star

The lecture hall door swings open with a thud against the rubber stopper, and you sail through it like you're making an entrance on a reality tv show. Your hip does most of the heavy lifting because your hands are full. One clutches an iced latte the color of a sunset, while the other holds your phone, which you're actively ignoring because the group chat has been blowing up since six this morning, and you know those whores have nothing serious to talk about.

Everyone looks up. They always do. You've accepted it as a natural law by now, like gravity or the fact that the dining hall will always be out of the good yogurt by the time you get there.

When you walk into a room, people notice. You're the girl with the glossed lips, cropped tops, and skirts that toe the lines of the campus dress code so dangerously it might as well be a tightrope act. Some people call you a ditz. Others, more creatively, call you a bimbo. You, however, prefer to call yourself efficient. Because really, why waste precious mental real estate pretending to care about things you don't? Your brain is a finite resource, and you've chosen to allocate it to the things that matter: your social standing, aesthetic, and the ability to read a room and make everyone in it do what you want. Everything else is background noise.

You slide into your usual seat, third row from the back, by the window, where the light hits your face just right, and you can watch the squirrels wage their endless war against the campus landscaping. Your designer tote hits the desk with a clatter that could wake the dead, and a few heads swivel in your direction. You don't bother to look up, finding your phone more interesting. Besides, you know exactly what they're seeing: a girl who looks like she stepped out of a magazine spread, completely unbothered by the weight of academic responsibility. BIO202 may very well be the bane of your existence. A serious thorn in your otherwise perfectly manicured side. You've already taken this class twice.

Twice.

And failed both times, not because you couldn't understand the material, but because you couldn't be bothered to show up for the exams or the labs. Or, you know, any of the classes after the first week. But third time's the charm, right? That's what your academic advisor said, anyway, with that strained smile people get when they're trying to be supportive but are also deeply concerned about your life choices.

Professor Wallace shuffles in like a man who has given up on life but still has bills to pay. His tie is crooked, his hair looks like it lost a fight with a pillow, and he's muttering something about traffic and his existential crisis of running out of coffee on a Monday morning. The room falls into a hush, the kind of collective silence that says everyone has agreed, without consulting each other, that this is a don't-make-eye-contact kind of morning.

He fumbles with his briefcase, drops a stack of papers, picks them up, drops them again, and finally gives up, leaving them in a chaotic pile on his desk. For a long moment, he just stares at the mess, like he's waiting for it to organize itself out of sheer pity. When it doesn't, he sighs, adjusts his glasses, and clears his throat.

"Good morning, everyone," Wallace drones out. His voice serves as the auditory equivalent of a wet blanket. He does a headcount, eyes scanning the room with the enthusiasm of someone counting inventory at a warehouse. "Before we begin today's lesson, I have an announcement."

You sigh, loud enough for the guy next to you to glance over. You pop the lid off your fruity little drink and take a long sip, just to have something to do with your hands. Announcements are never good. They always mean extra work, stricter rules, or some new policy designed to make your already tedious life even more complicated. You brace yourself for the worst.

"As you all know," Wallace continues, and you can already feel your stomach churning, "the final project makes up a big chunk of your overall grade for this course."

Here it comes; the hammer is about to fall.

"To, uh, encourage collaborative thinking and foster a sense of ‘academic community’... as the dean puts it, I've assigned each of you a permanent partner for the remainder of the semester."

A wave of groans ripples through the room, a chorus of shared misery that sounds like a gospel choir of the damned. You roll your eyes so hard you see stars. The plan for this class (and, let's be honest, your entire academic career) was simple. Apply minimal effort, show up, look good, make a few snide comments, and leave. Now, thanks to Professor Wallace's misguided attempt at team-building, you're going to have to remember some random loser's name for the next three weeks. Tragic. Absolutely tragic.

The disordered professor adjusts his glasses, squinting at a piece of paper that looks like it's been through a war. "I'll call your names. Find your partner and get acquainted. You have the rest of the class to start planning."

You make a face, already drafting a detailed complaint in your head. You're going to be stuck with some eager beaver who wants to meet every day at the library, or worse, someone who doesn't shower and has strong opinions about the correct way to cite sources.

A nightmare scenario is unfolding in real time, and there's nothing you can do to stop it. Wallace starts rattling off names, pairing people up with the efficiency of a computer algorithm designed by someone who hates fun. You watch as your classmates shuffle around, finding their new partners with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Some look relieved. Others look like they've just been sentenced to community service.

"L/n and..." Wallace pauses, squinting at his paper. "Jackson."

What?

You turn slowly, like a possessed doll, scanning the room until your eyes land on him.

Jermajesty Jackson.

The universe has a sense of humor; you're sure of it. A sick, twisted, heartless sense of humor. There's no other explanation for why you, the queen of the social jungle, have been paired with the dweeb at the bottom of the food chain. The loser that wears the ratty graphic tees, has glasses that never stay on his face, and a backpack that looks like it’s been to hell and back. ​Your eyes meet, and he looks just as horrified as you feel. ​A scoff leaves your lips as you slouch in your seat. ​

"Him? Seriously?" you lament, already feeling the five stages of grief creeping in.

​The young man flinches, just a little. He wasn't expecting you to be so openly disgusted. His gaze drops to his notebook, fingers curling around his pen.

​Wallace wears a flat expression, “If you don’t like it, I’d be happy to fail you…a third time Ms. L/n.” ​

Touche.

Jermajesty takes his place in the now empty seat next to you. He doesn’t speak, though, knowing better than to try and engage with someone as popular (and disgruntled) as you. Instead, he starts observing. ​

You’re gorgeous, a blind man could see that much. You’re also very put together, from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. The guys here want you, and the girls want to be you. You’re also mean as fuck. But the thing about you that brings Jermajesty the most comfort is the fact that you might actually be the dumbest person he’s ever met. ​

Not that it was ever often, but when you did participate in class, it wasn’t hard to tell that glitter gloss and mini-skirts reigned supreme in your head. He isn’t all that thrilled to be partnered with you either. In fact, he finds you obnoxious and can’t really see what everyone else does. But your disinterest means you won’t get in the way later on, so he can deal with the circumstance…for now.​

When the bell finally rings, you're out of your seat before the sound fully fades, already searching the growing crowd for your friends. You find them, Mia, Dai, and Tania, waiting a few feet from the door. A cluster of perfectly styled hair, designer clothes, manicured nails. They’re probably talking about this weekend’s party, or about how Serena’s leave-out really was left out. ​

"Hey!" you call, approaching rapidly, and they turn, faces lighting up. ​

"Y/n! Oh my god, I need to tell you—" Dai starts, but you cut her off.

​ "You won’t believe what just happened," you say, waving your hand to cut her story short. "So, I got paired with someone for a project in bio, right?"

​They all lean in, listening intently. They too know the pain of random academic partnership.

“Bitch…who’d you get?" Mia asks. ​

You say his name like it's a disease, one that will most certainly kill you within forty-eight hours. ​

There’s a beat of silence, then Mia blinks. "Wait…Jermajesty? The one with the extra fine brother?" ​

"Yeah," you say, actively deflating. "That’s the one." ​

They all turn, like synchronized swimmers, to see Jermajesty exiting the room. He hasn't noticed yet, waiting for the hall to clear, completely unaware that he's become the center of attention. ​

"Oh my god," Dai whispers, half‑laughing. "Girl he looks a mess!" ​

"Bitch! Look at the pokemon cards in his bag," Mia chimes in, giggling while pointing. A small crowd begins to form as they poke a little more.

Tania, the loudest of the group, tilts her head and says, loud enough to carry, "What a fuckin’ dork!" ​

The crowd starts to laugh, and you do too. Because that’s what you’re supposed to do, right? That’s the script. You’re the queen, and this is your court. If the school were a monarchy, your face would be on the dollar. Then you go to crack your own joke, but when you look back, Jermajesty’s frozen.

His shoulders are tense, and his hands are trembling. For a second, he just sits there, like he's trying to decide if he actually heard what he thinks he heard. Then he looks up. His eyes meet yours for a split second, and all you see is hurt. Pure embarrassment and humiliation fill his face as he pretends Tania’s words don’t sting.

He breaks away from your gaze and looks around quickly, searching for an out. ​Something in your chest twists violently. It’s a feeling you’d normally write off. But it’s suspiciously close to empathy. ​How annoying.

You don't do…guilt.

You say what you want, when you want, and if people can't handle it, that's their problem. But this…this is just sad. It might have something to do with how he looked at you, like he expected you to be on his side, when you weren't. Whatever it is chips away at your resolve.

You suck in a dramatic breath through your nose. What you’re about to do might qualify as social suicide, but the barely-used, dust-covered better part of you (which lives somewhere near your conscience and your love of limited edition lip gloss) can’t let him sit there looking like a kicked puppy. Especially since his only crime is existing. ​

"Hush," you snap at your friends, and before they can ask what’s up, you're walking back toward the classroom, heels clicking loudly against the tile. ​Jermajesty is trying to steady himself and is about halfway through reciting the elements of the periodic table when you stop in front of him. He startles, like he wasn't expecting you to come anywhere near him. ​

"Hey," you say, voice casual, like you didn't just let your friends humiliate him thirty seconds ago. ​

"Please leave me alone," he all but begs, voice meek.

​You flinch at the way he speaks. How the hell do you even fix this? Never have you attempted to console someone before. Without much more thought, you whip out your phone, unlock it, and thrust it at him. "Give me your number."

He blinks. "What?"

​"Your number," you repeat, rolling your eyes like he's being difficult on purpose. "So I can text you about our project. Duh." ​

He stares at you for a second, then at your phone, then back at you. "Oh. Um. Okay." ​

The crowd that rallied to watch you tear the boy apart begins to disband once they realize that you aren’t being hostile. The boy in front of you visibly relaxes as the onlookers keep moving. He hesitates for a moment, then takes your phone with careful fingers, like he's afraid he'll break it, and types in his contact info. When he hands it back, you glance at the screen. ​

Jermajesty J. ​

Cute.

You snatch the phone back and tuck it into your purse, then lean in a little closer, dropping your voice so only he can hear. ​"Attention’s off you now. You're welcome," you murmur, tilting your head slightly before finishing. "Oh, and do. not. text me." ​

His eyes widen just a bit, realizing you only handed over your life source to save his skin. "I… okay?"

​"Good." You give him one last look, half‑annoyed, half‑something else you don't want to name, then turn and walk back to your friends. ​They're all watching you with confusion written across their faces clear as day. ​

"What was that?" Dai asks as you rejoin the group. ​

"Damage control," you quip, shrugging your shoulders. "He looked like he was going to die of embarrassment. If he fails, I fail. I can’t risk my grade over a joke."

​The girls hum in agreement, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. ​ You, on the other hand, can't stop thinking about something. The way he looked at you, like he expected better. It’s easy to tell yourself you don’t care, but you suppose it would’ve been easier to leave him alone in the first place.

​The rest of the day drags on like molasses. ​You skip your other classes, deciding that this morning was enough excitement for one day. You tell yourself you'll make Jermajesty do all the boring stuff and you'll just look pretty, sign your name, and call it a day. That was the plan anyway.

When you get back to the house, you drop your bag by the door and flop onto the couch. Notifications fly across your screen one by one. Classmates, friends, group chats. Then, finally:

​Hey, it's Jermajesty. From bio. Did you want to come over? ​

You roll your eyes, but type back anyway. ​

U didn’t need to tell me that. Alr saved ur number. Thought I told u not to txt me??

​Three little dots appear, disappear, appear again.

​Ok. Let’s hope third time’s a charm then.

You raise a perfectly arched brow at the words glaring back at you. Though audacious, that little shit does make a valid point. If you fail this class again, you’ll be suspended for a year. Still, there’s no way in hell you’d be caught dead walking into Jermajesty’s house. A sigh escapes through your nose as you formulate a response. ​

Wtv. Not coming over there. U can come to mine at 7. Use the back door. ​ [ y/n shared location for 1 hour]

You toss your phone onto the cushion beside you and stretch, trying to ignore the low hum of annoyance in your chest. This is going to be a disaster. You can already tell. ​

At 6:58, there's a quiet knock at the back entrance, just as instructed. ​You glance at it before standing slowly, then pad over in your socks, opening the door just wide enough to peek out. Jermajesty stands there, backpack clutched like it contains state secrets, looking ready for a cameo on ‘Nerd Makeover: Extreme Edition.’

He’s wearing a long-sleeved anime shirt, basketball shorts that scream ‘laundry day,’ and sneakers that are beat to shit. His hair is wild, he’s sweating bullets, and his glasses are so crooked you’d think they were part of a social experiment. The poor boy is petrified. ​

"Hey," Jermajesty squeaks.

​"Hey," you echo with the enthusiasm of a cat being asked to take a bath, stepping back to let him in. "Shoes off. And don’t touch anything."

​He blinks, then quickly bends to untie his laces, lining his shoes up neatly by the mat like he's afraid they'll offend you if they aren't perfectly straight. ​

"Living room," you sigh, gesturing up the hall. "We can work at the coffee table." ​

He nods while trailing behind you like a lost puppy. ​You plop back onto the couch, and he sits near you, carefully setting his backpack on the floor and unzipping it to reveal an organized mess of folders, notebooks, and pens. It may look chaotic, but he has a whole system.

