angel

“Babyyyyy!” Michael whines, his big hands grabbing at your body. “I haven’t eaten in a week!!”

His cute pout that accompanies his protest is enough to make you swoon, but you like seeing him be so desperate.

“No, sweetheart,” you shake your head, laughing down at him and petting his soft hair as he clings to your thigh. “Why’re you so needy today, huh? I let you play with my boobs this morning, you needy thing.”

He hits his head on your leg, petulant and tortured.

“I know— I know you did, but… but, baby…” his huge eyes start watering as they stare up at you. “You promised me I could kiss you there if I didn’t whine all week! I did it, I did a good job! You said that I did!”

Fat tears roll down his flushed cheeks, his hips trying to rub his painful erection on your shin. You’ve left him aching for so long now, taking your time to really enjoy his anticipation becoming pathetic, deprived need.

His jaw is quivering under your touch as you cup it, swiping your thumb over his wet cheek bone. His whole body is tense or trembling or jerking with the silent sobs and delayed gratification that’s never seeming to come.

“Poor baby…” you frown sympathetically down at him.

He makes an almost animalistic sound, and you realize that he’s acting like a puppy right now. His eyes are so big and beggy, his lower body bucking at your leg, the whining…

“Oh god,” you whisper to yourself.

“W—what is it?” He asks, voice shaky and thin, obviously taking everything out of him.

“You’re a puppy.” You state, not explaining— not even when his wide eyes of shock turn into a quivering bottom lip and more tears.

His large hands come up to cover his face, embarrassment burning through his entire body.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he whimpers, thinking he’s disgusted you with how needy he’s been. “I just— I can’t help it. It hurts, mama…”

“Shhh, no, puppy,” you tug his hand-mask from his face, needing to see how much praise he’s going to need to dial all of this back. “It’s okay. I’m not mad.”

Warm lips press to the top of his head and then his temple, a gesture that always physically calms him.

He’s still shivering, but at least he’s nuzzling into your leg a bit now. The look in his eyes tells you he feels a bit more stable with the reassurance, that the love is starting to seep back in.

“…you really wanna eat, puppy?” You ask, holding his chin.

He nods excitedly, eyes getting bigger.

“Yes! Oh, please, I need to. So bad.”

You ruffle his hair, finally giving him a little nod of permission.

Denim hits the floor with a hollow, muted thump and he’s already licking at your panties.

“Calm down,” you chastise him gently. “Take them off, pretty boy.”

He nods obediently and removes them, sliding them into the pocket of his pants discreetly. Your slick is under his tongue almost immediately and he’s pushing you onto the bed.

Legs spread by needy hands, he sucks and licks and kisses at your sweet cunt, whimpering and moaning happily at finally being able to have his mouth where it really belongs.

“That’s a good boy…” you coo at him, patronizing him because the wait wasn’t enough.

The expected reaction was that he would pout, but he actually seems to enjoy it, nudging his nose against your clit.

“Doing so good for me, aren’t you, pup?” He shivers at your continued praise and new pet name.

Pet names from you drive him wild, and suddenly he’s not just using his mouth to play with your yummy cunny, but trying desperately to get you to your peak.

He’s deeply satisfied when you’re the one suddenly whimpering and pushing him away by his shoulders. He laughs. Not cruelly, but happily.

“You’re so pretty from down there,” he states, hands digging into your hips and massaging them absentmindedly.

“Happy to please my sweetheart. Always.” You smile, bringing a loving kiss to his forehead. “Do you want me to play with you now?

His face breaks into a grin, excitement flooding his features.

“Yes, please!” He scrambles with his belt to get this achy thing out of his pants. “It’s really starting to hurt; please, go fast.”

“I’ve made you wait long enough,” you say, taking his cock in your hand. “I’m gonna let you come as fast as you need to, okay?”

He pulls you into a grateful hug as his needy hips buck up into your dry fist. You know it hurts; he’s whimpering in both pain and long awaited pleasure.

The nightstand squeaks when you pull out the drawer, grabbing the lube. You squirt some into your free hand and bring it down to his cock with the other one, revelling in the sweet sound he makes when he realizes this doesn’t have to be painful anymore.

His arms are still wrapped around you, and it makes the position odd, but he’s been too much of a good boy to make him move.

“Atta’ boy…” you coo lovingly, twisting your hands around his cock to make him whine in overstimulation. “Thought you had to come really bad? Where is it, baby? c’mon, hurry up. You can do it.”

Your voice is making his head swim, his thoughts turning into alphabet soup as he feels his orgasm finally, finally approaching.

“M’trying…” he whimpers pathetically, his cock twitching in your hands. “M’there, oh, please—…”

A laugh bubbles low in your chest as his babbling, his body and mind both clearly struggling.

The come lands on your breasts and under his jaw, the position allowing for an uncomfortable placing for his semen. You make a slightly disgusted sound as you realize some even got in your hair, but that’s overshadowed by Michael’s panting, his body slightly slumped against yours.

“Michael? Puppy?” You ask in a soft-spoken voice. “Are you okay?”

He’s silent for a moment before he nods into your shoulder.

“M’okay…” he mumbles, meekly pushing your fidgeting hands away from his soft, over sensitive cock. “…thank you.”

The whisper of thanks makes you smile, the kind of smile that comes from deep, internal happiness.

“It’s no problem, baby,” you sigh, kissing his flushed and slightly damp head. “You deserved it.”

He nuzzles into you, furthering your proof of his puppy-esc mannerisms. You laugh.

“Why’re you laughing?” He looks up at you, voice still meek.

“You’re just really cute, that’s all.”

support writers!->interactions greatly appreciated!

A/N: this is probably kinkier than anything I’ve ever posted but I was thinking abt it and what the hell it’s pretty hot. lmk if this is too much or if you guys want more

Exactly forty-seven minutes had passed since Michael answered the call from Quincy.

“This’ll only take ten minutes.” His famous last words were uttered through a smile when he first held the phone to his ear, His producer’s voice audible even from where you sat on the other end of the couch.

You kept yourself busy with twiddling thumbs, ready to resume the rest of your evening, when ten minutes came and went. Then twenty— then thirty— leaving you to wonder if you’d ever get your boyfriend back at all.

Michael mouthed a voiceless, “I’m sorry” as he carried on the conversation nearly an hour later.

Your legs crossed and uncrossed against the couch cushions, as you picked at the bowl of popcorn in your lap. You listened to him talk, your gaze trailing over to where his fingers were wrapped in the phone cord, twisting and twirling as he went on and on about the sound of his next album.

You were supposed to be having a movie night tonight. It was a rare occurrence; Michael having the house to himself. He was excited to have you over, just the two of you, alone.

Although, he did love having you around his family— loved parading you around in front of his brothers.

He’d spent far too long listening to them give him a hard time. All their remarks about “when little mikey would ever get a girl.” So when you came into his life, he didn’t hesitate to show you off. You were just so perfect, and you were his.

