I want you? Tell me you’ll give it up one day. Tell me I’ll get to fuck you for real."​

Your laugh cuts sharp and shaky. "N-No, baby. You’ll never have me like that."​

He curses, a guttural sound of frustration. "Fuck. You’re killing me, ma."​

Your moans rise, sharper now, your body coiling tight. "Keep talking. Don't stop."

​He obeys, his voice a low, gravelly anchor. "I’d hold your hips down. Spit in your mouth while I fuck you raw. Fill you up and make you go for hours."​

That does it—your back arches, your thighs clenching tight as your orgasm rips through you. A sharp cry tears from your throat, your fingers working frantically over your clit as waves of pleasure slam through your body. You gasp his name, shuddering and trembling, your juices dripping messy against your hand.​

He groans raggedly, listening to the sound of your break like it’s gospel. "That’s it—fuck, that’s it. Cum for me. Good girl. Good fucking girl."​

You collapse back, chest heaving, sweat dampening your skin. You let out a low, satisfied hum. "Oh, shit... see what you did? You made me cum, handsome."

​His breath hitches on the other end, broken and reverent. "...I’d do anything to see that."​

Your breathing slows, your chest still rising and falling heavy. Your fingers slip from your soaked folds, leaving a wet sheen on your thighs. The line is quiet except for the sound of you both catching your breath.

He’s the first to break it, his voice ragged. "Man... I swear, one day—"​

You cut him off with a sweet, dismissive little laugh, curling back into your pillow and pulling the covers up. "Shh. Don’t start again."

​The silence stretches, thick and heavy with the things he wants to say. You can feel the ache in his voice, how close he is to spilling confessions you aren't ready to hear. So you give him something else. Something cruel, but honest.​

"Thank you," you murmur, soft and sweet. Almost tender. "I love you so much, baby."​

The phone goes quiet. You can picture him—eyes wide, lips parted, his heart clenching around those words. You know exactly what you’ve done to him.​

You smile to yourself, curling the blanket over your bare chest. "Good night."​

And you hang up before he can even find his voice to answer.

★𝑷𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝑺𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝑪𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒔 𝒃𝒚 𝑹𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈★

Dividers by @sweetparty

you bounced evelyn gently as you walked into the living room, mourning soothing words into her small head of hair. the tv was on in the background, providing some noise to keep you from feeling completely isolated in this quiet house.

you sank into the plush beige sofa, adjusting your position to support evelyn’s head. the rhythmic drone of the entertainment news was the only other sound in the room besides your daughters soft breathing.

you rubbed your tired eyes with your free hand, feeling the weight of the last few weeks pressing down on your shoulders.

the news ticker scrolled across the bottom of the screen, but your mind was too focused on getting evelyn to finally drift off to pay it any attention. you hummed a quiet melody, one of michael’s songs actually, gently patting her back. just as her eyelids began to flutter shut, the anchorman’s tone shifted dramatically, cutting into the entertainment segment.

“michael jackson spotted getting cozy with a mystery woman at an LA club!” the headline flashed on the screen, and a photo appeared showing michael in a dark club, his arms around some beautiful woman who was definitely not you.

your heart stopped for a moment, your arms tightening protectively around evelyn.

the camera zoomed in on the grainy photo—michael’s face was unmistakable, that signature curly hair, those sharp cheekbones, his lips pressed against the strangers in what looked like a passionate kiss. the woman was stunning, blonde and wearing a red dress that hugged every curve. your stomach dropped, a cold emptiness spreading through your chest as the reporter continued talking.

“—the relationship drama brewing behind the scenes of the bad tour. security footage shows jackson sneaking out of the stage door around 2am. fans are devastated, but jackson’s reps claim this is just a close friend…”

your vision blurred as evelyn started fussing again, sensing the shift in your energy. the remote slipped from your numb fingers, hitting the floor with a thud.

you stared at the tv, disbelief and hurt warring in your mind. evelyn’s cries grew louder, pulling you back to reality. you rocked her frantically, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you tried to soothe her and yourself. “shh, baby…shh…”

you managed to quiet evelyn down and settled her in her bassinet, her tiny chest rising and falling as she finally drifted off to sleep. the quiet of the house pressed in on you now, the silence deafening. you walked back to the living room on unsteady legs, your eyes glued to the tv screen even though they’d moved on to the next story.

your hands trembled as you picked up the remote, your thumb pressing the button to rewind the news segment. you couldn’t stop watching that photo—michael’s face, his smile, his arms around that woman, his lips on hers. the denial that started in your gut slowly turned to ash as you replayed the footage over and over.

tears finally spilled over, streaming down your cheeks silently. you pressed a hand over your mouth to muffle your sobs, not wanting to wake evelyn.

how could he do this when you were home alone with his baby?

anger started to mix with the hurt, burning in your chest.

you grabbed your phone with shaking hands, your first instinct to call him and demand an explanation. but then you saw the time—it was 3am in LA. he was probably sleeping, or worse, out with her. the thought made you feel sick.

you set the phone down, your jaw clenching. you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing you cry over the phone. not when he was out there living his best life while you were drowning in diapers and sleepless nights.

your stomach growled, reminding you that you hadn’t eaten all day. but the thought of food made you nauseous.

the hours ticked by slowly as you sat there in the dark, the only sound being the soft hum of the tv. you couldn’t stop staring at that photo, your mind racing with questions and accusations. when dawn finally broke, you were a mess—red eyes, pale face, unbrushed hair.

you heard evelyn stirring in her bassinet and mechanically got up to check on her. she was awake and hungry, her tiny mouth sucking on her fist. you changed her diaper and sat down to feed her, your eyes still welling up with tears every time you looked at her perfect little face.

the days blurred together after that. you told no one—not your family, not your friends. you couldn’t bare the thought of them seeing you as pathetic for staying with a man who clearly didn’t value you. even though you were emotionally exhausted and drained, you still fed evelyn, changed her, sang to her, all while feeling completely hollow inside.

you didn’t eat much, just forced down crackers and water when your body demanded it.

every morning, you’d wake up and immediately check the entertainment news, dreading what you might find out. there were more photos of michael out partying, sometimes with different women but always looking carefree and happy. it was like he didn’t care if you saw these photos, like he was doing it on purpose.

two weeks passed like this—a lonely, miserable existence revolving around evelyn’s needs. you barely recognised yourself in the mirror—pale skin, dark circles, lifeless eyes. but you kept going for her sake. she was innocent in all this, dependant on you completely.

then, one evening, the front door opened. it was michael, standing in the doorway with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and that dimpled smile you once found so charming. “baby, i’m home!” he announced cheerfully, stepping inside without waiting for your response.

your body went rigid. evelyn was in her bassinet, cooing softly.

“god, i missed you so much.” he breathed into your neck, holding you tightly. “i missed my girls.” he pulled back, looking at you with those mesmerising eyes. “you look tired, baby.” he frowned slightly, noticing the changes in your appearance. “have you been eating enough?”

you couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. all the pain and anger from the past two weeks boiled over, but you kept it inside. evelyn started to fuss, saving you from having to respond. michael went to her, picking her up and nuzzling her cheeks. “my little angel,”

“daddy missed you,” he cooed, bouncing her gently, his face lighting up with pure adoration. the contrast was sickening—this loving father who had abandoned his family for two weeks to party with strangers. you stood frozen in the middle of the living room, watching him play the doting dad while your heart shattered all over again.

“come here, baby.” he looked at you over evelyn’s head, his smile softening. “come give me a kiss.” he moved towards you, expecting you to melt into him like before. but you stepped back instinctively, your arms wrapping protectively around your waist.

the smile faltered on michael’s face, confusion flickering in his eyes. he stopped, his brow furrowing. “baby? what’s wrong?” he adjusted evelyn in his arms, stepping forward again, completely oblivious to the storm raging inside you. “i’m home…aren’t you happy to see me?”

a bitter, broken laugh escaped your throat before you could stop it. “happy?” you whispered, the word tasting like ash. you turned away, walking to the tv stand and picking up the stack of tabloids you’d hidden there. you threw them onto the coffee table; the glossy covers stared back—photos of michael with different women, smiling, laughing, partying, cheating.

michaels expression turned to shock as he looked down at the magazines, then back up at you. evelyn whimpered softly, sensing the tension. his jaw tightened, and for a moment he just stood there, silent. then he sat evelyn down gently in her bassinet before turning to face you fully.

“baby, i can explain,” he started, his voice wavering slightly. he reached out towards you, but you stepped back again, your eyes blazing with hurt and fury. “explain what, michael? that you couldn’t keep your hands off every woman in LA while i was home alone with our daughter?” your voice cracked on the last word, tears spilling freely now.

“it wasn’t like that…” he pleaded, his hands raising defensively. “i was working! the tour—it was stressful, i was just…blowing off steam. that’s all it was.” he tried to touch your arm, but you flinched away violently. “blowing off steam?” you screamed, your voice echoing through the quiet house. “you were humiliating me!”

