YANNA

Taking you against the bathroom door, hand clasped over your mouth to conceal your whines of pleasure. Or over the kitchen counter after his fiancée left for work. Or even in the same bed his wife to be slept in after you left, legs wobbling and a familiar throb between your thighs.

He knew it was wrong — especially since you were his brother’s friend. Someone who had been in his life since he was in his early 20’s — a constant reminder of something he could’ve had if he didn’t get into another relationship.

He had loved you from the second he set eyes on you. When Jermajesty introduced you both on a casual day, his heart ignited in desire. A want, no a need, for you so strong he physically felt a visceral reaction to you every time he saw you. Alas, he was harshly reminded you were meant to be friends, his brother’s friend, someone in close knit with the family — not someone to be romantically involved with. He moved on — physically, never emotionally.

He and Maddie, his future bride, weren’t the most thrilling of couples. They were simple, basic, easy — their marriage something to just say they’d done. Often lacking chemistry and connection, and that feeling deep in your soul where you know the person you’re with is the one.

Something he’d always felt for you.

The way he felt when you’d look at him, your pretty doe eyes peering up at him like he hung the stars, he could physically feel his heart thumping in his heart every time.

The affair started on Jermajesty’s birthday.

You got drunk — way too wasted, way too quick. The liquor hitting you harder than you expected as you stumbled through the Jackson home, bumping into walls, clutching onto door frame’s as you attempted to make it to the bathroom, before colliding straight into Jaafar, fairly tipsy himself.

He had been with Maddie a little over 3 years — bought their first home, talking of children and marriage, finally settling down.

Until he decided bending you over the sink and fucking you senseless sounded like a better idea.

And from there it blossomed.

Fucking you anywhere and everywhere — no matter the time. And every excuse was made.

Late home? He was on set. Or was he fucking you in his car in an empty parking lot?

Didn’t answer his phone? He was just busy! Busy stuffing your mouth full of his cock, more like.

He hated the way he felt no remorse, no guilt, no nothing. Just the sheer thrill of it — the excitement that filled his chest at thought of when he’d next be burying himself deep inside you.

He’d tell you, as he thought himself, ‘It’s harmless sex’. Something you’d laugh at — despite the cruel reality of it.

And the sex only got better when he and Maddie started fighting. Every day it was a new argument, brutal disputes that would only bring him back into your arms every time — love for her dying, and desire for you blooming.

The thought clouded his mind on set.

Standing under the bright lights, eyes burning from the sheer intensity as well as the fatigue that plagued him — not only from his demanding career, but visions of you keeping him awake, too.

When the director called for a short break, he let out a sigh of relief, shrugging a heavily bedazzled jacket from his tired shoulders, handing it to a nearby costume designer. Raking a hand through his tussled curls, he moved sluggishly to the sidelines of the set, grabbing a bottle of water, taking a slow, much needed, chug.

“Hey, you.”

He hated the way his brain automatically associated the sound of clicking shoes against the hard floor with you — his excitement dying slowly in his chest as he turned to meet his fiancée’s frame.

“Oh, hey.” He spoke, voice flat and uniform.

Maddie hesitated before speaking, eyebrows furrowed neatly into her forehead, “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, just tired.” He brushed off, shaking his head, taking a firm seat in a chair with ‘J.Jackson’ neatly embroidered into the back, with a sigh, “What you doing here anyways?”

“Glad to see you too.” She huffed sarcastically, “Thought I’d bring you lunch.”

She handed over a brown paper bag, heavy in his hand as he took it from her. Jaafar peeled it open, stomach rumbling as the sudden reminder to eat filled his now conscious brain.

“Oh.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

Jaafar peered up at her apprehensively, “I just—nothing it’s fine. Thank you.”

Maddie’s expression fell, “No. What’s wrong?”

He sighed, “I just don’t like turkey.”

“What?” She hissed, snatching the bag quickly, staring down at the bleak sandwich sat sadly inside, “You do.”

“I definitely don’t.” He breathed out a laugh, “You have it. I’ll grab something from the vending machine later.”

“You loved turkey when we first started dating.” She fired back, attempting to win back her pride.

“Yeah, 8 years ago.”

Maddie scoffed, “Fine. I’ll eat it. Go eat your shit vending machine food, and not the meal your fiancée worked so hard to make for you.”