He thanked his lucky stars for that late night at Quincy’s house. You’d met there when Michael was arriving to work on some demos and you were just heading out. You caught his attention immediately.

The producer’s house was always a revolving door of new faces, but you, he’d never seen you before. He would’ve remembered a pretty face like that— such delicate eyes, and the most mesmerizing smile he’d ever seen. He was instantly infatuated.

You made your exit after a quick introduction where Michael learned you were a close family friend of Quincy’s. You rushed out the door, assuring them that you didn’t want to “impose” and that you were “just leaving.” But Michael nearly begged you to stay. A three minute conversation wasn’t enough, he needed more. And despite his best efforts, he was less than subtle when he could barely wait for the door to close at your heels before asking about you— he was just too eager. Eager to know more, to hear your voice again, he was so determined that he got your phone number from Quincy and called you the very next day.

And while you were thankful that their close-knit relationship led to date nights snuggled next to Michael on his couch, you didn’t love that it also meant the two of them would be having brainstorming sessions at nine o’clock on a Saturday night.

Which is exactly why Michael had spent the better half of an hour talking on the phone, only sparing you a few glances and a handful of apologetic smiles.

It didn’t bother you, not really, but sitting there, watching his long slender fingers play with the coils of the telephone and seeing how his brows furrowed as he took charge of the conversation, made your thighs clench.

There was an undeniable heat running rampant between you, a raging, sweltering fire that neither of you were interested in putting out. Everything was just so new and addicting. The mutual infatuation was all consuming, both of you living in desperation for just a single minute alone so you could get your hands on each other.

And right now— you were needy and he was just so tempting.

The gentle cadence of his voice filled the room as he spoke, soft and sweet. It was reminiscent of the low sighs he would let out when you were beneath him.

His finger kept twirling, hooking and bending the handset cord while he bit at his lip, listening intently to Quincy on the other line, and you couldn’t help yourself. The subliminal movement of his slender digits sent you over the edge.

You set the popcorn bowl aside, inching your way closer to Michael until your shoulders were nearly touching.

You did your best to bat your lashes and pout your lips to convey a silent— “pretty please hang up the phone Mikey, I need you.”— But your efforts to sway him failed miserably as he held up a single finger in your direction, telling you to wait like you were some sort of impatient child getting scolded.

With a slight annoyance buzzing through your veins, and the damp sensation of your panties between your thighs, you sent your hand trailing up his leg, palm flat and heavy against his jeans.

A stern frown tugged at his lips, eyes narrowing as he looked your direction— a silent warning.

But you could see something fighting beneath the straight line of his lips, a twitch, a little grin pulling at the corners of his mouth— a challenge.

His eyes followed intently as your hand brushed against the denim at his crotch, your fingers dancing pompously at his zipper before he reached down to grab your wrist.

It was a light touch— cautionary and relaxed. And when your eyes met his again, the grin he was trying so hard to keep off his face was now a painfully obvious smirk. His hands were urging you to stop but his facial expression told an entirely different story.

Abandoning his attempt to be the responsible one in the situation, he lifted his hips in compliance as the gradual purr of his zipper echoed in quiet surrender.

A lazy “Mhmm,” hummed past his lips and into the phone.

The response was meant for Quincy. A soft murmur of agreement; but the way his eyes watched carefully as your head ducked down— the tip of his cock just barely meeting your lips— made you wonder if the sound was secretly meant for you. A quiet hum of encouragement.

You pressed your tongue flat against him, slow and sloppy, and he had to pull the phone a few inches from his ear, letting his head fall back and his teeth bite into his bottom lip, hard.

“Yeah, I think-“ he brought the phone back to his ear, ready to respond but stopping mid sentence.

Your lips wrapped around him, tongue swirling methodically against his tip, and he sucked in a shallow breath through his teeth to keep from moaning.

“No, I think that’s a good idea…” His voice was barely above a whisper as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying his best to focus on the conversation.

His brows pulled together and his hands twitched, nearly flying to the back of your head, when you took him so deep into your mouth that you nearly gagged. He had to bite at his knuckles to keep from groaning straight into the telephone.

With his dick down your throat, you gazed up, hoping to see his pupils blown out in pleasure, but instead you were met with his eyelids— his eyes still closed, teeth digging into his hand, and phone at his ear.

It wasn’t until you wrapped your fingers around his shaft using your hand in tandem with your mouth, that his eyes shot open.

His glare was laced with submission as he watched you work up and down between his legs. The sight of your lips around him causing a mess of noises to choke into his hand as he tried to keep quiet.

His sounds were muffled and you could hear the murmur of Quincy’s voice drowning on through the phone, clueless that Michael wasn’t paying attention to a single word.

You worked faster, palm slick against his length and mouth messily sucking, with muffled whines sliding past your lips.

“Q I gotta- I gotta go.” Stammering out each word, Michael finally gave in, unsure if he could carry on with the way your little sounds felt against his cock.

“Yeah, I’ll call tomorrow.” His voice was weak and rushed as he tried to end the phone call. He’d have to come up with an explanation for the abrupt goodbye tomorrow, but for now he just needed the distraction gone.

The phone landed back in the switch hook with a quick “click” just as Michael let out the loudest groan you’d ever heard.

“Good God mama, you’re gonna kill me.” The words drained from his lips, hips involuntarily bucking into your mouth.

His hands found the back of your head, caressing and guiding you onto his cock.

“Couldn’t even let me take a quick phone call.” He muttered the words with his head falling back against the couch, but as soon as it leaves his mouth, you sit back, pulling your lips off of him and causing a broken whine to break from his chest.

You stare up at him, lips plump and a single brow raised in bewilderment.

You were preparing to make a sarcastic comment before leaving him to take care of himself after his smart-ass remark, but he uses the break to his advantage, pulling you from between his legs and flipping your body until your back met the couch cushions.

“Someone needs to learn how to be a little more patient.” His voice was like silk traveling between your bodies as he hovered over you. His delivery was so soft and supple, you almost didn’t mind that he was using it to chastise you.

“If I know what I want, why wait?” There was a slight irritation in your tone that Michael picked up on immediately.

Laughing against your skin, he brought his face down to your neck leaving a trail of tender kisses in his wake. He moved down your body, nose brushing against your torso, as his hands pushed at your shirt, giving him access to your stomach. Slow kisses littered the waistline of your pants as he took his time, teasing.

“Sometimes all the fun is in the waiting...” He doesn’t even look at you when the whisper leaves his lips, too busy running them along your skin.

“anticipation.” The word hums against you and you can feel his lips curl into a smile.

“Mikey please.”

He gives in, peeling the clothing from your legs until you’re bare, back arching off the couch, needy for him to do something, anything.

“I like it when you beg. Sounds real pretty.” He’s cooing as he watches the way your legs spread for him, his stare fixated on the glistening mess between your thighs.

“Just fuck me- please.” With a desperate whine in your last word you give him exactly what he wants— you beg.

“Wanna get a taste first.”