“you left me here with nothing but a newborn and a credit card! and a promise that you’d be home in two weeks! do you know what i went through? do you even care?!” you gestured wildly at evelyn, who was now crying properly, her tiny face screwed up in distress. michael rushed to pick her up, rocking her frantically, whispering soothing words.

“baby, listen, i was an idiot,” he said desperately, bouncing evelyn in his arms. “i got carried away, i didnt think about how it would look…i wasn’t actually sleeping with anyone, i swear.”

lies. all lies.

“i wasn’t actually sleeping with anyone, i swear.” the words hung in the air between you like a bad joke. you stared at him, at the man you once adored, now reduced to pitiful excuses. your gaze drifted to evelyn in his arms, her cries finally calming as she snuggled into her fathers chest, trusting him completely.

“that’s funny. because it sure looked like you were fucking half of hollywood,” you spat, your voice cold and bitter. michael flinches as if he was physically slapped. he opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out. instead, he just stood there, holding evelyn tightly, looking lost and guilty.

the room was silent except for evelyn’s soft babbling as she played with michael’s hair. the contrast between her innocence and the toxic atmosphere was stark. michael’s eyes searched yours desperately, but you just felt numb. no anger, no sadness, just nothing.

“i don’t even know who you are anymore.” your voice was flat, drained of all emotion. michael looked like he’d been punched in the gut, his confident persona crumbling. “i thought you were different. i thought you loved me.” he stepped closer, reaching for your hand. “baby, please—“ you pulled your hand away. “don’t.”

“don’t touch me. don’t call me baby. you lost that privilege when you decided to break my trust and kiss every gold digger in los angeles.” your words were like knives, cutting deep into michael’s already wounded ego. he staggered back slightly, holding evelyn tighter as if seeking comfort from his innocent daughter.

“i’m not staying,” you said clearly, picking up your phone and purse. “i’m going to my moms. i need air. i need space. i need to not look at you for twenty four hours.” you couldn’t breathe in this house anymore, not with him pretending everything was okay. evelyn whimpered, reaching for you. the sound shattered your soul.

as you turned to leave, michael suddenly grabbed your waist from behind, spinning you around. you gasped in surprise, finding yourself trapped against his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist. evelyn cried louder from her bassinet, sensing the sudden tension again. “no,” michael said firmly, his voice low and commanding.

“you’re not leaving,” he stated, his fingers digging into your hips. his breath was hot against your neck as he held you against him. “not like this. we’re not done talking.” you struggled against his grip, your heart racing with fear and anger, but he was too strong. evelyn’s cries grew louder, more frantic.

“shh, baby, it’s okay,” michael murmured soothingly, his forehead pressing against your shoulder as he tried to calm you and the baby down. but his arms remained locked around your waist, preventing you from leaving. evelyn’s screams reaching a piercing peak, breaking your heart and making michael wince.

“let me go, michael!” you hissed trying to wiggle free. your struggle only made him tighten his grip, he wasn’t letting you leave like this. evelyn’s cries reached a shrill pitch, her little face turning red with frustration.

“no,” michael repeated stubbornly. he was not letting you go, not now, not when you were this upset. not when evelyn needed you. he moved his hands to grip your arms, “look at me.”

you glared at him, tears streaming down your face. “i hate you!” you shouted at him, shoving at his chest with all your might. but he didn’t budge, his grip on your arms tightening. evelyn was hysterical now, her tiny fists waving in the air as she wailed for you.

michaels eyes flickered with pain at your words but he didn’t release you. “you don’t mean that,” he whispered, his thumb stroking your arms gently despite him not letting you go. “you love me. you’ve always loved me.”

“did,” you corrected coldly, wrenching one arm free. “past tense, michael.”

“you don’t mean that,” he repeated, his voice breaking slightly. his eyes searched yours desperately, trying to find any sign of the love you once had for him. evelyn’s cries grew weaker, her son’s turning into hiccups as she ran out of breath. “baby, please…”

“don’t ‘baby’ me!” you spat, wiping your tears aggressively. “you ruined everything. you ruined us. you ruined our family!” the words hung heavy in the air. michael froze, his face crumbling. the grip on your remaining arm loosened, his shoulders sagging under the weight of four devastation. in the bassinet, evelyn whimpered softly, exhausted from crying.

for a long moment, michael just stood there, his hand still resting on your arm, not gripping anymore. his jaw worked slightly before finally breaking. “what do you want from me?” he asked hoarsely, his voice barely above a whisper. “tell me what to do to fix this,” tears spilled over his lash line.

“you can’t fix this,” you whispered back, your voice breaking. “actions have consequences, michael. you slept with other women, you destroyed our relationship, and you broke our family.”

your resolve crumbled at the sight of your baby. you gently pulled away from michael, rushing to the bassinet and scooping evelyn into your arms. she immediately calmed in your arms, feeling safe. you rocked her gently, tears streaming down your face as you held your baby close. michael watched you both, his expression raw and broken.

“i’m sorry,” michael whispered, his voice cracking. he took a tentative step towards you both, reaching out to touch evelyn’s tiny hand. “i’ll do anything,” he pleaded, tears streaming down his face now.

“anything isn’t enough,” you said softly, pressing a kiss to evelyn’s forehead while rocking her. you looked at michael, your eyes cold and void of the love that used to reside there. “some things can’t be unfucked, michael. our relationship is one of them.”

“our relationship?” he repeated, horror evident in his voice. “you’re…you’re leaving me? ending this?” he looked at you both—his crying daughter clinging to you, his girlfriend looking at him like he was a stranger. “i can change,” he begged, stepping forward again.

“no, michael. you can’t change. not enough to fix this,” you said firmly, though your voice shook slightly. evelyn looked up at you, her big eyes filled with trust and love. you knew you’d do anything to protect her from the pain her father had caused. “you cheated on me.”

michael flinched like you’d slapped him, his face paling. “i know,” he whispered, looking away. “i know i did.” he ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. “but it didn’t mean anything!” he turned back to you, desperation in his eyes. “you’re my girlfriend.”

“girlfriend?” you repeated, the word tasting bitter on your tongue. you held evelyn closer, turning your back on michael slightly to shield her from the toxic energy. “a girlfriend you cheated on, michael. a girlfriend you humiliated. a girlfriend you betrayed.” your voice cracked, and you had to swallow hard to keep from breaking down completely.

michael was silent, his shoulders slumping in defeat. he knew you were right. he’s screwed up. big time. he watched as you turned away from him, cradling his daughter like she was the only thing that mattered. and maybe she was.

“i love you,” michael said quietly, his voice raw. “i still love you.” he took a shaky breath, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “evelyn…she needs both of us. i need both of you.” he reached out hesitantly, his fingers hovering near your shoulder but not quite touching. “please…”

you exhaled sharply, ignoring his outstretched hand. “love?” you scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping you. “your definition of love seems to include fucking other women.” evelyn stirred in your arms, sensing the tension, her little fingers curling into your shirt. you kissed her head softly, whispering reassurance to her, “she needs stability, michael.”

“i can give her that,” michael insisted, stepping closer despite your coldness. “i’ll be better. i’ll prove it to you both.” his eyes were red and puffy, desperation for redemption. “just give me a chance to fix this.” you looked at him, really looked at him—the man you’d fallen in love with, now broken and pleading.

“no,” you said flatly, the single word cutting through his desperation like glass. “i don’t forgive you.” you adjusted evelyn in your arms, her tiny face peeking at michael—she didn’t understand why her father was crying, why her mother was holding her so tightly. “love isn’t enough when trust is gone, michael. you killed that.”

the reality of your words settled over him—he wasn’t just losing an argument, he was losing his family. “please…” he choked out, sinking onto the sofa, burying his face in his hands. “don’t do this…”

the room was deafeningly quiet, save for michael’s ragged sobbing and evelyn’s soft breathing against your neck. you looked down at your boyfriend, truly seeing him as the man who had shattered your world—not as the king of pop, not as the father of your child, but as a stranger who had betrayed you. you turned away walking toward the door.

“where are you going?” michaels voice was muffled through his hands, but the panic was clear. “don’t leave…” he looked up, his face streaked with tears, eyes bloodshot and pleading.

you paused at the doorway, glancing over your shoulder with a cold expression. “i’m going to my moms,” you stared calmly, as if discussing the weather. “i need some time away from…this.” you gestured vaguely towards michael, your voice dripping with disdain.

michaels heart shrank at your cold tone. he remembered how you used to laugh with him, argue with him, make love with him. now, your voice was like ice—hard and unyielding. “for how long?” he asked hoarsely, already knowing the answer would hurt.

“i don’t know,” you said, your hand on the doorknob. you didn’t look at him. “until i figure out what happens next.” evelyn cooed softly, turning her head to look towards michaels voice, reaching out her tiny fingers instinctively toward her father. michael let out a broken sob. “don’t take her,” he whispered.

