Ivy

That’s right — Michael Joseph Jackson was your fucking boss.

And you weren’t the colleague that attended his meetings, or interviews, or helped on set of one of his many music videos — you were his children’s nanny.

You ate, slept and lived in his home — a live-in babysitter for his two young children. You orbited his world — learnt his habits, and daily routines, likes and dislikes, and became a prominent figure in his offspring’s lives.

They loved you, treated you like the mother that wasn’t as present in their lives, much to your dismay as you’d much rather be seen as a sisterly figure, which only made Michael adore you more.

And that’s what made you fall so deeply head over heels for him.

Michael, much like most celebrities parents, was a busy man, his sole reasoning to hiring a nanny in the first place — but never, ever let his children feel unloved. He was present, as much as he possibly could be despite his demanding career, in his child’s lives like a loving, caring father should be. Every night he’d trudge home in the early dawning of the morning, the sun threatening to rise, and he would still creep into his son and daughter’s individual rooms, and press a soft, tentative kiss to their sleeping foreheads, and whisper how much he loved them. He would, earning childish giggles from his two little ones, attempt to make pancakes on the mornings he was home, bags under his eyes from the interrupted sleep he had gotten the previous night, smiling to himself as the premature batter would crumble the sugary meal into a pile in the saucepan.

He was truly a good man, and an even better father.

Which is exactly how you fell so hard for the older man.

Michael was at least nine years older than you — you in your mid-to-late twenties and he, early forties, something you never felt bothered you. And even in his growing age, Michael had never lost his looks. He was gorgeous and a total flirt — always finding a way to touch you, or give you a compliment that would have you reeling for the next few hours, and leave your pussy soaking wet. He was aging like fine wine — face a carved display of beauty, with sleek, long black locks and an intense confidence that had you blushing each time he walked into a room.

A blush that adorned your cheeks just like in this moment.

You had been preparing dinner — spaghetti bolognaise, albeit with a few finely chopped greens mixed in as you knew the fussy toddlers would downright refuse otherwise, a dish you knew they enjoyed.

You turned your back towards the children in their high chairs, sucking a stray dollop of tomato sauce off your thumb as you straightened the apron that clad your torso.

“Good?” You questioned, running your hands over the material of the apron that had ‘What’s cookin’, good lookin’?’ embroidered into the front — a gift your best-friend had bought you for Christmas, one that Michael would often chuckle at whenever you’d sport it in the kitchen.

“So good!” Prince Jackson, Michael’s eldest child, beamed first, face already smothered with sauce, using his hands to eat his food despite the fork that was gripped in the other.

“Prince, use your fork, please, honey.” You reminded, beginning to gather the dirty saucepans and empty sauce jars towards the sink, where you flicked on the tap, letting the water warm.

You rolled your eyes playfully as Prince whined at your request, shaking your head with a laugh as he ignored you, continuing to messy himself.

“She said use your fork, Prince.” Paris Jackson, Michael’s youngest, fired towards her older brother, looking so sweet in her cherry-red Minnie Mouse bib, as she pointed accusatorially at the older boy.

You giggled, “No fork, no pancakes tomorrow.” You revealed, sounding your words out in a sing-song tone, smiling deeper as the young boy gasped, suddenly letting his hand fall to his side as he began using his fork to swiftly eat his dinner.

“Alright, alright, slow down, buddy.” You smiled as you plugged the sink, letting it rise with warm, soapy-clad water, “You’ll get your pancakes, don’t worry.”

“Do I get some too, lovey?”

You smiled at the nickname — an adorable term of endearment the two children had conjured up for you in the three years you had been working for Michael.

Three long years of loving your boss — and he still had no idea.

“Of course, babygirl,” You reassured, as her face lit up.

“That’s ‘cuz I’m using my fork, Prince.”

You chuckled quietly, as to not promote the behaviour, as the two children bickered childishly, firing playful shots back at one another as they continued to eat, while you washed the dishes slowly, awaiting their filthy ones once they’d finished.

They were the sweetest children, both showing you great affection and adoration from the very moment you met them, often sending you into fits of laughter at the unsuspecting awareness of their brilliant, child-like humour.

“Lovey?” Paris called out, now sporting a similar sauce-covered face to her brother.

“Yes, baby?”

“Are you Daddy’s girlfriend yet?”

You hated the way your heart jumped at the question, completely harmless and inquisitive to the little girl, but an intense sense of need for you — a title you so wished you had.

“Baby, no, I’m your nanny, remember? Lovey makes your dinner, washes your clothes, takes you to school, cleans the stinky toilets,” You reminded as they giggled at the mention of the childish description of the bathroom appliance, “Not Daddy’s girlfriend.”

Paris pouted, “When will you be Daddy’s girlfriend?”

You tried to suppress the small blush that was creeping onto your face at the all too familiar conversation that had your mind reeling. Paris broached this topic with you often — constantly asking you why you weren’t her Daddy’s girlfriend and when exactly where you going to be, a question that had you failing to repress a smile each time she’d ask you. The answer being no, every time, an answer you hated giving — you dreamt, daily, that you actually were his girl, but alas not, and you knew you never would be.

“Paris, don’t ask such questions. That’s rude.”

“Daddy!”

The sound of Michael’s soft, yet sternly guiding, voice hit your ears, alongside the children’s excitable exclaims at their fathers presence, as you paused your gliding movement against a dirty saucepan — the blush that had been growing on your face at the reoccurring topic of your romantic affiliation with the boss you deeply desire, was now at the full force, sending shockwaves of warmth throughout your body.

Michael strode into the kitchen calmly in an unbuttoned, white shirt and black slacks, tie loose around his neck — god, he looked perfect.

