michael jackson x black!reader
synopsis: his family’s away, it’s just you and him. you know your boyfriend loves you, and you love him, but what if he’s wanting to take it to the next level?
warnings: fluff, smut (18+), thriller!era, inexperienced mike & reader (at first. until big m gets the hang of it).
a/n: i apologize for the late post. ur girl was out of town but i’m back now!
The Hayvenhurst estate was never this quiet. Usually, the house was pretty noisy. There would be blasting radios, slamming doors, ringing telephones, or Joseph’s loud voice echoing from the rehearsal room. But today, a rare miracle had occurred. Joseph was off handling business halfway across town, the girls had taken Katherine out for a shopping trip, and the rest of the brothers had scattered to find their own fun.
For the first time in a long time, it was just you and Michael.
You had been around the Jackson household for a while now. At first, you were just the cute, sweet girl from down the street who shared Michael’s love for cartoons and vinyl records, but over the last year, you had officially become his girlfriend. The family adored you, but more importantly, you were Michael's whole world.
Right now, the television in the corner of Michael's bedroom was humming softly, playing an old cartoon that neither of you were truly paying attention to.
Michael was sitting on the thick, carpeted floor, his back leaning comfortably against the edge of his mattress. You were sitting right above him, perched on the edge of the bed, your legs parted just enough so that Michael's upper body was nestled perfectly between them.
Your curls bounced softly as you leaned over him. Your hands were buried in his hair, fingers moving with a lazy, soothing rhythm, gently massaging his scalp and twirling the springy, glossy coils around your fingers.
Every time your knuckles brushed against the nape of his neck or the tips of his ears, Michael would let out a soft, contented sigh. He looked completely relaxed, dressed in a simple Mickey Mouse sweatshirt (which you found absolutely adorable), and a pair of jeans.
"You have the best hands in the world," Michael murmured, his voice soft, but thick with a sleepy comfort. He tilted his head back against the mattress, looking up at you upside down through his long lashes.
You smiled down at him, your thumb tracing the soft line of his sharp jawline. "That’s only ‘cause you have the most stressed out head in the world, Mike. You needa’ learn how to relax more often."
"M’ relaxed," he whispered, a sweet, boyish grin tugging at the corners of his lips. He reached up, his long, slender fingers wrapping gently around your wrist, stopping your hand from moving through his hair. He didn't pull away, instead, he brought the palm of your hand to his mouth, pressing a soft, lingering kiss right against your soft skin.
He held your hand there against his cheek, just breathing in the quiet of the room. The cartoon on the television mumbled in the background, but it didn’t matter at this point.
"It's kinda weird when it's this quiet, isn't it?" Michael asked softly, his doe, brown eyes tracing the pattern of your blanket before looking back up at you. "Sometimes I forget what the house sounds like without everyone being here."
"You like it?" you asked, your fingers gently resuming their slow trail down the side of his neck, feeling the steady, calm pulse beneath his skin.
"I love it," he admitted, his voice dropping into a register so low and private it felt like a secret. "Well—with you, I like it. If it’s just me, the quiet makes me think t’much. It gets lonely."
You felt a familiar squeeze in your chest, that strong wave of adoration you always felt for him. The world saw him as this untouchable star, but you knew how sweet and fragile he felt inside beneath all the pressure.
"Aww, baby," you murmured softly, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. "I’ll be here as long as you want me.”
Michael let out a shaky little breath, his shoulders dropping as if a physical weight had been lifted from them. He slowly turned his body around on the floor, rising up on his knees so he was eye level with you as you sat on the bed. His eyes were wide, shiny, and fixed entirely on your face.
He reached out, his heavy palms resting gently on your knees. His thumbs lazily stroked the fabric of your shorts, his touch so light it was almost hesitant, as if he was afraid you might disappear if he pressed too hard.
"You're so good to me," he whispered, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. "Sometimes I look at you and I don't know how I got so lucky. You just love me so openly.. never had that before."
"’Course I love you, honey," you said, a soft laugh escaping you, though the underlying tension in the air was making your heart thump a little faster against your ribs. You reached out, your fingers gently tucking a stray curl behind his ear. "I loved you openly before and I’ll continue to do so."
Michael’s gaze drifted down to your lips and swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. He leaned in an inch closer, the warm scent of his cologne enveloping you entirely. His hands slid from your knees up to your thighs, his fingers tensing slightly against your skin.
"Can.. can I kiss you?" he asked, his voice cracking with that sweet shyness that always hid just beneath his confidence. He asked every single time, as if he needed to remind himself that this was real, that he was allowed to have this. "Like... a real one?"
You didn't answer with words. You just leaned forward, closing the remaining distance, and let your lips melt against his.
The kiss was as soft as a whisper, a gentle press of warm lips that carried sweet, unhurried patience. Michael’s hands stayed resting on your thighs, his fingers twitching slightly as he tilted his head, deepening the touch just a fraction. He tasted like the candy licorice you’d both been eating earlier, and his hands were warm against your skin.