“i’m not taking her from you, michael.” you said, finally turning to face him. your eyes were red-rimmed but determined. “she’s my daughter too. but she deserves a mother who isn’t falling apart, and she deserves to grow up in a home without lies and betrayal.” you adjusted evenly carefully in your arms.

michael watched you helplessly as you bent to grab evelyn’s diaper bag, packing it meticulously with her favourite toys, clothes, extra diapers, and bottles of formula. the room was quiet expect for evelyn’s babbling and michael’s silent weeping. as you zipped up the bag, you finally looked at him, tears in your eyes.

“i’ll call you,” you said quietly, though you both knew it was a lie. you walked past him, your shoulder brushing his as you headed for the door. michael reached out, his fingers grazing your arm one last time. “i love you,” he whispered brokenly. you didn’t respond, you just kept walking until the front door clicked shut behind you.

once you strapped evelyn into her car seat, you settled into the drivers seat. the reality of the situation finally hit you. you started to shake uncontrollably, tears streaming down your face.

you broke down completely, sobbing into your hands as you stared at the steering wheel. your chest heaved with grief—for the relationship you thought would last forever, for the trust you’d placed in michael, for the family you were now tearing apart.

you took a deep shuddering breath, trying to compose yourself for your babies sake. she needed you to be strong now. wiping your tears away, you managed a small smile at her through the rear mirror. “it’s okay, baby girl, we’ll see daddy soon.” you started the car and backed out the driveway, looking at the manson one last time in the rear view mirror.

𝒽𝒶𝓎𝓋𝑒𝓃𝒽𝓊𝓇𝓈𝓉 𝓀𝒾𝓉𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓃, 𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓉𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝑒𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑒𝑒

You were trying to be mindful of your body language knowing there was an audience, but you couldn't help but fidget and anxiously spin the spiral phone cord around your fingers. You were in one of your favorite places in the world - one that held warm memories of meals, joy and shared life experiences with your inherited family. Being at Hayvenhurst often made you wish you were an oblivious, innocent kid again running around with your best friend who was patiently standing on the other side of the counter. The space was uncharacteristically empty aside from you both… his head was resting on one of his fists, doe-like eyes on you as he indulged himself in some homemade honey vanilla ice cream. 

You mouthed give me a moment, he nodded in reply. Who knew a simple check-in call could have this much potential to sour your mood on an otherwise very peaceful evening. 

But here you were, an adult woman free to do whatever you pleased, begrudgingly arguing with a man with too much audacity on the other line.

“Carl, seriously?’ You leaned against the wall, sucking your teeth into the receiver wedged between your head and shoulders.

In your opinion, you didn’t understand what was so strange about having a movie night with your childhood best friend. Carl went on and on, matter-of-factly pointing out that your best friend was a celebrity and how it didn’t make sense why you had to spend time with him instead of your boyfriend.

“You’re overreacting. I already told you it’s not like that.” You casually added, which seemed to rile him up even more. So much so you couldn’t get a word in.

You were on the verge of losing your temper and patience altogether.

Michael’s brow perked up slightly at your irritation, helping himself to his favorite frozen treat customized specifically to his liking. He really didn't like what he was picking up on. The tension of your phone call was palpable, and it unsettled him. 

Carl. 

Hearing his name leave your lips made his favorite ice cream a little less sweet. The cinnamon dusted on top might as well have been mixed with dirt. Hearing his name was like an out-of-tune horn his ears rejected every time he heard it playing. Any mention of him from you was rare… but still shrill, off-kilter, punching violently through the recesses of his mind. He never hated anyone ever in his life but this had to be close… Not to mention, the affection in your tone irked him if he could be honest, like having one of his performances cut short before it truly hit a groove. Out of place and unwanted... especially in his place of solace.

Man, he wished you'd just hang up. 

All he wanted was to make you laugh, call him Mikey, offer his comfort, his time, attention. Make you forget Carl. 

And then there was another part of Michael - driven by an ego you would label as slightly conflated if you saw more of it in action. Birthed by independence manifesting for him on the horizon, handcrafted by waves of women (and men) packed together at shows like sardines screaming his name when he sang or spun or just smiled, and vindicated by crotch-grabbing and moonwalking into more of a public phenomena on the Motown stage just a few months ago. It was hard not to be altered by such life-altering fame. Since young, he watched people of all ages and colors literally stop traffic and swarm around cars with him inside… banging their fists against it just for a glimpse of him. Thousands of eyes instantly welled up with tears if they caught that glimpse, even if it was just the tips of his fingers shyly waving out the back window of the car as it sped off. The man who stood next to one of the greatest producers when the world was quiet and created magic. The part he armored himself with for public consumption. One who knew exactly who he was and what he was capable of.

That part of him smirked behind his spoon, confidence silent but strong enough to override the jealousy bubbling in chest. 

He could put two and two together. Your body language alone told an interesting story - the way you refused to look at him while trying to reassure your boyfriend, Carl, even with the hole he was burning in your face. The way your deliciously proportioned weight shifted under his stare, from one hip to the other, one leg to the other, repeat. The way you angled away as you spoke, biting down on your lip at times to censor yourself. All of this was evidence that led him to conclude that your boyfriend, Carl, was not happy about the fact that you were here. 

Oh well.

Michael was ecstatic. You looked so pretty today. 

He found himself thinking that about you quite often, lately… as he haphazardly scribbled those kinda secret thoughts and other kinda secret feelings into blueprints that would eventually become lyrics. Stealing moments on studio breaks to call you inspired him in so many ways, but also made him feel a pang in his chest that was becoming a lot harder to ignore. Afterwards, he’d find himself humming melodies that seemed to flow straight from beyond, mirroring and transmuting those longing feelings. And he’d do with these melodies what he did best. He recorded them. Demo after demo, those recordings turned into full songs, songs that held very important kinda secrets about his feelings for you. 

His voice came out sweeter then, emoting more than he ever did before. Quincy would knowingly tease: “You singin’ like there’s someone on your mind, Smelly.”

All Michael could do was bite his lip and smile, shaking his head as he laughed him off. 

He felt guilty spending most of his time on his music these days. Since Motown - between rehearsals for the next tour and recording for his next album, heightened demand with limited time created unwanted distance. It was the main obstacle in the way of carving out chances for you both to spend time together like when you were younger.

So he intentionally cleared his schedule for tonight. Bought snacks, had Bill take him over to the Wherehouse to pick out a bunch of your favorite movies in hopes to talk to you about his absence and make it up to you. When he called to ask you to come over… he half-expected you to tell him off, knowing he hadn’t been the best at balancing things. He was grateful you didn’t, understanding.

And when you showed up at his door looking exactly like his muse should, it kinda felt like the world was in technicolor again.

The first thing he noticed was your hair. It was big and curly and it looked extra, extra soft. Michael loved when you wore it that way, his hand often twitched at the thought of holding you close and twisting some of the coils around his fingers. He welcomed the comforting scent of mandarins and honey when he hugged you hello, tucking you under his chin in affection. Hearing the smile in your voice as you said hey Mikey into his red cardigan made him too happy to worry about if you could hear how hard his heart was beating.

He knew he’d have to repent for how he didn’t even bother diverting his eyes from the swish swish swish of your denim skirt as you pulled away, walking deeper into his home. The familiar tightening in his jeans that he wouldn’t be able to hide was a sobering enough feeling to halt his thoughts from going further. Trying to distract himself, he almost missed when you asked him to use the kitchen phone to call your boyfriend.

Oh. Had he really been gone that long?

He noticed you gnawing at your bottom lip in annoyance. Your soft lips, accented with a tinted gloss. He had to exercise more serious mental restraint from getting worked up again as he wondered what your kisses tasted like. Surely sweeter than ice cream.

“I let you talk, so it’s time for you to listen and stop interrupting me. No, I won’t stand for it and I’m not gonna keep going on like this with you anymore… I’m done talking about it. I’m staying here tonight. If you don’t like it - oh well.”

As if you both merged into the same wavelength, you abruptly slammed the phone into the mounted receiver so hard that you swear you heard it crack. You had enough.

“I - sorry, Michael…” His eyes apologetically softened at you and it ignited both shyness and shame in your chest. You shifted uncomfortably under his observation. All the work you’d done up until that point to keep everyone out of your salvaged threads of a relationship - now ruined with one untimely call.

“What you apologizin’ for, girl?”

“Mighta broke that.” you started, motioning to the receiver hanging on the wall, making a mental note to check if the phone was actually broken later. “Shoulda never called him. This was supposed to be our time to catch up and now my good mood has gone all sour.”

“Don’t you worry about that phone. Dunk smashed Randy’s big ol’ giant rockhead into it plenty and it still work.” Michael comforted you, chuckling at the fond memory of his siblings. His feet led himself next to you without a second thought, gently rubbing your back. “D’you wan’ talk about it?”

Leaning your head against his shoulder, you felt his long, sinewy fingers against your forehead moving your curls to plant a consoling kiss there.

“Don’t even know ‘em and he turnin’ out to be a real schmuck. C’mon, let’s go upstairs so we can talk.”

