Pairing: Michael Jackson x Reader
Tags: #bad!michael, tension, makeup, exes, angst, yearning, sensual
Summary: You've broken up months ago, but it's been hard to let him go completely. So when you're the bridesmaid for a mutual friend, and Michael is a groomsmen, the proximity only makes your unresolved feelings louder. Michael doesn't make things any better as he apologizes and begs for another chance.
The weekend arrived far sooner than you wanted it to.
You'd spent the entire week wishing time would somehow slow down to delay the inevitable. But it hadn't. Instead the days seem to race by faster and straight to the one weekend you'd been dreading for months.
It should have been exciting. Your best friend was getting married after all. But instead, a knot settled deep in your stomach. Because she wasn't just marrying anyone. She was marrying one of Michael's closest friends.
Which meant he'd be there.
And not just as a guest, either.
The entire wedding party was staying at a beautiful oceanside resort for the weekend. It had balconies that overlooked crashing waves while the sun hit it just right, salty breezes that drifted through every open window. Under different circumstances it was a perfect getaway.
At least you had your own room.
You smooth the invisible wrinkles from your baby blue halter dress before giving yourself one last look in the mirror. You looked soft and elegant, exactly what you'd envision when your friend asked you to be a bridesmaid.
You just hadn't imagined wearing it while seeing your ex for the first time in three months. You hoped it would've been for your fiancĂŠ instead.
You draw in one steady breath before you slip on your heels and head for the rehearsal dinner. The melodic click of your heels echoes against tile floors as you round the corner toward the elevator.
Then you freeze, breath caught so suddenly it was painful.
Of course. Of fucking course.
Standing alone in front of the elevator was Michael.
Too soon. You'd secretly hoped that you would at least have one more evening before he was thrown back in your orbit. You turn to look for an alternate way to get to the dining hall, for some stairs maybe? But no such luck.
He wore a fitted button up almost the same shade of your dress, tucked neatly into cream colored slacks with a black belt fastened by a gold buckle. In the edges of his hair evening light that spills through nearby windows catches on it, warm and gentle.
He looked good. He always looked good.
And as if sensing someone was watching him, he glanced over. His eyes land on you as you make your way over, widening slightly.
The elevator chimed in the charged silence. You step beside him, careful to leave as much space as possible. The silence so heavy it made the air feel so warm that it made your ears burn.
You clasped your hands together, squeezing your fingers until your knuckles paled, all in hopes it would quell the nervous flutter in your chest.
It had been three months since the two of you ended things. Three years together. Three months apart. The breakup had been mutual. Mostly. You were the one to initiate it.
Michael's career was taking off faster than you were prepared for. Though extremely happy, the success of thriller was a lot for you to handle. He was on the move everyday. Now it had been some years since his last album, so he'd been quietly working on his next.
Until it wasn't so quiet anymore.
Recording sessions, meetings, movie roles. One film came followed by talks of another. With a larger budget his short films became bigger and better. Then there whispers of a worldwide tour.
Every week there was something new demanding his time. You loved watching his dreams come true. You just couldn't ignore the growing emptiness between you.
You knew he deserved to be with someone who could handle his lifestyle. Someone who wouldn't feel guilty for asking for more time. You weren't going to just sit around and wait for him to come home anymore.
And you knew you deserved someone who could actually be there.
Neither of you argued. Neither of you wanted to let go really. But love just hadn't been enough anymore.
The elevator continued its slow climb, each soft ding between floors rings louder than it should've.
Finally, the doors slid open. Relief washes over you when you see that it was already packed with familiar faces.
"Oh, thank God," you muttered under your breath.
Your friends greeted you immediately, pulling you into their conversation with ease. Air rushed back into your lungs fresh and clean as you smiled and slipped into the group.
Michael steps in the elevator last, settling at the opposite end, far enough way. One of your friends caught your eye then drifted toward Michael then back to you. A knowing grin spreads across her face.
