✩₊⁺⋆softly, then boldly⋆⁺₊✧

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."