𝒽𝒶𝓎𝓋𝑒𝓃𝒽𝓊𝓇𝓈𝓉, 𝓂𝒾𝒸𝒽𝒶𝑒𝓁'𝓈 𝒷𝑒𝒹𝓇𝑜𝑜𝓂

“I’m just so frustrated, Mikey!” You said, plopping down on the edge of his bed. The change in environment seemed to turn your emotional state towards the better and you wonder if he knew it would all along.

Michael’s mind instinctively reacted to you being in his space. As much as he knew he shouldn’t think this way, he couldn’t help it. You looked so good in his bed. It was embarrassing to think about how many times he’d allow himself to imagine you just like this: lights dim, you staring up at him through your dark lashline, full lips parted anxiously, waiting for him to talk, or move closer, shoes off, knees together... 

The circumstances of these fantasies would be different of course, but they always ended with him losing control. The thought of touching you, tasting you, pleasing you… aroused him beyond belief. More lust to repent. And sometimes faith and morality would quell his ongoing battle with these fleshly desires like a beacon of light, motivating him enough to get up at the dead of night and get dressed to record in his studio. But he was a man… and when he found himself rutting against the bed in his sleep thinking about the swell of your breasts, the unscrupulous promises of pleasure would wake him up in a sweat. And those promises would whisper to him the dark and keep him up, prisoner, until he gave in. 

He groaned through gritted teeth as his hands hesitantly descended down his body from under his t-shirt, imagining they were yours…. Soft, warm… nails accented with whatever colorful lacquer you picked for the week. He could almost feel you dragging them down his chest, rubbing affectionately through his happy trail. So close… By the time he touched his dick, the gravity of his actions reflected in the weight of it in his hands. Flashes of you played behind his eyelids, especially of what your face would look like contorted in pleasure. His imagination would have him throbbing angrily against his belly, strings of precum leaking from the tip, squirming and waiting for release.

Shit.

He moved across the room to his tape player to create some distance while pushing down those thoughts, picking something to play. He was at a crossroads. Chewing his bottom lip, he knew he wanted to be empathetic…but wanted to satisfy his curiosity about what’d you been up to. He decided to keep things casual and collect some information first.

“Is he always like that? Surprised he didn’t blow the sound out with all that yellin’.”

Meanwhile, you smoothed your hands down the pleats of your jean skirt, choosing to do that instead of meeting his stare. Truth was, if Michael’s eyes searched yours long enough it would be just like taking a big gulp of truth serum. You were bound to crack and tell him everything.

“Not at first… but things have been changing for the worst, lately. I seemed to really upset him today.”

“And why is that?”

“I’m not sure. He’s just… worried? I guess….”

Sure, in the beginning - Carl was charming, good-looking… you were on the market, a very single and very beautiful woman looking for companionship to fill a Michael-shaped void in your life. He seemed to be looking for someone, too. Matchmaking at an industry mixer seemed to hit it off. 

When things were good, they were good - it was exciting going on dates and being in his company. He was really generous with his time and money he made as a club promoter, making you feel like you were really the girl for him. However, a couple months had passed and his actions revealed that he saw you as someone he could parade around the city and show off like that was the only thing you were good for. There were times where he would lose his patience with you and say mean things, withhold affection, and discourage you from things that made you happy. It was almost like he didn’t want you to smile about anything else but him. He didn’t like the way you dressed (You not goin’ nowhere with me like that… I wanna have sumn sexy on my arm tonight, toots…), he didn’t like your hobbies (Wastin’ time fingerpaintin’ when you should be comin’ to this party with me instead), and he didn’t like your friends (I ain’t jealous of a man who wear glitter and rhinestones, baby, besides… you don’t need no more friends). His snide comments caused a lot of arguments. You’d threaten to leave and he’d sweet-talk you, promising changed behavior. Things would smooth over, rinse and repeat. If you could be honest, you were at the end of your rope with it all. 

He wanted to control you and you felt trapped in a cycle of his insecurities. You wouldn’t be submissive to just any man.

You felt the bed dip next to you. Michael sat and grabbed your hands, the warmth of his thumbs sweeping back and forth across your knuckles was a welcomed sensation that grounded you. Ironically, touching you in this more intimate way made Michael feel a bit out of body but he kept his nerve. He decided to ignore the warning signs, ignore the fluttering in his ribcage.

“You’re a beautiful girl, inside and out… so sensational, intelligent, creative, empathetic, and very special to me. And any man standin’ next to you should admire you, treat you preciously, and with respect. He should be worried.”

There was a rawness in his voice.

You’ve heard it before. When he created music, danced, laughed with his loved ones… when he discussed plans to heal the planet, shared goals to create sanctuaries for children and animals, defended his stance to anyone who would listen about his favorite ice cream. All you could do was look into his eyes, selfishly admiring the wonderment inside before you until you felt too caught up… laughing it off to save face. 

“Mikey, when’d you learn to sweet talk a lady like that?” Your face was burning and he could tell.

“Hey, it’s the truth.” Michael smirked, mischievously tilting his head at your reaction before stroking your cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Hmm... you gettin’ shy on me, pretty girl? I say somethin’ wrong?” 

He should be worried.

His voice echoed around in your head in whispers.

He should be worried.

“What’d you mean?” You asked, mind not even registering that your mouth was moving.

“Pardon?”

“‘He should be worried.’ What do you mean by that?”

Michael shrugged, leaning back so that he was propped up on one of his hands. “He should, that’s all.”

“I don’t understand.”

“‘Cause you here with me, right where you should.” The certainty in his voice stirred something inside you, different from any tone he’d ever used with you in the past. And in that moment, you really looked at him.

There weren’t too many lights on in his room but there didn’t need to be for you to see him. It was always like that. Even if he tried to hide he was always the brightest thing in every room. You sometimes got lost noticing things, things that you forced yourself to pretend to not to notice every time you noticed them. The way his legs splayed out as he sat, open wide. Tonight, it felt like an invitation… fingers expertly tapping his muscular thighs along to the music playing in the background. The medium-wash denim underneath his palms was tailored to a perfect fit, doing an amazing job of accentuating his slim waist and hips and wide shoulders. He almost looked unreal, doll-like, growing out of his childlike gangliness to a modelesque physique that hinted subtle strength. 

When you hugged him, you tried not to notice how his broad shoulders flexed under your palms. They were wider these days, strengthened by carrying his world for so long… You hugged and his arms were almost long enough to wrap around you twice, gripping you tightly and making you feel safe and surrounded by the comforting scent of amber, lemon and cedar. You wanted to touch his chest, feel if his heart was racing just as fast as yours. Admire the expanse of his muscles through the cardigan he was wearing under your palms. But you stayed still, not trusting yourself to make any sudden movements. 

Watching Motown sparked flames you'd been fighting for what seemed like your entire life. Opened your eyes wider than they’d been in years. God, the way he sounded, the way his body translated his innate divinity. He was hungry with need - determined to stir something in others, to prove himself. Michael’s energy was raw and uninhabited during the performance, but yet still maintained his razor-like focus and precision as he danced. 

Especially the way he moved his hips. You tried not to notice how those movements seemed to come natural to him.

Michael’s head was tilted with a curious expression, like he was considering saying more… even if it came at a cost. A couple of juicy curls fell into his eyes, exaggerated by his shorter, more defined hairstyle. Your angelface was losing the last of his boyish features (minus that heart-stopping smile), being replaced with angled lines - masculine, sharp, like his jawline would cut if your lips were to brush too close… 

Then his mouth parted and it felt like the world was moving in half speed. Watching him lick his lips made you subtly shift, suddenly very aware that you were a woman sitting on a bed with a man next to you.

You both locked eyes. 

Michael’s brown eyes were one of the many strikingly beautiful things about him. They sparkled with whimsy and torment all at once, an amalgamation of secrets he thought he’d never speak out loud to anyone. Untold until he met you. 

This particular look whispered something entirely different than any secrets you know. Eyelids low, his wispy lashes framed the deep-seated desire you felt smoldering his stare. It created an invisible force field around the two of you. The heat behind his eyes made your stomach flip with want. 

“Yeah,” he began, keeping them on you, “he should know his time ran out.”

Your breath hitched as Michael took the lead, turning to lean into your personal space. God, he was so close… one of his hands found your waist, pressing you closer while the other took its time, rubbing up the expanse of your neck until finding your jaw.

“Y’feel that?”

You nodded, keeping your eye contact. Gravity shifted. Your entire being screamed for you to move closer, to close the gap and explore the unknown territory of his mouth with your own… but you fought that urge a little bit longer to enjoy the feelings of mutual longing you missed… ones that left your nerve endings tingling and craving touch. Michael shook his head slowly, not satisfied, thumb tracing your bottom lip.

“I need to hear you say it, mama.”

“Y-yes, I feel it.”

“That's right.”

Michael was intoxicated… he watched your eyes flutter down to his lips in anticipation. He could get used to you looking at him like he had the whole world in his hands because he felt like he did too, especially with the heated skin of your waist under his fingertips. Waiting to kiss you any longer would’ve been an unnecessary crime, so he didn’t wait. As soon as your mouth met his, he decided at that moment it was a crime he didn’t plan on committing ever again in his life. 

