Hello

Above all else, Michael’s favorite thing about you is your heart, your mind, your very being. He loves the way you think, how your mind works, how you express your feelings, your love for him, your love for anything else. He adores the ways in which you inspire him, each and everyday, in every conceivable way. That’s a poetic answer Michael will be happy to give, if you can get through his stressed-and-pacing headspace and make him aware that there is such a thing.

When it comes to your body, though, Michael is beyond the realms of devoted. At his core, he is a man, so is a natural lover of the most intimate parts of you, but his adoration runs so much deeper than that. He loves your silhouette, seeing it displayed in the form of a shadow; he loves the curve of your hips, your waist, your legs, and he will sing your praises (literally) for every intricate detail of your body. But, if you pay close enough attention, you’ll notice that Michael does - very subtly - favor your face, specifically your eyes and lips. You are the person to see the eyes behind his sunglasses more than anyone else, and if Michael could dedicate his life to staring into your eyes, he would in a heartbeat. And your lips? Every time you speak, it’s like he’s watching a tennis match between your eyes and lips, the way his gaze flits from one to the other. There is no better feeling in Michael’s mind than your lips on him, blessing him with the sweetest kisses. While he does, obviously, love kisses that he can return, the way the feeling of your lips lingers on his cheeks long after your kisses have left his skin…it’s heaven, and that heaven can’t wait. To say Michael’s a sucker for your kisses just doesn’t cut it.

“Baby, baby, one more. Just one more.” He pleads, his voice no more than a soft murmur against your lips, barely kissing yours in between words because if you call them out he’ll tell you these kisses don’t count.

“Hm, just the one?” You question quietly, a little breathless.

“Three more. Maybe four. A hundred, my girl, if you’ll let me.” Michael’s voice is no more than a whisper now, and with his last syllable, his lips are on yours and there’s no room for another word.