"Don't even," you whispered, a pointed look in your eyes.
The walk from the elevators to the resort's dining hall was way easier now that you were surrounded by your friends. Their chatter filled the halls, distracting you enough to forget who was walking somewhere behind you.
By the time everyone filtered into the dining hall, you almost believed the rest of the evening would be painless.
But almost was the key word.
You were halfway through the doors when someone stop beside you.
"You look really pretty tonight," his voice was quiet and gentle.
The kind of cadence that made your heart settle after a long day.
Michael's eyes never left yours, not even for a second. The compliment stole the words from your mouth. Your lips parted but not a sound came out.
Before you could find your voice, he offered you that familiar easy smile. The one that used to have you blushing for hours. The one you day dreamed about while kicking your feet. Then he walked away toward the groom's side of the room.
You stared after him. Out of all the things you'd imagined him saying after three months apart those words hadn't even crossed your mind.
Heat crept across your cheeks while a dull irritation lulls through you. You hated that he still had that effect on you.
To your surprise, the rest of the evening passed by smoothly. Michael kept his distance. You kept yours.
Your conversations never overlapped, and no one tried to force the two of you together. Every now and then your eyes met across the room. Brief glances that carried something heavy and unreadable.
Something you don't bother to unpack because he was watching you. You caught his eyes on you more than once. Your body shudders at the emotion swirling in his eyes. You drink wine to ignore the regret niggling in the back of your mind.
Thankfully, everyone else seemed to understand the unspoken rule. No questions. No comments.
By the time the rehearsal dinner ended, you found yourself in a faux relaxation.
Night one had been manageable which meant that tomorrow was going to make up for it.
Because tomorrow, the real fiesta begins.
Sleep comes easier than you expected or maybe wine induced exhaustion drags you under. Either way, when dawn kisses the sky, you're already awake.
Gentle rays of sunlight spill through the curtains of your room, painting streaks of gold across the floor. Beyond the balcony, the ocean stretches endlessly, waves rolling lazily against the shore.
Today was the day. The day of the wedding. The morning disappears in a whirlwind of preparations. Bridesmaids hustle from room to room carrying makeup bags. Curling irons hiss. Hair spray clouds the air. Someone is always looking for a bobby pin.
You barely have time to think which is probably for the best.
Before you know it, you're standing in front of the mirror one last time.
For a moment, you simply just stare.
A different baby blue dress hugs your figure, this one crafted from silk that catches in the light with every movement. The fabrics shimmers like the ocean waves outside your window.
Loose curls frame your face. Delicate silver jewelry glints against your skin.
You look beautiful like a magnolia in may.
Soon enough, everyone begins to gather for the ceremony. And suddenly all the distractions disappear. Because now comes the part you've been dreading.
Walking down the aisle....with him.
A year ago, when the wedding plans were first made, it was the obvious choice.
Of course you'd walk with Michael.
Back then you were still together. Still planning getaways. Still planning futures that included each other.
The breakup had not been part of the plan.
So now, you're standing here with butterflies violently battering your stomach, not so sure you'll make it through the ceremony without falling apart.
You blink rapidly. Only hoping the sting behind your eyes has everything to do with the wedding and nothing else.
The maid of honor begins organizing everyone, pairing bridesmaids with their corresponding groomsmen.
One by one, couples find their places. Then she gestures toward the back of the line. Toward Michael.
Your feet carry you forward before you can second guess yourself. The sight of him nearly stops you in your tracks.
He looks incredibly handsome and incredibly dangerous for your fragile heart.
Without a word, you slip your hand around his arm. The familiar contact sends electric currents through you.
His muscles tense beneath your touch. For a second, neither of you move, then his gaze settles on you, slowly and carefully.
"You look beautiful," his words come out almost as a whisper.
And against every instinct screaming at you not to but you look up. Directly into his eyes.
A mistake. A terrible terrible mistake.