That pang of longing in his chest was being cured by his bold declaration, and the willingness expressed in your lips answered one of his most selfish prayers.

God, your mouth was so sweet. 

Your gloss tasted like a syrupy summer strawberry he handpicked himself… lips just as full and juicy as the fruit. It was better than anything he ever imagined writing in his notebooks, any run or riff he ever sung, spin he ever spun. Better than anything he visualized in bed, stroking himself to intense climaxes that made him tremble and shudder roughly until he saw spots under his eyelids. Better than honey vanilla ice cream. He couldn’t help the groan rumbling in his chest, jeans already beginning to tighten around his lap as he took his time and savored your mouth. Michael helped himself now that he had you where he wanted you, tilting his head just enough to indulgently suck the delicious candy coating off your lips one by one.

Your moans only encouraged his ministrations even more.

You couldn’t believe you had gone this far, this long in life without kissing him. Fuck, there was so much want blooming inside you as the kiss intensified, getting to the point where your lips barely bothered to separate. His mouth moved intentionally, expressive of his desire, special and just for you, making you blush and sigh and rub your legs together underneath him, unable to resist creating some subtle friction between your legs. You wanted him to touch you, like really touch you… So instead of saying that, you slid his rather large hand from the side of your waist down to your bare thigh. Michael smirked against your mouth as he hovered over the side of you closest to him, welcoming new territory by gripping your heated flesh between his adept fingers. 

Mm, he was gasoline and you were a brushfire… He pulled back a little, teasing you. His throat bobbed as he sweetly kissed the side of your mouth.

“We gonna get rid of him tonight right, pretty? Ready to call him back and tell him?”

At this point you were clay, pupils blown, lips swollen. Anxious to be molded. You’d do anything.

Sensing your compliance, Michael leaned over and grabbed his phone off the nightstand, sitting it on the opposite side of you as he knelt in front of your legs.

“Call him.” 

You bit your lip, hesitant at first until a soft kiss was planted against your ear.

“I’m waitin’, mama. Don’t you want me to touch you?”

His words were emphasized by the feeling of fingertips just barely grazing your knee, giving you goosebumps. You and Michael both watched as he laid his hand ceremoniously flat, starting a painfully slow creep up up up… thumb tracing teasing circles on your inner thigh from underneath your skirt.

Panting, your lungs burned momentarily in anticipation.

“Mikey,” you warned, looking over to see his lip between his teeth trying to hide his mischievous expression.

“Yes, pretty girl? Already sounding so needy f’me… I mean it. I don’t appreciate the way he treated you today. Let’s tell him it’s over.”

Against better judgement, you picked up the phone and dialed Carl’s number. Honestly, you couldn’t tell if the ringing you were hearing was coming from inside your eardrums or the speaker. God, it was so hard to concentrate on holding the phone steady with Michael rubbing on you and peppering whisper-soft kisses on your neck. 

Carl answered and you did your best to keep yourself composed.

“..Hello… hey, yes, it’s me…”

Michael moved closer, spreading your legs wider to give himself room to explore. He couldn’t believe this was happening, couldn’t fathom the softness of your skin… Why did he wait so long to touch you like this? He loved your curvy legs, and the sight of your trembling thighs reminded him of things he only dreamed of. God, he wanted to feel more of you, get lost in you, every inch, all over… 

His eyes widened in surprise when his fingers were invited by the heat between your legs. Upon further inspection and an eager swipe of his thumb, he discovered the seat of your panties were already sticky.

Your legs pitifully twitched at the contact, hips squirming forward into his hand.

“Focus, pretty, or I’ll stop. Tell him why you callin’ back so late.” Michael whispered in your ear, shifting your top over with one hand to plant an affectionate kiss on your shoulder while the other moved the damp lace out of his way, exposing you to him. Yeah, you felt exposed and mostly embarrassed by how worked up you were at this whole thing. But most importantly of all, you were unbelievably horny and ready for him to touch you.

“I-I can’t do this anymore.”

Michael smirked, nodding in encouragement for you to continue. It was hard not to get lost in gratitude, cherishing the way you’d fully relinquished control to him. He teased you long enough. His thumb dipped into your spongy folds, generously coating your clit in your own juices. Meticulously he experimented, testing out different patterns and intensities of pleasure as your eyes fluttered closed.

His dick was impossibly hard now, straining in his jeans.

But nothing was more important than how slick and flushed your pussy felt around his fingers. He noticed everything, his senses heightened by the smell of your pheromones in the air and the sounds of your choppy breathing as he took you higher. He noticed the exact moment he found the winning combo that made your thighs quiver. Index and middle forming a V around the bundle of nerves, he created more pressure and friction and your breath caught. He revered in the sight of you squirming at the new sensation, throbbing and desperately pulling at sheets under you with your free hand. Nothing was more important than this performance right there in his bedroom. 

You stifled another moan by putting a hand over your mouth before it was too late.

Unsurprisingly, Carl was oblivious and completely furious. His tone was accusatory and downright disrespectful as he expressed the vindication he felt about disliking Michael, now proven by you calling him with such finality.

Little did he know he had a bigger reason to be mad.

“That’s right baby, I know…  my pretty girl’s so slick down here. Keep goin’… tell him he sucks.” Having Michael in your ear… saying things like that drove you crazy. God, the mix of praise, affection, and direct commands in his soft voice made your walls angrily clench around nothing. Speaking of, your free hand guided his fingers further down. You didn’t care that your now ex-boyfriend was on the phone yelling your name to get your attention, or care to wait anymore. Your eagerness was enough to sway Michael until he obliged, sliding them inside.

“Here? You want me to touch you right here, mama?” You nodded, sighing as you felt the beginnings of relief from the tension building in your lower belly. His fingers felt like heaven as they curled upwards inside you.

“Then you gotta keep talkin’ for me.”

So you did. “Carl, you really suck…”

You told Carl how much you absolutely hated his guts. Told him about how stupid he looked in those fake designer suits he wore on nightclub grand openings. How dare he try to tell you what to wear. You told him that you’d no longer accept suggestions or criticism from a man that threw temper tantrums like a child. Told him he was insecure and that would no longer be your problem, that he needed to figure his own shit out… away from you. 

And while you unloaded all the thoughts you’d thought and never said to keep any semblance of peace, Michael’s long fingers eagerly pumped in and out of you. 

Your mouth dropped in shock as he abruptly stopped, pulling his glistening fingers to his mouth and sucking them clean. The blissed out look on his face was enough to make you want to explode into a thousand sparkly pieces.

“Mmm, like I thought… you don’t know how bad I wanna taste you, pretty.” Before you could recover, you felt your panties sliding off your legs. His head lowered between them, gripping the backs of your thighs as he spread you wider. 

There was a look of reverence on Michael’s face as he stared at your pussy for the first time.

Your outer lips were puffy and covered in slick, drooling in anticipation as your labia instinctively bloomed for him. He buried his nose into the neat little tuft of dark curls on your mound first and inhaled, cursing under his breath as he declared you the prettiest flower he’d ever seen, losing the last of any restraint he had. God, he knew by how you tasted on his fingers that once he started he wouldn’t be able to stop.

He loved women. Their femininity, their spirit, their softness and soul… inspiring him so much. So naturally, he enjoyed eating pussy. The feel of it, the earthy taste was addicting to him from the moment he was invited to try with a lovely older woman on tour some years ago. It was a whole new world, he was very attracted to her assertiveness… she only wanted a purely physical relationship. It shocked him at first until it intrigued him enough to agree to it. She’d travel to every city, discreetly meeting in his hotel rooms with sunglasses on and nice dresses, nipples visibly hard against the fabric. He’d kneel down on the carpet and she’d prop her leg up on his shoulder, nothing underneath. Grabbed his hands, guided them to him to squeeze her flesh under his palms, touch places she wanted him to touch, taught him how to be patient as he pleased a woman. He was mesmerized. This happened for some time until she felt her purpose was served, sensing his feelings growing. He was heartbroken. Grateful for what she left him with, experiences and a savant’s thirst for knowledge. He took to his own studies, memorizing and learning women’s anatomy in biology almanacs and books written by women about sex and became an expert at providing pinnacles of pleasure, never to be outdone.

But this was more than that. His heart physically ached knowing there was a person in your life who didn’t value someone who he felt was so precious. He wanted to show you just how much you and this moment meant to him. He’d whispered soft, but honest claims against your skin tonight and now he was ready to seal them with a special kiss.

Drunk with pussy lust, his mouth enclosed around your entire pussy and he sucked, oh my God… you wanted to climb up the wall. Your legs desperately shook, heart stalling in your chest. He moaned into your flesh and instantly you were breathless, frowning at the feeling that you bit off more than you could chew. His eyes were bright behind tendrils of curls as he watched you respond to pure, irrevocable pleasure. When he felt your legs attempting to close, he shook his head firmly against your heated skin, still attached to you as his hands slid under your ass to firmly hold you in place. The sudden intensity made your head snap down, moaning with your mouth open as your eyes met. There would be none of that. He wanted you right there submitting to whatever he had to give you until he decided you were done. Your slickness was already beginning to coat the bottom half of his face. He wanted to savor this, committing your sublime taste to memory as mouth made the most vulgar sounds… 

God, you were sure Carl could hear how loud Michael was licking and sucking at your clit. Boy, he was a noisy eater. It was something about how passionate he ate you, the sounds of him moaning and grunting in worship, sucking, lapping, devouring.