Michael would spend hours between your thighs if you let him. He was obsessed with your pleasure, fixated on the way your body would react. Listening for the little sighs that would seep from your chest and flicking his tongue over the same spot until your legs were clenching around his head. He loved that he could make you feel like that— on the verge of complete ecstasy with just his mouth.

Lowering himself flat against the couch, he presses his tongue flat against your center, wasting no time; lapping at your core and moaning into you with the taste of your arousal dousing his tongue.

He ate like he was starving, only satisfied through every gasp on your lips and tug in his hair.

He sucked at your clit. Lewd sounds filled the room as his mouth suctioned around your wet pussy, his groans muffled and yours ringing out across the room.

Thank god no one would be home tonight.

Michael loved showing you off in front of his brothers but he couldn’t handle the thought of them seeing you like this. A dark shade of envy clouded his vision at the mere idea of it. They couldn’t love you like he could— couldn’t make you feel the way her could.

The warm, wet muscle of his tongue met your gummy walls and you had to keep yourself from clamping your legs around his ears. It was sloppy and desperate the way his tongue fucked in and out of you.

His lips enveloped your cunt, every inch of his mouth hot and wet against you, dedicated to your pleasure. Hungry to have you writhing against his face until you were on the verge of tears.

His hips pushed into the fabric beneath him. Shamelessly grinding into the couch, too worked up by the way your juices and his saliva intertwined as they dripped between your thighs.

He was so focused on the task at hand that he almost didn’t feel you pulling at his shirt collar, fingers desperately grasping at the material in an effort to pull him up— to feel his chest against yours as he pushed his length into you as deep as he could. Fucking you relentlessly and making you cry out every time his cock threatened to kiss your cervix.

“Need it so bad, Mikey please.” Your pathetic little mewl finally caused him to come up for air. As much as he wanted to keep going, he couldn’t deny you any longer, and after all, he did love to hear you beg.

“What d’ya need baby?” His lips were back on your stomach, kissing and lingering on your skin, still hungry for your taste.

“Need you to fuck me Mikey, c’mon.”

Your hands were still tugging on his shirt, while his tightened around your thighs.

“Please.” The whine squeaked past your lips as your fingers continued yanking on the cotton at his shoulders.

“Only cause you asked all sweet like that.” He purred looking up at you, the cadence of his voice was angelic and smooth despite his heavy grip on your thighs.

His body hung above yours, his shaky breath warm against your face as he lined himself up at your entrance. He was still teasing, running his tip through the mess pooling at your opening and rubbing it against your clit, listening carefully to the needy little gasps rolling off your tongue.

Your hands fell to his lower back, pushing up his t-shirt enough to lightly scrape your nails against his skin, ushering his body down into yours in a desperate attempt to feel him push into you— even just an inch.

He obliged. His length easing into you nice and slow, stretching you out in a way that had your eyelids fluttering shut.

You felt his forehead rest on yours, a deep sigh falling from his lips as he found solace in the way you hugged him in just right.

“Mmm baby you feel s’good.” His voice was so soft you could barely hear it, even with his lips so close to yours. You’d been waiting for this side of Michael all night. The part of him that became a blubbering, groaning mess, drunk on the feeling of your velvet pussy wrapped around him like a petty little bow.

He pushed in deep, letting his dick bury all the way inside, before stopping for a few seconds just to feel the way your walls squeezed around him, like they were begging for more.

Both of you were already so sensitive, so wound up, so close. When he started moving you couldn’t help the hums of encouragement rising from your chest, “Yes Mikey- fuck. That’s it. Right there.”

Your hushed praises made him pick up the pace, pulling out of you completely before thrusting back in, hitting a spot each time that made your back arch and your eyes water.

He kept going, driving into you with the carefully measured movement of his hips. He knew you were close; your body tensing and nails digging hard into the skin of his back.

The crude hymns that had just been spewing from your lips were growing almost inaudible.

Almost.

But Michael could still hear it. Your quiet little whimpers, “Fuck baby- so good.” Your body was almost rigid, jaw slack and eyebrows pulled together as you grasped at his back.

“You’re so- so good Mikey.” Each word billowed up to Michael with his forehead still pressed against yours. He had to squeeze his eyes shut, focusing on the rhythm of his hips to keep himself from spilling into you. Your needy whines of admiration sending him spiraling toward release.

“So good to me.”

“So perfect.”

Engulfing your words in a long drawn out moan, your voice was a melody of satisfaction. Little noises of pleasure melted against Michael’s ears as you pulsed around him— coming undone through each languid stroke of his hips.

He lost it then; the sounds you were making, the tight grip of your pussy sucking him in, the sticky ring of you at his base building with every pump— it was almost too much.

He didn’t even ask if it was okay— didn’t even give you a warning before he let himself go, every last drop of his release nestling deep between your thighs. A broken whimper dying in his throat as he emptied into you.

With your foreheads still pressed together and your chests heaving, Michael thought about apologizing, wracking his brain for the right thing to say after coming in you without warning. He knew better.

He should feel ashamed for doing something so wrong— so risky. But instead of shame he felt a strange sense of pride, like he wanted to do it again and again.

With his dick still twitching, he pulled out, angling his head to watch where his spend leaked out between your bodies— seeping from your swollen folds.

“You should probably get something to clean that up.” Your voice broke into his mind, timid and sweet.

When he looked up, he was met with a wild smile, your lips curling with amusement as you watched him staring at the mess he’d made between your legs: a mess that was now dripping onto his living room couch.

⋆☾⋆ is already a sweetie, cutie pie, baby boy, sugar bear, and every other cutesy name out there normally….but the week before the full moon??? It’s off the charts!

⋆☾⋆ makes it his mission to be the first person the compliment you everyday. The world would simply explode if he didn’t remind you of how beautiful and amazing you were. It’s just…the closer to full moon night he gets the more….creative….his compliments seem. “Your eyes are so pretty…” “awww thank you Mike-“ “I’d probably kill the next person you look they’re so pretty…” “…” “ya know…cuz you’d be looking at them and not me.”

⋆☾⋆ like their animal counterparts, werewolves are pack animals. They’re affectionate and are rarely alone. So the week leading to your boyfriend’s “time of the month” be ready for him to become your shadow. You walk to get a snack in the kitchen? He sitting on the counter gossiping away as you fix yourself something. You head out to check the mail? He’s right beside you side eyeing the paperboy and mailman. You have to use the bathroom? “Anyone ever tell you how cute you look while you pee?” “Get out!”

⋆☾⋆ in addition to following you he’s way more touchy. He always has a hand on you somewhere….anywhere. So don’t be surprised if you wake up after dozing off during a little movie night with him and he’s casually groping you with one hand and eating popcorn with the other.

⋆☾⋆ this mf becomes the definition of possessive!!! He can somewhat play nonchalant and chill normally but when the full moon comes closer he can’t stand people encroaching on whatever (or whoever) he claimed. His big bright eyes that usually seem so warm and inviting harden into steel like voids the second someone gets too close to you. You’re shocked the first time you hear the deep chilling growl bubble from his chest when someone has the nerve to talk to you and take your attention off of him.