When he pulled back, just an inch or two, his eyes were still closed, a beautiful, peaceful smile gracing his lips. He let out a shaky little breath against your mouth before opening his eyes to look at you.
"Can i have another?" he murmured, his voice low now, a teasing smile spreading across his face, "Please?."
You smiled, your hands sliding from his shoulders down to his chest, feeling the quick thumping of his heart beneath his shirt. "You're so cute. And so incredibly charming."
"I am," he admitted softly, his cheeks flushing a lovely shade of pink. He shifted closer, pulling himself fully onto the mattress until he was sitting right in front of you. The bed dipped under his weight. He reached out, his long fingers carefully lifting a stray curl, admiring the way it coiled tightly around his finger and bounced back before he started you deeply in the eyes. "I like takin’ care of things that matter. And you matter the most."
You looked at his hands, noticing the slight tremble in his fingers despite his somewhat confident behavior. It wasn't just a physical reaction though, it was the manifestation of the giant, humongous ass elephant in the room. You both knew where this afternoon was leading. You had been together for a year, sharing sweet dates, holding hands under dinner tables, and stealing breathless kisses in the hallways of Michael’s home.
But you hadn't crossed that line yet. And the truth was, neither of you had ever crossed it with anyone else.
"Baby," you said softly, your voice dropping to match the intimacy of the room. You caught his trembling hand, locking your fingers with his. "Are you nervous?"
Michael swallowed hard, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He looked down at your joined hands, his confidence completely melting away to reveal the shy, softness underneath. He caught his bottom lip between his teeth, a telltale sign that he was trying to find the right words.
"A little," he confessed honestly, his voice cracking slightly. He lifted his eyes to yours, wide and incredibly vulnerable. "I’m not used to this. I’ve never been this close with anyone before. I don’t wanna do something wrong or that makes you uncomfortable.”
Your heart swelled with tenderness. You squeezed his hand tightly, sliding your other hand up to rest against his warm cheek. "Hey, look at me."
He did, his lashes fluttering.
"I've never done this either," you reminded him gently, offering him a reassuring, soft smile. "We're in the exact same boat, baby. You don't have to perform for me. You don't have to know exactly what to do. We can just figure it out together. Nice and slow."
Michael let out a long, heavy sigh of pure relief, his shoulders visibly dropping as the immense pressure he’d been putting on himself finally evaporated. He leaned his face heavily into your palm, closing his eyes as a soft smile returned to his face.
"You make everything so easy," he whispered, opening his eyes again, this time filled with a warmth that made your stomach do a delicious flip. He shifted his weight, sliding closer until his chest was brushing against yours. His free hand traveled to the back of your neck, his fingers gently tangling into your curls, anchoring you to him. "Just... stay right here with me? No rushing?"
"No rushing," you whispered back.
This time, when Michael leaned in to kiss you, some of his nervousness was gone, replaced by a shared curiosity as his lips met yours again, sweeter and deeper than before.
The kiss stretched out, turning deeper and slower as the wave of anxiety fully dissolved. Michael’s mouth moved against yours with a soft, exploratory rhythm that made your head spin. His hands shifted from your neck down to your waist, his long fingers pressing gently through the fabric of your shirt, pulling you an inch closer until the heat of his chest was warming yours.
A soft, breathless hum escaped his throat into the kiss, a sound of pure contentment that vibrated right against your lips.
When he finally parted from you to catch his breath, he didn't move away. He rested his forehead against yours, both of your chests rising and falling in a quick, shared sync. Michael’s eyes were heavy-lidded and incredibly dark, staring at you with a reverence that felt almost overwhelming.
Slowly, carefully, he shifted, guiding you back against the plush pillows of his bed. Your hair spilled out around your head like a dark halo against the sheets. Michael followed you down, hovering over you, supporting his weight on his forearms so he wouldn't crush you.
"You're so beautiful, mama," he whispered, his voice dropping into a raspy, velvety pitch that sent a shiver straight down your spine. He reached a hand up, his thumb tenderly tracing the line of your lower lip, which was flushed and pink from his kisses. "I mean it. You look like an angel lyin’ here."
"Michael," you murmured, your cheeks burning hot with a sweet blush. You reached up, your hands sliding underneath his sweatshirt, your palms meeting the warm, smooth skin of his sides.
Michael gasped softly at the direct contact, his entire body shuddering beneath your touch. His eyes widened slightly, a sudden, intense wave of vulnerability washing over his features as your fingers lightly traced his ribs. He was so lean, his muscles taut from years of dancing, but beneath your hands, he felt incredibly soft and warm.
"Is this okay?" you whispered, looking up at him to check in, keeping your movements slow and deliberate.
"Yes," he breathed out quickly, nodding his head as his curls bounced against his forehead. He swallowed hard, a nervous but deeply eager smile touching his lips. "It feels... it feels amazing. Your hands are so warm."