“Tell him how good it feels. Tell him how I’m takin’ good care of you.” Michael mumbled, mouth full. 

“It feels so good - fuck - Michael, pleaseee.”

“Mmm, yes pretty? So polite… I’ll do anything you want, just tell me… mmm you taste unreal. So good, so perfect on my tongue.”

“M-more, please, your fingers -” He meant what he said. As soon as your pleas sounded his middle and index finger found their way inside you again, making your back bow. The way they fluidly slid up against your engorged sweet spot over and over sent shocks throughout your entire body.

He pressed his lips to your thigh.

“Carl should keep listenin’ to how happy I’m makin’ you, huh mama? Maybe he could learn somethin’ hearin’ me treat you better…”

You didn’t get a chance to reply with anything intelligible at first. Michael’s eager mouth was on you again like he was starving and desperately missed your taste. The phone unceremoniously fell against the bed and you went feral, holding his head as your hips lifted.

He felt the walls of your pussy start to clench, signaling him to keep his mouth and fingers steady, ready to reward your obedience with the first of many orgasms he had planned for you tonight. You were making the most beautiful sounds, hoarsely moaning his name, begging him not to stop, whining, but most importantly - not caring if Carl was still listening on the other line. 

“Yes baby, that’s it - unh, pleaseeee…”

The tension in your lower belly finally snapped, turning into waves of pleasure so euphoric that they began in your mind and spread - manifesting into your unstable body, making you roughly tremble in release. He didn’t stop pulsating his lips around your engorged clit. In fact, he repeatedly moaned - those vibrations coupled with the way his tongue moved so fast barely gave you any time to process what was happening as you gripped his hair and rutted into his mouth. 

Shit.

His fingers incessantly stroked your g-spot until you quite literally broke, sobbing as viscous juices trickled down his face and wrist until it pooled on the bed under you. You were in what had to be your own special version of heaven, hot tears running down your face.

And he was glad to do it. Grateful, even. 

God, Michael could cum himself from what he beared witness to, finding himself rutting against the edge of the bed in response to your obvious overstimulation. Mmm, he was so grateful knowing that you desired being pleased by him, being pushed to limits you hadn’t experienced before. Everything about the way you made him feel motivated a commitment to worshipping you until his jaw was sore. Your neediness was more rewarding than any accolade he’d ever received, completely immersing himself in the sensations he was giving you. More than anything in his being, he was determined to show his love for you.

Better than Carl ever could.

a soft, involuntary smile tugs at the corner of his lips. he adjusts the collar of his red corduroy shirt, his fingers tapping a gentle rhythm against his thigh. he isn't thinking about the vocal arrangements anymore. he's thinking about you.

he’s thinking about how you looked this morning, tangled up in the soft cotton sheets of your shared bed. your rich, brown skin had looked so warm against the white fabric, your hair a beautiful, soft cloud against the pillow. he’d almost stayed. he had actually leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to your bare shoulder, whispering that he’d be back soon, hating the way the morning light demanded he leave your side.

"you alright in there, mike?" the engineer’s voice crackles through the talkback monitor, breaking his trance.

michael blinks, clearing his throat and offering a quick, apologetic wave through the glass of the control room. "yeah, yeah. i'm good. just... catching the vibe. it’s a beautiful song."

"let's take it from the bridge. whenever you're ready to lay those harmonies."

michael nods, closing his eyes as the countdown begins. he takes a deep, steadying breath, letting his chest expand. when the cue hits, he leans into the microphone, his voice gliding effortlessly into that signature, silky falsetto. the layers he adds are pure magic—flawless, airy, and brimming with an emotion that feels almost too heavy for the room to hold.

but behind the technical perfection, every single note is a love letter directed straight to you.

“all i do..is think about you.”

as his own voice blends with stevie's in his ears, michael pictures your laugh. he thinks about the way your hand feels slipped into his jacket pocket when you walk together, the quiet comfort of your presence that grounds him like nothing else in his chaotic world. you are his peace.

his pretty girl, waiting for him at home, completely unaware of how deeply she has him wrapped around her finger.

he wraps up the take, holding the last note until it fades perfectly into the track.

inside the control room, the engineer gives a thumbs-up, looking visibly impressed. "that was the one, man. perfect."

There was a comfortable quiet in the house, a rare luxury that you and Michael always cherished. Sunlight streamed warmly through the kitchen windows, catching the steam rising from the hot skillet on the stove. You were completely in your own world, humming a soft melody under your breath as you flipped a perfectly crisped tortilla.

Your outfit was simple but comfortable. You sported a black crop top that showed off the soft curve of your waist, paired with matching, biker shorts that hugged your hips like a second skin and ended just below the smooth swell of your ass. Your braids—that michael paid to have done— were gathered up, pinned back into a ponytail that swayed slightly with every move you made.

From the hallway, you could hear the soft, rhythmic padding of slippers.

Michael descended the stairs with a lazy, relaxed expression as he dragged his feet across the floor. He looked edible. loose grey sweatpants that hung low but just right on his hips, and a worn white t-shirt that clung softly to his broad shoulders. His eyes—sleepy but incredibly sharp—immediately dropped straight to your ass.

He couldn’t deny he loved how you looked right now, sexy, but still soft. He loved that you were pretty, vibrant, and possessed a body that drove him completely insane. Now, Michael never really expressed having a favorite part of your body, he loved all of you, every crevice, every curve, every mark. He made sure to show his appreciation whenever he could. But seeing the soft, full cheeks of your backside practically peeking out from the bottom of those tiny black shorts had a sudden, heavy ache settling right into his groin. His mouth went dry, his mind immediately flooding with aggressive, filthy thoughts of pinning you against the counter, ripping those shorts down, and buried himself so deep inside you that you’d be screaming his name.

But for now, he played it cool.

He strolled up behind you, and slotted his chest perfectly against your back. He wrapped his long arms around your waist, his large hands immediately sliding down to rest on the bare skin just above your hips. He leaned down, pressing his lips to the warm skin of your neck, inhaling your scent.

"Whatchu’ cooking, peaches?" he asked softly, his voice a low, raspy gravel that vibrated against your skin.

You paused, the spatula hovering over the pan. "Chicken quesadill— wait, what’d you say?"

Michael smiled against your neck, his hands squeezing your waist a little tighter. "Whatchu’ cookin?"

"Nah— after that," you said, turning your head slightly to try and look at him.

"Peaches?" he murmured, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he attempted and failed to hide his cheeky smile.

You couldn't help the giggle that escaped you. "That’s new. Where’d you get that one from?"

Instead of replying, Michael let out a low, wicked chuckle. He slid his right hand down, his large palm cupping the full underside of your ass cheek. He gave it a firm, possessive pat that made a loud smack echo through the kitchen, his thumb digging into the soft flesh. He bit his bottom lip hard, his eyes darkening as he watched the skin bounce under his hand.

"Just saying how I see it, mama," he growled playfully, his fingers flexing, practically memorizing the weight of you in his hand. He pressed his hips forward, letting you feel the thick, heavy bulge of his erection growing hard against your backside through the fabric of his sweatpants.

You gasped softly at the impact, a delicious shiver traveling straight up your spine, but you forced a playful pout onto your face.

"Michael!" you whined, swaying your hips to try and shake his hand off, though you only succeeded in rubbing your bare skin deeper into his warm palm. You leaned over the stove, pretending to focus intently on cooking the the food. "Stop it. Go sit down somewhere, I'm tryna’ to make us lunch before it burns."

"Don't care if it burns," he mumbled, entirely unfazed by your weak attempt to push him away. If anything, your playful resistance only turned him on more.

He stepped even closer, his large frame completely enveloping yours. He didn't let go of you, instead, his fingers flexed, gripping the thick, soft flesh tightly, molding you against him.

“Mike, I'm serious," you laughed, using one elbow to gently nudge his chest, though your heart was already starting to hammer against your ribs from how close he was. "You’re in the way. Move."

"Don’t be like that, baby," he whispered, a soft—almost whiny— edge bleeding into his voice. He leaned down, his lips brushing the sensitive spot right beneath your ear, his teeth grazing your skin in a gentle, demanding nip. His free hand traveled up your stomach, sliding right under the edge of your black crop top to grip your waist, his thumb stroking your skin. "You look so good. Got me thinkin’ about doing all types of things to you on this counter."

You let out a breathy laugh, your head dropping back against his shoulder for just a second before you forced yourself to snap out of it. ‘Turn the stove off’, you reminded yourself. "Baby, if I don't get these out right now, we’re eating charcoal. Go."