⋆☾⋆ when the actual full moon comes and he transforms he’s worried. Yes he told you about him turning and prepared for any possibility but he didn’t know if he could handle you staring at him in fear. Looking at him as if he were the monster he was. He actually lost sleep thinking about it.

⋆☾⋆ color him shocked when your eyes aren’t wide with fear but concern! The process of turning under the full moon is extremely painful and while he’s somewhat gotten used to it over the years it still isn’t something he looks forward to. He never noticed how his face scrunched up in anguish or how he’d groan in pain. But you did. It lead to you babying him with tears in your eyes until the sore feeling faded. After that he may or may not exaggerate how he’s feeling so you’ll shower him with kisses every time he turns.

⋆☾⋆ in his werewolf form he is the biggest puppy dog ever! The first thing he does is that sniff test dogs do to their owners after not seeing them for a bit. He mostly does it to hear you laugh because you’ve told him it tickles and how cold his nose is.

⋆☾⋆ the second thing he does is eat you out of house and home! He rarely eats normally but it’s like the wolf is determined to make up for it and eats anything in sight. The kfc family buckets became your life line.

⋆☾⋆ once he’s had his fill he’s ready to play! He wants to play and chase you all night if he can. You even convinced him to play fetch. At first he took offense because he’s not some mindless pet dog you can just throw a stick for…..but after you threw the stick he suddenly had a new understanding for dogs.

⋆☾⋆ he’ll hunt something for you every time and will take it really personal if you don’t like it. So you force a smile and take it so he can growl and howl all happy while running around.

⋆☾⋆ when it starts getting later and the moon is falling you head to bed while he continues his playing and prowling. When the sun does start to rise and he turns back he climbs into bed with you slowly so he doesn’t disturb you. He’ll wrap his arms around you and drift off himself grateful you love him enough to not be scared off.

It starts the way it always does with him on his knees.

He's already hard before he even touches you, his cock straining against his jeans as he presses his face into the inside of your thigh. He breathes you in, deep and slow, like a man taking his first lungful of air. His doe eyes are half lidded, dark and glassy, his lips parted. He's not begging yet. Not out loud. But the way his fingers tremble against your skin says everything.

"Please," he finally breathes, voice hoarse. "Please, baby. Let me taste you. Just a little. Just—" He kisses the crease where your thigh meets your hip, tongue darting out to taste salt and warmth. "I need it. I need it."

You barely nod before he's burying his face between your legs.

Michael doesn't start slow. There's no teasing, no gentle buildup. He goes straight for your clit with the flat of his tongue, laving it in long, broad strokes that make your hips jerk. His hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider, holding you open for him like you're a meal he's been starved for. And he has been. Every hour away from you is an hour of withdrawal, of craving, of counting down until he can have this again.

He moans against you, the vibration sending a jolt straight to your core. His tongue flicks faster, circles, presses flat, then flicks again. He's sloppy. Desperate. There's no technique to it just pure, unadulterated hunger. Saliva and your wetness mix together, dripping down his chin, and he doesn't wipe it away. He wears it like a badge of honor.

"Fuck," he mutters against your cunt, the word muffled by your flesh. "Fuck, you taste so fucking good. Sweet. So sweet. I could—" He stops talking because his mouth is too busy, too full of you.

He loses track of time down there. Minutes blur into hours. His jaw aches, his tongue cramps, but he doesn't stop. Can't stop. Every time you try to shift away, oversensitive and trembling, he tightens his grip on your hips and pulls you back. His nose presses into your pubic bone, his lips sealed around your clit, sucking gently at first, then harder, then letting go only to dive back in.

When you're in bed, he crawls under the covers without a word. You feel his hot breath against your inner thigh before his mouth finds you, half-asleep and warm. He nuzzles into your cunt like a man seeking comfort, lapping lazily at your folds until you're wet and sighing in your sleep. He falls asleep that way sometimes his cheek pressed against your thigh, lips brushing your clit, breathing you in. He wakes up hard, aching, and immediately starts all over again, licking you awake.

During the day, it's worse.

He'll pull you into the studio under the pretense of needing your opinion on a new track. The door clicks shut, the blinds close, and suddenly he's on his knees again. He shoves a pillow under him not for his comfort, but to get the angle right. His chin tilts up, his tongue out, waiting. Begging with his eyes.

"Just a taste," he whispers. "I'm stuck. I can't write. I can't think. I need—" He presses his forehead to your thigh, breathing hard. "I need your pussy, baby. She's my muse. She's the only thing that makes the words come."

And you let him. Because it's true. The moment his mouth finds you, the tension in his shoulders melts. His hands roam your ass, squeeze, spread, pull you closer. His tongue works you until you're gasping, your fingers tangled in his hair, your hips grinding against his face. He moans with every flick, every suck, every time your cunt clenches around nothing because his tongue is right there, pressing into your entrance, tasting your cream.

He comes in his pants without realizing it.

The first time it happens, he's so focused on your pleasure that he doesn't notice his own cock throbbing, pulsing, spilling into his jeans. The wet patch spreads warm against his thigh, and he only becomes aware of it when you're done, panting and limp, and he pulls back with a glistening chin. He looks down at himself, blinks, and then grins, sheepish, embarrassed, but also proud.

"Sorry," he mutters, but he's not sorry at all.

It becomes a pattern. Two pairs of jeans a week. Sometimes three. He starts buying cheap brands because he knows they'll be ruined. The laundry basket fills with stiff, stained denim, and he never complains. He just shuffles to the drawer, pulls out another pair, and gets back on his knees.

You have to push him away.

It's the only way it stops. When your clit is raw and swollen and every flick of his tongue makes you flinch, you press your palm against his forehead and shove. He resists at first, whining against your skin, trying to chase your taste as you pull back. "No," you say, breathless. "Michael. Stop."

And he does. But only because you said so. Only because your voice has that edge of finality that he can't ignore.

He sits back on his heels, chin wet, lips red and puffy, eyes glazed. His breathing is ragged, and there's a smear of your arousal across his cheek. He licks his lips slowly, savoring the last traces.

"Sorry," he says again, but his voice is thick. He's not sorry. He's already thinking about the next time, counting the hours until he can taste you again.

He crawls up the bed and curls against you, pressing his face into your neck. His hand is still wet, still slick with your juices, and he brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean one by one. His eyes close. He's content. Sated. But only for now.

Because tomorrow morning, before the sun rises, he'll be between your thighs again. His tongue will find your clit before you're fully awake. His mouth will seal over you, and he'll hum in satisfaction, drinking you down like a man dying of thirst.

And he'll whisper, half to himself, half to you: "Not my fault you taste so sweet."

He says it like a prayer. Like a confession. Like the truest thing he's ever known.