​"Alright," you huff. "Let's get this over with. What do we have to do again?" ​

Jermajesty pulls out a notebook, flipping to a page that is, predictably, color-coded with the kind of enthusiasm only a future valedictorian would possess. "The endocrine system," he says, pushing his glasses up like a nervous scientist. "We have to identify the main parts, explain their functions, and how they work together to keep our hormones in check. Basically, why you don’t burst into tears during store sales." ​

You make a face. "I do burst into tears when there’s a sale. Anyway, that sounds like a lot of words." ​

"It's… not that bad," he says, tentatively. "I can draft most of it, if you want. You can, like, review it?" ​

You raise an eyebrow. "You're offering to do all the work?" ​

He shrugs, cheeks flushing a little. "I don't mind. I kind of… like this part." ​

"Of course you do," you murmur, but the usual bite is missing, like a sugar-free energy drink. You lean back, watching him open his laptop and start typing. You’d be more annoyed if he wasn’t so endearing in his nerdy panic. ​For a while, the only sound is the soft clack of keys and the occasional rustle of paper. You try to focus on the screen in front of you, but your attention keeps drifting. ​To him. ​

He's… different like this. Still quiet and careful, but there's something about the way he concentrates that catches your eye. His brows furrow slightly, lips pressing together as his fingers move quickly over the keyboard. Halfway through a sentence, Jermajesty pauses, reaches up, and takes off his glasses. He squeezes his eyes together in an effort to get rid of the fatigue in his eyes. ​

You blink. ​

Sweet Jesus. When he’s this relaxed, and without those frames, he could give most of the guys on campus a run for their money. His eyes are a warm brown, framed by lashes that are unfairly long for someone so awkward. The faint smudge of tiredness under them makes him look less like a nervous lab partner and more like someone you’d bat your lashes at.

Jermjesty’s focus breaks when he feels holes burning into the side of his head.​ "What is it?" he asks, glancing up. ​

You snap your attention back to the brightly colored pages, painfully aware that you've been caught.

"Nothin’," you say quickly. "Jus’ thinking." ​

"Oh…does that hurt?" ​ He jests, a small smirk resting on his lips

It takes you a moment to figure out what he’s saying, which makes him chuckle.

"Hey!" you screech in mock offense, forming a smile of your own.

The young man only shakes his head, throwing his hands up in surrender before you have a chance to get started. It’s a small moment, one that shouldn’t mean too much, but it does. The barrier between the two of you has been broken. In your living room, on the couch, you’re both equals. It feels kinda nice.

You try to regain focus. You really do. But he leans forward, and you get a whiff of his body wash. A masculine vanilla that floods your senses beautifully. Then, he pushes his sleeves up a little, and a glimpse of the veins on his forearms leaves you damn near salivating. What really does it is the way he bites his lip while reading. Up close, this man was something else entirely.  ​

​You shake your head, annoyed at yourself. Just hours ago, you were asking God why he had forsaken you. And now, here you are, drooling over the loser from BIO202. You watch him for another minute, then tap your nails against the table, making a soft, rhythmic sound. ​Screw it, who’s gonna check you anyway?

"Jermajesty," you drag out, voice laced with pure mischief. "Do you have a girlfriend?" ​

He stills, fingers hovering over the keyboard, eyes flitting up to meet yours, then away again. "Uh," he starts, voice cracking slightly. "No. No, I don't." ​

You tilt your head, pretending to be deeply interested in your nails. "Really? No girlfriend at all?"

​"No," he says again, quieter this time. "I um, I haven't really had time for–  well, I mean–" ​ He trails off, cheeks turning pink. ​

You smile, slow and deliberate. "Have you ever been alone with a girl before?" ​

His mouth opens, then closes. He looks like he's trying to figure out if this is a trick question. ​ "Like… right now?" he asks with a tremble in his voice. ​

"Like, ever," you clarify, leaning forward a little. "Just you and a girl. No parents, no projects. Just alone with a member of the opposite sex."

​ He swallows, fingers tightening around the edges of his laptop. "No," he admits. “ I haven't." ​

You hum, like this is fascinating information, and decide to tease him just a bit more. "Never?" ​

"Nope." he confirms under his breath, hoping that the chair will open up and swallow him whole soon. ​

You let that sit for a moment, enjoying how flustered he is. Then, with a small, playful shrug, you ask, "Okay, but… have you ever even kissed a girl? Like, on purpose?" ​

A deep crimson washes over his entire face. ​ He looks down at his hands, then back up at the door. Wondering if his next answer will land him on the school’s tea page. Finally, he shakes his head, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement. ​

"No," he whispers. ​

You don't laugh or make fun of him. You just watch, something warm and mischievous unfurling in your chest. ​

"Do you want to?" you ask, voice low, teasing. ​

He blinks. "What?" ​

You clarify, leaning in a little closer, "Kiss a girl, I mean." ​

His throat moves as he swallows. He looks like he's trying to form words and failing, like his brain has short‑circuited the same way yours did earlier. ​ "I… I mean…" he stammers, voice cracking again. "I– yeah? I think so.”

"You think so?" you echo, grinning mischievously. "That’s not a very confident answer, Jermajesty. You can say no, I promise I won’t tell the girls." ​

He takes a shaky breath, fingers curling into his sleeves. "Yes," he says, firmer this time, though his cheeks are still burning. "Yes, I want to." ​

You let the silence stretch between you, thick and heavy. You can see the way his pulse jumps in his throat, the way his hands tremble slightly in his lap. ​

"Okay," you say, happy with the outcome from your seemingly random line of questioning.

He blinks, unsure if this is some sort of joke. "Okay?" ​

"Yeah. If you really want to, I’ll help you out." You shift a little, closing the gap between your bodies.

Jermajesty’s knee brushes yours, and he lets out a chortled kind of whimper when your hand lands on his thigh. The boy turns to face you, eyes wide, breath faltering when you stop just inches away. ​

"Is this… is this okay?" you ask, tilting your head. "I can stop if you want." ​

He shakes his head so fast, you think it’ll come off his shoulders.

"No," he says. "No, I want this." ​

You smile, more than satisfied, and reach out to gently take his glasses from his face. You need to see how good he looks up close. The poor guy is about as nervous as a pregnant nun. You set the frames on the coffee table, and bring your hand up to caress his arm.

“Relax,” you coo, trying your best not to send Jermajesty into cardiac arrest. “We’re just kissin’, baby.” The boy’s heart stutters at the newly acquired pet name.

Remember when I told you Jermajesty didn’t understand it before, the way all of the other guys on campus practically trip over themselves just to get you to say ‘Hello’?

Well now, when face to face with Aphrodite herself, he realizes he is still just a man. You’ve barely touched him, and he can already feel a tent forming under the thin fabric of the shorts.

God help him.

Your lips hover close enough that his breath catches. You feel the warmth of him, and hear his heartbeat in the space between you. Jermajesty looks at your mouth like it’s an altar. He doesn’t know where to put his hands, whether to reach for you or stay still and risk melting.

So you decide for him. You move first.

Your lips meet his in a kiss that’s slow at first, gentle in a way that contradicts your reputation. Jermajesty’s eyes flutter shut. His shoulders rise like he’s bracing for pain, but the pain doesn’t come. Only warmth, a bright electric feeling that makes his entire posture shift.

His hands finally find something to do. One settles on your thigh, careful. The other hovers, uncertain, then drops lower when he realizes you’re not going to pull away.

You pull back just slightly, just enough to watch his face. He’s flushed, lips parted, breathing like he’s been running. His expression is pure shock. Like he can’t believe this is happening. Like he’s waiting for someone to yell cut and tell him this is all a prank.

“It’s—” he starts, voice breaking.

“What?” you ask, slightly concerned. “Too much?”

He nods, then immediately shakes his head, like his body can’t keep up with his brain.

“It’s not,” he whispers. “It’s just… I didn’t think…”

He stops. His eyes flick to your lips again. He’s overwhelmed.

You smooth your palm over his arm again, a calming gesture that makes him shiver. “Then think less,” you say softly. “Just feel.”

He exhales, a shaky laugh caught in his throat. “Okay,” he hums.

The way he says it makes your heart do something weird. You kiss him again. This time it’s a little firmer. Still gentle, but your confidence pulls him out of his panic and into the moment. His hands grip lightly at your sides.

You taste sugar and something clean, maybe his lip balm? He tastes like sincerity.

When you pull apart, his forehead is almost touching yours. His breathing is labored, and his eyes are glossy, like he might cry.  You hate that you can’t tell if it’s from nerves or emotion, or both. Probably both. You should feel guilty, maybe even weird. Instead, you feel… good.

Jermajesty doesn’t speak. He just stares at you like he’s memorizing your face. You watch him watch you. The word ‘more’ floats somewhere in your mind like a suspicious thought.

You swallow. “Can I tell you something?”

Yes.”He says quickly, hanging on every word you give him “

You smile. “You’re actually good at this.”

He pauses. “at kissing?”

“At… not being weird about it,” you clarify. “You’re doing better than you think.”

His cheeks burn again. “I—” he stammers. Then he laughs. A small sound, embarrassed, like he’s not used to being the person in control. “Maybe,” he says finally, voice soft, “I just didn’t want to disappoint you.”

Your smile falters. That word hits you harder than it should because it implies a level of investment you didn’t realize he had. You’re used to being the disappointing one, who doesn’t show up, or can’t be bothered to try. The one who leaves early, sends messages late, and acts like effort is something other people are supposed to deal with.

But he’s sitting here looking like your approval is oxygen itself. You shouldn’t like that. You shouldn’t want it. And yet your chest tightens with a feeling that’s closer to warmth than you’re comfortable with.

You tilt your head. “I’m not disappointed,” you say quietly. “If anything, I’m… surprised.”

He blinks. “Surprised?”

“That you’re interested,” you admit, and your voice comes out honest in a way that makes you feel exposed. “You seem like a guy who would always be nervous. Like you’d never… do anything.”

He swallows. His eyes flick down to your lips again like he’s searching for the right words and finding none. “I do,” he says. “I just… don’t usually get the chance.”

You stare at him, and for a second the room disappears. It’s just you and him and the weird gravity of your own choices colliding with his.

Then your phone lights up on the coffee table. A notification buzzes. The sound pulls both of you back to reality. You glance down at the screen, annoyed yet again.

They’re all from the group chat.

Dai-Dai: Y/n where are u?? He still there??   Miawia: Did you cry? Nia: Girl don't tell me he got u up there playin’ d&d 😭

Suddenly, these people you call friends seem so shitty.

You pick up your phone with one hand, still close to Jermajesty. He watches you, wondering if you’ll throw him under the bus again. You don’t type out an answer. You just lay the phone face down and slide it off to the side. You then turn to look back up at him.

“Okay,” you say, voice smoother now. “Back to work.”

He flinches slightly, startled by how fast you pivot. “Oh. Right.”

You smile sweetly. “Do you have more notes?”

His eyes widen. “Uh, yeah. I do.”

He scrambles a little to look competent again, to return to his role. He picks up his glasses from the table and puts them back on like armor. The lenses snap his nervousness back into place. He opens his laptop, and the typing resumes.

You sit there, watching him do the work he offered to do, watching him build a world out of diagrams and definitions. It’s almost funny. He’s the same person. But now you’ve kissed him and crossed some invisible line that you didn’t even know existed. And your brain (traitor) keeps trying to imagine what it would feel like to cross it again.

You lean in toward his screen. “What did you write?” you ask, pretending you care about the words to keep your reputation intact.

He swallows, then points to the part where he’s drafted the explanation of the thyroid gland and its role in metabolism. You read over his notes. They’re detailed. Thoughtful. Like he actually understood this material, like he genuinely liked the part of biology that explains how bodies coordinate, regulate, and survive. You shouldn’t be impressed, this is second nature for a guy like him, but you are.

The worst part is that your admiration for him feels personal. Like you’re not just appreciating his work, but appreciating him.

You clear your throat and tap the edge of the table. “This is good,” you say, despising how sincere it sounds.

Jermajesty’s eyes lift to yours, startled. “Thanks.”

You glance down again, pretending you’re not affected. “So, you do most of it, and I just… review?”

He hesitates. “If you want.”

You blink. “If I want?”

He flushes. “I mean, it’s just… I want you to—” He stops, like he’s about to say something too honest.

You don’t let him spiral. You smile, quick and easy. “You can keep typing,” you say. “I’ll handle the parts that are supposed to sound like I’m engaged.”

He laughs softly, relief flooding through him like a warm wave.

You spend the next hour pretending you’re normal. You talk about the project and school. Most importantly, though, you chat about hormones, glands, and how they coordinate like a team.

You nod mindlessly as he explains how the thyroid controls metabolism, heart rate, and all that jazz.

But every time he leans forward, every time his fingers brush the edge of your sleeve, you feel the echo of the kiss like a heat trail. At some point you realize you’re smiling. Not the performative smile you use in hallways. A real one that shows up on your face without permission.

Jermajesty is nothing if not observant. He notices the shift in behavior almost immediately. “Are you… okay?” he asks.

You shrug, pretending that you aren’t planning a wedding in your head right now.

“Yes.”

He studies you with a raised brow. It’s obvious that he doesn’t believe you.

You sigh in defeat and decide to be honest for once, “I’m not used to people being nice to me without wanting something.”

His expression softens. “I don’t really want anything,” he says, voice careful. “I just…would like it if you didn't embarrass me again."

Your heart does that thing again.

You open your mouth to respond with a joke. You’re good at jokes. But the truth stays in your throat, stubborn and heavy.

“I didn’t embarrass you,” you defend instead, tone is gentler than you mean for it to be.