“Sorry about that,” Michael started, smiling softly at you as you met his gaze, your heart thumping in your chest at the eye-contact, “She’s just a nosey girl.”

“It’s okay, really.” You replied, voice now softer and less relaxed as you had been when it had just been you and the kids, “I think it’s sweet.”

Michael smiled gently at you, lips tugging at each side as he watched you glance over at Paris who couldn’t care less about her father’s correction of her words, eyes glistening with affection at the adorable little girl.

“How were they today?” Michael questioned, reaching into the fridge to retrieve a cold carton of orange juice, his favourite.

“Amazing, as always.” You admitted wholeheartedly, eyes not daring to meet his own out of your own nervousness, gaze glued to the soapy plates between your grasp, “Paris finished her book, which she was happy about, and Prince finished a banana.”

Michael laughed loudly at the difference in his children’s days, “He finished a banana?”

“Very big achievement, actually,” You chuckled, smile so wide it made your cheeks burn, “You said he’s been refusing to even touch one, let alone finish it, for the past week, right? Not sure what changed but he did it.”

Michael grinned deeply, vision fixated on the way your own gaze landed on his young offspring, eyes full of pure love for his children as you admitted your proudness.

And he knew exactly why Prince decided he suddenly liked bananas. It wasn’t because his tastebuds had changed, or he wasn’t in the mood for it the previous days where Michael had attempted to get him to eat one — it was because of you. You were the reason — knowing his son loved and admired you so dearly that he was willing to finish his least favourite fruit just for your happiness and approval.

“Well done, Princey, good job, buddy.” Michael spoke as Prince thanked him back loudly, voice muffled with the mouthful of food he had eaten, “Thank you, I know I say it all the time, but you are really too good to us.”

The blush spread wildly across your face deepened, the smile splayed over your lips tugging further into your aching cheeks, “No, thank you. I’m forever indebted to you, Michael, and your beautiful little ones.”

As Michael watched you giggled as Paris claimed triumphantly that she had finished her dinner first and that she had first dibs on dessert — his eyes glinting at the genuine grin that adorned your gorgeous face.

Michael, unaware of it yourself, had always found you utterly breath-taking — a stunning sight to bless his eyes each time you’d leave Prince’s room late at night in your skimpy, tight pyjamas shorts, yawning a good-night as you rubbed your eyes, or how you’d let stray pieces of fair fall over your face from your messy bun as you taught Paris how to roll dough with a rolling-pin as you made sugar cookies, or when you’d fall asleep with the kids on the couch, mouth ajar as you slumbered peacefully, a snoring child under each arm, pulling them close to you as you all rested in unison, not helping his own feelings towards you as he’d pull a blanket over you, pressing a kiss to his children’s temples, and then yours, letting his heart flutter in his chest.

Unbeknownst to you, Michael had always felt a little something special towards you that he had never felt for a colleague before — a special place in his heart being reserved just for you. He didn’t know whether it was your kindness towards him, or your dedication to your job role, or your continuous care and love for his children, that made him so interested in you — but he knew he felt something. Something deep in his soul, a familiar feeling that clad your heart too, each time you’d lock eyes.

“Right, let’s get these mucky pups clean, hm?” You spoke, hands on your hips as the two children before you, now finished with their meals, giggled loudly.

Michael watched, taking slow sips of the cold beverage with a smile hidden behind the carton, as you took a turn with each child, wiping down their hands and faces with a warm rag, encouraging them to keep still with a chuckle as they wriggled away from your hands.

“Alright, alright, that’ll do.” You breathed out, shaking your head as you attempted to wipe one last smidgen of sauce from Prince’s cheek, who squeaked, jerking his head to the side to get away from you, “Time for bed.”

Michael, completely transfixed with your natural, maternal instincts, kept his gaze on you as you set Prince down from his chair, and slid Paris onto your hip, smiling to himself as the smaller girl nestled her face into your neck, small arms clinging to your apron.

“Do you want some tea after I finish up?” Your dedication to everyone’s happiness had Michael’s heart swelling in his chest.

Not only did you care for his children so deeply — but you also cared about him, too.

“You go ahead, you’ve done plenty today, thank you, though, sweetheart.”

This time, it was you whose heart skipped a beat at the casual pet-name, nodding quickly, biting back a smile as you led the children from the kitchen, towards the back of the large, elegant mansion, nearer to their bedrooms. You spent the time, finally alone to reduce your increased heart rate, brushing their teeth, fighting to put their pyjamas on, and tucking them in with a bedtime story.

Prince was already fast asleep when you slipped from his bedroom quietly, tip-toeing into the hallway as you closed the door slowly behind you. As you turned around, attempting to head towards Paris’ bedroom next, you jumped with a gasp, your hand slapping over your mouth as you collided with a broad chest.

“God, Michael.” You breathed, hand steadying against your chest as your heart leapt into your throat, “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” He whispered with a small laugh, “Is he asleep?”

“Yeah, just gonna read to Paris,” You nodded, “Wanna come with me? She likes it when I do it, but no-one’s better than Daddy.”

Michael hated himself — not because he didn’t want to aid his daughter to sleep, but because of the thoughts that plagued his mind at your words.

The words, meant to be harmless, turned wicked and twisted in his mind — now clouded seductively in his brain as you addressed him as the pet-name often used in the bedroom, one he was partial to himself.

Michael agreed, nodding slowly as you began to lead the way, cursing himself as his eyes wondered down to the curve of your ass in the shorts that clad your behind — riding dangerously high up the skin that threatened to peek out underneath, a thought that had him twitching beneath his joggers.

He tried not to be a lewd man — striving on traditionalism and being a gentleman. But, when you were this sweet, tentative, and gentle with his children, and cared for him just as much too, whilst being unfathomably beautiful — he literally couldn’t help himself. Often letting his cock twitch as it dared to stiffen in his boxers each time you’d smile at him or accidentally brush your fingers against one another’s.