Jaafar laughed in disbelief, “Maddie, it’s a sandwich. No offence, but I sincerely doubt you worked that hard.”

“What the hell, Jaafar? Honestly, I can’t with you sometimes, I just feel—“ “Jaafarrrr.”

Maddie noticed the way he perked up at the sound of your voice.

She rolled her eyes at the sight of you — a tiny, black mini skirt and a white blouse clad to your frame, kitten heels clicking against the floor as you sauntered in. You looked good without needing to try — something Jaafar always admired about you.

“Hey!” He beamed, rising from his chair, heading straight for you without a second thought, that dangerously beautiful smile adorning his face, “What are you doing here?”

The tone difference in the same question he’d asked to you and to Maddie was clear — something hard to miss.

He met you halfway across set, pulling you into a tight embrace, large arms wrapping around your frame, as you laced your arms around his neck. When you pulled away, Jaafar’s heart raced as you looked up at him — there were those pretty eyes.

“I figured you’d be hungry, so I brought you some lunch.” You admitted, a sickly sweet smile on your face as you handed him a gorgeously packaged box.

The smell hit him before he opened it — perfectly cooked steak, with freshly steamed greens and a side of mac n’ cheese. He groaned in delight.

“Your favourite.” You added.

If it wasn’t for the Jaafar blocking your view — you would’ve been met with the coldest, most seething gaze Maddie could muster.

She had been jealous of you from the start — she hated how much Jaafar loved being around you, how you got on like a house on fire, and proven just in that moment, how well you knew him.

“Oh, my God, this smells incredible.” Jaafar admitted, eyes flickering from your own to the food, “Thank you, princess.” He whispered, his voice low enough for you only to hear, “I wanna kiss you so badly right now.”

“Contain yourself, handsome.” You returned the hushed tone, “Later.”

Jaafar’s eyes darkened at the thrilling idea of getting to kiss you in secret later — visions of ravishing you filling his mind. A different kind of hunger fuelling in his heart.

“I already made him lunch.”

You heard her before you saw her — Maddie’s stern voice from behind Jaafar, gaze still sharp.

“Oh, man.” Your voice a teasing disappointment, “Sorry, J, I didn’t know. What a waste.” Your faux frown hit his face, heart twisting at the idea of your upset.

“No, no. It’s fine. Maddie’s gonna have the other one, right?”

“No, I sai—“

“Aw, thanks, Maddie!” You grinned, excitable voice hitting both of their ears once again, smiling so innocently that your intentions seemed so pure, “At least you can have your favourite now.”

Jaafar smiled down at you, grabbing the plastic fork laid neatly next to his glorious meal, before digging in, “Oh, wow, this is amazing.”

“Made it myself.” You admitted, “Worked very hard for you, Jaaf.”

“You’re so good to me.” Jaafar couldn’t contain the way he smiled as you giggled proudly, walking alongside, mouth full of the food you kindly prepared for him, back to where he once sat, “Whatcha’ got planned for today then?”

“Figured I’d sit around all day and watch you sweat.”

Maddie clenched her jaw at the way you both laughed loudly — a real, genuine laugh falling from Jaafar’s lips.

“Sounds like a riveting day.” He teased, resuming back in his seat.

You grinned, “Oh, definitely. A real thriller.”

“Nice play on word—“ “Jaafar, can we talk?”

Maddie’s harsh voice cut your laughter short — a sudden intense atmosphere blossoming. Jaafar’s smile fell quickly, eyes meeting hers for the first time since you arrived as if her presence wasn’t recognisable.

“What?”

“Alone.”

You bit back a grin — every argument they had brought Jaafar closer to you. Sick, but you loved it.

“I’ll go wait in your dressing room, J.”

To Maddie, she was silently thankful for your departure, however, completely missing your sensual undertone — alluding to the very man, she was subconsciously pushing further away from her and more towards you, that you’d be waiting for him in a quiet, secluded place where he could take you like he always did.

You parted from the tension quickly — sauntering away, hips swinging involuntarily, your back facing the upcoming argument you knew would arise.

Maddie didn’t miss the way Jaafar watched you walk away.

“Are you fucking serious?”

Her voice forced a foul expression onto Jaafar’s face, “What now?”