As you and Michael walked in, you smoothed your dress the black silk clinging to your frame, simple but elegant, the kind of fabric that hugged without trying too hard his arm stayed around your waist as you two walked in together.

His new album had done exactly what everyone expected it had been a massive success, breaking records. So his team threw a party to celebrate its success.

౨ৎ

The first hour passed in a blur of introductions and polite smiles. Michael kept his hand on your lower back the entire time, the kind of touch that said she’s with me.

“You okay?” you asked, turning your head to face him.

He was watching something over your shoulder, his jaw moving slightly, a muscle ticking under his skin.

“Michael?”

His eyes snapped back to you, and the tension in his face softened. “Yeah, baby. I’m fine.” He said, kissing your forehead. “You need another drink?”

“I’m good,” you said, shaking your head slightly.

He nodded, but his hand stayed where it was against your spine.

౨ৎ

“You’re Michael’s girl, right?” a producer said, sliding in beside you while Michael was pulled into a conversation with Quincy near the piano. “I’ve seen you at his recording sessions.”

You gave a polite smile. “Yes.”

“I can tell,” he said his eyes dropping to your mouth, lingering there a bit too long.

You let out a small, nervous laugh in response.

For the rest of the night, he kept finding reasons to stay near you.

He brought you a fresh drink when yours was half-empty, leaning in close to explain the background of another producer you didn’t really care about he yapped away letting his hand brush your waist when he gestured toward the bar.

You didn't think much of it. You were friendly by nature always had been and the champagne had made you warm and loose tongued. You laughed at his jokes. You nodded along when he talked about the label's upcoming projects.

Across the room, though, Michael went quiet as he watched you both laughing together, trying to figure out why he felt so damn comfortable with his girlfriend.

౨ৎ

Michael was laughing with Quincy, nodding at something a dancer said, accepting a congratulations with a soft smile but his eyes kept drifting towards you everytime time you turned back to check on him, he was already looking at you.

Over the next few minutes, Michael made his way back towards you.

He excused himself from a conversation mid-sentence, irritated he was so tired of seeing you laughing with another man. When he reached you, his hand slid around your waist, gripping you possessively as his eyes flicked to the man beside you.

“Hey, baby.”

He kissed you on the lips before you could even respond, right there in front of him.

"Hey." You smiled up at him, tipsy and happy. "Quincy done with you?"

"For now." He pulled you close enough to press your hip against his. "You having fun?"

“I am.” You smiled, motioning to the man beside you. “He was just telling me about-“

“I know.” His words came out as if he was annoyed…because he was. “Come sit with me.”

He didn't wait for an answer. As he guided you toward the far end of the lounge, where a curved love seat sat half-hidden behind a marble pillar. He sat first, then pulled you down onto his lap.

In front of everyone.

You laughed softly, surprised. “Mikey, people are watching.”

“Let them.” His hand settled on your thigh, thumb tracing slow circles against the silk of your dress. He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. “You were too far away over there.”

“I was right across the room.”

“Too far, sweet thing,” he mumbled, his eyes scanning the room for the producer who had been too damn close to you.

౨ৎ

He somehow made his way back over to you again ten minutes later. When Michael stepped off to chat with a choreographer, you now stood near the windows.

“Another one?” he said, appearing beside you with two glasses in his hand. He offered one to you with a wink.

“I’m cut off,” you said, smiling. “Michael’s been watching my intake he doesn’t want me to get too tipsy.”

“Smart man.” He kept the glass out, though, waiting. “One more won’t hurt. I’ll take the blame.”

You hesitated, then laughed and took it. “You’re trouble.”

“That’s what they tell me.” He leaned in slightly. “You know, I’ve been trying to figure you out all night.”

“Oh.”

He looked at you, his gaze warm, a little too intimate for a man you’d met hours ago. “How does a pretty girl like you end up with someone like him?”

His question caught you off guard, a hint of offense slipping into your voice. “What do you mean, someone like him?”

“I mean.” He shrugged. ‘He’s Michael Jackson. He’s not exactly available to the world, I guess. I just wonder how you fit.”

You opened your mouth to answer, but a hand closed around your wrist before you could speak.

“She’s done with this conversation,” Michael said, pulling you away.

“Michael-“

“Now,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

His fingers tightened around your wrist but not enough to hurt. “Excuse us.”

౨ৎ

You and Michael had ended up leaving early.

He was walking fast, his hand still wrapped around your wrist, until he reached a door marked Private Suite.

Michael let go of your wrist as the two of you walked into the room. He stood with his back to you, shoulders tight, hands sliding into his pockets as he took a deep breath.

“ What was that with him?”

His voice was terrifyingly calm. You knew he was mad.

You closed the door behind you, frowning.

“What?” you added. “He was asking me a question.”

"You know what."

"I don't."

He stared at you, then laughed a short, breathless sound that didn’t match the tension in his body.

“You don’t even realize,” he said, shaking his head as he paced toward the window.

“Baby.”

“You let him touch you,” he said, stopping and turning back to face you. “You let him stand that close. You laughed at his jokes, you took his drink.”

“I was being polite.”

“You were being friendly,” his voice dropped, softer now and somehow that was worse. “Too friendly.”

“I’m friendly with everyone, babe.”

"That's the problem."

“Mikey…” you said, stepping toward him. “I don’t even remember his name. He was just some producer. I didn’t-I wasn’t trying to-“

"I know."

"That's what makes it worse. You don't even know what you do to me."

“Every time another man looks at you, I lose my patience,” he said.

“Every time you laugh at someone else’s joke, every time someone touches you, I have to stand there and act like it doesn’t bother me.”

“You’re mine. I can’t help it.”

You reached up and touched his cheek. He leaned into your palm, needing the contact more than he’d admit.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“You’re okay, mama. It was him he wants what’s mine.” He said pressing a kiss to your palm.

“ Michael. I don’t give a fuck about that producer.”

His hand tightened at your waist as he pulled you in and kissed you slow at first, then deeper. His hands moved to your face, cradling you with both hands, his thumbs brushing your cheekbones as he kissed you, his tongue in your mouth and everything.

This was the kind of kiss that made your knees weak.

“Mm mikey…” you breathed against his mouth.

“Fuck, I love kissing you,” he said, backing you toward the bed until your thighs hit the edge.

“My girl,” he murmured, kissing your jaw, then your throat. “Wanna hear you say it.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes were all wild.

“You’re mine aren’t you?”

“ Yes i'm yours,” you whispered.

“And who do you belong to?” he asked as his hand slid up your neck, his fingers squeezing.

“You.”

“I belong to you, Michael im all yours forever.”

When you said that its like the tension in his shoulders released, and he exhaled like he'd been holding his breath all night.

“That's what i wanted to hear princess.”

౨ৎ

The air left your lungs in a soft gasp as your back suddenly hit the duvet, his body following yours. His hands were already moving pushing the silk straps off your shoulders, dragging the black fabric down until your breasts spilled free.