He was unaware you felt the same way — panties sticking to the ridge of your folds in slickness at the way he’d laugh or hold your gaze intensely, having to swallow thickly from the sheer weight of his aura, eliciting an undeniable, visceral reaction out of you each time without fail. You’d spend most nights, after carrying out your usual day-to-day routine babysitting, with your hands shoved down your pyjama shorts — fingers rubbing frantic circles around your throbbing clit in an attempt to soothe the arousing desire that surged through you every time you got close to him.

You slipped into Paris’ room quietly, smiling as she lay in her bed, eyes open awaiting your arrival, smiling as she met your eyes.

“Hey, princess.” You whispered, striding across the room to perch on the edge of her bed, eyes warming at the sight of her adorable frame tucked up into bed.

Michael wasn’t far behind you — sliding in quietly, not pushing the door completely shut behind you to allow you both to exit in the quietest form possible, before joining you on Paris’ bed.

“What story do you wanna read tonight, babe?” You questioned, voice soft and delicate as your gaze flickered towards the large array of books next to her bed.

“No.” She protested, “Don’t want a book.”

“Oh?” Michael finally spoke, laughing softly at his daughter’s change in character, “Why not, princess?”

Paris huffed, tugging her bedsheets further up her chest, “Well, Daddy, I finished my book today.” She started, rambling, “A-And Lovey said I did a good job so I don’t want to read another one.”

You and Michael, flickering glances towards one another, shared small laughter, as you reached over smoothed the hair on her head, “You funny girl. Why don’t you tell Daddy about your day, then?”

Paris, jumping for joy at the chance to talk, began ranting about how she had pancakes for breakfast, how yours were better than his as they had chocolate chips in them, and then how she and Prince ran around the garden for ages (half an hour), and then she finished her book in the sun with you and Prince, who took a much needed nap in your lap, as you helped her sound out words she didn’t understand yet, before she had the best dinner ever, a meal she’d had a million times before but still adored, especially when you made it.

“Wow, princess,” Michael breathed, now having his hand taken hostage as Paris wrapped her tiny fingers around his own, “Sounds like a great day with Lovey and Princey, hm?”

“Was the best, Daddy.” She mumbled, her own rambling tiring her out as her eyes fluttered against her cheeks, “I miss you.”

You pouted slightly at the adorable connotation of her words, your heart warming as she threatens to drift off into a much needed rest after her bustling day.

“I missed you too, baby,” Michael whispered, leaning over to press a soft kiss to her cheek, thumbing the skin where he had kissed, smiling as her eyes shut for a few seconds before opening once more.

She reached for your hand, tiny fingers now enclosing around your index finger as she peered up at you, “Lovey?”

“Yes, babygirl?” You replied, tracing soft circles on her skin as you grinned down lovingly at her, not noticing the way Michael’s heart thumped in adoration at the interaction.

“I wish you were my mommy.”

Your head snapped towards Michael as you met each other’s gaze — not noticing the way Paris finally fell asleep, grip around your finger falling slack as slumber took over her small body, as your mouth fell ajar at her shocking words, face contorting into shock as you stared at Michael.

Silence consumed you, the sound of Paris’ soft breathing the only noise filling the room, as you let her sudden admission settle in your brain.

“I, um,” Michael started, voice deathly quiet as he attempted to find the right words, “Come on.”

He took your hand, leading you out the room softly, shutting the door behind him carefully, before leading you through the quiet of the house, hand enclosed gently in your own, towards his bedroom.

You’d been in there a few times, albeit alone, grabbing something quickly before rushing out as you felt like you had intruded into his personal space — but this was a whole new step.

He lead you inside, clicking the door closed as you suddenly let the tears fall that had been welling up in your ears from the moment the words left Paris’ lips. You let out a quiet sob — chest wracking as you covered your mouth to conceal your saddened noises as to not wake the children.

Michael embraced you instantly — wrapping his slender arms around your back and pulling you against his chest as you let the tears fall freely from your eyes, down your flushed cheeks at the sudden contact. You clung to his shirt as he held you, your head falling into his chest as you sniffled.

You pulled away, wiping the tears from your eyes, “I’m sorry, I just—I didn’t expect her to say something like that.”

Michael breathed, looking down at you as you blinked the wetness away from your lashes, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t either.” He admitted, still holding you close to him, trying to ignore the way his heart thumped in his chest, “I apologise if it’s off-putting.”

Your eyes widened, “No, no, not at all.” You reassured, hands still gripping the smooth of his t-shirt, “I’m honoured, I just feel so sorry that she doesn’t have her real mother here.”

Michael’s chest tightened at the mention of his absent ex-wife, the mother of his two children, “She’ll understand when she’s older.” He whispered, his gentle hand coming up to move a strand of your hair from your face, “I’m just glad she trusts you enough to view you as a motherly figure.”

You peered up at him — finally meeting his gaze, breath hitching in your throat at his deep stare. Your heart-rate rapidly increasingly as you remained locked in his vision — a deep, irrevocable sense of desire blossoming into undeniable tension around you as he kept you flush against him.

“She just loves you so much.” Michael breathed, eyes flickering down to your lips, before uttering his next words even quieter, “As do I.”

His words hit you straight in the chest — a quiet, barely audible gasp leaving your lips as your eyes darkened. Michael heard it — the physical reaction to his admission of his infatuation giving him all the answers he needed to your mutual pining.

“Michael.”

He wasted no time at your whimpered plea — hands flying to cup your face as his lips pressed against your own in a desperate, intense kiss, revelling in the way you moaned into his mouth. Your hands flattened against his chest, tongue lapping at his own as it slid into your mouth, eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks at the connection you’d been yearning to have for years.