“Don’t take that tone with me, Jaafar.” Maddie snapped, finger pointing accusingly at him, “What is her problem?”

Jaafar feigned innocence quickly, “What do you mean? She just brought me lunch.”

“So did I, but you turned that down real fast. But, when she does it, it’s like she’s moved fucking mountains for you?” Maddie’s voice got icier with each sentence — and louder, forcing passing members of staff to side-eye the growing dispute.

“Lower your voice.” He hissed, eyes darting around, “You brought me something I didn’t like. Sorry if that offends you.”

“It’s not about that, Jaafar, it’s about how fucking weird you are around each other.” She snapped, voice refusing to lower, “Is there something I don’t know?”

Jaafar hid the way adrenaline thumped through his veins at the idea of her possibly finding out well. The thought of filling you to the brim with his thick cock suddenly polluting his brain — blood rushing between the very manhood he wanted to stuff you full of.

“Hello?” Maddie sassed, face an unyielding frosty expression.

“No, of course not. Stop asking me this.” Jaafar lied straight his teeth, a lie told so many times it felt natural now, “You always paint her out to be a horrible person, but she’s always so good to me. I don’t know why you can’t just be nice to her.”

“Because she’s all up on my fiancé every five seconds.”

“We’re just close.” Jaafar spoke, a statement not entirely untrue, “Just leave her alone for once.”

“Maybe tell her that.” Maddie spat, “Tell her to leave you alone.”

“I’m not gonna do that.”

“And there we go. Always at her defence.” She laughed in aggravation, “I’m your fiancé, y’know? It’s me you’re marrying.”

I wish it wasn’t.

The sentence hit his brain faster than he expected — a subconscious response to the argument and his secretive infatuation with you.

“I can’t deal with this right now.” Jaafar shot back, rising to his feet quickly, “Just go home, I’ll talk to you later.” He wasted no time walking down the hallway to his dressing room, following in your footsteps

“Jaafar, what? No.”

“Do not follow me.”

His voice, a usual calm and collected tone, was now snarled and bitter — a declaration of his frustration. He meant every word he said.

Jaafar stormed through the hall — feet stomping against the ground harder with each step. His anger bubbling over the edge as his chest heaved.

He slammed open the dressing room door — agitation oozing from him like no other. His eyes immediately landed on your relaxed frame, longing on the sofa that was pressed against the back of the room. You met his furious gaze.

“You okay, baby?”

Your sweet, calming voice flooded his frenzied brain — the nickname hitting him straight between the legs. He strode towards you quickly, hands immediately cradling your face as he smashed your lips together in a frantic kiss. You squeaked in surprise at the sudden connection — hands grasping at his tensed arms, before melting into his mouth.

“Need you. Now.” He mumbled against your lips, “Need to feel you.”

“Jaaf.” You whined, the feeling of his warm breath ghosting over your mouth had a familiar tingle radiating up your spine at the anticipation.

His lips worked magic against yours once more — moving with calculated precision as he pulled you to your feet. Tongues and teeth clashing as the passion intensified in your lip-locking — spit and swollen lips the only thing evident on your mouth as he moved his kisses down your neck. His hand, once pressed against the warm of your cheek, splayed across the nape of your neck, as he worked his way down your exposed chest.

“This gotta come off.” He muttered, flicking the buttons of your top open with ease, pulling it off your body and throwing it to the floor, your plump breasts filling his gaze.

His name fell from your mouth in a desperate plea as his lips attached to your bare tits — an erect nipple swirled around his tongue as he sucked. Your head thrust back — whines now filling the room as your back pressed into the makeup counter.

Jaafar pulled away from your breasts, lips colliding with your own once more as his eager hand travelled down your body — fingers nestling right where you needed him. His fingers slipped under your skirt, finding comfort in the dip of your slit, collecting your essence on his fingers from where you drooled through your panties.

“Jaafar, please.” You whimpered, bottom lip pulled between your teeth.

“Tell me how much you want it, pretty.” Jaafar whispered against you, face now flush against your own, “Tell me all about it, baby.”

His fingers rubbed tight, precise circles over your clothed clit, slick with your arousal, eliciting the sweetest noises from your pretty mouth — ones that hand Jaafar twitching in his slacks.

“Mm—Need you—Aah! so bad, J,” You cried, hands clutching at the thick of his bicep, “M’Wanna feel you so bad.”