Because he's close enough to feel the warmth of his body. Close enough to recognize the scent of his cologne. And close enough to hear the subtle breath he draws in.
"Thank you," you manage softly. The words barely leave your lips before the chapel doors begin to open.
Music floods the room. Conversations fall silent as violins carry through the air. The ceremony had began.
The wedding party starts their descend down the aisle, one pair at a time.
The orchestra crescendos, and your pulse rises with it. Then you feel him lean slightly toward you. Just enough for his voice to brush against your ear.
"This should've been us," he says.
For a moment, the entire world goes silent. But then it's your turn and suddenly you're walking, arms linked through Michael's unable to process his words.
A polite smile ghosts your lips as you pass hundreds of faces. Pretending as if your heart isn't threatening to crack open right there right now.
The walk feels endless but yet too short. When you finally reach the alter and separate, relief crashes through you and fresh air fills your lungs.
Michael moves to the groom's side. You take your spot among the bridesmaids.
A perfect visual of what you'd become. Close enough to see, but yet too far to touch.
The groom enters, and the guest smile, family members wipe tears from their eyes. And then the doors open once more and the bride appears. Beautiful in white. The whole room brightens at the sight of her.
You should be focused on her. Everyone should. But every time you glance his way, Michael's eyes are already on you.
Heat creeps up your neck.
You spend the rest of the ceremony staring anywhere but in his direction. At stained glass. The flowers in your hands. The ocean beyond the alter. The bride. Anywhere and everywhere.
Sometimes your resolve slips and sometimes your eyes meet. Each time feels more dangerous than the last. There was something brewing behind his gaze. You knew that look.
You dated him for three years. He's planning something. And if he thinks he can sweep in and win you back over the course of a single wedding weekend, he has lost his damn mind completely.
The ceremony ends in applause and cheers as the newlyweds share their first kiss united as one.
For the first time all day, his attention finally shifts away from you.
The reception takes place beside the beach, where the resort opens into golden sand and dark water.
Part of the celebrations spills indoor beneath elegant chandeliers while the rest stretches under string lights that sway in the coastal breeze. Music drifts through the salty air.
The dance floor is full of people celebrating with unapologetic smiles across their face.
Most of the party is gathered outside. You don't. You remain inside near the wine table, a glass resting lightly in your fingers.
For the first time all day, you're alone with your thoughts. You watch the newly weds spin under the lights. The bride's laughter loud over the breeze. The groom hasn't stopped smiling since she said I do.
A small smile finds its way onto your lips. They deserve happiness. Every single second of it. But that doesn't stop the weird feeling inside you. Caught between sadness and happiness.
You glance down at your noticeably empty ring finger. Would have this been you like Michael suggested?
"I would've gotten you the ring of your dreams," a voice comes from behind you.
His voice is a trigger that sends a shiver straight down your spine. You scoff, the sound sharp, defensive and raw as wine wipes some of the polish off your clean demeanor.
"Would you?" you say, humoring him, though you refuse to turn around.
"Yes," he says quickly as he moves beside you.
He lands too close. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, its a familiar warmth that threatens to melt the ice you've spent these months freezing around your heart.
You take a slight step back, needing space. You huff a humorless laugh, still looking out at the dance floor.
"I would've," he repeats, his voice dropping, glossed with desperation that makes your stomach contract. "You know I'd give you the world."
"Michael," you warn, your voice fragile like a house made of sticks.
"I miss you," he says, the admission is raw and stripped of the pride he usually wears.
"Stop." your voice shaky but firm now like a house made of straw.
"I think about you every day. Every morning I wake up. Every night before bed," he confesses.
I said stop. Now is not the time," you warn again. Voice firm like you discovered bricks. But the foundation is shaky because he knows exactly how to make you crack.
"How can I stop when you still wear the necklace I gave you?"