He blinks. “You did. Earlier.”

You stare at him.

“I apologized with my actions.”

He looks down, lips folding inward. “That’s not—” he starts, then stops. “That was… nice, I guess.”

Nice?

You don’t like that word, it isn’t synonymous with who you are.

So, you distract yourself by pointing at the screen. “Finish the thyroid part,” you demand. “If you don’t, my grade becomes your full responsibility and I will not hesitate to ruin your life if I fail.”

He laughs, actually laughs, and types faster.

When the thyroid section finally looks done. Clean definitions, a neat diagram of the feedback loop with the hypothalamus, and a little note about how thyroid hormones affect everything from skin to growth to fertility. You lean back and stretch.

“Okay,” you huff. “What’s next?”

He scrolls down. “The pituitary,” he mumbles, and his voice shifts a little, like even saying the word makes him nervous again.

You glance at the screen and snort. He’s titled it “The Master Gland.”

You read aloud as he types “‘The pituitary gland is often called the master gland because it controls many other glands in the body and regulates growth, metabolism, blood pressure, and reproduction.’”

You laugh this time. “Master gland, huh? That’s a lot of responsibility for something so small.”

“It’s basically the boss,” he says, warming to the topic now that his focus is off your mouth. “It tells the thyroid what to do, tells the adrenals to make cortisol, and it controls the gonads with FSH and LH.”

“FSH and LH?” you echo, genuinely confused about the acronyms he keeps throwing at you.

“Follicle‑stimulating hormone and luteinizing hormone,” he says, then immediately flushes like he realizes where that’s going. “They um… regulate the reproductive system. In both men and women.”

You let think on that for a second, and let yourself imagine all those invisible signals firing through his body right now.

As you shift closer, your knee presses against his under the table. “So,” you say, voice teetering on sultry, “the pituitary is the one that basically… turns everything on?”

He clears his throat. “Uh. Yeah. It’s not the only thing, but yeah. It starts the cascade. It tells the other glands to release the hormones that affect… arousal."

You let your fingers drift up his arm, slow, deliberate. “So if someone’s sittin’ here, trying to focus on notes, but their pituitary is busy telling their body to wake up…” You tilt your head, watching his face. “That’s not really their fault, is it?”

His eyes flick from your hand to your mouth and back again. “No,” he says, barely audible. “Not really.”

You lean in until your lips are a whisper from his ear. “Good,” you whisper. “Because I think yours is doing its job very well right now.”

He shivers. Actually shivers. You feel it under your palm, the way his skin tightens, the way his pulse jumps where your thumb rests against his wrist. You pull back just enough to look at him. His pupils are blown wide, mouth open slightly. He looks like he’s trying very hard to remember how to be a responsible partner and failing spectacularly.

“Jermajesty,” you say, syrupy and slow. “You can stop pretending you’re thinking about T.S.H.”

He makes a garbled noise that might be a laugh. “I—”

“Let that gland do its job,” you tell him, and there’s a smile in your voice now, wicked and warm all at once.

He stares at you like you just rewrote his entire operating system. Then, slowly, he closes the laptop. The screen goes dark. The room feels smaller, hotter, like the only light left is the one between you.

“Okay,” he says, and this time his voice doesn’t break. It steadies. “I can do that.”

You reach for him, and he meets you halfway.

This kiss isn’t tentative. It’s not panic or performance. It’s the logical conclusion of every hormone his pituitary has been quietly commanding all night. The surge of signaling molecules that make his dick jump. The rise in testosterone sharpens his focus on you, and his nervous system lights up like a circuit finally completed. You feel it in the way his hands move, less afraid, like his body finally got permission to do what his brain has been too nervous to acknowledge. A hand, large and firm, travels up your side, and finds purchase on your chest.

The kiss intensifies, turning from something elementary to something downright sinful. A clash of teeth and tongue as both of you wrestle for dominance. Ultimately, Jermajesty loses that fight when your fingers rake through the hair on the back of his head, tugging softly, earning a gasp. You push your weight into him, climbing into his lap until you’re straddling him completely. His hands rest on your waist, squeezing tight as a way to keep himself grounded.

When you finally pull back, you’re both breathing hard again, but it’s different this time. There’s no shock. Just the two of you, sitting in the afterglow of a decision neither of you is pretending to regret.

“See?” you whisper. “Didn’t that feel good, pretty boy.”

He moans at the way you say that, soft and breathless, and presses himself against you.

“Yes, fuck–” Jermajesty already looks ruined, “Please, can we keep going? I don’t know what m’doing but I wan–”

You giggle and peck his soft lips, saving him from embarrassing himself. “We can do whatever you want, baby.”

He nods and clears his throat, unsure of what his next steps should be. You sit back on his lap, and hook your fingers under the hem of your shirt. The man in front of you waits anxiously, wondering what awaits him under that hoodie. When you pull it over your head, you can physically see the gears turning in his head. He's face to face with the prettiest (only) set of tits he's ever seen. "No bra?" He asks, hypnotized.

"My house, baby boy."

He nods, but you can tell he isn't really listening. His focus is on the perky buds teasing him right now. Jermajesty looks to you, pleading with his eyes. If there's anything you love more than attention, it would be attention from a man who looks like this.

"Go ahead, suck on 'em, baby. I know you wanna."

Jermajesty doesn't need the light to get any greener. He takes your right nipple in his mouth first, swirling his tongue around it, and groans. You wish you could be ashamed at how fast your body responds to him, but the heat pooling between your legs doesn't leave room for shame. You arch into his mouth, fingers threading back into his hair to keep him right there, and he groans against your skin like he's starving for it.

"Shit," you breathe, rolling your hips down against him. The hard line of him through his basketball shorts makes you dizzy. "You learn fast, pretty boy."

He pulls back just enough to look up at you, lips swollen and wet, eyes blown wide with disbelief and arousal. "I just-" He swallows hard, thumbs rubbing restless circles against your ribs. "I want to make you feel good. Tell me what to do."

The begging in his voice, the raw eagerness of a man who has no idea what he's doing but wants to do it anyway, sends a fresh spike of heat through you. You lean down, nose brushing his, and murmur, "Take my shorts off."

Jermajesty's hands shake as he reaches for the drawstring of your sleep shorts. He fumbles twice, curses under his breath, and you cover his hands with yours to steady him. "Slow down," you whisper, guiding him. "We got time."

He nods, jaw tight with concentration, and manages to work the knot free. The fabric loosens with a soft shift that feels loud in the quiet apartment. You lift your hips to help him, and he peels the shorts down your legs with a reverence that makes your chest tight.

"Oh," he breathes when he sees you, bare and waiting in nothing but the dim light from the window. "You're-" He stops, throat working. "God, you're beautiful."

You smile, soft and genuine, and tug at the hem of his shirt. "Your turn."

He rips it off with very little grace, nearly getting stuck in the collar, and you laugh. A bright, happy sound that surprises you both. Then he's bare-chested in front of you, all lean muscle and nervous breath, and the laughter fades into something hungrier.

You run your palms up his chest, thumbs brushing his nipples, and he shudders. "Sensitive," you observe, pleased. "Good to know."

"Everything's sensitive right now," he admits, voice rough. "I feel like I'm gonna crawl out of my skin."

"Then let's get you out of these clothes before that happens."

You curl your fingers into the waistband of both his basketball shorts and briefs, and tug. He lifts his hips obediently, letting you peel them down his legs. His dick springs free, and you freeze.

Holy shit.

He's huge. Thick and heavy, curving up against his stomach with a vein you want to trace with your tongue. Nothing about his lean frame, his pretty-boy face, his nervous fumbling hands, prepared you for this. You'd assumed something modest, maybe average. This, however, is obscene.

Jermajesty goes rigid, embarrassment flooding his features. "Is it-is it okay?"

You laugh, disbelieving and so turned on it hurts. "Baby, it's more than okay." You wrap your hand around him, fingers not quite meeting, and his head drops back against the couch with a thud. "Jesus. You're gonna ruin me."

"Please," he whines, hips bucking into your grip. "Please, I need-"

"What do you need?" You stroke him slowly, watching his face crumble. "Tell me."

"I need your mouth. Please. I'll be good, I swear-"

The begging shatters something in you. You sink to your knees between his thighs, and he croons at the sight of you there, looking up at him with his cock in your hand. You lick a stripe up the underside, tasting salt and heat, and he gasps like you've burned him.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck-"

You take him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks, and his hands fly to your hair, gripping tight. You set a rhythm, slow and deep, taking as much of him as you can, and he's a mess above you, babbling broken pleas, hips stuttering like he's fighting not to thrust.

"So good, so good, please don't stop-"

You pull off with a wet pop, and he cries out, actual tears pricking his eyes. "No, no, please, I was so close-"

"Shh." You pump him with your hand, thumb swiping over the slick head. "You don't cum until I say. Understand?"

He nods frantically, chest heaving. "Yes. Yes, whatever you want. Please."

You edge him like that three more times, bringing him to the brink with your mouth, your hand, watching him unravel and then cutting him off at the last second. By the end, he's sobbing, cock dark and swollen, thighs trembling, completely at your mercy. He can't form words anymore, just broken sounds and pleading looks.

"Please, mommy," he finally chokes out, voice wrecked beyond recognition. "Please, I can't-I need to be inside you. Please let me-"

Mommy? Oh, you like the sound of that.

You stroke him steadily, keeping him right on the edge, “I know what you need, baby boy. Do you have a condom?”

Jermajesty answers with a quickness that stuns you.

“Mhm. Backpack. Third zipper.”

You leave him for a moment and grab the condom from the bag. You tear it open with your teeth, and roll it down his length with a deliberate slowness. He's shaking so hard his teeth chatter. You rise up, position yourself above him, and sink down in one slow, steady movement.

The sound he makes isn't human. His head falls back, throat exposed and vulnerable, and you lean in to bite at the tendon there as you adjust to the stretch of him filling you completely.

"Still with me, baby?"

"Yeah," he chokes out. "Yeah, I'm-fuck, you're so-" He cuts himself off with another groan.

You start to move, rolling your hips slow and deep, and something in him snaps. It seems our pretty boy has had enough.

His hands grip your waist hard enough to bruise, and he starts thrusting up into you with a desperation that borders on feral. The weird, nervous boy is gone. What's left in his place is pure instinct, hips pistoning upward, chasing his own pleasure with single-minded hunger. The couch creaks beneath you as he buries his face in your neck, groaning long and low. The vibration travels straight to your core.

"Fuck, fuck, you feel-" He cuts himself off, teeth grazing your shoulder. "So good! So. Fucking. Good. I can't-"

When you go to pinch his nipple, rolling it between your manicured fingers, Jermajesty loses his rhythm completely, just rutting into you now, animalistic and mindless. You hold on, grinding down to meet him, and the friction builds fast. White-hot pleasure settles deep in your belly.

He's babbling nonsense against your skin. All you can make out is your name and broken cries of pleasure. He reaches between you to find your clit, his fingers are clumsy and desperate,  but they’re exactly what you need.

"Jermajesty," you rasp, and he whines at the sound of his name. "Right there, just like that-"

He doesn't let up. If anything, he doubles down. His brows furrow in concentration even through the haze, watching your face, trying to memorize every expression. When you cum, it's sudden and violent, your whole body seizing around him, nails digging crescents into his shoulders.

He follows seconds later with a ragged cry that sounds like surrender, burying his face in your neck and emptying himself into the rubber. You feel every twitch, every spasm, and you hold him through it, stroking his hair, murmuring soft nothings against his temple until he goes limp beneath you.

For a moment, neither of you moves. His chest heaves against yours, heartbeat thundering, and you can feel the sweat cooling on his skin.

"So," he says eventually, voice muffled and wrecked. "That was…something"

You laugh, warm and satisfied. "Good something or bad something?"

He pulls back to look at you, and the smile on his face is so genuine it makes your chest ache. "Good. Definitely good."

You kiss him, soft and unhurried, and settle back against him with a contented hum. "Can you stay then? I can cook in the morning."

Silence stretches between you, comfortable and heavy. Then he shifts, and you feel him tense.

"Actually," he says, and something in his tone makes you lift your head. He won't meet your eyes. "There's something I need to tell you."

You raise an eyebrow, still floating. "If it's that you were secretly a virgin, I noticed."

"No, it's-" He swallows hard. "We were never supposed to do the endocrine system. It was actually the cardiovascular."

You blink, confused. "What?"

"The presentation," he drags out, "Professor Wallace assigned us the cardiovascular system." He finally looks at you, wincing. "I just really wanted an excuse to touch you."

You stare at him. Then you start laughing, helpless and loud, forehead dropping against his. “And what if I had rejected you? Hm?” You muse, genuinely curious about his master plan. Jermajesty cracks a smile,

“You would’ve repeated bio a third time, that’s what.”

You hum with a smirk and shake your head against his chest.

"No, I wouldn't have. I read the assignment too, bozo."

You'd been driving for what felt like hours.

The sun had disappeared not too long ago, leaving the country roads illuminated by little more than your headlights and the occasional glow of the moon overhead. The journey had started pleasantly enough. There was something oddly calming about being alone with your thoughts, watching the scenery change from busy highways to endless fields and quiet back roads. You hadn't minded the drive at all. In fact, for most of it, you'd been singing along to the radio without a care in the world, drumming your fingers against the steering wheel whenever a favourite song came on and laughing to yourself whenever you forgot half the lyrics. There was nobody around to hear you, after all, and that somehow made it even more enjoyable.