He leaned down again, but instead of kissing your lips, he buried his face into the side of your neck. He pressed a series of tiny, feather-light kisses right along your jawline and down to the sensitive skin of your collarbone. Each kiss was incredibly gentle—like handling a fragile piece of porcelain—but the heat of his mouth against your skin was starting to spark a much deeper, electric warmth in your belly.
Your fingers tightened against his back, pulling him a fraction closer. "Mike..."
Michael lifted his head, his breathing almost ragged now. He looked down at you, catching his bottom lip between his teeth again as he carefully slid one of his knees between yours, the weight of his thigh resting warm against your crotch. He paused there, his eyes searching your face, silently asking for reassurance.
"’S okay," you reassured him softly, reaching up to cup the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in the springy coils of his hair. "You can keep going, baby.”
Michael let out a shaky, beautiful little sigh, his dark lashes fluttering as he leaned down to catch your lips once more. The sweetness was still there, but his hands boldly slid down to grip your hips.
The heat between you was shifting, growing heavier. Michael’s hands on your hips tensed, his long fingers pressing into your skin through your shorts, anchoring himself as the rhythm of his kisses became deeper, more intentional as his tongue slid against yours.
Slowly, almost hesitantly, he broke the kiss, his lips lingering for a final, soft press against your mouth before he pulled back just enough to look down at you. His breathing was shallow, his dark eyes wide and filled with a quiet awe.
"I wanna..." He swallowed, his throat bobbing as his voice cracked slightly with that familiar nervousness. "Can I take your shirt off, sweetheart? I wanna see you."
"Yes, baby," you whispered, your heart doing a frantic, happy flutter against your ribs. "You can."
A beautiful, relieved smile touched his lips. Michael shifted his weight, sitting back on his knees. His fingers were still slightly trembling as they reached for the hem of your shirt. He moved with an unhurried slowness, as if he were unwrapping something incredibly precious. As he slid the fabric up and over your head, his knuckles brushed against your stomach, making you shiver.
When the shirt was gone, he didn't immediately move. He just stared. The soft afternoon light filtered through the window, catching the rich, deep brown of your skin.
"Oh, wow," Michael breathed, a soft, breathless sound escaping him. He reached out, the palms of his hands resting flat against your ribcage, just below your bra, the soft green, lace-y fabric that just barely contained your breasts. His skin was burning, and his thumbs lazily caressed your skin in slow circles. "Fuck you’re so beautiful, baby. Look at you. Your skin is so smooth... you look like a painting."
“Mike..," you softly sighed, a soft burn spreading across your cheeks, but you leaned into his touch.
"’M just tellin’ the truth," he murmured, leaning down to press a warm, lingering kiss right in the center of your chest, his soft curls tickling your chin.
He slid his hands around to your back, searching for the clasp of your bra. Because he was so careful, it took him a moment to figure it out, a soft, embarrassed chuckle escaping his throat against your skin. "Hold on, let me... there."
With a soft click, the strap gave way. Michael gently slid the straps down your shoulders, his large brown eyes tracking the movement before settling entirely on your exposed chest. His breath hitched audibly.
He leaned back over you, supporting himself on one elbow while his free hand came up to hover over your breast. He looked up at your face first, his lashes fluttering. "Is this okay? Can I touch you here?"
"Please, Mikey," you whispered, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.
When his palm finally cupped your breast, a soft gasp left both of your mouths. His fingers were so long, gently mapping the shape of you, his thumb immediately finding your nipple, he seemed completely mesmerized by it.
He leaned down, his warm breath coating your skin an instant before his lips replaced his fingers. He swirled his tongue gently over your nipple, testing the waters, before pulling the sensitive peak into his mouth with a soft, slow suction.
A sharp, breathless moan tore from your throat, your hips arching slightly off the mattress. "Oh my god, Michael—"
At the sound, Michael immediately paused, lifting his head. His lips were wet and flushed, his eyes wide with instant concern. "Did I hurt you? Was that t’much? Tell me if it's t’much, I'll stop."
"No, no, baby, it’s not too much," you rushed to reassure him, your hands framing his jawline, your thumb wiping away a stray curl from his forehead. "It feels amazing. You're doing so good, baby."
He let out a shaky little breath, a look of pure, boyish pride and relief washing over his features. "Yeah? You like it?"
"I love it," you praised, your voice thick with affection. "You're so gentle, honey. Keep goin."
A sweet, breathless laugh bubbled in his chest, and he did exactly what he was told. He buried his face against your breast again, his tongue tasting you, while his thumb and forefinger gently rolling your other nipple. Every time a soft gasp or a quiet phrase of praise left your lips—“Just like that, baby,” or “You feel so good, Michael”—his body would shudder with delight. Your praises were like fuel to him, melting away every ounce of his fears and replacing it with a deep, confident rhythm.