Your heart drops to your ass. Your hand flings to your throat, fingers brushing the delicate chain and the small M pendant resting against your skin. You forgot you were wearing it. You hadn't taken it off since the day he first fastened it around your neck.
The cool metal transports you back to the time when you were in the bedroom, sheets tangled around your legs, the days bleeding to nights as you spent the time just talking, kissing, and making love until its unclear where he starts and you begin.
You remember the way he used to worship every inch of you, the way his cock used to fill you completely, the way your name used to leave his lips like a prayer.
Michael nods at your silence. He knows. He joins you in the silence, both of you watch the crowd. And weirdly enough, it's comfortable. Despite the emotional attack he just launch, there's a magnetic pull between you that defies logic.
But silence and weddings don't go together.
Your friends come running in, laughing and giggling, dragging you both toward the dance floor. The music loud and extremely danceable. For a while, you left yourself go, feeling carefree.
You dance with your girls, spinning and laughing. You spent enough time worrying about Michael, and now, even if it's just for one hour, you decide to be free.
It feels good. Real good. Blood pumping in your veins with adrenaline of a party that perfectly masks the ache in your chest.
Then, the Dj slows the tempo. A romantic ballad fills the room, and couples begin to drift toward each other. You make your way off the dance floor, desperate to escape the sudden surge of longing that smacks you.
But then, a hand catches yours. The touch electric.
You freeze, looking up to see Michael. The moon is positioned perfectly behind his head, creating a halo of light that makes his eyes shimmer with agonizing sincerity.
"Dance with me?" he asks.
Your hand buzzes with life under his touch. A reaction you can't control. Your body screams to be closer to him, to be swallowed in his warm embrace.
Your shoulders drop with a heavy sigh. You're tired of fighting. Tired of the void he left in your life. So, you nod your head slowly.
A smile creeps up his lips, small and triumphant. The sight makes your heart lurch painfully in your chest.
He pulls you in, and you do your best to ignore the gasps and oohâs from the guests when you press your face into his chest. You slowly sway to the music, the world around you blurs into a smear of colors and noise.
His hand on your waist feels like home, firm with a hint of possession, pulling you flush against him. Being in his embrace again is intoxicating. Like a drug you've been craving for months.
Horrible for the defensive line you built around your heart. One by one, the walls fall with every thump of his heart against your ear.
You tune out the music entirely .The only sound that matters is the sound of his breathing, his natural cadence that grounds you.
"This has been the hardest three months of my life," Michael's voice rumbles through your entire body, vibrating in your bones.
"Mine too," you softly admit.
"I never knew you could miss a person this much."
You remain silent because you did. You remember the nights you went to bed alone, his side of the mattress cold. You remember those rare and lucky nights when you'd wake up in the middle of the night and find him there, having flown back in secret just to hold you for a few hours, just for him to be gone by the time you woke up for real.
You went from hearing his voice every day to hearing him only when he called. You understood that his job was demanding, but your heart was demanding too. It stopped only caring about his career, and started caring that it was empty.
"I like to think that this was our first dance in another universe," he says gently swaying you in a slow circle, his eyes locked onto yours.
"Stop," you tell him, your voice trembling. Your heart can no longer handle this level of vulnerability.
"That's the issue. I can't stop. I can't stop missing you. I can''t stop loving you," he says, his tone raw and serious with a vulnerability that strips him bare.
"Michael," you whisper. It's all you can say. How do you tell him you too have been drowning in the same agonizing longing? How do you tell him every time you closed your eyes, you saw his face?
The song ends, breaking the spell. You peel yourself away from him, the loss of his warmth feeling like a critical hit.
Look at him, eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
"We have to talk later. Come to my room after," you tell him, your voice barely a whisper. Without waiting for him to answer, you turn and walk away.
The rest of the night you made sure there was a considerable amount of distance between the two of you.
The loud reception finally bleeds into quiet night, leaving you alone with silence echoing through your hotel room.