Eventually, though, the music faded into bursts of static as you drove further into the countryside. You twisted the dial a few times in search of another station, but every attempt was met with the same crackling interference. With a small sigh, you admitted defeat and switched the radio off altogether.

"Well... that's just rude," you muttered to yourself with a small smile.

The silence settled around you almost immediately.

It wasn't unpleasant, but it did give your mind far too much room to wander. You found yourself thinking about how much longer you had left to drive, whether the little town marked on your map was actually as close as it claimed to be, and if it would still have somewhere open by the time you arrived. You were beginning to regret not stopping at the last gas station you'd passed nearly an hour ago—not because you needed fuel, but because at least there had been people there. Out here, there was nothing but open land stretching endlessly in either direction.

You glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was later than you'd realized. 'If I'd known this road was gonna take forever...' you sighed, shaking your head. Almost as though the car had taken your complaint personally, it gave a small shudder beneath you. Your eyebrows drew together.

"...Huh."

You loosened your grip on the steering wheel for a second before tightening it again, listening carefully. The engine continued to hum as it always had, and after another few seconds you convinced yourself it had probably just been a bump in the road.

Then it happened again. This time there was no mistaking it.

A strange sputter echoed from somewhere beneath the bonnet, followed by a brief hesitation that caused the car to jerk ever so slightly before carrying on.

"Oh, no..."

You instinctively looked down at the dashboard, your eyes darting between the gauges as though one of them might explain what was happening. Everything seemed... normal enough. Nothing immediately jumped out at you.

"C'mon," you murmured a little desperately, giving the steering wheel an encouraging little pat. "Don't start acting up now..."

You pressed your foot a little more firmly against the accelerator. The car responded. For all of thirty seconds. Then the engine coughed again, louder this time.

Your stomach sank.

"No, no, no..."

Your gaze immediately searched the road ahead. Nothing. You checked your rear-view mirror. Still nothing.

Not a single pair of headlights. Not another car. Not even a farmhouse with a porch light glowing in the distance. The realization settled over you far quicker than you'd have liked.

If something happened to the car out here, you were completely on your own.

"...Okay," you whispered to yourself, taking a slow breath. "Think."

You reached across to the passenger seat and rummaged through your bag, eventually pulling out the folded road map you'd been relying on all afternoon. You unfolded it across the steering wheel, smoothing out the stubborn creases with your palm as your eyes searched for where you thought you might be. You thought.

There was one problem.

Every winding road on the page suddenly looked identical beneath the dim glow of the dashboard lights. With a quiet huff, you folded it back up again, and tossed it onto the passenger seat. Maybe you could flag somebody down.

The thought barely had time to settle before you looked through the windshield again. There wasn't anybody to flag down. Not a single passing car.

You chewed thoughtfully on the inside of your cheek before reaching for the door handle.

The night air greeted you immediately, warm but noticeably cooler than it had been during the day. It carried the scent of grass and fresh earth, accompanied by the constant chorus of crickets hidden somewhere amongst the fields. Closing the car door behind you, you wrapped your arms loosely around yourself and looked up and down the road once more, almost hoping that standing outside would somehow make another driver magically appear.

No such luck.

With a defeated sigh, you walked around to the front of the car and released the bonnet latch from inside. A moment later, you lifted it open, propping it up as you stared into the engine. You had absolutely no idea what you were looking at.

There were... engine things. Hoses. Metal. More hoses.

You blinked.

"...Yep."

You couldn't help but laugh quietly to yourself. It was either laugh or cry, and crying wasn't likely to get the engine running again.

Resting your hands on the edge of the bonnet, you let out a long breath and looked across the dark fields surrounding you. They seemed endless beneath the moonlight, interrupted only by the occasional line of fencing disappearing over the hills.

Beautiful.

Just not somewhere you'd particularly wanted to spend your evening. You wondered briefly how long it'd be before somebody happened to drive this way.

Ten minutes? An hour? Morning?

The last possibility made you straighten slightly.

Morning.

You looked back towards the car, then down the empty road stretching out in front of you. No. Surely not.

You weren't going to spend the entire night sitting on the side of some unfamiliar country road waiting for daylight. There had to be another option. There was always another option. At least, that was what you told yourself.

You lowered the bonnet again and walked back around to the driver's side, opening the door and reaching inside for your bag. Your first thought was your phone, even though you already knew what you were going to find. You picked it up anyway, pressing the button and waiting for the screen to light up.

No signal.

You stared at it for a moment longer than necessary, as though the little bars in the corner might suddenly appear out of pity. They didn't.

You let out a quiet sigh of defeat and lowered the phone into your lap.

It was strange how quickly a situation could change. Less than an hour ago, you had been enjoying the drive, singing along to the radio and thinking about how peaceful the countryside was. Now you were sitting in a car that refused to start, in the middle of nowhere, trying to figure out what your next move was.

You weren't someone who scared easily. Usually, when something went wrong, you were the person who tried to stay calm and find a solution. Panicking never helped anything, and you knew that. But there was something unsettling about not knowing what came next.

You didn't know how far away the nearest person was. You didn't know if anyone would even pass by. You didn't know if your car was dealing with a small problem that could be fixed in the morning or something much worse. The uncertainty was what bothered you the most.

You rested your head back against the seat, closing your eyes for a moment.

"Okay," you whispered again, mostly to yourself. "Don't panic."

Taking a deep breath, you opened your eyes and looked around the car. There was a small blanket folded in the backseat, a half-empty bottle of water, and a few snacks you'd bought earlier without thinking much about them. Not exactly enough supplies to spend a night stranded, but enough to make you feel slightly less helpless.

You reached for the blanket, placing it beside you, before looking back out through the windshield. You glanced at the road once more, wondering if you should try walking.

Maybe there was a house nearby that you hadn't noticed. Maybe someone would answer the door and let you use their phone.

But the thought of leaving your car behind made you hesitate.

What if someone came by and moved it? What if you walked in the wrong direction? What if the nearest house was much further away than it looked?

You hated admitting it, but you didn't actually know what to do.

For a few minutes, you simply stood there beside the open car door, listening to the sounds around you. The quiet hum of the night. The wind moving through the grass. The distant sound of something you couldn't identify somewhere far out in the fields.

Then, just as you were beginning to accept that you might have to wait it out...

You heard something. At first, you thought it was your imagination. A faint sound in the distance. You held still, listening carefully.

There it was again.

An engine.

Your eyes immediately lifted towards the road.

For a second, you weren't sure if you should feel relieved or cautious.

A pair of headlights appeared in the distance, slowly making their way towards you. The sight of them made your shoulders relax before you even realised how tense you had been.

Someone was coming.

You stepped away from the car slightly, watching as the vehicle approached. The headlights grew brighter, illuminating the empty road in front of it as the sound of the engine became louder.

It was an old pickup truck.

And although you were grateful that someone had finally come along, you couldn't ignore the small voice in the back of your mind reminding you that whoever was driving was still a stranger.

So you stayed where you were, waiting.

The truck slowed as it reached you, eventually pulling over a short distance ahead of your car.

The engine remained running for a moment.

Then the driver's door opened slowly, and for a moment all you could see was the silhouette of the person stepping out against the glow of the headlights behind him.

He wasn't what you had expected.

You weren't entirely sure what you had expected, truthfully. Maybe some tired-looking mechanic who had happened to come across you on his way home, or perhaps someone who would immediately ask what was wrong with the car before anything else.

A cowboy hat rested on his head, casting a shadow over his features, and he wore a simple button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up slightly, paired with worn jeans and boots that looked like they had seen plenty of long days outside. There was nothing particularly intimidating about him. If anything, the way he approached you was careful and considerate.

A flashlight hung loosely in one hand, though he kept it pointed towards the ground rather than directly at you. He stopped a few feet away from you, leaving enough distance between you that you didn't feel cornered.

"Evenin'," he greeted. His voice was softer than you expected.

You gave him a small nod.

"Hello."

His eyes briefly moved towards your car, taking in the open bonnet before looking back at you.

"Everythin' alright?"

There was genuine curiosity in the question. You let out a small breath, almost embarrassed by the situation. "Uh, no, not really—my car. It decided to just stop working..."

He glanced back at it again.

"Out here?"

You nodded.

"Apparently."

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Well..." he murmured, adjusting the brim of his hat. "'s probably about the worst place she could've picked." Despite yourself, you smiled slightly.

"Yeah. I was thinking the same thing."

The man seemed to relax a little when he saw you smile. He looked back towards the truck, then towards the road behind you.

"Been waitin' long?"

"Nah, not too long," you answered. He gave you a look that suggested he didn't quite believe you. A quiet chuckle left him.

"Right."

He took a step closer to the car, but stopped before reaching you.

"Name's Michael, by the way."

He removed his hat as he spoke, holding it against his side. It was such a simple gesture, but it immediately stood out to you. Like he had been raised to treat every introduction with a certain amount of respect. "'m sorry. I should've said that first."

You shook your head, "'s okay."

He smiled softly.

"Well, I'm Michael."

He paused, waiting for you to introduce yourself. When you did, he repeated your name quietly, committing it to memory.

"'s a pretty name for a pretty girl."

The words came out naturally. Almost as if he hadn't realized he'd said it aloud until after he had. You just blinked at him, taken aback by the bluntness. A faint blush appeared on his face, and he cleared his throat before looking back towards the car.

"Mind 'f I take a look at it, suga'?"

The nickname caught you slightly off guard as well. But this time not because it felt inappropriate. Quite the opposite. The way he said it was so gentle, so naturally warm, that it felt less like flirting and more like a habit. Something he'd probably been saying his whole life.

You nodded. "uh, yeah sure. Go ahead."

"Alright."

He moved towards the front of the car, rolling his sleeves up a little further as he looked beneath the bonnet. You watched him for a moment.

There was a sense of relief that came with seeing someone who actually seemed to know what they were doing. You had tried your best, but staring at an engine and hoping it would explain itself had only gotten you so far. At least now there was someone who could take a proper look.

Michael leaned over the front of the car, his flashlight moving carefully over the different parts beneath the bonnet. Every now and then he hummed quietly to himself, not in frustration, but more like he was thinking through what he was seeing. You rested against the side of the car, watching him.

"Do you know much about cars?" you asked after a moment. He glanced up briefly.

"A little," he admitted. "Spent 'nough time fixin' up old trucks 'nd farm equipment that y' kinda pick things up whether y' want to or not."

There was a small smile on his face as he looked back down. "Can't say I ever planned on spendin' my evenings under a bonnet, though."

You smiled slightly too. "Sounds like you've had a lot of practice."

"More than I'd like," he chuckled softly. "Somethin' always needs fixin' when y' live out here." He moved something beneath the bonnet, checking a few different parts before stepping back slightly.

"How long has she been actin' up?"

You thought back. "Honestly? Not long. My car was fine most of the drive. The radio started cutting out first, and then itstarted making that weird sound." Michael nodded slowly.

"Mm."

That little sound made you look at him. "Is that a good 'mm' or a bad 'mm'?"

A quiet laugh escaped him.

"I'd say it's somewhere 'n the middle."

"That's not exactly reassuring."

"Nah, I know," he said, smiling. "Sorry, suga'."

There it was again. The nickname. You still hadn't quite gotten used to it. And if you were honest, it does make you blush a little.

Michael leaned back down, examining something near the engine.

"She ain't overheatin', is she?"

"No. The temperature looked normal."

"Strange smells?"

"No."

"Any noises before this?"

You thought for a second. "Just the sputtering."

He nodded again.

"Alright."

There was a brief silence as he continued checking over the car. You noticed that he wasn't rushing. He wasn't randomly pulling things apart or pretending to know exactly what was wrong. He was actually taking his time, trying to figure it out.

"Y' from 'round here?" he asked after a moment.

You shook your head.

"No. Just passing through."

"Thought so." You raised an eyebrow.

"What gave it away?"

He looked up, a small smile appearing.

"Well, folks 'round here know better than to take this road after dark unless they gotta."

You laughed quietly. "Good to know."

"Didn't mean it like that," he quickly added, almost as if he worried he had offended you. "Just... this road's pretty empty. Easy to get stranded."

"I figured that out."

That earned a small laugh from him.

"Yeah, I reckon you did."

He returned his attention to the engine, and for a while the only sounds were the night around you and the quiet movements of him working. It was odd.

A few minutes ago, you had been completely alone, wondering how long you would have to wait before anyone came by. Now you were standing beside a stranger's truck on the side of the road, and somehow the situation felt much less overwhelming.

After another few minutes of looking over everything, Michael finally straightened up, wiping his hands together as he stepped back from the engine.

You watched his expression carefully, trying to figure out whether he had good news or bad news before he even spoke. Unfortunately, his face didn't give much away.

"Well..." he started.

You waited hopefully. He looked back at the car, then at you.

"Don't think she's gonna be drivin' anywhere tonight."

You let out a quiet breath, though you weren't entirely surprised. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you'd already accepted that possibility.

"That bad?"

"No, I wouldn't say bad," he assured you quickly. "Just... ain't somethin' I can fix out here with what I got."

He reached down, closing the bonnet carefully.

"Looks like it's probably somethin' with the engine. Could be a few things, but I don't wanna start guessin' 'nd make it worse."

You nodded, appreciating that he didn't pretend to know more than he did. "So what does that mean?"

Michael glanced down the road, then back at you.

"Means y' probably need a mechanic."