He didn't stop to admire them. Not yet. His mouth was already lower, pressing hot, open kisses down your sternum, your ribs and your belly.

He took his time you were something truly precious in his hands.

His hands followed the curve of your hips, your thighs.

“Don't wear that dress again.”

“Why?”

“Because it’ll remind me of him.” He said biting the skin just above your navel, not hard enough to break, but enough to leave a mark.

"And i won't be nice about it next time." He said hooking his fingers into your panties pulling them down your legs. Tossing them somewhere behind him without looking.

Then he pushed your thighs apart.

“You’re so gorgeous.”

You moaned softly at his words, threading your fingers through his hair.

He pressed kisses to the inside of your thigh, then another a little higher, before shifting to the other side. He took his time, working his way upward his lips tracing over every inch of your skin avoiding where you wanted him most.

“Michael...”

“Be patient.”

“No, Michael, please.”

“I want it now.”

He smiled against your skin a slow, wicked smile. “That's not how this works. You spent all night giving another man your attention. Now you're gonna give me every sound you got.”

“I wanna hear every sound.” He said and then his mouth was on you.

His tongue pressed flat against your cunt dragging from your entrance up to your clit in one long stroke. You cried out, your back arching off the bed, but he didn't let up. He did it again. And again.

Each pass slower than the last, his tongue pressing harder, until you were gripping the sheets, gasping his name without thinking who might hear.

“Taste so fucking good,” he murmured against you, the vibration making your hips jerk.

“Been starving all night thinking about this pussy.”

He sealed his mouth over your clit and sucked with full force, causing you to see white in your vision. His tongue flicked rapidly against the sensitive nub, while his fingers found your entrance and slid one, then two inside you without warning.

“Shit baby,” you breathed.

“You feel that?” His voice was like silk against your skin.

“That's me inside you. Nobody else is ever gonna be inside you.”

“Nobody else-fuck-nobody else, Michael-“

“That’s my girl.” He said as he held you down with one hand on your stomach.

He didn’t slow down, though. He fucked you with his fingers while his mouth worked your clit relentlessly and possessively, as if he was trying to crawl inside you through your pleasure.

Every time you got close to coming, he pulled back just enough to keep you teetering on the edge, and then he dove back in harder.

“You gonna come for me sweetheart?”

“Yes-yes-“

“This pussy is entirely yours, Mikey.”

“Good girl.”

"Come for me." His voice was muffled, rough. "I wanna feel you come on my tongue."

He pressed his tongue against your clit, flattening it as he rapidly circled it.

Simultaneously, his fingers fucked you deeper and rougher.

He groaned against you, savoring the sensation, and the sound of his groans, mixed with the vibrations, pushed you over the edge.

Your back arched off the bed as you cried out his name, and he drank every second of it as if he were dying of thirst.

Your thighs clamped around his head, your body shaking through wave after wave. He didn't stop he kept licking, kept sucking, kept drinking every drop of your release like he was claiming it, marking it as his.

When you finally stopped trembling, he pulled back just enough to look up at you. His face was wet, his lips swollen his eyes burning with satisfaction.

"You even taste like you're mine," he said.

He lowered his head again, spreading you open with his thumbs as he buried his face between your trembling thighs, his tongue plunging inside you once more.

The second orgasm hit you harder and faster. As you screamed his name, he pinned your hips down and continued licking until you were crying begging him to stop.

Only then did he pull away.

He crawled up your body afterward, kissing you and letting you taste yourself on his lips. He was still fully dressed, his shirt damp from your release.

“Better?” you managed, still gasping for breath.

“Not yet,” he replied, kissing the corner of your mouth. “I’m not done.”

He rose from the bed and sat up long enough to remove his shirt, pants, and boxers. You watched him in the dim light the lean lines of his body, the smooth skin, and the way his dick stood firm against his stomach.

He settled over you the tip of his cock nudged against your entrance, “Feel it baby?” He said pushing just barely inside just enough to make you gasp.

“All this is just for you.”

The stretch was perfect as he slowly moved in, inch by inch, until he was fully seated. You could feel him everywhere. He lingered there for a moment, allowing you to adjust. His forehead pressing against yours.

“Uh uh, look me in the eyes while I fuck you,” he whispered as he began to move. You tried to maintain eye contact, but your eyes were about to roll back.

He slowly fucked you, with deep, rolling thrusts that hit that spot inside you.

His rhythm was hypnotic as fuck, his breath hot against your neck, as his hands gripped your hips.

He pulled out slow so slow you felt every ridge, every inch then he slammed back in hard enough to knock the air from your lungs.

“Fuck-“

"Yeah. That's it.”

“Whose girl are you?” he asked.

“I’m Michael’s girl,” you moaned.

“Yes, you are, baby,” he said, picking up the pace. He drove into you harder and faster the sound of your bodies meeting filled the room.

He set a punishing pace. Hard, deep strokes that drove you further into the mattress with every thrust. The room was filled with the wet sound of him fucking you, your breathless moans, his guttural grunts.

“You like this hm sweet girl?” He said, rubbing tight circles on your clit in time with his thrusts. “You like being fucked like this, huh?”

You just kept mumbling incoherent words as he fucked you stupid.

“Keep those pretty eyes on me,” he gripped your chin, forcing your gaze to his. “I want you to see who’s fucking you. I want you to remember.”

“I won’t forget,” you said.

“Good,” he kissed you, sloppily and hungry.

“Because I’m not gonna let you.”

He flipped you onto your stomach without warning, pulled your hips up, and entered you from behind. The new angle made you gasp, made you claw at the sheets.

“All mine.”

“Tell me,” he thrust deeper, harder. “Tell me you understand.”

“I understand,” your voice broke on a moan. “I understand, I understand-“

“That’s right.”

He moaned as you tightened your pussy around him. He drove deeper and faster losing control. You were close, and he could feel it building.

And then

A knock at the door.

Three knocks.

"Shit." You tensed.

"Don't you stop." His hand clamped down on your hips, holding you in place. "Keep throwing that perfect ass back on me.”

He stopped moving for half a second, his head lifting. His eyes cut toward the door.

“Michael?” You were breathless and trembling. “Who is that?“

"Shh." He resumed moving, slower now, but no less deep. His hand pressed flat against your lower back, holding you steady. "You feel so good around me i don’t wanna stop."

The knock came again, louder this time. A familiar voice, slurred with alcohol, followed it.

“Hey, hello? Is this the wrong room? Is anyone in here?” He asked.

"Oh my gosh, that's-"

"I know who it is."

It was the producer who had flirted with you.

He didn't stop.

The door wasn’t locked either. You realized that when he started fumbling with the doorknob. He pushed the door open and stumbled inside. Michael didn’t care as he continued to pound you into the bed.

"I was told suite 4-"

He stopped in his tracks suddenly sobered up.

The room was dimly lit by only two lights, but that was enough for him to see the two of you on the bed. The light revealed Michael’s silhouette moving against yours, your body arching beneath him.

The wet sounds of sex filled the silence.