He moved between your breasts with worshipful attention, treating your body like it was the most sacred thing he had ever been allowed to touch.
"You're so soft," he rasped against your skin as he moved his mouth up to your neck, then your jaw once more, before finally finding your lips again. "You feel so good against me, pretty girl. Everything about you is perfect."
He sat up, not wanting to waste another second. He slid off the edge of the mattress, his feet sinking into the thick, plush carpet of his bedroom. With a gentle but firm grip on your hips, he guided you forward until you were resting right at the edge of the bed, perfectly positioned above him.
He leaned in, his lips meeting the warm, soft skin of your stomach. He pressed a trail of slow, wet, lingering kisses down your middle, his hot breath making your abdominal muscles quiver. When he reached the waistband of your shorts, his fingers trembled slightly against the button. He popped it open, and slowly slid the zipper down, the sharp sound echoing in the quiet room.
With an agonizing slowness, Michael tugged the fabric down your thighs and tossed your shorts onto the floor.
When he looked back up, he was met with the sight of your matching lace panties. Against your skin, the emerald color was absolutely striking, but what caught his eye—and made his heart completely skip a beat—was the distinct, dark damp spot blooming right in the center of the fabric.
Michael’s large, doe brown eyes widened. He looked up at you through his lashes, a heavy, dazed heat taking over his gaze.
"F’me?" he asked, his finger gently hovering just a millimeter away from the wet lace.
"All for you, baby," you replied, your voice thick with desire, your fingers tangling in the sheets. "Take care of it for me?"
“Yes—anything you want," he breathed out instantly, the compliance raw and immediate.
He leaned his face down, pressing his lips directly against the damp lace, in a soft kiss. Michael closed his eyes and inhaled gently, deeply, relishing the sweet scent of your arousal. Beneath his jeans, his dick was hard, throbbing painfully against the denim. He was so intensely turned on that a low, frustrated hum vibrated in his chest—he felt like he might actually scream from the sheer ache of it. He was so tempted to reach down and palm himself through his pants just to release some of the suffocating pressure, but he forced his hands to stay on you, entirely consumed by your body.
Hooking his thumbs into the bands your panties, he pulled them down, sliding them slowly over your hips and down your smooth, pretty legs until they were discarded on the floor with your shorts.
Instinctively, you parted your legs a little wider for him. The movement completely exposed your puffy, glistening cunt. As the cool air of the bedroom hit your skin, your walls involuntarily clenched and unclenched around nothing, slick with your own wetness.
"Good Lord..." Michael muttered, completely in a daze.
He dropped fully onto his knees, his hands resting on the inside of your thighs to keep them steady, though his own fingers were shaking. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, his face completely flushed, his expression filled with reverence. "This has to be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
You let out a ragged gasp, your body clenching hard at the praise. The intense friction of your own movement made your clit ache, practically begging to be touched.
Michael noticed the way you reacted to his words, his eyes tracking the subtle twitch of your hips. He swallowed hard, his trademark shyness rushing back for a fraction of a second as he looked up into your eyes, completely eager to please but entirely out of his depth.
"Tell me what to do..." he whispered, his voice cracking with a sweet, desperate vulnerability. "I wanna make you feel good, babygirl. Just tell me how."
You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening in the bedsheets as you looked down at him. "Put your tongue right here, baby," you whispered, your voice trembling but clear as you took his finger and placed it right on your sensitive nub. "On my clit. Just lick it... not too hard, but not too soft. Just nice and steady."
Michael’s eyes widened slightly, a sudden spark of intense heat igniting in his dark pupils. He didn't hesitate. He leaned in close, his warm breath fanning over your slick skin a split second before his tongue made contact.
When the wet, hot tip of his tongue first brushed against your aching clit, a sharp, ragged gasp tore from your throat. He listened to you intently, using your reaction as his guide. Remembering your words, he kept the pressure perfectly in the middle—firm enough to make your hips twitch, but soft enough to keep from overwhelming you.
"Oh fuck... just like that," you groaned, your head falling back against the mattress.
Hearing your praise made something shift in him. A low, vibrating hum of satisfaction rumbled in his chest, pressing right against your thighs. He grew bolder, parting his lips a little wider to lap at you in long, slow, upward strokes. The texture of his wet tongue against your hypersensitive skin was pure electricity. Every time he swiped up, he caught the perfect amount of your natural wetness, the slick, sliding sounds of his mouth filling the quiet spaces of the bedroom.
He was completely focused, treating you with the same intense, perfectionist dedication he gave to his music, but this was entirely primal. His hands gripped the undersides of your thighs, holding you steady as your hips began to roll instinctively against his mouth.
"Michael, please," you whimpered, your hands reaching down to tangle in his springy, glossy curls, gently guiding the rhythm.
Michael let out a heavy, ragged breath through his nose, his face completely drenched in your arousal. He swirled his tongue around the sensitive peak, flattening it out to give you more friction, before introducing a soft, experimental suction that nearly made your soul leave your body. You arched off the bed, a loud, breathless cry escaping your lips.