You gave him a small, humorless laugh, "that would be easier 'f I only knew where one was."

"Closest one?"

You nodded.

"Yeah."

He was quiet for a moment.

"About thirty-five, forty miles."

Your eyebrows lifted. "You're kidding..."

"Wish I was."

You looked back at your car, then at the empty road ahead. That was definitely not the answer you were hoping for. Michael noticed the expression on your face and immediately softened.

"Hey."

You looked back at him.

"Don't worry. We'll figure somethin' out."

The way he said it was simple. Not like a promise that he could fix everything, but like a reminder that you weren't stuck dealing with it by yourself anymore. You nodded slowly.

"Thank you for stopping, by the way." He looked almost surprised by the gratitude.

"'Course."

"No, I mean it. You didn't have to..."

Michael shook his head slightly, putting his hat back on.

"Yeah, I did."

The answer came so naturally that you almost didn't know how to respond. He seemed to realize how certain he sounded and gave a small shrug.

"I mean... anybody would've stopped."

You both knew that probably wasn't entirely true. But you didn't point it out. Instead, you smiled a little.

"So what now?"

Michael looked back towards his truck.

"Well..."

He hesitated. And for the first time since he'd arrived, you noticed a little uncertainty in him.

"I got a place not too far from here," he explained. "Jus' a few minutes down the road."

You listened quietly.

"My mama raised me better than to leave somebody stranded out here overnight." A small smile appeared on his face.

"Especially not a lady."

The words made you smile slightly.

"Your mom sounds like a good woman."

"She is."

There was a warmth in his voice when he said it that made it clear there was no hesitation behind the statement.Michael looked back towards the road.

"You got somewhere y' supposed t' be tonight?"

You shook your head.

"Not really. I was just trying to get to the next town."

He nodded.

"Alright."

Another pause. Then he looked at you.

"Now, I know we're strangers, and I don't wanna make you uncomfortable, but..." He adjusted the brim of his hat, almost nervously.

"My place is right nearby. Got a spare room. You could use the phone, get yourself somethin' warm to eat, 'nd figure out what you wanna do in the mornin'."

He quickly continued before you could answer.

"Only if you're comfortable with that, of course. Don't want you thinkin' I'm just some fella offerin' up his house to a woman he just met."

A small laugh escaped you. "I wasn't thinking that."

"Good," he said, smiling faintly. "Just wanted t' make sure."

You looked down the empty road again.

Normally, you wouldn't consider accepting an invitation from a stranger. You knew better than that. But there was something about the way Michael carried himself, the way he had gone out of his way to make sure you felt comfortable, that made the idea seem less frightening. And besides...

You weren't exactly overflowing with better options. You looked back at him.

"How far is it?"

Michael smiled slightly.

"Not far. Five minutes."

You considered it for another moment before nodding.

"Okay."

His expression softened with relief.

"Alright."

He stepped back towards his truck.

"Go ahead 'nd grab whatever you need from your car. I'll give you a hand."

You opened the driver's door, reaching inside for your bag and the few things you'd need for the night. As you did, you couldn't help but glance back at him. Michael was standing beside his pickup, waiting patiently.

The drive to Michael's place was quiet at first. Not uncomfortable, just quiet.

You sat in the passenger seat of his truck, your bag resting beside your feet as you looked out the window at the fields passing by. It was strangely peaceful.

Michael kept both hands on the steering wheel, his attention mostly focused on the road ahead. Every now and then, though, he would glance over briefly, just to make sure you were alright. He tried not to make it obvious. He really did.

But now that you were sitting closer to him, it was a little harder to ignore.

When he had first stepped out of his truck, the darkness and distance had made it difficult to see much about him. Now, under the soft glow of the dashboard lights, he could see you properly. And he thought you were beautiful. Such a pretty girl.

Not just in the way people usually meant when they said something like that. It wasn't only your appearance, though he couldn't deny that you were very pretty. There was something about the way you carried yourself. The way you had tried to stay calm despite being stranded. The way you had thanked him more than once, even though he hadn't done anything extraordinary in his mind. You seemed kind.

And Michael liked kind.

He quickly looked back at the road when he realized he had been staring for a second too long.

"Everything alright?" you asked. His eyes flickered back towards you.

"Yeah," he said quickly. "Yeah, 'm alright."

You smiled slightly, though you weren't entirely convinced.

"You sure?"

He gave a small nod.

"Just thinkin'."

You looked back out the window.

"About my car?"

"That too."

There was a brief pause. Then, with a small smile, he added, "Mostly thinkin' about what I'm gonna do with it tomorrow."

You laughed softly, "I appreciate you taking this seriously."

"'Course."

The answer came easily. You looked at him for a moment. The same thing happened to you then. Up until now, you had mostly been focused on the fact that he was helping you. You had noticed his kindness, his manners, the way he spoke so gently. But sitting beside him like this, you had the chance to actually look at him. And you had to admit...

Michael was very handsome.

Not in an obvious, overly confident way. There was something softer about him. His features were gentle, his eyes kind, and there was an almost boyish quality to his smile that made him seem younger than you initially expected. You found yourself looking away when he glanced in your direction, suddenly aware that you had been staring.

"You always help strangers on the side of the road?" you asked, mostly to distract yourself. Michael just smiled.

"Not always."

You raised an eyebrow.

"No?"

"Nah."

You looked at him.

"Then why me?"

He thought about it for a moment before answering.

"'cause y' looked like y' needed help."

It was such a simple answer. You smiled softly.

"That's a pretty good reason."

Michael shrugged lightly.

"Seems like the right thing to do."

The truck continued down the road, the silence returning for a moment. Michael glanced over again when he thought you weren't looking. And this time, you noticed. You didn't say anything. You just smiled quietly to yourself and turned your attention back towards the window.

Usually, sitting in a stranger's car would have felt strange. You probably would've found yourself searching for something to say, filling every quiet moment just to avoid the unfamiliarity of it all. But with Michael, the silence seemed easy. Every now and then, he would ask you something small. Where you were headed. How far you'd been driving. Nothing too personal. And every time you answered, he listened.

"So," he said after a moment, one hand resting comfortably on the steering wheel, "what made you take this road anyway?"

You looked over at him.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, like I said before, most folks 'round here know better than t' take this way at night unless they live nearby."

You smiled slightly.

"That your way of saying I made a bad decision?"

He let out a quiet laugh.

"No, no. Ain't sayin' that." His eyes briefly flickered towards you before returning to the road.

"Just curious."

You looked back out the window. "I was trying to get somewhere faster."

Michael nodded.

"That usually ends up bein' how it goes."

"What does?"

"People tryin' to save time and endin' up takin' the longer way."

You laughed softly, "are you speaking from experience?"

He smiled.

"Maybe."

"You've done that before?"

"Maybe."

You smiled at that.

"Do you live alone?" you asked. The question came out naturally, though you immediately wondered if it was too personal. Michael didn't seem to mind it though.

"Nah," he answered. "My family lives close by."

"Oh."

He nodded.

"I've got my own place, but we're all still pretty close." There was a warmth in his voice when he spoke about them. You smiled.

"That sounds nice."

"It is."

The warmth inside the truck slowly became more noticeable as the drive continued.

At first, you hadn't minded it. After standing outside in the cool night air for so long, the heat had actually been comforting. But sitting beneath the soft glow of the dashboard lights with the windows rolled up, you started to feel a little too warm. You shifted in your seat, pulling lightly at the sleeves of your thin jacket.

Michael noticed the movement out of the corner of his eye.

"You alright?"

You looked over.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just getting a little warm." He nodded, immediately turning his attention back to the road.

"Can turn the air up if ya need."

You smiled slightly.

"I think I'll survive."

"Alright. Just makin' sure suga''."

You shook your head amused. After another moment, you slipped the jacket off your shoulders, relieved to finally get rid of the extra layer of warmth. You folded it loosely and tossed it onto the passenger seat beside your bag, revealing the simple black tank top you had been wearing underneath.

The fabric is soft and clings to your curves, hugging your chest and stomach in a way that feels liberating despite the unfamiliar company.

The sudden movement draws Michael's attention. As you settle back into the seat, adjusting your position to find some relief from the heat, the low neckline of the tank top dips lower. Your breasts, full and soft, press against the dark fabric, creating a deep, inviting cleavage that catches the dim glow of the dashboard lights.

Michael's grip tightens fractionally on the steering wheel. His eyes betray him for a split second, flickering downward toward the swell of your chest before he forces them back to the road ahead. He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in the shadows. "Yeah..." he manages to rasp out, his voice sounding slightly rougher than it did moments before. "Could be gettin' warmer."

You notice the slight shift in his demeanor, the way his breathing seems to catch for a heartbeat, but you attribute it to the heat as well. "Mhm, it sure is."

You stretch your arms above your head, feeling the fabric of the tank top pull across your torso, emphasizing the soft swell of your hips and the generous curve of your waist.

Michael keeps his gaze fixed forward, but his jaw is set tight. He's hyper aware of your presence beside him now. He was fighting every inch of himself to not look over again. He did not want to come across as a creep and scare you off.

He just wasn't used to this.

Not the feeling itself, exactly. Michael had always appreciated beauty. He noticed it in people, in nature, in music. But there was something different about having someone sitting right beside him, someone whose presence he was becoming increasingly aware of.

And he didn't want to make you uncomfortable.

"So..." you said after a moment, breaking the quiet. Michael glanced over.

"Hm?"

"You said you live on a farm?"

He smiled.

"Yeah."

"Do you actually do all the farm stuff yourself?"

He chuckled, "Some of it. Ain't exactly easy work, but I like it."

"You don't get tired of it?"

He thought about it.

"Sometimes."

You laughed. "At least you're honest."

"Well, 'm not gonna lie 'nd say I wake up every mornin' excited to fix fences."

That made you laugh.

"But most days?"

"Most days, yeah."

You looked out at the passing fields again.

"I think I'd like that."

"Farm life?"

"Maybe. It seems peaceful."

Michaels face softened.

"It can be."

He paused.

"But it can also be a lot of work."

"I believe that."

Another quiet moment passed. Then Michael spoke again, his voice a little softer.

"You'll get to see it soon."

You looked back at him.

"The farm?"

He nodded.

"Yeah."

A small smile appeared on his face.

few minutes later, the glow of the headlights caught the outline of a house in the distance. You looked out the window as Michael turned the truck onto a gravel driveway, the tires crunching softly beneath you. The house wasn't anything extravagant, and honestly, you hadn't expected it to be. It was a simple farmhouse with a porch light glowing warmly near the front door, surrounded by open land that stretched out into the darkness. It looked comfortable. Lived in. Like a place where someone had spent years building a quiet life.

"This is it," Michael said, slowing the truck as he pulled closer to the house. You looked around, taking it in for a moment.

"It's nice."

Michael glanced over briefly, a boyish smile appearing on his face.

"Yeah. 's my home."

He parked the truck and turned off the engine, leaving the two of you sitting in the sudden quiet for a moment. Without the sound of the road beneath you, the night seemed even calmer. You could hear the faint sounds of the countryside around you—the wind moving through the fields, the occasional noise of an animal somewhere in the distance.

Michael reached for his keys before stepping out of the truck. You followed a moment later, grabbing your bag from the seat, though before you could properly lift it, Michael was already reaching for it.

"I got it." You looked at him.

"You really don't have to carry my things."

He looked almost confused by the statement.

"I know."

The simple answer made you smile a little. He wasn't doing it because he thought you couldn't handle it. He wasn't trying to make a point. It was just something he did without thinking. As you walked towards the house, Michael glanced over at you.

"Hope y' don't mind stayin' here tonight."

You shook your head. "Are you kidding? I'm just happy I don't have to figure out how to sleep in my car."

That earned a quiet laugh from him.

"Yeah, figured that probably wasn't the best option."

"No," you agreed. "Definitely not ideal."

Michael smiled slightly as he unlocked the front door.

"I got a spare room y' can use," he explained as he opened it. "'s nothin' fancy, but it's clean. There's fresh towels in there, 'nd y' can use whatever y' need. Bathroom's just down the hall."

You stepped inside, looking around as he switched on the lights.

The house felt exactly like you imagined it would. Not in a stereotypical way, but in a comfortable one. There were little signs of everyday life everywhere. A few things placed where they were actually used, furniture that looked like it had been there for years.

"Michael, this is already more than enough," you said. He looked back at you.

"Don't worry about it."

The way he said it was gentle, like he didn't want you feeling like an inconvenience. You followed him down the hallway as he showed you the room.

"I know this is probably a little strange," he admitted. "Comin' all the way out here 'nd endin' up at a stranger's place."

You tilted your head slightly.

"A little."

He nodded, almost expecting that answer.

"But I promise I ain't gonna make you regret it."

The words came out before he seemed to realize how serious they sounded. His cheeks warmed slightly, and he quickly looked away, adjusting the brim of his hat.

"I mean..." he added, a little awkwardly, "you know what I mean."

You couldn't help but giggle. "I do."

He seemed relieved. When he reached the spare room, he opened the door and stepped aside so you could see inside. It was simple, but comfortable. A neatly made bed, a small dresser, and enough space for your things. Nothing luxurious, but after spending the last hour wondering if you'd be sleeping in your car, it felt more than enough.

"Y' can put your bag there," Michael said, pointing towards the dresser. "'nd if you need anything, just call out."

You nodded.

"Thank you, Michael. Really."

He flashed you a smile.

"You're welcome."

There was a brief pause before he added, softer, "Make yourself at home, suga'."