Michael pulled from your mouth, catching his breath as he locked eyes with you once more — a sudden change in his blown pupils as you tugged your lip between your teeth.

“Say you want me as much I want you.” Michael panted, hand tightening around your flushed cheek, “That you need me like I need you.”

You sighed deeply, lips falling open as your deepest desire came to life, “Michael, I need you. Please.”

In one fell swoop, you were raised from the ground — gasping in surprise as Michael lifted you from the floor, wrapping your legs around his waist as he guided you to the bed, laying you flat against it gently, his lips connected to yours once more in a frantic kiss.

Your legs tightened around his middle, whining into the air, attempting to muffle your noises with your lip between your teeth, as his mouth slipped from the comforts of your mouth, to trail eager kisses down your neck — suckling and nibbling at the warm skin from your jawline to the curve of your collarbone, as his hand slithered down your side to knead the flesh of your hip.

You arched into his touch — needy whines falling from your spit-stricken lips, his name slipped from them like a plea, begging for his pleasureful love.

Michael’s hands found the waistband of your shorts, toying with the soft material as his face parted from the soft of your skin, meeting your eyes, “May I?”

“Dear God, please do.”

He tugged them down in one swift movement — the bare, nakedness of your pussy meeting his eyes as the arousing prospect that you weren’t seeing any underwear clouded the forefront of his brain. He groaned lowly under his breath, as you tore the oversized shirt from your torso, revealing your similarly bare chest to him.

Michael let out a shaken breath he didn’t know he was holding as your stark naked frame met his eyes — cock twitching violently beneath his clothes at the sight of you.

“My God,” He exhaled deeply, eyes taking over your bare figure, vision darkening at the sight of your perky tits, nipples erect in anticatpru arousal, the beautiful curve of your waist and hips, and your slicked-up cunt all on display for him, “So fucking beautiful.”

A daring hand slipped between your legs — a singular finger dragging between your folds, collecting your essence on his fingers, groaning at the way you writhed breathed him, whining loudly at the contact. It was only when Michael slid a digit towards your entrance, sliding inside you with one thrust, curling his finger instantly to abuse the sweet spot inside you, did he have to shut you up — leaning down to capture your lips in another ferocious kiss, swallowing your noises.

“Shh, baby,” He coaxed, now grinding his hard cock into the smooth of the mattress as you mewled beneath him, finger still forcing you open, “They’re asleep remember.”

You cried out again — whimpering against his lips as you nodded your head, trying your hardest to keep quiet as the ball of his hand nudged against your throbbing clit.

“Don’t want all your hard work today to go to waste by letting those pretty noises wake them up, huh?”

“No, no, Michael, no.” You agreed, head falling back as a second finger was slipped inside you, the stretching sensation sending a shudder through you as you clung to his shirt tightly.

“Good girl.” He whispered, fingers never stopping as he fell to his knees between your legs.

Your legs tightened and an instantly regretted loud moan fell from your lips as Michael’s own wrapped around your clit — crying out at sensation. Michael, who’s hands squeezed your thigh in a silent plea for your reduction in noises, starting working his oral magic against you — sucking and slurping at your clit, before licking a tentative strip from your leaking hole to where you throbbed most, collecting your drooling arousal on his tongue. Meanwhile, his fingers never let up — still curling deep inside you as you bucked your hips to chase his digits, back arched sweetly into him as you whimpered his name like a prayer, begging for more.

“Quiet for me, sweet girl.” Michael whispered, giving your thigh a gentle tap, as you squirmed violently, “Gonna wake up the whole house with that mouth.”

You whimpered — voice, luckily, reducing in decibel as Michael retracted his mouth to speak, allowing you a few seconds to catch your breath, before his lips were back on you. You resorted to clasping your hand over your mouth in attempt to mask your sensual noises, crying out loudly as the slick noises of your sopping wet cunt against his lewd tongue now filled the room.

Michael continued to work you open with his fingers — the tip of his ring and middle finger abusing the sweet spot inside you that you had seeing stars and pleading his name out into the skin of your hand, the sensation of his eager tongue lapping at your cunt having you feeling otherworldly.

“Oh, God—fuck, oh, fuck yes,” You whined, voice muffled against yourself, before pulling your hand away completely to whimper, eyes falling into his gaze as he peered up at you, nose nudging against your clit, “Oh, Daddy, please.”

Michael lost it — his explicit, private fantasy blooming to life as the erotic name left your swollen lips. Michael groaned, eyes rolling to the back of his head, before planting a particularly hard suck to your clit — before rising to his feet. He shoved the bottom half of his clothing down his body, freeing his hard cock from his boxers, before instantaneously wrapping a hand around his aching dick — gasping at the sensation as his fingers continued to work themselves in and out of you.

“Please, Michael,” You cried, tears once falling in adoration for his daughter, now pleading to be stuffed full of his cock, “Put it in, baby, please.”

“Fuck,” Michael breathed, eyes locked on his fingers disappearing inside your clenching cunt, and his own hand pumping his cock, leaking with pre-cum, “I-I can’t.”

“W-Why? God, please, Mikey, please. I need you.”

Michael sighed, restraint wearing dangerously thin as his face contorted into pleasure at the sensation of him pumping himself quickly, “Y-You’re not my wife, not even my girl — it’d be w-wrong.”

You whined, head thrown back as the pad of finger left your spasming hole, found your clit, now rubbing quickened figure eights against the nub. You hated it — his traditional ways getting in the way of him stretching your needy cunt and filling you to the brim with his cum. But, you had to respect him — as someone you loved so deeply.