He pulled back just an inch, his lips glistening and wet, his breathing completely shot. He looked up at you, his eyes heavy and completely dark with lust.
"Like that?" he rasped, his voice incredibly deep and thick. "Am I doing it right, angel? Do you want more?"
"Yes, please—more," you begged, your voice cracking as your fingers tightened in his glossy curls. "Don't stop."
The desperation in your voice seemed to drive him over the edge. He grew bolder, eager to explore more of you. Remembering how good it felt when you clenched against his tongue, he parted his lips wider and pressed his mouth fully against you, letting his tongue flatten out to lap at the entire length of your wet, glistening opening.
At the same time, he brought his hand up, his thumb finding the sensitive peak of your clit.
He had never done this before, and the first few seconds were a little uncoordinated. His thumb pressed a bit too firmly, making you gasp and twitch your hips away, but he adjusted instantly. He lightened the pressure, keeping his thumb moving in small, hesitant circles over your clit while his tongue worked a slow, wet rhythm down below.
The noises your pussy made were dizzying. The slick, squelching sounds of his mouth eating you out filled the quiet bedroom, mixed with the heavy, ragged sound of his breathing. Michael was completely buried in you, inhaling your deep, musky scent with every breath. He could taste your sweetness on his lips, and it was driving him crazy.
"Oh my God, Mike... right there, baby," you choked out, your toes curling into the mattress.
Hearing your praise, he picked up the pace, his tongue tracing the slick folds of your pussy while his thumb kept up that steady, agonizingly good friction. He was learning your body in real time, matching the speed of his tongue to the frantic rhythm of your hips.
Your walls began to twitch and clench rhythmically, completely soaked, and a low, guttural moan rumbled deep in Michael's throat. He gripped your thighs tighter as he ate you out with a sudden, needy hunger, completely lost in the magic of making you feel this good for the very first time.
Soon he parted from you, almost smiling at the needy whine that escaped your lips at the loss of contact. He let out a shaky breath, completely intoxicated by how wet you were. He wanted to feel more of you, to know what it felt like inside.
he parted your slick folds with his other hand and carefully pressed the tip of his middle finger against your opening.
He paused for a second, his large brown eyes looking up at you, searching your face. He was so careful, so hyper aware of this being your first time, that he didn't want to rush you.
"Take a breath, baby," he whispered, his voice a raspy hush. "’M just gonna try somethin’."
Slowly, gently, he pushed his finger inside. You let out a long, trembling gasp as your tight walls stretched to accommodate him, clamping down hard around his finger. Michael’s eyes widened at the intense, hot friction of your grip. He stayed perfectly still for a beat, letting you adjust to the new sensation, before he began to pump his finger in and out slowly.
At the same time, he leaned back in, pressing his wet tongue directly over your opening again, licking and tasting you as he pumped his finger. The combination of his tongue outside and his finger sliding deep inside felt like wicked and beautiful at the same time.
"Michael.." you whined, your hips lifting slightly off the mattress to meet his hand.
The slick, squelching sounds of his finger moving inside you were loud in the quiet room. Michael was breathing heavily through his nose, completely mesmerized by the way the tight walls of your cunt wrapped around him. Wanting to give you more, he pulled his finger out just a fraction and looked up into your dazed eyes.
“Can I put another one in, mama?" he breathed, his voice cracking with that sweet, polite shyness, even though his eyes were dark with intense hunger. "Can I use two?"
You couldn't even speak, you just nodded your head quickly, your fingers gripping at his shoulders.
Michael smiled, a look of pure devotion on his face, and carefully added his ring finger to his middle one. He pushed them both inside you slowly, a low, needy groan escaping his throat as he felt how incredibly tight and scorching hot you were. He started pumping his two fingers in and out again, keeping the pace slow and steady.
But as he slid them deep inside on the next stroke, his fingers naturally curled upward.
The pads of his fingers hit a soft spongy ridge on the upper wall of your pussy. The moment he grazed it, a loud, ragged moan tore from your throat, and your back arched completely off the bed, your hands instantly clutching his glossy curls.
Michael froze for a fraction of a second, his lashes fluttering as he took in your explosive reaction. A soft, breathless smile touched his wet lips. Oh, he liked that.
"Is that it?" he asked softly, his voice full of wonder and a little bit of boyish pride. "I’m right there?"
"Yes, yes, yes... right there..." you pleaded, your voice breaking as you twitched frantically around his hand. "Don't stop, Mikey, please."
The desperate edge in your voice completely shattered whatever restraint Michael had left. Hearing you beg him not to stop sent a jolt of pure adrenaline straight to his crotch, making his hard dick throb fiercely against his jeans.
"I won't stop, I gotchu’," he panted, his voice gravelly and low— you’d never heard him sound like that before.