“That’s it, sweetie, talk to me.” He coaxed, mouth suckling at the exposure of your neck, marking up your skin with the graze of his teeth.

Jaafar continued to work his fingers onto you — nimble digits rubbing the painful ache between your legs away as he relaxed you, arousing you ready for his length. His supple lips pressed soft, delicate kisses to any piece of your skin he was unveiled to — only adding to the gorgeous whines of pleasure that flooded his ears.

You leant over to press a sweet kiss to the sensitive skin beneath his ear, “Please, Jaaf, need to feel you.”

Jaafar didn’t give you time to change your mind.

He ripped his body from yours in a hurry — trembling hands from adrenaline and anger unbuckling his slacks, shoving them down his thighs along with his boxers. He hissed as the cold air hit the warmth of his cock, large hands instantaneously coming to wrap around the sheer length of him, pumping himself in relief.

“Turn around.”

You obeyed immediately — swiftly pressing your stomach to the counter, poking your half-exposed ass to him. He pushed your skirt further up your backside, now bunching at your hips.

“I’m not gonna be gentle tonight, baby.” He revealed, looking up at you from the mirror before both of you, revelling in the way you gasped as the fat of his cockend slid between the wetness of your folds, “Too fucking angry.”

“It’s okay, baby.” Your sweet, deliciously soft voice calmed his fury ever so slightly, the eyes that had him weak in the knees meeting his own in the reflection, “Use me. Take me. Just fuck me, please.”

The erotic admission had him pushing into you faster than he ever does — a loud cry falling past your lips as your vision blurred, hand slamming against the glass in a fist as he stretched you. Jaafar usually would take his time with you — work you open with his fingers, make you cum a few times before entering you. But not now. The flaming anger than burst inside of him had him selfish — not wanting to waste a single second before filling you to the brim.

And that he did. Your cunt throbbed around the size of him — girth and length forcing your slick little cunt open for him so briskly it had you biting on your lip so hard you tasted blood.

“That’s my good girl.” Jaafar growled out, a large hand stroking the plush of your hips that he gripped with the pad of his thumb, “Look so fuckin’ beautiful full of me.”

“Jaafar, please.” You mewled, tears brimming in your twinkling eyes.

“I know, I know, baby.” He reassured, dragging his cock out of you slowly, “Just feel me.”

He set a brutal pace — one that rendered you speechless from the first thrust. Only blabbering moans of undeniable pleasure releasing from your mouth as his tip kissed the smooth of your cervix, his cock rammed so deep you forget how to speak.

Jaafar grunted wildly behind you — his usual gentle love-making a distant memory as he fucked you as if you were a cock hungry slut. Something he could use for his own personal pleasure.

Right now, you were absolutely that and more.

“Fucking hate her.” He seethed behind you, grip tightening around your hips, before sliding up your back and taking your hair in a tight grasp, pulling you flush against his heaving chest, “She doesn’t do it like you do.”

The nefarious admission had your cunt clenching around him — knowing he was fucking you brainless whilst badmouthing his fiancée, who you also despised, had arousal coursing through your veins more so than before.

Jaafar noticed, “Oh, you naughty girl.” He breathed, breath hot against your ear, “You love fucking a taken man, huh?”

“Only you, Jaafar.”

Jaafar couldn’t suppress the whimper that fell from his lips, head falling into the crook of your neck, mumbling a curse under his breath at your huffed submission to him — cock throbbing inside you. Every drag of his dick had you whining underneath him — eyes rolling back as he repeatedly abused the sweet spot inside your gummy walls.

“Oh, that’s the spot, huh, princess?” He coaxed, “Look at me.” His large hand gripped your cheeks in a harsh grasp, before pushing two fingers into your agape mouth, “Suck.”

You willingly did as he pleased — suckling at the thick of his digits, the tang of your essence still lingering on his fingers flooding your tastebuds, whining at the taste of yourself. Your tongue swirled around him, eager to please, earning a hum of approval from the heaving man behind you, his pace never faltering.

“Jaafar.” Your voice muffled, mouth still stuffed full of him, a desperate, needy tone in your words, “Harder, p’wease.”