You slipped off the perfect facade of being a bridesmaid, your heels kicked off in a haphazard trail across the floor, your makeup smudged and stale from the day.
You stand on the balcony, the cool night air biting at your skin, watching the moon cast silver across dark waves that crash onto the shore below.
"It's open," you yell back, voice sounding hollow even to your own ears.
You hear the click of the door followed by the tread of his footsteps on the carpet, then sliding of the glass door that creaks open further as Michael steps out to join you.
You glance over at him. He's unraveled. His suit jacket is gone, discarded somewhere in the room, and the top few buttons of his dress shirt are undone, exposing the hollow of his throat. His dark curls, that once fell perfectly, are a mess now.
"Hi,' he responds, his voice a light rumble. He settles next to you.
For a long time neither of you speak. You had a list of grievances, a mountain of words rehearsed in your mind for three months, but as the exhaustion of the day washes over you, the words vanish.
You don't even care about the argument anymore.
Michael is the one to break the silence.
"You're scared...I didn't know it before, but you were scared. That's why you left me." He says with certainty, his gaze fixed on the horizon.
You stiffen, a flicker of your old defensiveness rearing its head.
"Scared of what?" you quip, trying to keep your tone light.
"Scared that you wouldn't be my top priority," he says, finally Turing to look at you, his eyes piercing. "You painted the breakup in a way that I thought it made sense on both ends. But now looking back it was all you."
"That's not true," you lie, the words tasting like ash on your tongue.
"Did you think I wouldn't take care of you? Be there for you?"
You stand there for a moment. Because he was right. You were terrified. Paralyzed by the fear that his ambition for his craft would eventually leave no room for you. You were convinced that one day you'll wake up and find him no longer by your side, now just a blip in his story.
So, you chose to rip the page out before he could.
"What was I supposed to think when you weren't there?"
"Everything I did was so I could come home to you. After this tour, I'm done. I'm not doing anymore tours," he tells you.
You look at him, the moonlight revealing his wreckage. There was a profound sadness clinging to the lines of his face, a grief he likely hadn't had time to process given his lifestyle.
The realization makes your heart ache with a stabbing pain.
"I was scared. You were moving so fast, and I just...I just couldn't keep up," you finally whisper, your admission breaking the silence.
The moment the words leave your lips, Michael takes a desperate step toward you. "You know I'd never leave you behind."
"But I don't know that," you say, voice dry. You blink rapidly, fighting the tears that have been pending in your eyes since the day you saw first him, thought it's already a lost cause.
"How could you not?" he asks, his voice rising, fueled by a surge of passion. "You have to know I'd drop everything. Everything."
"I don't want you to do that," you sob, the frustration bubbling over. "I don't want you to give up your world for me."
"That's exactly what I'll do if it means I can have you back. I miss you..." He steps even closer, his hand capturing yours.
You shake your head. This is a danger zone. This is exactly how it was before, only worse, because the void he left has only grown wider with him in your presence.
You look down at where his fingers lace through yours. A single tear splashes on your joined hands.
When you look up, Michael looks wrecked.
"I miss you," he repeats, his voice dropping to a quiet plea.
The walls you built, the ones you spent ninety days reinforcing collapse in a single heartbeat.
"I miss you too..." you finally choke out.
Michael steps into your personal space, closing the gap until your chests brush. You look down, unable to meet the intensity of his gaze as more tears streak down, warm and silent.
His hand glides up, palm sliding over your dress to settle on your waist. The warmth of his hand seeps through the fabric. You go rigid, fighting the overwhelming urge to melt into his and let him carry the grief that has clung to you for months.
"Look at me," he says. It wasn't a request but a gentle demand.
You shake your head, unable to face the intensity waiting for you in his gaze.
With a soft, patient sigh, Michael reaches out, his fingers hooking under your chin. He forces you to see him, to see the wreckage and hope swirling in his eyes. As soon as your gaze meets his, he leans in, kissing your cheek, tasting the saltiness of your tears.