After making sure you had everything you needed, Michael lingered for only a moment longer.

"Alright," he said softly. "I'll let you get some rest."

You nodded, suddenly realizing just how tired you actually were. The adrenaline from your car breaking down had kept you awake, but now that you were somewhere safe, the exhaustion was finally catching up with you. "Thank you again, Michael."

He smiled, shaking his head slightly. "You've thanked me enough times already."

"Still."

"Well... you're welcome." He stepped back towards the doorway, pulling his hat down slightly as he prepared to leave.

"'f y' need anythin', 'm right down the hall." You nodded. "I will."

"Alright, suga'. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Michael." He gave you one last small smile before quietly closing the door behind him. The moment you were alone, you let out a long breath and looked around the room.

A few hours ago, you had been driving alone, singing along to the radio and thinking about nothing more than getting to your destination. Then your car broke down, a stranger found you, and now you were standing in a spare bedroom on a farm you hadn't even known existed.

You weren't sure how you felt about it all yet. But you were tired. Very tired. You pulled your phone from your bag and checked it again, though you already knew there still wasn't any signal. At least you had downloaded a few songs before the trip, so you wouldn't have to spend the night in complete silence.

You grabbed your earbuds, putting on a familiar playlist. The soft music filled the quiet room, giving you something familiar in a place that was still completely new.

The music through your earbuds helps block out the silence of the house as you move around the small room. You feel a little sticky from the drive and the humidity, so you decide to get out of your clothes before getting into bed.

You reached for the hem of your black tank top, pulling it over your head and setting it aside. You kick your by now uncomfortable pants off, leaving them in a heap on the floor.

You figured you were just going to sleep in your undergarments today, as the jeans and the tank top where a little too uncomfortable right now. For a moment you just stood there in the room, only wearing your matching black lace bra and panties, feeling the cool air from the room finally hit your skin.

Down the hall, Michael walked past the spare room with your thin jacket folded neatly over one arm.

He had noticed it sitting on the passenger seat of his truck when he went back outside to grab the rest of your things. At first, he had thought about simply leaving it on the chair in the hallway or outside your door, but then he figured it might get forgotten there. Besides, it was your jacket, and he knew the nights out here could get colder than people expected.

So, after a moment of hesitation, he decided he would just give it back to you.

He stopped outside the door, adjusting his grip on the jacket before raising his hand and knocking softly against the wood.

"Hey, suga'?"

No answer.

Michael waited a few seconds, glancing down the hallway. Maybe you hadn't heard him. He knocked again, a little louder this time.

"Sorry, 's just your jacket. Y' left it in the truck."

Still nothing.

He frowned slightly out of uncertainty. He didn't want to interrupt you if you were already asleep, but he also didn't want to leave without making sure you had it.

The faint sound of music coming from inside explained it. You must have your earbuds in. Michael hesitated for another moment before carefully opening the door just a little.

"Hey, I just wanted to—"

The words died in his throat immediatly.

You were standing in the middle of the room, facing away from him, and you weren't wearing your clothes. Well, you were barely wearing any clothes.

His brain took a full second to catch up. The black tank top was gone. The jeans were gone. In their place was a thin strip of black lace across your hips and a matching bra that pushed your tits up so high and so full he thought his heart might stop. The lamp on the bedside table threw warm light across your skin, catching the curve of your waist, the soft swell of your ass barely covered by the lace, the long line of your back.

Michael's hand went white-knuckled around the jacket.

He should move. He should turn around, close the door, walk away, pretend he never saw a thing. Every voice in his head was screaming at him to do exactly that. His feet wouldn't listen. His feet were bolted to the floor, and his eyes were locked on you, and his breath had gone somewhere he couldn't find it.

Then it hit him. Not the shame, not the guilt — that came later. First came the heat, low and sudden and brutal, surging up from his gut and slamming straight into his cock. It went hard so fast it almost hurt, a thick, heavy ache pressing against the inside of his jeans, and he felt himself twitch against the denim like his body had a mind of its own.

God. God, he shouldn't be looking. He shouldn't be standing here at all.

You shifted, reaching for something on the dresser, and the movement made your ass sway under the lace. Michael's mouth went dry. His cock throbbed, straining so hard against his jeans that he could feel every heartbeat in it, and the shame hit him then — hot and ugly and tangled up with the want until he couldn't tell them apart.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't stand here watching you like some animal.

Michael pulled the door shut as quietly as he could manage, the latch clicking soft behind him, and he was moving before he even knew he'd decided to. Down the hall, past the bathroom, into his own room. He closed the door and leaned his back against it, chest heaving, and his hand went to the front of his jeans before he could think better of it.

He was already so hard it hurt. The denim was tight and unforgiving around him, and when he pressed his palm flat against himself he let out a shaky breath through his teeth. He fumbled with the button, the zipper, shoved his jeans and his boxers down his hips, and his cock sprang free — heavy, thick, aching, flushed dark and leaking at the tip.

He wrapped his hand around it and his eyes fell shut.

He shouldn't be doing this. You were a guest in his house, a stranger he'd brought in off the road, a woman who'd trusted him enough to sleep under his roof. And here he was, jerking off to the memory of you in that black lace. Shame burned low in his belly, but it did nothing to cool the heat. If anything, it made it worse.

He worked his hand slow, up and down, and his mind went where it wanted to go.

He pictured you on your back in his bed, that black lace pushed up around your waist, your tits spilling out of the bra as he settled between your thighs. Pictured your legs wrapped around him, your heels digging into his back, the way you'd sound as you gasped his name when he pushed into you. He imagined the weight of you, the soft give of your hips under his hands, the way you'd feel clenching around him —

Michael's jaw clenched. A low sound rumbled up out of his chest and he stroked himself faster, thumb dragging over the head, smearing the slick that kept beading there.

Then he pictured you on top of him. Cowgirl. You straddling his hips, that black lace gone, your tits bouncing as you rode him, your head tipped back, your mouth open, taking him deep and slow and then fast, riding him until he couldn't think straight. He could almost feel your weight on his thighs, the heat of you, the way your cunt would grip him —

He was ashamed of himself. He was. But his hand kept moving, and his cock kept throbbing, and the image of you wouldn't leave him alone.

He pictured you bent over the edge of the bed, your ass in the air, that lace pulled to the side. Pictured himself behind you, hands on your hips, pushing into you from behind, watching the way you'd take him. He'd grab a fistful of your hair, gentle but firm, and pull your head back, and you'd moan his name —

Michael's breathing went ragged. He leaned his head back against the door and stroked himself harder, faster, chasing it, and the shame and the want tangled up until he couldn't separate them anymore. All he knew was the heat building low in his gut, the image of you burned behind his eyes, the sound of his own rough breathing filling the dark room.

He was so close. He could feel it building, coiling hot and tight, and he stroked himself with a desperate rhythm, his mind full of you — every position, every angle, every way he wanted to take you. The shame was still there, gnawing at the edges, but it only made the heat burn brighter.

His whole body tensed. He came with a shuddering gasp, his hips jerking into his fist, spilling hot and thick over his knuckles and his stomach, and for a long moment he just stood there, breathing hard, his forehead pressed to the door.

Michael looked down at his hand, at the mess he'd made, at the shame curling in his chest. He should feel worse. He knew he should. But all he could feel was the ghost of you — the curve of your waist, the swell of your pretty ass, the way the lamplight had caught your skin — and the knowledge that he was going to have a hell of a time looking you in the eye coming morning.

He cleaned himself up with a cloth from the bathroom and washed his hands. He didn't sleep much that night.

Morning came slow and pale through the curtains, the light thin and gray, and for a long moment you weren't sure where you were.

Then the smell of old wood and hay and something warm drifted in, and it all came back—

The broken-down car, the empty road, the cowboy who'd pulled over like he'd been sent for you.

You lay there a minute, letting the room come into focus. The bed was softer than you'd expected, the blanket heavy and warm. Outside, a rooster crowed somewhere distant, and you could hear the low sound of a truck engine idling, then cutting off. The farm was also waking up.

You stretched, the sheet slipping down your shoulders. The night air had cooled everything, and you reached for your clothes on the floor — your black tank top and the jeans and pulled them back on.

The hallway smelled like coffee. That was the first thing. Warm and dark and bitter, drifting up from somewhere downstairs, and your stomach turned over at the thought of it. You followed the smell down the stairs, past a coat rack and a stack of old boots, and the house opened into a kitchen at the back.

And there he was.

Michael stood at the counter with his back to you, one hand wrapped around a mug, the other holding a phone to his ear. He'd changed — fresh jeans, a clean flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the same worn boots. But the hat was still there, sitting easy on his head like it was part of him, and the sight of it made you smile.

"Nah, I told you," he was saying into the phone. "She just died on me. Right there 'n the side of the road, 'bout half a mile past the old Whitfield place. Engine sputtered out 'nd wouldn't start again."

A pause. He took a sip of coffee.

"I don't know what's wrong with it, 's the thing. 'm no mechanic, but I looked her over best I could. Somethin' with the engine, I reckon. Y' think y' could take a look at her?"

Another pause, longer this time. He nodded to himself.

"Mm-hm. Yeah. I got her here at the house. She's stayin' with me 'til we figure it out."

He glanced toward the window, and the morning light caught his profile — the line of his jaw, the way his brow furrowed a little as he listened. He was handsome in a way that snuck up on you, easy and unassuming, and you caught yourself staring.

"Alright," he said into the phone. "I'll bring her by tomorrow if that works. Appreciate it, Marlon. Yeah. You too."

He pulled the phone away from his ear, tapped the screen, and set it down on the counter with a small sigh. And then he turned, reaching for his coffee and stopped. His eyes landed on you standing in the doorway, and something flickered across his face. Surprise, maybe. Or something warmer. He blinked, and a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, slow and easy.

"Mornin', suga'."

"Good morning," you said, and his smile widened a little.

"Sleep alright?"

"Better than I expected, honestly. That bed's real comfortable."

"Glad to hear it," he said, and he meant it. He gestured with his mug toward a chair at the kitchen table. "Coffee's fresh. Made it 'bout twenty minutes ago. There's eggs 'nd bacon if y' want somethin' to eat."

"You didn't have to do all that."

"No trouble," he said, already moving to the stove. "Was gonna make breakfast anyway. Just makin' a little more."

You sat down at the table, and he worked at the stove with his back to you, cracking eggs into a pan, the bacon already sizzling. The kitchen was warm and smelled like home, and for a minute you just watched him move — easy, unhurried, like he'd been doing this his whole life.

"Soooo, that was your brother on the phone?" you asked.

"Yeah," he said over his shoulder. "Marlon. He's the one in the family who actually knows his way 'round an engine. Runs a little repair shop over in the next town."

"Think he can fix my car?"

"If anybody can, it's him," Michael said. "Said he'll take a look at her tomorrow. I'll drive y' over there myself, if y' want."

"You'd do that?"

He turned, and there was something soft in his expression.

"Course I would."

He said it like it was the simplest thing in the world, and your chest did something quiet at the sound of it. He turned back to the stove, and the sizzle of the bacon filled the silence.

"You're really kind, Michael."

He ducked his head a little, and you could've sworn his ears went pink.

"Just doin' what's right."

He slid the eggs onto a plate, added the bacon, and brought it over to set in front of you. He was close enough that you caught his scent again. Dust, hay and soap, fresh from a morning shower, and something underneath that was just him.

"Eat up," he said, settling into the chair across from you with his own coffee. "Gonna be a long day."

You picked up your fork, and he watched you take the first bite. Then he reached for his mug, and his eyes drifted, just for a second, just a glance. Down over your shoulders, along the line of your neck, where the tank top sat loose against your collarbones.

And then he remembered.

It hit him all at once, the way it did every time he closed his eyes last night. You in that black lace, the lamp catching the curve of your waist— The heat came back low and sudden, and his hand tightened on the mug.

He looked away fast, down at his coffee, and his jaw worked. His ears went red, creeping up his neck, and he cleared his throat.

"Good eggs," he managed, not quite meeting your eyes.

You tilted your head.

"You alright, Michael?"

"Yeah," he said, a little too quick. "Yeah, 'm fine. Just — hot coffee. Burns the mouth."

You smiled, not quite convinced, but you let it go.

"Alright."

He took a long sip, staring down at the table, doing everything he could not to think about the way you'd looked yesterday.

You set your fork down, chewing the last bite of bacon, and looked across the table at him. He was still staring at his coffee like it held the secrets of the universe, his ears a little pink at the tips.

"So your brother's gonna take a look tomorrow?" you asked.

Michael blinked, coming back to himself. "Yeah. He's real good with engines. If it's fixable, he'll find it."

"That's good." You paused, turning the thought over. "So I guess I should probably start looking into a hotel or something. I don't want to be a bother."

His head came up fast at that, his brow furrowing. "A hotel?"

"Well, yeah. I can't just stay here for free. You've already done more than enough."

"Suga'." He set his mug down, and there was something almost offended in his voice. "Y' not a bother. Not even close. You're welcome t' stay here as long as it takes. I got the room, I got the food, and I got nobody else fillin' either one. 's no trouble at all."

You looked at him, at the earnest set of his jaw, the way he'd gone from flustered to firm in the space of a breath. "You're sure?"

"Positive." He said it like it was the easiest answer he'd ever given. "You stay right here 'til your car's fixed. I won't hear any argument about it."

A warmth spread through your chest, quiet and unexpected. "Alright. Thank you, Michael."