He locked into a steady rhythm, keeping his knuckles firmly anchored against your inner thighs, he kept his two fingers deep inside you, curling them upward again to hook ruthlessly against that soft, spongy ridge. In and out, in and out. The friction was intense, generating a frantic, messy heat. With every single stroke, the loud, wet, squelching sounds of his fingers churning through your juices filled the quiet room, sounding almost sinful. Your body was overproducing wetness, a thick, slick cream that coated his fingers and ran down the back of his hand, dripping onto the sheets underneath you.
He didn't pull his mouth away either. He buried his face right back into your soaking cunt, his tongue lapping aggressively at your clit in fast, heavy strokes that perfectly synced up with the rapid pumping of his fingers.
The pleasure was too much, spreading through your lower belly like mad. Your vision blurred with tears, your breath turning into short, ragged hitches.
"Michael—baby, wait. I’m gonna—I'm finna cum!" you screamed out, your fingers desperately clawing at his shoulders, your hips thrashing blindly against his face.
Instead of slowing down, Michael’s eyes went dark, driven crazy by the knowledge that he was doing this to you. He was making you feel good. "Go ahead, baby, give it to me," he moaned against you, and he instantly accelerated.
His fingers became a blur, pumping into your tight, drenched opening at a furious—but delicious— pace. His tongue swiped over your swollen clit over and over, hard and unyielding.
The dam soon broke and your thighs shook violently, your back arching so high off the mattress your neck almost strained. Your climax hit you like a truck as your internal muscles clamped down on his fingers with a crushing, rhythmic grip, twitching and pulsing in tight, violent spasms.
It was messy and unrestrained. Your body forcefully milked his fingers, squirting a hot, heavy gush of white straight out of you. The sudden flood of wetness literally drenched his hand and splattered against his lips and chin. You let out a loud, high pitched cry, as you rode the intense waves of the orgasm, now completely spent.
Michael didn't dare pull away from you. He kept his fingers inside you, feeling every single tight, throbbing squeeze, his mouth drinking in the hot, sweet overflow of your orgasm. He swallowed everything you had to give him, completely intoxicated by the taste of you, his chest heaving as he listened to the beautiful sounds of your voice dying down into soft, breathless whimpers.
Michael stayed right there between your thighs for a long moment, his chest heaving. He was completely mesmerized, his mind totally blown by what had just happened. He had spent his entire teenage life listening to stories from his older brothers about the wonders of making a lady climax, but nothing—absolutely nothing—could’ve prepared him for how beautiful you looked, how you sounded.. how you tasted. For his very first time touching a girl like this, he felt a profound sense of awe shaking him to his very core.
Slowly—almost as if he didn’t want to— he began to draw his fingers out of you. He moved an inch at a time, watching with wide, dilated eyes as the removal allowed a fresh, thick stream of your cream to ooze out of your stretched, pulsing hole, glistening against your skin.
"That was so beautiful, mama," he praised, his voice now a breathless whisper.
He leaned down one more time, completely unbothered by the mess, and pressed a tender lingering kiss right against your swollen folds. The sudden, sensitive contact made your thighs twitch involuntarily, a soft gasp escaping your throat.
Michael chuckled softly against your skin. He lifted his head, resting his chin on your thigh as he looked up at you. His face was flushed, his lips wet and shining, and those big pretty brown eyes were wide and completely full of devotion.
"Did I do good?" he asked, a tiny, hopeful smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He looked so vulnerable in that moment, asking for your approval like a puppy who just learned a new trick.
You could only nod, your body still humming with the aftershocks of the orgasm, your voice completely trapped in your throat.
Seeing your nonverbal response, a look of pride washed over his face. Michael didn't wait. He shifted off his knees, crawling back onto the bed with a quickness. He hovered over you once more, his jeans pressing firmly against your bare thighs, his hard-on reminding you exactly how much he was holding back for your sake.
He leaned down, pressing soft, wet kisses along your stomach, your ribs, and your breasts, before finally capturing your lips in a deep, slow kiss.
As his mouth opened against yours, he slipped his tongue inside, swirling against yours in a lazy, intimate rhythm. Instantly, the taste of your own arousal flooded your tongue. It was a strangely intoxicating experience—and to your own surprise, you absolutely loved it.
The gentle patience Michael had been maintaining was rapidly burning away, replaced by a desperate, overwhelming heat. Now that he had tasted you, the desire to finally be inside you was making him antsy. His body was so tense, a fine layer of sweat coating his skin as he shifted his weight above you.
"Wanna fuck you, baby..." he murmured against your lips. Hus voice sounded so needy that it sent a shiver straight to your core. "Can I? Wanna know how good you feel..."
As he spoke, he just couldn’t help himself. He began to grind against you, pressing the rock-hard bulge of his dick firmly into your soft flesh with slow, heavy hitches of his pelvis. The friction of his jeans against your bare skin was contrast to the slick warm wetness he had just left between your legs.