The resistance you were desperately holding on to snaps. You melt under his touch, your body limp as you lean into him.
"Don't cry," he gently coos, his breath warm against your skin.
"Don't be sorry. I'm sorry," he counters. "I'm sorry I ever made you feel this way."
"It's not your fault," you whisper, shaking your head. Knowing now that the ghost you were running from was a creation of your own fear and not a reflection of his true feelings.
His eyes flick across your face, scanning every inch of you as if he's trying to memorize you all over again. In the midnight pools of his eyes, you see sadness, hunger, and longing, so potent it' looks heavy. Your own eyes soften.
He presses a kiss to your lips. It's soft, almost hesitant, as if he's afraid you might disappear if he press too hard. But when he pulls away just, a fraction, and it's like a tennis ball hitting velcro.
You don't let him retreat. You chase his lips, mouth seeking his with urgency. He responds instantly, kissing you again. this time with more pressure. He's not going overboard just yet, carefully feeling you out.
But your breathing is already picking up, coming in short, jagged gasps as desire kindles hot within you, spreading like wildfire.
The memory of how he tastes, how he feels, how he fits perfectly against you, floods back in like a tsunami.
You kiss him harder, your tongue flickering against his, urging him to take more. To stop being careful and just take you. And he hears your silent plea from your movements and finally gives in. His grip on your waist tightens, pulling your hips flush against his and he deepens the kiss.
Your hands wrap around his neck, fingers tangling in the loose curls at the nape of his neck, pulling him even closer. There is no more room for even a slither of paper to pass between you two.
"Michael," you sigh against his lips.
He groans, a deep sound that vibrates from his chest into yours. He had missed this. The way your voice breaks, the way you sigh his name.
Without breaking the kiss, he grips your thighs and lifts you onto the thick balcony railing. The elevation allows him to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours possessively.
Your hands move franticly, fumbling with the remaining buttons of his shirt. You undo them with a quickness, accidentally popping a few in your haste. You part the fabric, sliding your palms across his warm and smooth chest. It's exactly as you remember.
Your hands wrap around his waist, pulling him tightly against you, while his hands move to cup the sides of your face, his fingers digging possessively into your skin.
You huff out a frustrated groan, when he finally breaks the kiss. You crave the pressure of his lips on yours, but instead he drags his mouth down your neck, moaning loudly at your scent.
His lips feel even better on your skin. All hot and wet. He places sloppy open mouthed kisses down your neck, while one hand slips down the curve of your back, finding the zipper that holds your dress tight, unzipping it. The fabric slides away from your curves.
"I want you," you whisper.
"I need you," he responds.
The desperation in his voice is deeper than you thought possible, it's a raw ache that goes beyond yours. You realize you might just be his salvation.
Michael helps you off the railing, his hand never leaving your body as he guides you inside the room. The door slides shut behind you. He slips your dress off your shoulders, letting it pool on the floor, leaving you standing in nothing but a thin thong.
You lean backward onto the bed, your breath hitches as you watch him strip.
"I haven't been with anyone else..." you say quietly. You don't know why you feel the need to clarify but the confession slips out anyways.
"I haven't either," he says.
The words calm something inside you. A surge of joy washes over you in knowing that he hadn't been in another's arm even though you spent months convinced he had.
Michael joins you on the bed, his body crashing into yours as he kisses you again. His hands slide up your body, finding your breasts, squeezing and kneading them with a hunger that makes your back arch.
He pins you beneath him. You reel at the heavy feeling of his weight on you again, pressing you into the mattress.
Oh how you've missed this.
His hands slide down, parting your legs quickly. You open for him without any hesitation, giving him the access you desperately want. His hand runs up your cunt, rubbing firmly against the thin fabric of your thong.