“Cum on me, Michael.” You breathed, dark eyes meeting his own as they jerked away from where you masturbated you both, the familiar feeling of an orgasm creeping up your spine.

“W-What?”

“Cum on my pussy, please, ‘M gonna cum, Daddy, mmph—!” You whined, teetering on the edge as your voice hit a higher octave.

The orgasm you’d been craving from him from the moment you locked eyes on the first day of the job, washed over you brutally — eyes slamming to the back of your head as you shook around him, clit overstimulated as he continued to circle the twitching nub.

Michael, watching you come undone on his fingers, nipples now erect from your overwhelming pleasure, had his hips stuttering into his enclosed fist — angling himself nearer to where you throbbed.

He found his release with a low groan, mouth falling open in cascading pleasure as he spilled over your cunt — hot, white cum drooling over your spread pussy lips, now shining with your clear essence and his fertile seed, as erotica left his lips in his blind lust, “Yeah, baby, let me make you a real mommy—fuck, that’s it, sweetheart, take this fucking cum.” He groaned, fingers now sliding down to disappear in and out of you once more, pumping his release, dripping all over your cunt, inside your willing hole.

You moaned out — watching as his seed trickled down your swollen clit, and disappeared inside you, his fertile arousal now flooding your womb without even needing to be stretched with his cock.

Michael slowed his jerking fist around himself, while his fingers let up inside you, pulling away to catch his breath as he stared at your cum-stricken pussy — glistening with both your releases.

He smiled, leaning down to press a loving kiss to your lips, humming into his mouth as the taste of your tangy essence lingered in his tongue. When he pulled away, he moved to spread your legs with two strong hands on your knees, eyes trailing over where a glob of his release drooled from your spent hole.

You shuddered, completely overstimulated, as two of his slender fingers reached down to shove his escaping cum back up inside you — gasping as he filled you once again.

His fingers remained there, plugging you up to prevent any more of his warm seed from falling out of you, as he leant over once more, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke, before pressing a kiss there,

“Gotta give my babies a mommy, right?”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You trembled. Every time. Body hung between nothingness and another dose of pleasure, begging for more each time. He could have given you anything you wanted, but that wasn’t the point. He could have had you completely overstimulated, crying, begging for mercy. He liked you that way, too. But that was when he fucked you.

Your love? It was different, slow, lazy, calm. And in that very moment he wanted to love you. He didn’t like to rush. Not when it was you.

He liked to look. Experience. Devour.

And you just lay there, absolutely devastated. Breathing slow but uneven. Eyes closed. You looked relaxed, lazy even. Who could blame you? He taught you himself.

You should look like this when he fucks you. With all the time in the world, not caring about anything. You should lie like this, fully exposed, legs spread so he can watch. His cock disappear inside you, slowly, to admire.

“You soakin’ me so bad, baby,” he whispered to himself and watched as you left him all shiny with your slick, more with every move. “Look at you,” he began tenderly, his gaze slowly traveling up your body to your face. “Giving me everythin’ you have. So good to me.”

You whimpered. Eyes squeezed shut as if the sight of him alone could do terrible things to you. Mouth slightly parted, gasping for air every second you weren’t clenching your lungs in anticipation of the next thrust. “Faster,” you begged.

Lewis just laughed and looked at you fondly. “Nah,” he denied, wrinkling his nose. And you whimpered again, but this time, it was the way his hands ran over your thighs, the pressure firm enough to make you feel the strength he held in them. “But I can give you somethin’ else.”

You finally looked at him, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from your lust-filled ones. You were ready to give him everything. Sometimes he liked to take advantage of that. But not now, you looked too blissful. He just wanted to add to that.

His fingers gripped your hips to pull you closer. One hard thrust and he was all in, destroying the last of your strength. Something inside you snapped. His cock twitched at the feeling, making you tremble. “Yes— there you are,” he said contentedly, mimicking the way your lips parted in a silent moan. And then he simply smiled. “No faster—deeper, baby, it’s always deeper.”

And he fucked you again, slowly. Watching you being like that gave him pure pleasure. Desperate, greedy, tired of him not giving you what you wanted now. But you knew you had no chance, so in the end, all you had left was acceptance and surrender. Trying to get the most out of what he gave you.

And maybe it would be easier if you didn’t know what awaited you at the end. If you didn’t know that overwhelming feeling that couldn’t be described, faked, or accelerated. This feeling grew with each of his thrusts, he nurtured it, letting it slowly grow, preparing you.

He watched as his cock slowly slid out of you, the way you clenched at the tip, refusing to let go. He felt the absence of his presence driving you to the point of coming, as if he were entering you for the first time, over and over again. “You were made for me.” He went all the way in, hitting the bottom that was bringing you to this blissful state. Pleasure or pain, you couldn’t tell, but he could. Your body responded for you.

“Should have known from the start.” He withdrew slowly. “That you’d only need that cock—” He dove in harder. “For the rest of your fuckin’ life.”

Your back arched and a sob echoed through the room. Pain shot through your core, making you tremble.

“I made you greedy.” He clenched his jaw as your hands found his wrists, digging your nails into them painfully. “My greedy, greedy girl.” He thrusted until he felt your reaction right away on his cock and his cock only.

She begged.

“You feel it, baby? Her throbbing? Begging me to give her more?” he teased you. You were drunk, but he loved getting a reaction out of you in such a state.

“Please—” you whispered helplessly.

“Poor thing. Completely stupid when all your cunt does is scream for my cock." You moaned in response. His voice did things. He knew how much you loved when he spoke to you, guided you through everything he did. “I’ll let you have this one.”

His hand slowly ran over your body. Unhurriedly. Avoiding every place you wanted—needed—him the most. The touch was gentle compared to how hard he was pounding into you.