He nodded, a small smile tugging at his mouth, and reached for his coffee again. The silence settled easy between you, comfortable, and you found yourself looking around the kitchen — the worn wooden table, the row of hooks by the door, the window over the sink looking out onto green fields.

"So," you said, "you got a farm. What kind of animals do you have?"

Michael's face lit up. It was subtle — just a crinkle at the corners of his eyes, a loosening of his shoulders — but it was there. He leaned back in his chair, cradling his mug.

"Well, let's see. I got a couple'a horses — a mare named Daisy 'nd a gelding called Buck. Buck's got a mean streak, but he's all talk. Daisy's the sweet one. She'll follow you 'round the paddock like a dog."

You smiled. "That's cute."

"They're good company," he said, and there was a fondness in his voice that made you believe it. "Then there's the chickens. 'Bout a dozen of 'em, plus a rooster who thinks he runs the whole place. His name's Jasper. He's got an attitude problem, but he lays... well, the hens lay. He just struts around makin' noise."

You laughed. "He sounds like a character."

"He's a menace," Michael corrected, grinning. "But a lovable one. Then I got two goats — Bill 'nd Nanny. Billy's a little escape artist. Got out three times last month, 'nd I found him eatin' my neighbor's roses every single time."

"Oh no."

"Oh yes. Neighbor ain't spoken to me since." He shook his head, but he was smiling. "And then there's the cows. I got a small herd — 'bout fifteen or so. They're mostly just... cows. They stand around, chew grass, look at you like you owe 'em money."

You laughed again, and the sound of it seemed to settle something in him. He watched you with a soft expression, like he was enjoying the sight of you smiling in his kitchen.

You looked out the window, at the green fields stretching toward the barn in the distance. The morning light was warm on the grass, and somewhere out there a horse nickered, soft and distant.

"Could we go see them?" you asked, turning back to him. "The horses, I mean. I've always liked horses."

Michael's face did something quiet and pleased, like you'd asked him something he'd been hoping to hear. "Yeah," he said, setting his mug down and pushing back from the table. "Yeah, I'd like that. Let me just grab my boots."

He was already moving, and you smiled at his back, at the easy way he'd said yes. You stood too, and followed him toward the door, the morning stretching out warm and unhurried ahead of you both.

The screen door creaked as Michael held it open for you.

A cool breeze met you the second you stepped outside, carrying the smell of damp earth and fresh-cut grass. The sun had climbed higher while you'd been eating, burning away the last of the morning haze. Everything looked washed clean in the light.

The farm stretched farther than you'd realized from the kitchen window.

Rolling pasture disappeared into the distance, fenced in with weathered wood. A faded red barn stood a little ways off, its doors thrown open, and beyond that sat a wide paddock where two horses grazed lazily with their heads low.

"C'mon," Michael said, slipping his hands into his pockets. "They're out this way."

You fell into step beside him. The gravel crunched beneath your boots as you walked. Every now and then he kicked a loose stone off the path without thinking, his stride long but unhurried, always slowing just enough so you didn't have to keep up.

"You've lived here your whole life?" you asked.

"Mhm."

He nodded toward the fields.

"Parents bought the place when I was just a little thing. Not much changed since then."

"You never wanted to leave?"

He thought about it.

"I did."

You looked over at him.

"When I was younger." He shrugged. "Thought there had t' be somethin' bigger out there."

"And?"

He smiled to himself.

"Turns out... bigger ain't always better."

There wasn't any sadness in the way he said it. Just certainty.

"I like knowin' everybody in town. Like wakin' up before the sun. Like hearin' the birds instead'a traffic." He glanced toward you. "Guess I'm a simple man."

"I don't think simple's the right word."

"No?"

"I think... content."

That earned a quiet laugh.

"I'll take that."

They walked another few yards before the horses noticed them. The chestnut mare lifted her head first. Her ears perked immediately.

"Daisy," Michael called.

The mare whinnied softly before breaking into an eager trot toward the fence. You laughed.

"Oh my God, she really does come when you call."

"Told ya."

He climbed onto the lowest fence rail with practiced ease, leaning over to scratch behind Daisy's ears. She practically melted into him, nudging insistently against his shoulder until he laughed again.

"Easy now."

Watching him with the horse was... different.

He became even gentler somehow.

His voice dropped into a soft murmur, fingers brushing through her mane with absent affection, and Daisy responded to every touch like she trusted him completely.

"You've got her wrapped around your finger."

"Nah." He rubbed her forehead. "I'm the one wrapped around hers."

You smiled. "I can tell."

He looked over his shoulder at you.

"You wanna pet her?"

"I don't know if she'll like me."

Michael looked almost offended by the suggestion.

"Daisy likes everybody."

He stepped aside, leaving space beside him.

"Come here."

You approached slowly, reaching out with a cautious hand.

The mare sniffed your fingers, her breath warm against your skin, before nudging your palm with her nose.

"Oh."

Your face lit up.

"Hi."

Michael watched the entire exchange with an expression so soft it almost hurt.

"See?"

You scratched gently between Daisy's eyes.

"She's beautiful."

"Ain't she?"

You turned to him with a grin that was brighter than the morning sun.

"I think she likes me."

"I think she's already decided you're stayin'."

The words slipped out before he realized he'd said them. His eyes widened.

"I—I mean—"

His ears immediately turned pink.

"I just meant..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Long enough t' get your car fixed."

You couldn't help smiling.

"I know what you meant."

"...Right."

He looked very interested in Daisy's mane all of a sudden.

You bit back a laugh.

The barn had a different kind of quiet than the rest of the farm.

Outside, there was always something moving — the rustle of grass in the wind, the distant call of birds, the occasional sound of an animal making itself known. But inside the barn, everything felt slower. The air was warmer, heavy with the scent of hay and old wood, with sunlight slipping through the cracks between the boards and painting golden lines across the floor.

You'd been following Michael around for most of the morning, watching him move from one task to another. He had shown you the horses, introduced you to the chickens like they were actual members of the family, and warned you very seriously not to trust Bill the goat, who apparently had a personal vendetta against anything that looked expensive.

You were beginning to understand why he liked it here. There was something peaceful about it.

And there was something about Michael himself that fit into it perfectly.

He stood near Daisy's stall, one hand resting on the wooden gate while he checked the latch. His sleeves were still rolled up, his flannel slightly worn at the elbows, and that hat sat on his head like it had been there forever.

Eventually, you couldn't help yourself.

"So…" you said, leaning against the half-door of Daisy's stall. "Do cowboys ever take those hats off?"

Michael looked up from fastening the latch.

"Hm?"

You pointed at him.

"The hat."

He blinked.

"I've been wondering all morning."

His hand instinctively touched the brim. A small smile tugged at his mouth.

"Yeah, I take it off."

"Hmm."

He narrowed his eyes slightly.

"What?"

"I don't know. I'm starting to think it's attached."

He laughed, shaking his head. "It ain't attached."

"You sure?"

"Pretty sure."

You looked at him, pretending to study the hat. "I've never actually seen you without it."

Michael opened his mouth to respond, then paused. You caught it. Your eyebrows lifted.

"What?"

"You hesitated."

"I did not."

"You did."

He gave a quiet laugh, looking down at the ground.

"You're somethin' else."

"That's not a denial."

Michael's jaw worked, but nothing came out. He just stood there in the barn door's shadow, arms folded, that worn straw hat low over his eyes, and you watched him try to find words. Before he could answer, you stepped closer. There was a little bit of hay caught near the brim, and you reached up without thinking.

Michael went still.

Not because you were doing anything strange, but because you were suddenly close. Close enough to smell him — hay and sweat and something warm underneath, like sun-baked leather. Your fingers brushed the edge of the hat, and before he could say anything, you lifted it from his head.

"There," you said, placing it on your own. The band was still warm from his skin. "See? Not attached." You tipped the brim slightly, grinning. "How do I look?"

Michael stared. Like his brain had forgotten what it was supposed to do. His eyes moved from the hat, to you, and then immediately away again — but not before they caught on your mouth.

And you saw it, the way his gaze snagged there for half a second too long. The tips of his ears turned pink first, then the color slowly crept down his neck, into the collar of his shirt. You lowered your smile.

"Michael?"

He cleared his throat, and his voice came out rough.

"Yeah. Uh..." His hand rubbed the back of his neck. "Y' might wanna..." He gestured vaguely toward the hat. "...take that off."

You blinked.

"What?"

"The hat."

You laughed softly. "Why? You said it wasn't attached."

"I know, I know." He shook his head quickly. "'s just..."

He looked genuinely embarrassed now, which only made you more confused. His eyes kept flicking to the hat on your head and then away, like he couldn't stand to look at it and couldn't stand not to.

"What?"

Michael glanced toward the barn door, then back at you, like he was hoping someone else might magically appear and save him from the conversation.

Finally, he sighed.

"My brothers... They used t' give me a hard time 'bout it."

"About the hat?"

"About what it means when somebody takes it."

You frowned slightly.

"What it means?"

He nodded, then immediately looked like he regretted saying anything. He shifted his weight, and the movement made his shirt pull across his shoulders, and you noticed it in a way you hadn't before.

"There's... kinda an old cowboy thing." You waited. Michael swallowed, his throat working.

"People joke that if... if a woman takes a cowboy's hat, it means she— uh... that she wants to... ride the cowboy, 'f y' know what I mean..." He mumbled the last words, almost too embarrassed to say it out loud.

The silence they left behind felt different than before— heavier, warmer, like the air had gotten thick.

You stared at him.

A beat passed.

Then another.

"Oh..."

His face somehow got even redder.

"Yeah."

"Oh."

"I know."

"No, I mean—"

You reached up quickly, taking the hat off your head. "I didn't know that—"

"I know you didn't."

"I was literally just messing with you."

"I know."

He smiled a little, trying to reassure you, but he still looked mortified. The smile didn't reach his eyes — his eyes were doing something else entirely, tracking you, watching the way your fingers moved over the brim.

"I figured."

The silence that followed was awkward, but not uncomfortable. Because now you were both suddenly aware of something that hadn't been there a few minutes ago. The closeness.

The way his eyes kept flicking back to you before he caught himself. The way you were suddenly very aware that his hat had been sitting on your head, warm from his skin, smelling like him.

You looked at it, then held it out to him.

"Here."

Michael reached for it, and your fingers brushed. Both of you paused. It was barely a second. But it was enough.

His hand was calloused and rough against yours, and he didn't pull away right away — he let the contact sit there, skin to skin, and you felt the heat of his palm before he finally closed his fingers around the hat and took it back. He settled it onto his head, pulling the brim down slightly lower than before, like he was hiding behind it.

You watched his throat move when he swallowed.

"You know," he said quietly, "for what it's worth..."

You looked at him. A small smile appeared on his face, and this time it reached his eyes.

"Y' did look good 'n it."

Your cheeks warmed.

"Thanks."

He nodded, looking away — but not before you caught the way his gaze dropped to your lips again, lingered, and then dragged itself up to meet yours.

"Y' welcome."

Neither of you moved. The barn creaked around you, and somewhere a horse shifted in its stall, and you both stood there in the warm, hay-scented quiet, the hat between you like a line neither of you was quite ready to cross.

Michael looked away first.

And you could see the effort it took. The way his jaw tightened slightly, the way he adjusted the brim of his hat even though it didn't need adjusting. Like he was trying to put something back into place.

"Well," he murmured, clearing his throat. "I should probably finish up out here before lunch." You nodded, even though neither of you moved right away.

"Right." Another pause.

Then Michael gave you that small, shy smile of his.

"Come on. I'll show you the rest of the place."

You followed him out of the barn, but the moment didn't disappear behind you. It followed you. It lingered in the space between you as you walked across the farm, in the quiet glances that lasted a second too long, in the way Michael seemed just a little more careful with himself than he had been before. Not distant. Just... aware.

Like he had become suddenly conscious of every little thing he did around you.

Michael showed you the rest of the property like he had promised. He took you past the old fence line that bordered the far pasture, pointed out the creek that ran along the back of the land, and told you about the time he had found Bill the goat halfway up a stack of hay bales with absolutely no explanation for how he'd gotten there.

You laughed so hard at the story that Michael had to stop walking just to look at you.

"What?" you asked, noticing. He shook his head. "Nothin'."

"You were staring."

"I was not."

"You were."

A small smile tugged at his mouth. "Just ain't heard someone laugh like that in a while."

Michael seemed to realize he'd said something too honest because he looked away, clearing his throat and turning his attention back toward the pasture.

"You wanna see the creek?" You smiled.

"Yeah."

And you followed him. By the time you made your way back toward the house, the afternoon sun had started to soften. The golden light stretched across the fields, catching on the tall grass and making everything look like it belonged in a painting. You found yourself slowing down. Not because you were tired. Because you didn't want the walk to end. That thought surprised you. You barely knew this man.

Before yesterday, you hadn't even known he existed. And yet somehow, walking beside him felt easy. Natural.

Michael noticed you had fallen behind and slowed his pace.

"Y' alright?"

You looked up. "Yeah, 'm good."

He studied you for a moment.

"Well..."

He looked toward the house, then back at you.

"I should probably start on dinner soon."

The thought of him cooking made you smile.

"You cook every day?"

"Most days."

"By yourself?"

"Mhm."

"That's actually kind of impressive."

He laughed softly.

"'s nothin'."

"You always say that."

"What?"

"That everything you do isn't a big deal."

