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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mikey please.”

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

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

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

“Wanna get a taste first.”

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

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

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

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

Thank god no one would be home tonight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Need you to fuck me Mikey, c’mon.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost.

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

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

“So good to me.”

“So perfect.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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