Your reaction was automatic, you leaned into his hand as he gently stroked your cheek. “Just say you love me,” he whispered, “and I’ll give you what you want.”

You looked at him silently, pursing your lips to keep from making the slightest sound, even though he wasn’t making it easy. Thrust after thrust. Deep. Precise. In a way that made you clench to hold in that growing feeling. And yet, your eyes held everything he needed to know. “Lewis—“

Even though you don’t want to bother his nap and rip him out of the blissful unawareness that came with it, you can’t help but worry about him getting incredibly sunburnt. It wouldn’t be the first case – a few years back you didn’t realize he fell asleep next to the pool on the sun, and he spent the next week hissing at every movement because he burnt to a crisp. So, a woman on mission – you grab the sunscreen and sit down on the lounging chair next to his leg.

He shifts from the feeling of your weight settling next to him, and he looks at you as he makes the sweetest sleepy noise you’ve ever heard. Your smile beams down at him brighter than the sun, while he turns to his back and rests his hand on your thigh.

“Hello, love,” he mumbles, a lopsided grin on his face. The past few days spent on the sun brought out even more of his freckles, his hair more golden than usual, his blue eyes shining brightly. His hand squeezes your thigh slightly and you bite your lip – barely noticeable, but he notices.

“Sorry for waking you,” you say, leaning down to press a soft kiss on his lips, which he’s very eager to reciprocate.

He moves his hand to your nape, fingers softly tangling in your hair as he pulls you into the kiss. His warm lips engulf yours, and the hot, unmistakeable feeling of need settles in your stomach. However, you take the strength to pull away from him, even if only a bit, your lips almost brushing.

“I just didn’t want you to get burnt.” He chuckles and sits up a bit, putting his legs on the two sides of the lounger, caging you between them. His hand slowly moves from your neck and traces the silhouette of your shoulder, gently wandering down to your collarbone. His eyes are following the movement of his hand before his gaze lifts up to catch yours.

“What would I do without you,” he teases, then moves to face away from you, his broad shoulders on full display in front of you. You huff, then pour some sunscreen straight onto his back – he flinches, a soft, annoyed sound escaping him.

“Ow, that’s cold!”

“Serves you right for going sarcastic on me,” you reply, hands slowly spreading the sunscreen on his back. His lean muscles tense under your touch as it moves – caressing his skin softly, between his shoulder blades, on his strong shoulders, his neck. You feel him tense and relax under your palm, breath catching when your fingertips caress his neck, before sliding down again slowly.

He leans into your touch and heat rises in your body – and definitely not from the sun beaming down at you. Your touch slides down further, and you’re caressing his sides, leaving goosebumps in its wake on his skin. You know he’s trying to keep his composure, but the stuttering of his breathing gives him away when your hand moves to the front of his body, gliding over his ribs one by one, before moving to his toned abdomen.

This time, it’s your breathing that stutters, and you squirm a little in your place, barely noticeable. His hand moves to the top of yours, but he’s not guiding it – just going along for the ride, grounding himself in your presence.

Your touch lingers a bit before it explores lower, skimming the thin trail of hair that starts from his navel and dips under his swimming trunks – but you don’t quite go there yet.

His hand twitches on top of yours, his abs flexing and releasing under your touch with every breath he takes.

You scooch even closer to him, pressing your chest against his back, resting your face against his shoulder blades. You want to draw out the moment, the lingering tension, the teasing. However, George has something else in mind. A small, almost mocking huff leaves his lips before he spoke.

“Dirty girl,” he muses, his voice already dripping with lust, causing your breath to stutter. You feel your heartbeat in your fingertips as he squeezes your hand. “Don’t go all shy now, honey,” he teases. “Here.”

His hand moves with intent on the top of yours, guiding your palm over his cock, straining prominently against his shorts. Your breath catches, palm pressing down firmly on his length, insides twisting with need.

“That’s it, feel what you do to me,” he breathes, hand guiding your motions in slow, sensual strokes, and you feel that familiar dull ache between your legs become more prominent with each movement. Your breathing is heavier now, trying to focus on the shape of his cock under your palm instead of the burning desire that makes it hard to form coherent thoughts.

You barely register when he moves your hand to sneak under his shorts, brushing your joint fingers against his bare length. Your breath hitches, and you feel the way your body reacts to him – walls clenching around nothing, and he hasn’t even touched you yet. A soft, breathy moan fills the air around you as you start to move your hand slowly, palming him under his clothes. He’s already painfully hard, and you can’t help the small, pathetic sound that escapes you at the feeling.

“George,” you whisper against his hot skin, but he hears it. He always does.

His hand moves together with yours, he lifts it up to his mouth, before a droplet of spit lands on your palm, and you shudder. Your eyes flutter close; all thoughts are now replaced by the insatiable need that you feel for him. Your hand is guided back down, and before you know it your fingers are lazily wrapped around the base of his length, stroking in a steady rhythm.

You can’t help but roll your hips by instinct – against him, against the lounger, anything to get even the tiniest of friction. Of course he notices, a contemplating hum vibrating through his chest.

“So needy,” he mocks, lazily stroking himself with your hand. The filth of it all sends a shiver down your spine, straight to your core. The weight of him in your hand drives you crazy with lust, your bikini already soaked in your arousal. The sloppy, slow movements of your joint hands never falter, but your free hand slowly swipes across his stomach, finding it’s way to your throbbing pussy, cupping it gently and applying just a bit of pressure – just to ease the ache a bit.

George chuckles – the little, mocking sound music in your ears, his grip tightening around your hand and his cock before he speaks again.

“Poor little thing,” he muses, turning between your arms – your hand now free from his grasp, resting on the lounger in front of you as he moves.  The air is thick with need, and it sticks to your skin, a few strands of hair stuck to your forehead. He leans down to kiss you, your lips meeting in a sloppy kiss, tongues tangling in each other, teeth biting down on lips. His mouth is hungry, desperate to feel you, to taste you.