He groaned, a deep, dramatic rumble against your back, but he finally let go of your waist. He gave your ass one last smack—firm enough to leave a sting—before stepping back. "You're cruel, pretty girl. Cruel."

When the food was finally done, he refused to let you sit in the chair across from him. Instead, the moment you attempted to sit down, he pulled you right into his lap. He ate his lunch with one hand, while his other hand stayed firmly planted exactly where he wanted it—tucked right under the hem of your shirt, his broad, warm palm resting flat against your bare stomach. His thumb made slow, possessive circles against your skin the entire time, his eyes tracking every movement of your mouth as you ate, reminding you with every look exactly what was coming later.

An hour later, the kitchen was clean, the dishes were done, and the house was quiet again.

Upstairs in the master bedroom, you were sprawled out in the center of the massive bed, laying flat on your stomach. You had your chin propped up on one hand, your legs bent at the knees as your feet kicked lazily in the air behind you.

You were trying to focus, trying to finish up the last few chapters of the book Janet had given you the last time she visited, but it was getting harder by the second. You could barely concentrate. That, and every time you moved, your shorts rode up just a fraction more, exposing more of the smooth curve of your backside to the cool air of the room. You turned a page, the mattress shifting slightly beneath you, completely unaware of how much of an invitation you were presenting to the man who was about to walk through the door.

The soft click of the bedroom door turning made you pause, your fingers stopping on the corner of the page.

Michael walked in, carrying a glassof orange juice, but the moment his eyes landed on the bed, he slowed his pace. The cool, calm and collected expression he wore downstairs was gone, replaced by a predatory gaze that made your stomach flip. He set the glass down on the nightstand with a quiet clink, never once breaking eye contact.

"You still reading, baby?" he asked, his voice noticeably deeper now— it always made your heart race.

"Trying to," you murmured, looking up at him through your lashes. "But I keep getting distracted."

Michael didn't say anything at first. He just stood at the edge of the bed, slowly sliding his feet out of his slippers. Your eyes automatically tracked his movements as he began to climb on the bed.

Predicting his move, you let out a loud squeal and quickly flipped over onto your back, abandoning the book entirely. As Michael attempted to hover over you, you brought your legs up, planting the soles of your bare feet squarely against his chest to block his advance, pushing him back down.

"Boy moveee, go away!" you laughed, using your feet to playfully push against him, trying to keep his heavy frame at bay.

Michael let out an amused chuckle, his large hands immediately coming up to grip your ankles. He didn't push past your defense right away. instead, he leaned into the pressure of your feet, testing your strength while giving you that look that told you he was loving every single second of the struggle.

"What, I can't even get some attention?" he whined playfully, his fingers flexing against your ankles as he leaned forward, trying to break through your guard. "You're gonna use force on me now, girl?"

"Yes, ‘cause you don't know how to behave!" you gasped out through your giggles, your core tightening as you pushed back against his chest, trying your hardest to nudge him away while his weight threatened to overpower you. The act of playfully fighting with Michael always got you going. Seeing how he could easily overtake you but just chose not to.

Michael let out a soft, dramatic groan, letting his weight relax just enough that you thought you’d won the battle. But instead of backing off, his hands shifted. His palms slid slowly down from your ankles, smoothing over the soft skin of your thighs with a gentle, deliberate squeeze that instantly made your toes curl.

He leaned his head down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss right to the sensitive center of your foot.

"You're so mean t’me sometimes," he mumbled against your skin, his voice dropping into that sweet, exaggerated whine he always used when he wanted to manipulate his way into your arms. He moved his lips lower, peppering a trail of light, ticklish kisses across your ankles before heading straight for your toes, nipping playfully at the tips.

A breathless laugh bubched up in your throat, the warm friction of his lips sending a sharp spike of heat straight to your core. You tried to pull your legs back, but his grip was firm, his eyes locked onto yours with a heavy, simmering heat that completely contradicted his innocent tone.

"Don't give me that," you said, rolling your eyes at his antics. But your voice lost all its bite, coming out soft, gentle, and completely breathless as he continued to worship your feet.

"Give you what, ma?" Michael murmured innocently. He slid his hands further up your calves, his fingers flexing against the smooth skin as he crawled his way up the mattress, his lips following the trail his hands were blazing. "I'm just a man lookin’ for some affection from his pretty girl. Is that so wrong?"

You had fully let your defenses down by now, any thought of fighting completely melting away under the warmth of his mouth. A throbbing ache settled deep between your thighs, your clit throbbing and pulsing with every soft press of his lips as he worked his way up your calves, past your knees, and finally trailed a path of burning kisses right onto your stomach.

The heat of his breath against your bare skin made your stomach flutter.

Completely helpless to the sensation, your hands moved instinctively. Your acrylic-clad fingers slid into his thick, black hair, the contrast of your nails against his scalp making him let out a low, pleased hum that vibrated right against your skin. You gently guided him, your fingers curling into his hair as he slowly angled his head upward, his dark, heavy-lidded eyes fixing onto yours with a look that promised he was done teasing.. maybe.

“Can I get a kiss?” he asked softly, and you completely melted.

The soft, vulnerable edge in his voice stripped away the very last of your resistance. Reaching down, you took his face in your hands, your fingers framing his jaw as you pulled him up to bridge the small distance between you. You brought his lips to yours in a few soft, lingering pecks, tasting a slight hint of orange juice.

“I love you,” he mumbled against your lips, his voice thick and breathless as he leaned over you.

“I love you too,” you breathed back, completely helpless to the hold he had on you.

“Let me show you how much I love you... please?” he pleaded, the word sounding like a sweet, desperate prayer as he slid his lips down to your jaw, then lower, kissing a burning trail down your neck.

You wanted to say no so bad. You really did. You wanted to prove a point, to show him that kissing on you and feeling up on your body wouldn't always get him exactly what he wanted. But.. you just couldn’t help yourself.

“Oh, fuck you...” you whispered, the curse completely devoid of any real anger.

As the words left your lips, your knees relaxed and your legs fell completely open for him, yielding to the heavy ache pulsing between your thighs.

“Atta girl,” he murmured, a deeply satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he pressed another soft kiss to your mouth before finally sitting up on his knees.

With two gentle, rhythmic taps to your thigh, you instinctively lifted your hips off the mattress, helping him slide your shorts down your legs in one fluid motion. He tossed them carelessly to the foot of the bed, but as he moved, his eyes caught the light hitting the fabric, his sharp gaze locking onto the small, dark wet spot blooming against the center of your panties.

A low, wicked chuckle vibrated deep in his chest as he looked back up at you, his eyes darker than before.

“Only kissed you and it got you this wet,” he growled softly, his fingers wrapping around your inner thighs to part your legs just a little wider, completely captivated by how much your body was craving him.

“Shut the hell u—” you started, a flustered heat rushing to your face, but the words quickly caught in your throat, dissolving into a broken, breathless gasp as Michael pressed his thumb directly to your swollen clit.

The sudden, searing contact sent a lightning bolt of pure pleasure straight up your spine, making your back arch off the mattress.

“What did I tell you about being mean?” he murmured, his low voice vibrating through the quiet bedroom. He didn't pull away, his thumb began to move with agonizing movement, rubbing delicate, agonizingly slow figure eights over your sensitive pearl.

You let out a shaky whine, your fingers instantly tangling into the sheets as the friction from the fabric of your panties began to work its magic. The thin cotton pressed tight against your swollen clit, every slow drag of Michael's thumb sending heat straight through your core. Your hips twitched, chasing the pressure, and a fresh rush of slick soaked through the material, making the glide even smoother and filthier.

Michael watched your reaction with intense fascination, a smug but deeply affectionate smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His eyes stayed locked on your face, drinking in every flutter of your pretty lashes and the way your full lips parted around another broken sound. He leaned his upper body down slightly, tracking the way your eyes fluttered shut and how your chest heaved as his thumb expertly memorized the rhythm that drove you crazy.The pad of his thumb circled tighter now, pressing harder through the soakef fabric, rubbing directly over your throbbing clit with practiced strokes that had your thighs trembling.

Your panties clung wetly to your folds, outlining every puffy outline as he worked you. Each pass of his thumb dragged the damp cotton across your sensitive flesh, the friction building hotter and wetter with every second. Your clit pulsed under the pressure, swollen and needy—you wanted to cum so bad. and Michael’s laughing at your despair was going to piss you off.

"Look at me, peaches," he commanded softly, the weight of his hand flexing against your inner thigh to hold you completely open for him. "Open your eyes f’me."

Your eyes fluttered open, heavy-lidded and glazed with pleasure. The moment your gaze met his, Michael's thumb stilled its torturous circles, and a soft, desperate whimper escaped your lips at the loss of contact, your eyebrows furrowing in frustration.

"Don’t gimme that face, pretty," he cooed, his voice pitching up into that sweet, almost childish tone that never failed to make your stomach twist. He pouted his lips, mimicking your expression with exaggerated sympathy. "You look so mad. Did I stop too soon?"

You nodded frantically, your hips chasing his hand as he pulled it away entirely.