“Y’sound so fuckin’ sexy with your mouth full.” Jaafar groaned, eyes locked on the way tears slipped from your wide eyes, cascading down your face, a collecting of wetness of your tears and spit pooling at your chin.

Jaafar pulled out of you swiftly, ignoring the way you whined at the loss of fullness, before briskly shifting you to face him, pulling your body on top of the counter. He entered you once more, a blissful moan falling past your lips. His hands splayed against the fat of your hips against, pulling you down onto the hardness of his cock — bottom lip pulled between his teeth as you marched every thrust with an erotic whinge.

“‘Gonna cum, Jaaf.” You revealed, eyes glued to the milky white essence that pooled at the base of Jaafar’s cock as it disappeared repeatedly into your sex.

“Give it to me, princess.” He coaxed, fingers flying to your swollen clit, rubbing tight, fast circles around the aching nub, “Cum with me, baby.”

Your orgasm crept down your spine, settling in the low of your abdomen, the relief of a much needed climax arriving, a loud, demanding moan leaving your mouth as you chased your high at full speed. Jaafar wasn’t far behind you — pace now quickening as he too chased his orgasm, wanting nothing more right now to fill you to the brim with his fertile seed.

Slam!

“What the fuck?”

The door to the dressing room swung open — an aggressive bang that had both of your heads spinning towards the noise.

Now you were truly fucked.

Maddie stood in the door way, utterly mortified and shocked to her core at the sight of you — pussy stuffed full of her fiancée’s cock — sweat glistening off of both your bodies, chests heaving.

In a blacked-out state of intense arousal, your wicked mouth betrayed

“Don’t you dare fucking stop, Jaafar.”

And he listened.

In his own personal lust, the sound of his distraught fiancée’s shouting, catching him in a comprising act fell on deaf ears, his hips, that had once stilled, resumed once more.

Your head fell back once more as his pace picked up — your orgasm climbing back up quicker now, pure thrill and adrenaline coursing through you like an addict snorting a fresh line.

Your nails dug into the plush of his bare ass, moans hitting an all time high as you clenched around him, completely unaffected by the furious woman in the doorway — climax washing over you harder than it ever had.

“Oh, Jaafar!” His name rang out through the room, alongside the squelch of your juices with each harsh thrust Jaafar fucked into you, a subconscious twist of the knife to the disbelieving Maddie watching in shock.

Jaafar groaned into your rising chest, cumming with a cry, his own orgasm hitting him as he doubled over, folding into you as he stuffed you full. The sensation of his spurting load filling you to the brim had your toes curling around his waist, a whine hitting his ringing ears. He didn’t stop — fucking his hot cum deeper into you, hips stuttering in overstimulation, the intense feeling of his electric orgasm still flooding through him.

In your mutual state of blind pleasure, you hadn’t noticed the absence of Maddie — the room deafening silent as you caught your breaths.

Jaafar softened inside you, face still pressed into the crook of your neck, eyes fluttered shut.

“Still harmless?”

You'll never make me stay, so take your weight off of me.

He called you Diana. It wasn't your real name; he didn't know what that was. He didn't want to know it. There was too much attachment there, the possibility of the letters getting stuck to his tongue when you weren't around. Your face already lingered there too often, full lips and hastily ripped clothing flashing through his mind at any inconvenient moment.

Knowing his name, however, was unavoidable. The first time you whispered it into his ear as he pushed your legs open made a shiver of simultaneous guilt and delight wrack up his spine. It wasn't love, but there was something there that thrilled him. Maybe it was the sweetness of your perfume mixed with your not-so-sweet demeanor. You pleasured him in a way that had nothing to do with a stage. Nothing to do with his money.

Michael was a fierce performer. He could make men and women crumple to the floor at his shows with a swivel of his hips. But to you, he was a sheep in wolf's clothing. Inside your small, one-bedroom apartment, there was nothing he could do to make you waiver in your humiliating indifference to him. You didn't ask when you'd see him again. You didn't ask for money—just the heat of his skin against yours.

The best part about you was that you didn't ask questions. You didn't want to know if he had a girl. It didn't matter to you. Whatever he did after he got off on your body wasn't your concern. The problem was that Michael cared. He cared about what you were doing when he wasn't around, who you were talking to. He wondered if you scratched your nails down anyone else's back the way that you did his. The thought of it had started to infiltrate every moment of his life, his work. And with another woman in his bed now, someone softer and more considerate than you, he knew he had to let you go.