“Tell me baby, what do you need.” His hand nudges yours away from between your legs, ghosting above the fabric of your bikini. His usually pale blue eyes are now dark, pupils blown wide, gaze commanding.

Your heartbeat is deafening in your ears, and there’s no question about whether you’re going to give him what he wants. There never is, and he loves you for that. You love that he does.

You were torn apart – your cunt was already throbbing with need, desperate to be touched, to be filled. But you also couldn't deny the way your mouth went dry when you looked at his length straining against the thin fabric of his shorts.

“Can I taste you?” you breathe, voice shy, almost innocent. A flash of surprise crosses his features before they harden again, a sly grin now back on his face.

“Yeah?” He asks, his palm pressing against your throbbing core anyway, feeling the soaked through fabric. A groan escapes him before he presses his finger against your clothed clit. “Dirty girl wants my dick in her mouth, hmm?”

“Yes, p-please,” you choke out.

Your hand flies to his bicep to ground yourself, grinding against his finger instinctively. Soft whimpers and pathetic little whines fall from your lips at his words. You love that no matter how much of a gentleman he is with you normally, in the bed he was more than happy to be filthy, rough and mean with you.

And your cunt clenches hard when you think about how it’s only you who knows this side of him.

“Right here?” He hums against your neck, before brushing his lips against the shell of your ear. “Suck my dick out here where anyone could see what a good little whore you are?”

A low, sensual moan bubbles up from your chest, head falling back. George chuckles – amused, but mocking. Mean.

“I know you would. But I have a better idea,” he says, fingers leaving your clit and the sudden lack of friction knocks the air out of your lungs. Without a word he stands up, swiping you up in his arms.

With steady steps he carries you to the bedroom – pressing soft kisses on your face and lips while he manoeuvres on the boat. The room is basking in the warm sunlight, large windows framing the walls so you wouldn’t have to miss the gorgeous views while being inside.

But for George, there’s only one view that matters – it is your body under him.

He lays you down onto the bed and gets rid of his shorts, his cock painfully hard, standing tall in front of you. He wraps his slender fingers around his base and strokes lazily, eyeing you up and down.

“’Cmere honey,” he muses, his eyes hungry, wandering up and down your body in front of him. You crawl over to him on the bed, reaching out to touch him, but he gently smacks your hand away. “Mm-mm, on your back, baby.”

A soft moan falls from your lips as you oblige his command, laying down on your back, head slightly hanging off the edge. Heat creeps up on your neck, burning the tip of your ears as you wait for him to take control. The teasing drives you crazy, the ache between your legs more maddening every passing second.

“Will you be good for me?” He asks, aligning his tip with your swollen lips, and you press a soft kiss on it. He smiles down at you with a devilish grin, before he speaks again. “Open.”

And you do, opening wide, and you squeeze your thighs together as hard as you can when he slowly pushes into your mouth – tentative, gentle. Testing how you warm mouth felt around him, and his head falls back as soft curses leave his lips.

“You know what to do if it’s too much, yeah?” He asks, gently caressing your chin. You hum in agreement, gently tapping his thighs three times to show him the signal. “Good girl,” he praises, a sweet smile on his face.

Then he pulls back before starting to fuck your mouth, slowly, rolling his hips against your face in a steady but soft rhythm, leaving you time to adjust to his size.

You moan around his length, squirming in the bed, chasing any type of friction between your legs. He notices, and a low laugh bubbles up in his chest.

“My poor needy baby, do you want to be touched?” He teases, and you hum in agreement around his cock, and he removes it from your mouth to let you beg – just like he knows you would.

“Yes, please George-,” you plead, the last word dying in your throat as he pushes himself back into your mouth, pushing inside a bit deeper with every roll of his hips.

His fingers brush against your swollen lips before they move to caress your neck – his thrusts become deeper until he feels your throat tighten around him. He lets out a loud groan when his fingers brush against the bulge in your throat from his cock being so deep inside. Tears are pooling at the corner of your eyes with every thrust, but you do your best to please him – you always do.

His touch then moves to your breasts, pulling the thin bikini bra up to reveal them, before he swipes his fingers around your hard nipple, drawing soft circles around it. Your hip moves on its own accord, and a high-pitched moan gets caught in your throat by his thrusts – your body is burning up with need.

Your throat tightens at one of his deeper thrusts and you gag around him – he holds himself there for a second before withdrawing from your mouth, letting you catch your breath as wet coughs escape from you.

“You’re doing good, baby. Making me feel so good,” he purrs, before pushing himself back into your throat.

His soft palm wanders across your body, pushing down on your stomach, crawling towards the apex of your legs. He teases you a little when he reaches the hem of your bikini bottom, before pushing his finger inside, brushing against your throbbing clit. Your body twitches under his touch, his dick sliding in and out of your mouth in a steady rhythm.

He leans forward a bit to get a better access to you, causing him to push deeper into your mouth. His fingers slide between your drenched folds, swiping up and down a few times, soaking in your arousal. He groans at the feeling, savouring the result of the effect he has on you. Then slowly, he pushes a finger in, and you cry out – a sharp but muffled sound against his skin.

His thumb circles your clit in a maddening rhythm while he fingers you, his hips rolling against your face, pushing deeper and deeper, coaxing sloppy, silent gagging sounds out of you.

“So fucking good, baby-,” he mumbles, eyes squeezed shut. Your hand grips the sheets below you so hard your knuckles turn pale, tension building in your body with rapid speed. George’s fingers drag against your walls in a perfect rhythm, and he curls them against that perfect spot inside you that causes your walls to clench.