He let out a low, muffled groan into your mouth, his fingers digging deep into the sheets on either side of your head. He was moving by pure instinct now, completely unraveled by the ache in his pants and the taste of you still lingering on his tongue. He wanted you so badly it was making him weak, his entire body trembling as he kept up that torturous, heavy grind, waiting for you to give him the green light to finally rid himself of his clothes.
He didn’t need to be told twice. He moved with urgency, pulling back just enough to yank his sweatshirt over his head, tossing it carelessly onto the floor. Without the clothes, his upper body was fully on display—lean, beautifully toned, and sculpted from years of relentless dance rehearsals. His chest rose and fell in heavy, rapid hitches, his deep toned skin glistened in the bedroom light. He reached down, unbuttoning his pants with trembling fingers, and quickly slid the denim down his legs.
But just as his fingers hooked into the waistband of his boxers, you reached up and gently caught his wrists.
Michael paused, his breath hitching as he looked down at you, his eyes, still dark with hunger, but now curiosity too.
Mustering up whatever strength you had left, you braced yourself and sat up on the edge of the mattress. Michael stood between your parted legs, his breathing ragged as you reached out. Your hands were slightly shaking as you tucked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers instead. You slowly slid the fabric down his hips and over his thighs.
The material fell away, and Michael’s dick instantly snapped free, bobbing heavy, and fully erect right in front of your face.
The sheer size of him took your breath away. He was long, thick, and heavily veined, pre-cum already glistening at the very tip, catching the soft light of the room. He was absolutely beautiful, a perfect, raw testament to just how desperately he wanted you.
"Shit..." was all you could manage to whisper, your eyes wide as you stared at him.
Hearing the completely shocked, awestruck tone in your voice, Michael’s couldn’t help but cover his face with his hands. A sudden wave of that shyness hit him as he peaked through his fingers, looking down at his own length, then back up at your face. He shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other, before putting his hands down to hover awkwardly at his sides.
"Is... is it okay?" he whispered, his voice cracking slightly with a raw, endearing anxiety. "I know it's... I've never... I hope it's not too much for you, baby."
You didn't say a word. You just kept your eyes locked on his face, watching his reaction as you closed your small hand firmly around the thick base of his shaft and started to slid your palm up the length of him. When your thumb caught the heavy bead of clear pre cum glistening at the tip, you smeared the slick fluid across his sensitive head, coating him before pulling your hand all the way back down to the base.
“Oh, God, baby—" he choked out, his voice cracking completely. Michael’s eyes rolled back as his head fell back against his shoulders. A deep, guttural groan vibrated out of his chest—a sound so raw it didn't even sound like him. His lean hips hitched forward instinctively, blindly following the slow perfect friction of your hand as you jerked him off.
"Wait, wait—sweetheart, please," he panted, his chest heaving as sweat broke out across his forehead. He reached down, his trembling fingers wrapping around your wrist to gently halt the motion. He wasn't pulling your hand away, he just squeezed tightly as he tried to catch his breath. "You keep doin’ that, I'm not gonna make it inside you. I swear, I’m finna lose it right now."
He looked down into your eyes, he had never wanted something so bad in his life.
"I needa’ be inside you, baby," he rasped against your lips, his hips already nudging against your inner thighs, seeking out that slick, dripping heat you had left waiting for him. "Please. Lemme put it in."
He parted your thighs with his knees, his large hands sliding down to firmly grip your hips, anchoring you to the bed. He positioned his thick mushroom tip right against your dripping slit, and you both let out a synchronized, shaky breath at the contact.
He looked down into your eyes, his face completely focused, silently asking for that final bit of reassurance. You gave him a tight squeeze on his shoulders, tilting your pelvis up to meet him.
"Now, Mikey," you whined. "Please—just put it all in.. i can take it."
That was all the permission he needed. He gripped your hips tighter and pushed forward, his hips hitching as he finally slid deep inside you.
The sensation was overwhelming. Michael’s eyes flew wide open, a look of pure shock washing over his features as your incredibly hot, drenched walls stretched wide to accommodate his length. He froze completely, his upper body stiffening, his muscles locking up as a ragged, choked gasp left his mouth. It felt like total sensory overload—he was so deep, wrapped so tightly by your flesh, that he felt like he was going to cum right then and there without even moving.
At the exact same time, you let out a sharp, breathless gasp at how big he felt filling you out, your hands instinctively dropping from his shoulders to grip onto his hips, your fingernails digging into his skin.
"Shit... shit, shit—fuck, you’re tight," Michael panted, his voice a ,now, trembling mess.
You stared up at him, your chest heaving, your mind slightly melted. In all the time you had known him, you had never heard him curse so much. The polite, shy boy from before was completely gone, replaced by a man entirely unraveled by the feeling of his girl's tight pussy.
“Michael," you whimpered, your walls tightly twitching and pulsing around him as your body adjusted to his size. "You feel so big, baby... oh my god."