You always met in the same place. A dank club on the outskirts of Los Angeles that wasn't frequented by many star-studded idols, except for him. He dressed casually in leather black pants, a navy blue button-up, and a white t-shirt underneath. His dark curls were pulled back into a low bun, his version of trying to go undercover from the fans that seemed to follow him everywhere. Tonight, the streets were empty. He seemed to have gotten lucky.

The meet-up was never planned. He didn't even know your number. But you were always there, in your dark corner on the balcony of the club. He could already see you as the bouncer let him in with just a glance at his face. Smoke billowed around you as you people-watched. A crowd of patrons surrounded you, drinking and chatting. Some Michael recognized, some he didn't. You didn't speak to them, the cherry of a cigarette glowing as it moved toward your mouth. There was always an empty chair beside you, no one filling the seat. He always took it. He wouldn't tonight.

Michael's legs felt shaky as he walked onto the balcony that loomed over the dance floor. The crowd around you all looked up at his arrival, minus you, who was flicking ash into an empty whiskey glass.

You reached for your full drink with your other hand, dipping your fingers into the alcohol and pulling out a bright red cherry that floated on top. That was when you finally looked up at him, with your shining lips wrapped around the cherry, your manicured fingers pulling the stem. Michael felt like he had swallowed sandpaper.

"Leave us." You said in a low voice, not breaking eye contact with Michael. But everyone knew the command was directed at them, not him. And they listened to you, grabbing their drinks and filing off the balcony with rumours uttered under their breath.

I know your every move, so won't you just let me be?

When it was just the two of you, you rewarded him with a small smile. The purple and blue club lights wavered over your skin, glittering like the reflection of the sun hitting the ocean. You threw the stem of your cherry into the makeshift ashtray, chewing slowly.

"You said you wouldn't be back after last time." A laugh escaped you, beautiful and violent. "I almost believed you."

He didn't know how to respond to that, to admit his dirty secret or lie and say that he didn't mean to run into you. But the answer was clear when he moved closer to you, hands clenched at his sides.

"How's your girl…" You paused, looking to the ceiling in mock thought. "Oh, I've forgotten her name."

Michael's mouth opened to speak, but his words failed at the sight of you crossing your legs in the leather seat. You donned sheer black tights with a run up one of the thighs, ripped like someone pressed their finger into the fabric and pulled. His cheeks burned, and he bit the side of his tongue.

You continued, slender fingers lifting the cigarette to your lips again. His eyes grazed over the lipstick mark wrapped around the orange filter. Marks he'd once seen on his skin. "…think you forgot her name last week, too. In fact, it seemed like you'd forgotten everything except my name." Your gaze lingered on his throat, the bob of it as you looked at him.

"My name," You repeated, like it was a joke. He didn't even know who you were, truly. "And the way you like how my tongue feels on your neck."

Michael's eye threatened to twitch at the memory. He swallowed down the heat that had started to bloom from his chest, making it hard to breathe.

"Diana, Diana, please, please," you mocked the sound of his moans, chest heaving in mock pleasure.

You flattened the last of your cigarette against the tip of your high heel, putting it out. Smoke rippled out of your nostrils, floating around Michael's head and intoxicating him.

I've been here times before but I was too blind to see,

"I'm not here to talk about that with you. Or talk about her with you." Michael finally spoke, shifting to lean against the rail of the balcony. He didn't miss the way you laughed to yourself, your head falling back and exposing the length of your neck. "I've never been here for that."

"Got a point there." You smiled, standing up from the chair. It took everything in Michael not to shift away from you, like he was avoiding the bite of a poisonous spider. Your hand reached out, fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. "You don't usually come here to talk about anything."

…that you seduce every man, this time you won't seduce me.

"I'm serious." Michael's eyes rolled of their own volition, but he didn't have the strength to pull his arm away from you quite yet. But you did it for him, your hand releasing the fabric, only to reach up and pull the collar of his button-up down, revealing the sharp dip of his collarbone. The marks you'd left before were long since faded.

"How was it hiding those from her?" You grinned at him, and in the darkness of the club, your canine teeth looked like fangs, ready to sink into his jugular at any moment. "Saw those pictures in the tabloids, some awards show you were at… pretty high collar on that jacket you were wearing if you ask me."