"Use your words, baby," he said, tilting his head like he was talking to a fussy child. "Talk to me”

"Don't stop," you whined, the plea coming out breathless and desperate. "Please, Mikey."

"Please, Mikey, what?" He brought his thumb to his lips, sucking the small amount of essence from your panties with a soft "Mmm" that made your thighs clench. He never needed to do much to get you soaked. Any normal day, he would’ve given you more prep time—but something about him today makes him not want to waste any time with you. "Taste so good, mama. You want more?"

"Yes, yes, babe please—"

He giggled—actually giggled—a soft, boyish sound that was so in contrast with the dark hunger in his eyes. "Alright, let me make it better.” But instead of diving back in, he sat up on his knees, his hands finding your hips. "Turn over for me, baby."

"Turn over," he repeated. He gave your hip a gentle pat. "C’mon, show me that pretty arch."

You didn’t need to be told twice. You rolled over onto your stomach, pushing up to your hands and knees. This position always left you vulnerable and exposed, and you could feel Michael’s eyes practically burning into you and you couldn’t lie, a shiver ran down your spine.

"There she is," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave before climbing back up into that teasing tone. "Look at you, my beautiful girl. You look so good f’me, baby."

His hands came to rest on your hips, his thumbs tracing lazy circles against your skin. He leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back as his lips brushed your ear.

"You know what I was thinking about when I saw you in the kitchen?" he whispered, his soft voice making the filthy words feel almost innocent. "I was thinking about bending you over that counter n’ fucking you right there while breakfast burned."

A soft whine escaped your lips.

"But I'ma patient man," he continued, his teeth grazing your earlobe. "I can wait. And now I got you right where I want you, huh?" He pulled back, sitting up on his knees again. His hands slid down from your hips to your thighs, spreading them wider apart. "Look at this view. This is all f’me, isn't it?"

"Yes," you breathed, your voice muffled against the sheets. "What was that, baby? I didn't hear you." His hand came down on your ass in a light, playful slap, the sound echoing through the room.

"Yes!" you repeated, louder. "It's all for you, baby."

"What I like to hear." He smiled smugly, drawing out the words like honey. You felt his hands hook into the waistband of your panties—the ones he'd almost pushed aside earlier—and slowly, agonizingly, he pulled them down your thighs. He took his time, letting the fabric drag against your sensitive skin, letting you feel every inch of exposure. Watching as the only thing that connected you and the material was a long string of slick.

Michael softly sucked the air in through his teeth, his voice pitching up again with mock concern. “My poor baby..”

"Mike, c’mon..," you whimpered, your face burning with embarrassment and arousal.

"It's okay, it's okay," he said, his tone shifting to soothing. "I like it. I like when you're messy f’me. Means you want me just as bad as I want you."

He tossed the panties aside, and you heard the rustle of fabric—him pushing his sweatpants down. The sound of him spitting into his palm made your breath catch.

"You ready for me, angel?" His voice was soft, almost innocent again. "Tell me if it's t’much, okay? I'll be gentle."

The thick head of his dick pressed against your slick entrance, teasing, not pushing in. He dragged it through your folds, coating himself in your wetness, circling your clit with the tip until you were trembling.

"Mike— oh my God, please— just—“

"Just what, baby?" He pushed in just an inch, then pulled back out, leaving you empty and aching. "Tell me what you want."

"Put it in," you gasped, pushing your hips back against him, desperate to get any kind of friction going. it was almost embarrassing how quick you’ll get submissive and needy for him but at this point you didn’t care. "Please put it in."

"Aww, listen to you," he crooned, his voice dripping with that soft sweetness that drove you insane. "So polite. How can I deny my baby?”

And then he pushed in.

Slow. So damn agonizingly slow. He filled you inch by inch, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you knew there would be bruises tomorrow. A low, guttural moan escaped his lips, the confident facade cracking for just a moment as he felt you clench around him. "Damn, girl," he breathed, his voice rough and raw. "You always feel so good. So tight. So perfect."

He stilled once he was fully seated, giving you a moment to adjust. But his eyes weren't on your face—they were fixed on where your bodies met, watching the way your ass pressed against his pelvis.

"Shit," he whispered, almost to himself. He pulled out slowly, watching the way your skin stretched around him, the way your folds clung to his shaft. "Look at how good you look taking me."

He pushed back in, and his eyes stayed locked on your ass, watching the way it swallowed him whole. He reached down, his fingers tracing the place where you were joined, feeling the stretch of your skin around his dick.

"You're so tight, mama," he whined, his voice pitching up. "So fuckin’ tight. And this ass—" He gave your cheek a firm slap, watching it jiggle. "This ass is driving me crazy."

He began to move, setting a slow, deep rhythm. But his focus never wavered from your backside. He watched every ripple, every bounce, every shudder of your flesh as he fucked into you. "Look at it," he breathed, his voice filled with awe. "

He pulled out almost entirely, leaving just the tip inside, and then slammed back in. The force of it sent a visible shockwave through your cheeks, a ripple of flesh that made him groan.

"Fuck!—right there. Do that again."

He did it again, harder this time, watching the way your ass bounced and clapped against his thighs. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, wet and rhythmic, punctuated by your breathless moans.

He reached forward, grabbing handfuls of your ass, squeezing the soft flesh in his palm. He spread you open with his thumbs, watching the way his dick disappeared into you, the way your glistening folds gripped him.

“God, I love this ass," he murmured, his voice dropping into something darker. "I love the way it feels, the way it looks, the way it bounces when." He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the curve of your spine. "I could watch this forever, baby, you hear me?"

He picked up his pace, his thrusts becoming faster, harder. Each one sent a ripple through your backside, a wave that he couldn't tear his eyes away from. The squelching sound of your wetness mixed with the sharp slap of his hips against you, a filthy symphony that echoed through the room.

“Mikey—baby, I—I'm gonna—"

"I know, lovely, I know," he cooed, his voice cutting through the grunts. "I can feel you clenching around me. You're close, aren't you? You're gonna cum on this dick?"

"Yes—yes—"

"Cum for me, then," he commanded, his voice soft but firm. "Cum for me, and I want you to watch. I want you to look back and see what I see."

You turned your head, your vision blurry with tears of pleasure, and you saw it—the way your ass bounced with every thrust, the way his hands gripped your hips, the way his dick disappeared into your wet, swollen flesh.

"That's it," he breathed, his eyes meeting yours in the dim light. "That's my baby. Now cum f’me."

The sight of it—the raw, filthy visual of him taking you from behind—pushed you over the edge. You came with a cry, your body shuddering, your walls clamping down around him. He kept thrusting through your orgasm, watching the way your backside continued to bounce even as you trembled and shook against his abdomen. But he didn't slow down. He kept going, chasing his own release, his pace becoming erratic and desperate.

"Shit, shit, shit—" he gasped, his voice breaking. "You feel so good, mama. So good. I'm so close."

He was pounding into you now, each thrust harder than the last, the sound of your bodies slapping together filling the room. His grip on your hips was bruising, his breathing uneven, his composure completely shattered. And then, in a moment of pure, unfiltered desperation, the words tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop them.

"Please, daddy—please cum inside me."

The effect was instant. Michael let out a sound you'd never heard from him before—a broken, guttural moan that seemed to be ripped from the very depths of his soul. His hips stuttered, his rhythm falling apart completely, and you felt him bury himself as deep as he could go.

And then he came.

Harder than he ever had before. You felt his release flooding you, hot and thick, pulsing in wave after wave. He kept thrusting, shallow and short, milking every last drop, his moans turning into whimpers as he rode out the most intense orgasm of his life.

When he finally stilled, he collapsed against your back, his forehead pressed to your spine, his breath coming in gasps. His body was trembling against yours, and you could feel his heart pounding through his chest.

He stayed inside you for a long moment, neither of you moving, neither of you speaking. The only sound was your heavy breathing, the sticky wetness of his cum leaking out around him

Finally, he pulled out slowly, and you felt the rush of his cum spilling out of you, trickling down your inner thighs and pooling on the sheets beneath you. He flopped down beside you, pulling you into his arms despite the mess, burying his face in your neck.

"You called me daddy?"

You huffed playfully, your body still trembling. "Don’t make it weird."

He shook his head, his eyes wide and dazed, a goofy grin spreading across his face. "Never that, baby. But you gotta warn me before you pull out them big guns."

You snorted, reaching up to brush a wet strand of hair from his forehead. "I didn't plan it. It just—came out…I don’t know."

"Well, it came out, and I came hard," he said, laughing at his own joke. He pressed a kiss to your lips, soft and tender, you couldn’t help the soft chuckle that escaped your lips as you shook your head, "You’re stupid”

"I love you too."

He pulled you closer, pressing kisses to your parted scalp, your forehead, your nose. The sticky mess between your legs was starting to dry, and the sheets were ruined, but at this point neither of you really cared.

After a long, comfortable silence, you spoke again, your voice muffled against his chest.

"All of this," you said, gesturing vaguely at the tangled sheets, the sweaty bodies, and the slick mess between you. "All of this over some damn shorts."