You moan at the sensation, your hips bucking instantly. Your body is extra sensitive from the many touchless nights. Even when you two were together toward the end, your sex life had taken a dive, stuck under the weight of stress and silence. The fact that your body can still come alive like this is amazing.
He continues to grind his palm against your clit through the fabric while he drags his teeth over your skin. He nibbles on the clean skin of your shoulders and chest, leaving small love bites blooming across your neck and breast.
As a physical reminder of who you belong to even when you are apart.
Michael finally slips his hands inside your thong, and draws in a sharp breath when he feels the slick wetness of your cunt. His fingers slip through your folds, finding your clit and begins circling it in punishing motions.
You gasp, your eyes fluttering shut as waves of pleasure crash over you.
"Michael," you groan, voice straining.
"I love hearing you moan my name," he whispers, placing a kiss on the sensitive skin just below your ear.
Then he slips a long finger inside you. You cry out, your walls clamping tight around him. His hands were large, his fingers long and perfect. He eases it in and out, the friction so good it makes you dizzy.
He adds a second finger. stretching you open, making you see stars. He curls his long fingers upward, hitting your g spot with calculated ease. That was the thing about exes, they already know the map of your body. They know exactly which parts make you cream.
"Michael!" you gasp, your voice breaking.
His fingers curl at a speed that melts your mind, a relentless rhythm as if he were a guitar player. His finger game was just as strong as his thrusts and with how large his fingers were, there wasn't much of a difference.
He pulls his fingers out of you, leaving you feeling empty and aching. He then brings his hand to his mouth, licking the glistening cream of your arousal from his fingers. He moans at the tastes, savoring the evidence of your desire.
"I missed how needy you were for me," he murmurs. "But I miss how good you taste even more.
You watch as he swirls his tongue over his fingertips one last time.
"Fuck," you curse, your voice trembling. That was one of the hottest things he has ever done.
Michael shoves his fingers back inside you, deeper and faster than before. His hand working in a blur of motion that rocks your entire body into the mattress.
Pressure builds to an unbearable peak, your walls clench around his fingers violently.
The orgasm hits you like a lightening strike, radiating from your throbbing cunt to your shaky toes. You arch your back and your toes curl as you scream into the quiet of the room, completely uncaring for the walls thinness.
"That's it," he moans, his voice thick with praise. He watches you with an intensity that feels like he's seeing your soul. "I missed the way your face scrunched when I make you comeâyou're beautiful."
You moan at the praise. You too missed him. His touch, his voice, his approval more than you ever dare to admit to yourself.
As the aftershocks of your orgasm still course through you, he reaches down and glides your thong off, throwing it onto the floor with the rest of the clothes. He spreads your legs part, gripping your hips and lifting you to align with his pulsing cock with your entrance.
He presses himself into you with one powerful thrust. You yell out in response, the sensation overwhelming. He fills you so completely that you feel the pressure deep in your stomach.
Michael begins rocking into you, his hips rolling in sensual waves. He isn't rushing, making sure to hit the deepest parts of you with every slide. He bites his lip hard, quelling the pleasure rippling through him.
"Yes, Michael. Give it to me," you moan. Each drag out and every slide back in melts your mind, leaving you equally shattered and wanting.
"God, I missed this. I'm such an idiot for letting you go," he groans. His thrusts begin to speed up, his fingers digging deep into the skin of your hips. His grasp so possessive that it will definitely leave bruises by the morning.
The sound of skin meeting skin echos loudly in the resort room. You don't care if the guest in the room over can hear you. This feels amazing even though it's wrong. Even though it violates every rule and boundary you set to protect your heart, you don't want him to stop.
You weren't supposed to talk to him. But you did. You weren't supposed to kiss him. But you did. You damn sure weren't supposed to be in bed with him, but here you are, getting railed so hard a train might mistake you for tracks.
"You're so perfect," he groans, his voice cracking.
"Please don't stop," you groan out, your head tossing back into pillows.