You grazed your nails up his neck with two fingers, watching the way he struggled to keep from shivering. But he wasn't able to hide the reaction to you pressing into the pulse point below his jaw. A whiny, breathy sound left him, and his hand raised to grip your wrist. Tight enough to leave bruises. You wanted them.

He tossed your hand away with one hand and raised the opposite to grab at your shoulder. In seconds, you were in the spot he had just been standing in, back pressed against the railing of the balcony. His free hand gripped the metal bar next to you, boxing you in.

"I didn't come here for that." He hissed, eyes looking nearly black in the dark. "Not with you. I'm done with you."

She's saying, 'That's okay, hey baby, do what you please.'

"Oh, Mikey,"

You leaned forward, your body pressing close to his. You could feel the buttons of his shirt, the press of his belt buckle, the heat of his breath against your ear, and something else beneath that, firm and warm. Exactly what you'd been looking for. Your hand raised to graze it through his pants, skin against warm leather, and he responded with a resounding hiss. You smiled like the cat who'd caught the canary, lips brushing against the shell of his ear as you began to whisper.

"Then why are you hard?"

'I have the stuff that you want. I am the thing that you need.'

Michael grit his teeth, swatting your hand away from him, although his hips had leaned into your touch. You didn't mind, hugging your arms around your body to keep your hands to yourself.

"Don't you know how much I hate you?" He asked you, no bite in his bark. Dark curls from his bun had fallen out, brushing the skin of your cheek from how close he was.

"I didn't get that impression the last time you were inside of me, no." You answered, hips searching for the friction of his. He didn't allow it, not yet.

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, and you caught Michael's eye drifting to it. His lips were parted, and his chest heaved in a way you only ever saw when you were on top of him. You'd caught him in your web again, whether he knew it yet or not.

"Come back to mine. Show me just how much you hate me."

She said, 'I have to go home, 'cause I'm real tired, you see.'

The ten-minute walk back to your apartment was quiet, save for the sound of your heels clicking against the pavement and a match lighting up a cigarette or two. Michael walked a few steps behind you, watching the way your hips swayed, how you instinctively kept your eyes fixed around the street for your safety. He wondered, briefly, how many times you'd walked home alone from that club. Passing by dark alleys, run-down apartments, men who would destroy you and then leave you like trash on the side of the road. He huffed a laugh through his nose, quietly. Protective of the woman who was dead set on ruining his life, what a joke.

Your apartment, though small, was always oddly comforting to him. The smell of your perfume hit him as you unlocked the door, tossing a small purse onto the sofa just a few feet away. Nothing had changed from the last time he'd been here, not even the way the blankets were strewn on the floor from when he'd taken you there. He remembered how you'd laughed when he'd pushed you down, legs spreading so eagerly for him.

'But I hate sleeping alone. Why don't you come with me?'

Michael was frozen, back against the door. He watched you balance on one leg to take your heel off, and then switch to the other. The run in your tights had gotten longer from the walk, and you hummed as you noticed.

"Guess you'll just have to rip 'em off." You looked up at him, eyes dark. When he didn't respond, you shrugged. You lifted the skirt of your tight dress, casually, exposing the entire length of your legs and the sheer sight of your underwear behind the tights. Your fingers hooked into the waistband. "Or I can just take them off-"

Michael pushed himself off the door before he realized what he was doing, replacing your fingers with his own and tugging you toward him by the waistband of your tights. He used his other hand to grab at the hair at the base of your neck, tugging until your head was bent backwards, the entire column of your throat exposed to him. His pretty, white teeth nipped at the skin, leaving small red marks that he soothed with the cool wetness of his tongue.

"I can't stay long," He said, lips hot against your skin. "She's at home, thinks I'm just at the studio late."

I said, 'My baby's at home, she's probably worried tonight. I didn't call on the phone to say that I'm alright.'

"I'm all yours for as long as you need." You said it from where your head was still tugged back, not moving an inch until Michael decided otherwise. His entire being burned with the need to touch you, to make you so breathless again that all you could say was his name. His hands were gentle in the way he released your hair and set his grip around your waist.

Diana walked up to me, she said, 'I'm all yours tonight.'