He froze. His mouth opened. Closed.

You turned your head the other way in fear, scared that he’d realize it was you two. But Michael didn’t stop; he wanted him to see that he’d never have you.

His eyes locked onto his as he wrapped his large hand around your neck tilting your head back.

“Don't hide,” he murmured, loud enough for him to hear. “Let him see.”

“Oh fuck im-“ You were shaking, humiliated and aroused in equal measure. “Please.”

“Please, what?” He pressed further, and you couldn’t help but moan, despite feeling embarrassed. “Please stop, or please don’t?” he teased.

“Keep going,” you moaned, completely ignoring his presence at the door. You didn’t care as long as he kept fucking you.

He stood frozen in shock, watching him move his hand from your neck to your hair, using it to pull you back as your ass rippled against him.

His gaze fell to Michael’s cock as it disappeared into you. It was wet and glistening, with a white ring forming at the base.

He smiled and asked, “See something you like?”

“She’s all mine you’ll never have her.” Michael said, his eyes never leaving the man.

“You understand me?”

The producer swallowed and nodded.

“Then get the fuck out.”

The door slammed shut.

Michael didn't slow down. He leaned forward, his chest pressed against your back.

“He saw us. He saw me fucking you. He really knows you’re mine now.”

His pace quickened. His breathing grew ragged, his control slipping. He buried his face in your neck and continued fucking you like he was trying to brand himself onto your bones.

“I’m so close.” You said.

“Come on, baby, come for me then,” he urged. “Come on, your dick.”

You came apart, a shattered cry tearing from your throat. Your body clenched around him, and he followed a second later, his body shuddering against yours as his groan was muffled against your skin.

“Fuck-“ He buried himself deep, his hips flush against your ass. You felt him pulse inside you, all hot and thick, a claim that went beyond words.

He stilled inside you, gasping for breath, his forehead pressed against the back of your head.

Afterward, he collapsed beside you.

“Now, your pussy is marked too.”

You nodded, you were exhausted.

The room was silent except for the sound of your breathing.

“Michael?”

“Yeah.”

“I can’t believe he saw us!”

A soft laugh escaped him. “Honestly, I’m glad he saw us. That’ll teach him about flirting with my woman.”

“Are you okay though?” he asked quietly.

“I feel good, and also thoroughly fucked.”

“That’s what I wanted,” he said as he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you kissing your forehead.

౨ৎ

The aftercare was gentle and thoughtful. He brought you water, a warm washcloth, and even kissed the marks he’d left on your hips, apologizing softly.

“I got all carried away,” he said, tracing patterns on your skin.

“I like it when you get carried away.”

“Don't encourage me.”

You laughed, soft and sleepy. “Too late.”

He smiled and pulled you closer.

You were laid out, your legs parted, head thrown back against a pillow, eyes half-closed as you worked yourself closer to the edge.

Your fingers moved slowly, circling your swollen clit. Too lost in your own pleasure, you didn’t hear the footsteps on the carpet.

Michael had been walking through the hallway, his mind still spinning from the session earlier.

He’d almost passed your door when he caught it low moans and soft, wet sounds that stopped him in his tracks.

The crack in the door was barely two inches wide, but it was enough. He leaned closer before he could stop himself, peering through the gap. The sight on the other side had his dick throbbing instantly.

His breath caught in his throat. You were on your back, your shirt had ridden up, exposing the curve of your stomach.

Your panties were pushed to one side, revealing the slick folds of your pussy. Your fingers glistened as they worked, two of them sliding through your wetness, spreading it over your clit.

The sight of your pretty pussy, all swollen, the little nub peeking out, wet and shiny, made his mouth fill with saliva.

He could see the way your hips rolled, the way your hole clenched around nothing, the way a clear string stretched between your fingers and your slit.

He quickly pulled himself out, thick, aching, pre-cum already beading at the tip as he began to stroke, matching your rhythm. He bit his lip to silence the groan that wanted to tear out of him; you looked so good like that.

His eyes stayed locked on your pussy the way your fingers disappeared inside you. He loved the way your thighs trembled.

You circled your clit with your thumb while your other hand pressed deeper, two fingers, then three, stretching yourself open. Your head was thrown back, your mouth open, your breath coming in little gasps.

His own strokes grew rougher as he pumped himself fast, his palm slick. He was so turned on that he leaked clear, sticky beads that dripped to the carpet.

He pictured his mouth on your pussy, your legs over his shoulders, grinding against his face as he licked and sucked.

His hips twitched forward too far, bumping the door, causing it to creak open.

You froze, staring at the door. Realizing who it was, you pulled the sheets up to your chin. “Michael?”

His curls were a halo around his face, damp at the temples.

His jeans were unbuttoned, his dick jutting out from the fly, his fist wrapped around his shiny shaft. He had been stroking himself while he watched you.

“I’m sorry…”

“Please don’t make me go. I need to touch you. Please.”

He wanted to back away, but his feet seemed glued to the floor. He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing, his hand remaining wrapped around his length.

“You were watching me,” you said, your voice low. “You were listening.”

“I didn’t mean to,” he whispered. “I heard a sound. I thought you might’ve been… then I saw you and I couldn't stop. I'm sorry.”

You didn’t tell him to get out. You didn’t say anything. You just pulled the sheets down, moving your hand back down to your pussy, the wetness coating your fingers again. You spread your legs a little wider, a silent invitation.

“Let me come in. Please. I’ll get on my knees. I’ll do whatever you want. Just let me taste you. I’ll be so good.”

“Seeing you with your fingers inside like that, I thought I’d lose my mind. I want to be the one making you drip like that.”

“You think you deserve that?” you asked.

“No,” he said. “I don’t deserve anything. But I’ll earn it. I’ll beg. I’ll do anything. Please. I see how wet you are. I want to feel that around my tongue.”

You crooked a finger. “Come here.”

Michael let out a sound that was half whimper, half groan. He pushed the door open, but he didn’t walk. He knelt, his knees hitting the floor with a thud. He crawled across the carpet and onto your bed, where you were.

“I’m sorry for watching, but I’m not sorry for wanting you. I can’t be sorry for that.“

You reached up and gently grabbed his hair. His eyes rolled up to meet yours, wide and pleading.

“Tell me what you want, Mikey,” you said, brushing a curl from his forehead.

“I want… I want to touch you,” he stammered, his voice dropping lower, rougher. “I’ve thought about it so many times seeing you like this.“

“You can touch me.”

When his fingers finally brushed against your soaked pussy, he moaned, his fingers pressing deeper, sliding through your folds, gathering the slickness. He watched his hand move, fascinated, his brows furrowing in concentration.

“Is that good, Mama?”

“Tell me what to do.”

“Rub my clit,” you murmured, your voice husky. “Right where my fingers were. Move in slow circles.”

He found it immediately, his fingers pressing against the sensitive nub; he began to move in circles.

His touch was clumsy at first, too light, then too firm, but he watched your face for cues, adjusting when you gasped or arched. Learning you with every stroke.