"You feel perfect," he groaned, leaning down to bury his face into the crook of your neck, his hot breath against your skin. He stayed completely still for a few agonizing seconds, letting out shaky, trembling breaths as he fought down the intense urge to cum immediately. He squeezed your hips, his fingers burying into your skin. "Don't move, mama... just gimme a second. You're so hot. I've never... fuck, I've never felt anythin’ like this."
Slowly, his head lifted from your neck. His eyes were completely glassy, low and filled with a raw, primal hunger that made your stomach flip.
"’M gonna move, okay?" he whispered, his voice cracking with that desperate, needy edge. "Tell me if it hurts, okay?“
“I will, baby. Move for me, please," you pleaded, arching your hips up just a little to urge him on.
Michael let out a shaky little sigh and slowly pulled back. He drew himself out until only his tip was left inside, the friction of your tight, wet folds sliding along his sensitive shaft making him shudder. Then, with a slow, heavy thrust, he sank all the way back in, burying his pelvis hard against yours.
“Mike!” You let out a loud, breathless gasp, your hands slipping from his hips to now claw at his back.
He locked into a steady rhythm, his hips working in a slow, agonizingly deep pace. The sound of your bodies meeting filled the bedroom—a heavy, wet, clapping rhythm mixed with the slick, squelching sounds of his thick cock sliding through your cream. Michael was completely breathless. he stared down at where your bodies were joined. Watching his thick, dark cock disappear into your thick swollen pussy over and over was driving him absolutely insane.
“Fuck, ... you're so wet, mama," he rasped as he started to pick up the pace. "Listen to that... that's all you. You're making me so messy."
“Mike—baby, fuck, you feel so good—you’re so deep," you cried out, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist to lock him in deeper.
The change in position opened you up completely, allowing him to hit that soft, spongy ridge inside you with every single downward stroke. Your went into an absolute frenzy, clamping and milking him ruthlessly.
"Oo—shit," Michael whimpered, getting too engulfed in the squelching sounds of your union. He abandoned the slow pace entirely, his thrusts turning faster, harder, and more aggressive. The way he fucked you was relentless, as if he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment.
He leaned down, pinning your hands above your head, locking his long fingers with yours as he ruthlessly battered your spot.
"Look at me, pretty girl," he panted, his forehead drenched in sweat, his pubic bone slamming against yours with every heavy, breathless thrust. "Look at me. Tell me you love it. Tell me I'm doin’ good."
"You're doing so good, baby—oh God, right there!" you screamed, your head tossing wildly on the pillows as another wave of heat began to build rapidly in your belly.
“Yeah? It’s just for you, baby—only you.." he groaned, his hips hitching forward in a vicious, deep push that made your toes curl. He swallowed hard, his breathing completely shot as he felt his own orgasm rushing up on him. "I'm gonna... fuck—I'm gonna cum. I can't hold it. You're too tight, mama, you're squeezing me..."
“Cum.. please," you whimpered back, your voice cracking as the friction pushed you straight over the edge for the second time. "Cum for me, Mikey. Do it inside me.. wanna feel it.."
Hearing his name leave your lips like a prayer, combined with the crushing, frantic spasms of your cunt beginning to clamp down in another violent orgasm, drove him insane.
"Mm fuck—" Michael moaned, a loud, guttural sound ripping from the very depth of his throat.
He didn't slow down, though. he completely lost his mind in your gummy walls. He slammed his hips down into yours with a sudden, wild urgency, burying himself so deep it felt like he was trying to merge his entire body with yours. One, two, three, deep thrusts, his pelvis completely locking against yours as his whole body went rigid.
His eyes rolled back into his head, his jaw clenching so hard the veins in his neck popped out. He let out a shaky, high pitched gasp that died down into a breathless whine as his climax hit him hard. Deep inside your pulsing, squeezing pussy, Michael's thick length violently spasmed, shooting thick, hot ropes of his cum deep into your womb. He twitched inside you over and over, his dick throbbing ruthlessly as you milked every single drop of his release into your soaking wetness.
You were crying out, your body shaking uncontrollably underneath him as your own orgasm peaked, your walls tightly convulsing around his throbbing shaft
The quiet room was completely filled with the sounds of your heavy breathing. Slowly, the tension began to leave his muscles. Michael collapsed fully against you, trying to catch his breath, his face burying itself deep into your hair. He was completely spent, trembling, and honestly ready for a nap. He stayed buried deep inside you, his heartbeat hammering violently against your ribs as he held you tightly.
He then shifted slightly, his head lifting from your shoulder as his breathing finally began to slow down. He looked down at you, his brown eyes soft, and completely overflowing with a tenderness that made your heart melt all over again. He parted his lips, about to say something—to pour out all the beautiful, romantic words he’d been holding back for this moment—when a sharp, sudden knock suddenly rattled the heavy wooden door.
Both of your bodies instantly froze.
“Mike? Y’all good in there?”
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