It was almost a shock, the way he was suddenly pushing you toward the breakfast bar in your small kitchenette. Your front hit the linoleum counter, your arms flying out to brace for the impact. Bent over for him, he could run his large hands over the expanse of your entire body, stopping for a moment when he found a spot he loved especially, or thought needed to be squeezed or grabbed firmly.

His hand stopped where the rip in your tights started, inside your upper thigh. He hooked his fingers into the hole and tugged. The fabric split right down the middle, down the entire length of your leg, exposing the smooth skin underneath. He tsked, leaning forward so his mouth was against your ear and his chest pressed into your back.

"A pretty girl like you shouldn't look so unkempt."

He tugged again, harder this time, until the fabric of one leg was flying off of you and landing on the hardwood floor. You gasped at the feeling of the cool air hitting your skin, and the shock of his warm hand replacing it. You didn't like it when he had the upper hand, when he gained all this confidence and thought he was the one in control.

"Maybe you should call your girl, Michael." You turned your head to look at him as best as you could from where you were bent over the counter. "Just to let her know you're okay."

You lifted your body from the counter, wiggling his hands off of you until you could turn around and face him. You kept your eyes on him as you sank to your knees. His mouth was hung open, his skin turning pink - with what? Embarrassment? guilt? Pleasure? Maybe all of the above.

Your fingers reached for the belt buckle on his pants. "Phone is on the counter. To your right." You tugged the belt from the loop. "Call her."

'At that, I ran to the phone, sayin' 'Baby, I'm alright.' I said, 'But unlock the door, 'cause I forgot the key.'

Michael's fingers shook as he grabbed at the phone, starting to dial the number to his house. He could have said no. He could have pushed you off of him and walked out the door, like he'd planned to. But you were mouthing at him and kissing him from outside of his boxers, drooling all over the fabric, and he knew he couldn't leave. One hand rested on your head as he pressed the receiver to his ear, listening to the phone dial.

You could hear a sweet voice on the other end, though you couldn't map out exactly what she was saying. Just what Michael said in response, his eyes squeezed shut as your lips finally wrapped around him.

"Hey, baby, I just wanted to call and let you know I'm okay. N-no, I'm not sick, just- think it's my allergies. I'm at the studio, I… Quincy is really wanting this to be… to be perfect tonight, and…"

Michael's voice trailed off when your tongue moved in the way he liked, his brow furrowing and his hand guiding your head. You pulled off of him for a moment, taking a deep breath.

"Focus, Mikey." You whispered, mouth shining from him. "Your girl's on the phone."

Michael's eyes opened, and he glared at you, upset that you said anything at all. He chuckled nervously into the phone.

"No, baby, that was just Quincy… I need- need to get back soon. I just wanted to call and ask if you could leave the door… unlocked before you go to bed-"

He was close. You knew the telltale signs by now. The way his breath hitched, the way he stuttered, the way his hand had started to grip your hair tight at the top of your head. If he weren't on the phone, he would have grabbed you with both hands, used your mouth as much as he wanted. But now, in your control, he could only hold in his gasps and moans, giving short, one-word responses to what his girl asked on the phone. You glared up at him as he continued speaking, annoyance growing because his attention wasn't entirely on you. It made you work harder, doing everything you could to get him there.

When you stopped, right at the edge of his release, he had to hold back a whimper. His knuckles were white against the telephone, watching you carefully as you stood up from where you'd been sitting on your haunches. You hummed at the look of him, disheveled, embarrassed, completely at your mercy. You held your hand out in front of him, looking from his eyes to the phone.

Michael had been listening to his girl ramble about something; he really wasn't sure what it was at the moment. He furrowed a brow, shaking his head at your request. It was a weak refusal, and it made you laugh. Out loud, bright and airy and echoing through the room.

The voice of his girl got louder on the phone, with questions about who that was and what woman was with him, laughing. You used your other hand to grab Michael, where your mouth had just been, wrenching your wrist and moving up and down in a way that made his eyes flutter closed. It was then that you were free to grab the phone from him, when his release was building, and there was nothing he cared about more than getting there.

You waited to say anything until he was moaning, spilling all over your hand, and twitching against your body. Your voice was smooth on the receiver, a stark contrast to the breathy, choppy nature of Michael's voice.

"He's not coming back because he's sleeping with me."