He fucks your mouth with precise movements, perfectly synchronised with the movement of his fingers and you feel your nerves ignite in your body, tension building steadily in you, muscles tensing up. A single tear escapes your eye from the overwhelming sensations.

“Look at you, so perfect,” he muses, his steady thrusts punctuating every word. “Taking me so well, my good girl.” Your throat tightens around him as you moan and he throws his head back, sliding another finger into you without any problem.

“So fucking wet from sucking my cock, hmm?” He asks in a slightly mocking tone and his gaze wanders over your body – bikini all dragged aside, writhing under his touch desperately. Your heartbeat is deafening in your ear, you feel it in your throat, your fingertips, the clenching of your pussy. Every muscle in your body tightens up as you chase your high, ready to tumble over the edge any second.

“Will you be a good little slut and come for me?” he teases, movements never faltering.

He doesn’t give you space to answer so you just muffle an agreeing sound against him, accompanied by a little whine. Your ears are ringing, blood boiling in your veins, the coil inside your stomach tightening, your body like a wound-up bow.

“Let go, baby,” he orders, and you feel yourself tighten around him as you tip over the edge, your orgasm washing over you like a crashing wave, all muscles tightening, toes curling before going limp under his touch.

He pulls out of your mouth, a thin string of spit still connecting you as the air rushes into your lungs, eyes squeezed shut. He helps you to move around with gentle but swift motions, settling you against the pillows. He towers over you, kneeling between your legs – his finger slowly drags against your clit and you gasp, thighs squeezing shut to try to stop him, but he won’t budge. You’re overly sensitive from your orgasm, body twitching under him.

“George,” you breathe, back arching off the bed.

“I know, baby, it’s too much. But you can take it, yeah? Like a good little slut. I know you can,” he purrs against your skin, pressing sloppy kisses to your neck. Heat is already rising in your body, and soft moans and whimpers fall from your lips.

“Please,-“

“Mm, use your pretty words, honey,” he teases, one finger slipping inside you once more. You find it hard to form coherent words, but you try your best to muster up some composure and speak.

“Fuck me, please, George-“ you plead, and he smiles down at you – satisfied, almost proud.

He leans back from you and sits down onto the bed, his legs half stretched out in front of him. He pats his thighs playfully, inviting you to join him. You crawl towards him, manoeuvring to settle in his lap, legs wrapping around his torso, your arms around his neck to balance yourself.

He looks at you with a half-lidded gaze, his fingers digging into the soft flesh at your hips before moving you slightly, aligning himself against your entrance.

He leans towards you to kiss you, instantly licking against your lips and into your mouth while he pushes his tip inside you.

You gasp into his mouth from the sensation and throw your head back as he pushes deeper inside you, stretching your muscles inch by inch – slowly, to give you time to adjust. Slight pain accompanies the pleasure as he stretches you, and you spread your thighs a little wider to get even more of him.

“So fucking tight-“ he groans against your lips, pushing deeper. “You’ll take all of it, right? My pretty girl.”

Your eyes roll and your cunt clenches even tighter around him, causing him to moan. He stills for a second when he bottoms out, savouring the feeling of your tight muscles, and when he starts to move, you feel his massive length kiss your cervix with every thrust.

He guides your movements with his grip on your hips, pushing and pulling to dictate a steady pace. You take a peek at where his large cock is buried in you and you bite your lip, pleasure igniting the blood in your veins.

The room is filled with the sound of your heavy breathing, and the squelching sound of wet skin slapping against wet skin. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him closer for another kiss, sloppy and needy and full of tongue and teeth.

“Feel so good around me baby,” he grunts, squeezing his eyes shut to focus on the sensation. “Cunt so perfect,” he starts, picking up the pace to accentuate each word with a deep thrust, “made to be filled up.”

Your head falls back, and he uses to occasion to wrap his plush lips around your nipple, sucking on it gently.

“Fuck, George-,” you whined, cunt clenching hard around him as your next orgasm approaches. “Please, fill me up baby.”

He flattens his tongue against your nipple before his hand moves to your throat, guiding you to look at him and squeezing a little.

“You’d like that, hmm?” He mocks. “Going back out there with my cum still leaking from you?”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he fucks you mercilessly, body burning up, the coil in you ready to snap at any second.

“Mm-mm,” he says in a disapproving tone. “Look at me.”

You open your eyes, meeting his dark gaze, but it’s hard to keep them open.

“See who’s making you feel this good. Who you belong to.”

He slides in and out of you in perfect rhythm, and the feeling starts to become overwhelming – goosebumps covering your whole body from the pleasure, the feeling of him inside you, his arms wrapped tightly around you.

“I love you so fucking much,” he says, voice halfway between a groan and a whisper, plastering sloppy kisses on your skin. You can’t offer a proper response – only a high-pitched moan falls from your lips as you feel your body tighten up more and more with each drag of his cock inside you.

He squeezes your neck a bit tighter and with one-, two deep thrusts, the tension snaps in you, pleasure rolling through your every muscle as he fucks you through your second orgasm. You’re twitching and writhing under his touch, heavenly and sinful sounds falling from your lip together with his name, and a bit after you he comes as well - cock twitching inside you, emptying his load into you in steady waves.

You’re a panting pile of mess in his arms, and after a few seconds he pulls out of you carefully, before laying you down onto the bed, pressing sweet kisses to your temple and your hair.

“All good?” He asks sweetly, thumb caressing lazy circles into your hips. His eyes are sparkling in the afternoon sun, hair messier than usual.

“Perfect,” you giggle, kissing him. “I love you.”

His smile softens, a faint blush dancing on his cheeks.

“I love you more,” he whispers against your lips, kissing you gently before pulling away. “Fancy a shower?”