Suddenly, he flips you onto your stomach, lifting your hips up to give him a deeper angle. He slams into you again from behind, his cock hitting different spots that trigger sparks of pleasure that make your eyes roll back into your head. Your loud uncontrollable cries are muffled as you bury your face into pillows.
"Yes! Just like that," you sob, your voice muffled but still painfully desperate.
His thrusts grow rougher as he nears his peak. You can feel him trembling, his breath coming in raggedly. And you are right there with him, the tension building higher toward a second, even more violent orgasm.
"Baby, I'm going to come again," you tell him, the pet name slipping out without second thought.
"Call me that again," he whines, the sound a plea that rings deep in your core.
"Just like that, baby. Don't stop."
He moans at the name, all low and needy. Then he suddenly slows his pace, shifting into a sensual slow rhythm. It's agonizing as he makes you feel his every inch, curve, and ridge. The friction so intense that you can almost taste pleasure in your mouth.
"Fuck," you draw out every syllable, your voice a long shaky exhale.
An orgasm the size of a tsunami crashes over you, rolling through your cunt in hard waves.
"Come for me, angel," he coaxes, his voice a low comforting command. He keeps his thrusts steady and slow, stretching it until it blends with his own. You feel the hot thick ropes of his release paints your inside as he comes hard.
His breath is loud and heavy, his chest heaving against your back. Micael stays there a moment before he pulls himself out with a hard and wet pop. His release spills out of you, staining the sheets.
Michael collapses beside you with a heavy huff, his arm draping over your waist. You flatten out on the bed, your body sore, your throat sore, and your heart achingly sore.
After a quick clean up (Michael doing the bulk of it), he pulls you back into his arms, pulling your back against his chest, his heartbeat a steady thrum against your spine.
For the first time in months, the noise in your head goes silent. All the anxiety and longing gets crushed by the weight of his embrace. You fall into the deepest, most restorative sleep you had since the day you walked away.
When you wake, the room is bathed in the soft golden light of the morning. You lie there unmoving in his arms as the events of the night replay in your mind like a fever dream. From the balcony to the way he tasted.
You shift slightly, moving your head to stare at the gorgeous man beside you. Your eyes trace every line of his face.
You memorize the slope of his nose, the line of his brows, and the shadow of stubble along his jaw. Just making sure he is the same man you loved. Making sure he hasn't changed even though everything else has.
"Morning, beautiful," he murmurs, his voice thick and gravelly. His eyes fluttering open, the chocolate pools a mixture of affection and the deep sadness that remains.
"Morning," you whisper, your voice dry and raspy half from the screaming and sleep.
For twenty minutes, you simply exist in the silence, with the air heavy with things unsaid. The haze of pleasure fades and the reality of your lives rushes back in.
"We can't get back together, you know that, right, Michael" you say as you sit up abruptly, the cool air hitting your skin as you wrap sheets around your chest.
"Yeah, I know," he sighs, the sound broken. He leans forward and presses a tender kiss to your bare shoulder, his lips warm against your skin.
You look at him, and your head hurts more in this moment than the day you originally broke up. You stare at this beautifully complicated man who is currently carving a path toward legend status. You are genuinely happy for him, proud of him, but you know yourself.
A dull aching throb hits your heart. The love you have for him is still alive, and his for you still pulses. But the timing is a cruel cruel joke. You two are the right people in a world that placed you on opposite ends.
Michael reaches out, his hand puling you back down into him. He wraps his arms arounds you one last time, squeezing you as if he could fuse your souls together. He kisses your forehead gently, closing his eyes as he basks in these final moments.
The clock is ticking. You have a flight to catch, and so does he. The temporary sanctuary of the resort was coming to an end.
You pull back just enough to look into his eyes, leaning in to kiss him. It's slow, long and devastatingly intimate. It taste of grief, salt, and regret.
"I love you," you tell him.
"I love you too," he responds.