“Yes,” you breathed, “like that, but faster.”

A low moan rumbled from his throat when your hips bucked into his hand.

“Oh my, you’re so wet. You’re so… I can’t think.”

“You don’t need to think,” you said, tangling your fingers in his hair again.

“You need to listen. Do what I say.”

“Yes,” he whispered against your skin. “Anything. Tell me. Please.”

You guided his hand, letting his fingers slip inside you. He gasped at the tightness and the slick grip.

“I want to taste you,” he begged, coming up from between your legs, pulling his fingers out and bringing them to his lips. He licked them clean, his eyes fluttering shut. “Please. Let me taste you.”

You nodded, and he slid back down your body, his mouth trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your ribs, your belly, until he settled between your thighs again.

His tongue was hesitant at first, a kitten’s lick, testing. You bucked your hips, and he let out a desperate sound as he dove in.

His nose was bumping against your clit, as he lapped at your folds, groaning into you. His large hands gripped your thighs, holding you open as he devoured your pussy.

“Yes,” you gasped, grinding against his face. “Yes, just like that. Please don’t stop.”

He ate you like you were the only meal he’d ever need. His tongue circled your clit, flicking, pressing into you as he sucked gently, then harder, using his fingers to spread you open so he could get deeper.

“More,” you gasped.

He obeyed immediately, wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking while his fingers pushed inside you, two of them.

You were tight, hot, clenching around him. He groaned against your flesh.

“Am I doing it right?” he asked, pulling back just enough to speak.

“Is this good enough?”

“Yes-fuck, yes-”

“I love hearing you say that. I love knowing I’m the one doing this to you. “Please keep making those sounds.”

He buried his face in you again, licking and sucking and fucking you with his fingers until your thighs began to tremble, until your back arched off the mattress, until you screamed his name coming undone against his mouth.

He sucked up every bit, licking you through your orgasm until you pushed him away, oversensitive.

He came up from between your legs, his chin glistening, his eyes dazed. “That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you for letting me do that.”

“Can I be inside you now?” he asked, his voice barely audible. “Please. I’ll be so gentle. I’ll last as long as you want. Just tell me yes.”

“I want it so bad,” he said. “I think about you all the time. Every night. I touch myself thinking about your mouth, your hands, your…please, I’m begging you. Let me fuck you. I’ll be so good. I’ll do exactly what you say.”

“You will,” you agreed, and you guided him onto his back, tugging his pants further down, then climbing over him, straddling his hips, your pussy brushing against the length of his dick.

He moaned, his hands flying to your waist, but you pinned them above his head.

“No touching and no moving,” you said. “Unless I say so.”

He nodded, his chest heaving. “Yes. Yes, okay. I won’t move.”

You lowered yourself slowly, watching his face contort with pleasure as you sank down onto him, inch by inch. He was so big, filling you completely, and you both moaned when you were fully seated.

“Look at me, Mikey,” you commanded. “I want you to watch me ride your dick.”

His eyes were locked on you, big and wide, his mouth open. You began to move, grinding against him. His breath came in short, desperate gasps; pleas and praises spilled from his lips.

“Oh, my…yes, so tight you feel so good. Please, please.”

You rode him with your hands braced on his chest. “You feel amazing, Michael,” you said. “So good inside me. Such a good boy.”

He whimpered at the praise, his hips bucking up into you despite his promise. You slapped his chest lightly. “I said no moving.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it. You’re too perfect. Please let me move just a little.”

“No. You take what I give you. And you’re going to come when I tell you to. Understood?”

“Yes,” he whined.

He dropped his head to your shoulder, biting back a cry. “Fuck, baby,” “You feel I can’t hold on much more.”

“You can and you will.”

You kept him on the edge, riding him faster, then slower, until he was a mess.

“Please let me come, please. I’ll do anything. I’ll worship you forever, please.”

You slowed your pace, a teasing smile on your lips.

“Not yet. I want to hear you beg a little more.”

“I need it, please. I’ll be good.”

Leaning forward, you brought one hand to his throat, squeezing as your fingers curled against the sides of his neck.

"Quiet," you whispered, your other hand lifting to his mouth. "Open."

His lips parted, and you slid two fingers past them. He hollowed his cheeks as he sucked your fingers, his saliva coating your fingers.

You pressed your palm a little firmer against his throat, not enough to cut off air, but enough to make him feel the pressure to remind him who was in control.

He moaned around your fingers, the vibration traveling up your arm. When his hips bucked, you tightened your grip on his throat in warning.

"That's it," you said. "Suck. Good boy, Mikey."

He kept sucking eagerly, his tongue swirling, his eyes rolling back. You rode him through it, your hips rolling in lazy circles, feeling the way his dick twitched inside you.

The combination of your hand on his throat and your fingers in his mouth had him utterly undone.

He was so vocal it was so sexy; every thrust drew more pleas and whimpers from him.

His hands roamed your hips, your breasts, your thighs, breaking his promise, but he never tried to control the pace. He let you take what you wanted.

You pulled your fingers free with a soft pop, replacing them with your thumb, dragging it across his lower lip.

“You’re riding me so good, ma,” he gasped. “I won’t last much longer, please. Tell me when and tell me how you want it.”

“I want you to come all over my face,” you said, and his eyes went wide as he nodded frantically.

“Yes. Yes. Whatever you want.”

You rode him harder, faster, until you felt him stiffen beneath you. “I’m going to, I’m so close, please.”

You pulled off, rolling onto your back, pulling him with you. He hovered over your face, one hand braced beside your head, the other gripping his dick. He was slick with your wetness, throbbing.

“Is this..are you sure?”

“Yes, give it to me. I want it all,” you said, licking your lips and sticking your tongue out.

He cried out as his body tensed, his dick jerking. The first rope of cum hit your lips, warm and thick.

The second landed across your cheek, the third on your chin, the fourth across your nose and eyebrow.

“Thank you,” he gasped. “Thank you, thank you.”

He kept pumping, milking himself, more spurts landing on your tongue, your forehead, your throat.

He collapsed on his knees, his chest heaving, his dick still dripping.

He looked down at you, your face dripping with his release, his cum running down your cheeks, pooling at the corners of your mouth. You wiped your mouth, bringing your hand to your lips, licking a stripe of his cum off your fingers.

As he watched you do that a fresh wave of arousal flowed through him.

“That was the first time… no one has ever… was I okay?”

He rested his forehead against your shoulder, his breath ragged.

You lifted his chin, making him look at you, at the mess he’d made. “You did so fucking good,” you said softly, and he smiled.

“You were more than okay,” you said.

“I’m going to go grab a rag from the bathroom.”

“Okay,” you whispered back.

A few minutes later, he came back with a warm rag in his hand.

He pulled you closer as he carefully wiped his release from your face.

When he was done, he curled up against you, his hand splayed across your stomach, his lips pressed to your shoulder, still whispering lots of thanks to you.

♥︎