Michael looked at you. Because you both knew what you really meant. Stopping on the road. Giving you a place to sleep. Making you breakfast.

His expression softened.

"Y' would've done the same."

The certainty in his voice caught you off guard. You weren't sure you would have. Michael didn't seem to think kindness was something special. He just thought it was something people were supposed to give.

Dinner was quiet. Not uncomfortable or awkward. You both were just quieter than before.

There was a new kind of awareness sitting between you both, something neither of you had acknowledged out loud but both of you seemed to feel. The easy conversation from earlier was still there, the small smiles and little jokes, but now there was something underneath it.

You found yourself noticing things you hadn't before— the way Michael's slender fingers curled around his fork, or the way his eyes would drift toward you before quickly finding somewhere else to look. And he wasn't the only one. Every time he adjusted the brim of his hat, every time his fingers brushed over it, you remembered the way it had felt in your hands. Warm from him. Carrying the faint scent of soap, leather, and the outdoors.

It was ridiculous how something so small had changed the atmosphere between you. But it had. Michael seemed to feel it too.

After dinner, the two of you moved into the living room, the sound of rain beginning softly against the windows. It had started while you'd been clearing the dishes, a gentle tapping that slowly grew heavier until it filled the entire house. Michael stood by the window for a while, looking out at the fields.

"You like storms?"

You sat on the couch, watching him.

"Sometimes."

He glanced over.

"Sometimes?"

You smiled.

"Depends where I am."

He nodded like he understood.

"Yeah. I guess it does."

The lights flickered once. Then again. Michael looked up.

"Well."

A second later, the whole house went dark. You both laughed quietly.

"That figures," you said.

Michael disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a few candles. The soft glow filled the room, making the farmhouse feel even older somehow. Warmer. You watched him set one down on the table.

It was strange.

A man you'd met yesterday.

A house you'd never seen before. And yet sitting there in the candlelight, listening to the rain, it felt familiar. Michael sat across from you, resting his forearms on his knees. For a while, neither of you spoke. It was the kind of silence that happened when two people were thinking the same thing but neither wanted to be the first to say it.

Your car would be fixed tomorrow. You would leave. And somehow, after only a day and a half, the thought felt heavier than it should have. You looked down at your hands.

"You know..."

Michael looked up.

"I thought I'd be counting down the hours until that car was fixed."

His expression shifted slightly. He glanced over.

"And now?"

The question was quiet and hung in the air You looked toward the rain-covered window. The fields beyond it were barely visible through the storm.

"Now I'm not so sure."

The silence that followed felt different. Just full.

Michael looked down at his hands, his thumb brushing slowly over one of the calluses along his palm. You noticed the small movement, the way he seemed to retreat into himself whenever something mattered too much. For a moment, he didn't say anything. Then his voice came quieter than before.

"Don't say things like that 'f y' don't mean 'em, suga'."

Your eyes moved back to him.

"Why?"

Michael swallowed. His gaze stayed fixed on his hands. Because he had been trying. God, he had been trying.

Trying not to read too much into the way you smiled at him. Trying not to remember the feeling of your fingers brushing his when you'd handed his hat back. Trying to forget how incredibly beautiful you looked yesterday, in your pretty black lace set.

"'cause..."

He stopped. The rain filled the silence for him. Then he looked up.

"'cause I've been trying real hard not to hope you might."

Your breath caught slightly. Michael immediately looked away, almost like he regretted letting the words escape.

"I know 's probably ridiculous."

"It's not."

His eyes returned to yours.

"You don't even know me." A small, smile touched his mouth. "And I don't know you. Not really...But I think I know enough."

He looked down again.

"Know 'nough t' know I like havin' y here."

Your throat went dry.

"I don't expect anything from you." He said it quickly, like he needed you to understand. "I mean that."

You nodded.

"I know."

"Your car gets fixed tomorrow, 'nd you go wherever y' headed."

You stood slowly. Michael looked up as you moved closer. Neither of you spoke again. The storm raged outside, but inside the farmhouse everything felt impossibly still.

"You know," you said softly, "for someone who says he's not hoping..." A tiny smile touched your lips. "You don't hide it very well."

Michael let out a quiet laugh, but it was nervous.

"No?"

"No."

You were close now. And still, he didn't move. He just looked at you. Waiting.

The candlelight flickered across his face, catching the slight tremor in his jaw. His hands stayed at his sides, fingers curling and uncurling like he was physically holding himself back. Waiting. Always waiting for you to decide.

You reached up.

Slowly.

Giving him every chance to move away.

His breath caught when your fingers brushed the brim of his hat. You didn't take it off. You just let your hand rest there, feeling the warmth of him beneath the shadow of it.

"Can I?" you whispered.

Michael's eyes searched yours.

He didn't ask what you meant.

He already knew.

"Yeah," he breathed, barely audible over the rain. "Suga', you can do whatever you want with me."

The words hit you low in the chest. You pushed the hat back off his head. It fell to the floor between you, forgotten. And then his hands were on you. Not gentle. Not careful.

His fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt at your waist and pulled, and you came against him with a soft gasp, your palms flat on his chest. He was warm. Solid. Real in a way the last two days hadn't quite felt.

"Michael—"

"I been wantin' to do this since you walked up my drive," he said, voice rough, eyes dark. "Since you stood in my kitchen smilin' at me like that. Y' such a pretty girl."

He ducked his head and kissed you. It was hungry.

His mouth slanted over yours, one hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck, tilting your head back. The other stayed at your waist, thumb pressing hard against your hip through the fabric. He kissed like a man who had spent too long holding back, like he'd been rationing this moment and had finally decided to spend it all at once.

You let out a soft sigh against his mouth. He swallowed it.

His tongue swept along your lower lip and you opened for him, and the groan that rumbled from his chest vibrated straight through you. He tasted like coffee and rain and something warm. His hand tightened in your hair, not pulling, just holding, like he was afraid you'd slip away if he loosened his grip.

The storm pressed against the windows. Neither of you heard it.

You broke apart only when you needed air, foreheads pressed together, both of you breathing hard. His thumb traced the line of your jaw, feather-light, and when he spoke his voice was wrecked.

"Told myself I wasn't gonna do that."

You laughed, breathless.

"Glad you lied."

He let out a shaky sound that might have been a laugh, might have been something else. His hand came up to cup your face, and he looked at you like you were the only warm thing in the storm. You pulled him back down.

The second kiss was slower. Deeper. His hands found the hem of your shirt and tugged it up, and you lifted your arms and let him peel it over your head, the fabric whispering past your skin, dragging over the curve of your breasts before it slid away.

He broke the kiss just long enough to look at you— and the way his eyes went dark, the way they dropped to your chest and lingered, made your stomach tighten into a hot, wanting knot.

"Jesus," he breathed, and it came out wrecked, like he'd forgotten how to make a sound.

His thumb traced the curve of your breast through the lace of your bra, feather-light, almost reverent, like he was memorizing the weight of you in his hand. He cupped you, tested the give of you, and a low sound rumbled in his chest. Then he dipped his head and pressed his mouth to the hollow of your throat, tongue dragging over your pulse, and the sound you made wasn't one you planned. A soft, broken whimper.

"Michael─"

"Shh," he murmured against your skin, his hands sliding around your back to unhook your bra, his fingers working the clasp like he'd been dreaming of it. "Lemme take care of y', baby."

The clasp gave with a soft click. The straps slid down your shoulders, and he pulled the lace away and let it fall, and then his mouth was on you. Hot and open-mouthed, his tongue dragging flat across your nipple before he sucked it between his lips. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, your back arching into him, offering more, and he took it. He laved and sucked and bit down just enough to make you gasp, his hand cupping your other breast, thumb working the nipple into a tight, aching peak.

"That's it," he said against your skin, his voice low and rough and thick with wanting. "'s my good girl. God, y' have so pretty tits, honey baby. So soft."

He worked his way down your body, kissing a slow, deliberate trail down your sternum, your ribs, the soft swell of your belly. His mouth lingered on the curve of your hip, his teeth grazing the skin there, and his hands gripped you, fingers sinking into the skin of your hips, thumbs pressing into the jut of bone. He held you like you were something to be savored, not rushed. And when he sank to his knees on the floor in front of the couch, between your spread thighs, you knew exactly what was coming.

He looked up at you from between your legs, the candlelight catching the hunger in his eyes, and he was already breathing hard.

"Wanna taste y', suga'."

You didn't have words. You just nodded.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your jeans and pulled them down your legs, panties with them, slow and deliberate, dragging the denim over the curve of your ass and down your thighs. And the way he looked at you when you were bare, the way his gaze traveled the length of you, lingering on the soft roll of your hips, the plush of your thighs— made your breath catch.

He pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh. Then the other. Each one higher than the last, his mouth working closer and closer, until his breath ghosted hot and wet against your slick, so close you could feel the heat of him.

"Already this wet fo' me," he murmured, almost to himself, his voice filled with desire. "Look at ya', baby. Soaked. 'nd I ain't even touched y' yet."

And then his tongue dragged up the length of you, flat and slow, from your entrance all the way to your clit, and your hips bucked off the couch. "C'mon, angel, lemme get a taste o' this sweet lil' pussy..."

"Oh fuck!—"

He repeated the action.

He licked your cunt like he was starving, like he'd been thinking about this since the moment you walked up his drive, like he'd been starving for the taste of you for years. His tongue circled your clit, flicked, pressed flat and broad, and every time you gasped he'd groan against you like the sound drove him crazy. His hands gripped your thighs, almost with a bruising grip, spreading you wider, holding you open for him, and he buried his face in you like he wanted to drown in your juices.

"Taste like honey," he said against you, the words vibrating straight through your clit, making your whole body clench. "Sweetest thing I ever had, hunny. Could eat this pussy all goddamn night."

He sucked your clit into his mouth and you cried out, your hand flying down to tangle in his hair, gripping him there. He let you hold him, let you grind against his mouth, and he took it— took all of it— groaning like he wanted to live between your thighs. Two fingers pushed into your slickness then, curling, crooking against that spot that made your vision blur, and he pumped them slow while his tongue worked you in relentless circles.

"Please," you managed, your voice breaking. "Michael, please—"

"Please what, beautiful?"

"Want you. Want—" You couldn't finish. You couldn't think. How could someones mouth feel this fucking good?

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his mouth slick and shining with you, chin wet, eyes nearly black in the candlelight. He was wrecked. You'd wrecked him.

"Want what, suga'? Tell me. Talk t' me"

"Want you inside me."

A slow, teasing smile spread across his face, and his fingers curled deeper inside you, making you moan.

"You'll get it. But I want y' t' come on my tongue first." He lowered his head again, his breath hot against your soaked pussy. "Want t' feel it, sweet girl. Want y' t' soak my face. Drown me in it."

He went back to work, and this time he didn't let up. His fingers fucked you in a steady, curling rhythm while his mouth worked your clit, and the pressure built and built until you were shaking, your thighs trembling around his head, your whole body drawn tight as a wire. And he felt it. He felt every shudder, every clench; and he groaned against you like it was killing him.

"Thaaat's it," he said, his voice muffled against you, his fingers never stopping. "Come fo' me, pretty baby. Come on my tongue. Soak me."

And you did. It hit you like the storm outside, white-hot and blinding, your whole body bowing off the couch as you cried out his name. He lapped you through it, slow and greedy, drinking every drop, not stopping until you were twitching and oversensitive and gasping for air, until you had to push weakly at his head.

He kissed his way back up your body, slow and deliberate, dragging his slick mouth over your belly, your breasts, your throat. And when he kissed you, you could taste yourself on his tongue, salty and sweet. He was hard against your hip, straining through his jeans, thick and insistent, and you reached for him.

"My turn."

He caught your wrist.

"Not yet, sweet baby." His voice was wrecked, barely holding together, shaking at the edges. "Want y' t' come on my dick. Want t' feel that pretty little pussy squeeze me while y' fall apart."

The words went straight through you, hot and liquid, pooling low in your belly.

He stood, shucked off his shirt, and worked open his belt, the leather sliding through the loops. His jeans came down, and when he stepped out of them you got your first look at him — thick and hard and leaking, the head flushed and slick, his hand wrapped around the base. He was beautiful. He was everything.

"See what y' do t' me, suga'?" He stroked himself slowly, his jaw tight, his knuckles dragging up the length of him. "Been hard since y' stood in my kitchen. Been thinkin' about this sweet ass of yours all goddamn day." His vulgar words and confident tone shocked you. Was this really the shy boy from the barn you thought you knew? But you didn't mind. Not at all.

He climbed onto the couch, settling back against the armrest, and reached for you, his hands finding your hips and pulling you toward him.

"Come here, honey baby."

You straddled him. His hands found your hips, thumbs stroking the soft skin and he looked up at you with something raw and unguarded in his eyes, something that made your chest ache.

"You sure?"

"Michael." You reached down and wrapped your hand around him, and his breath hissed through his teeth, his eyes fluttering shut. "I've never been more sure of anything."

He guided you up, the head of his cock pressing against your slick, wet heat, and then he looked at you, one last question in his eyes. You answered by sinking down.

The two of you groaned together as he filled you, inch by inch, the stretch of him making your eyes roll back. He was so thick, so warm, and you felt impossibly, perfectly full. His cock splitting you open, seating deep inside you until you were flush against him, his hips against yours, his balls pressed to your ass.

"God," he breathed, his head falling back against the couch, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks. "Feel that, sweet girl? Feel how good y' take me? Ohhh, look at ya. All that soft ass, all that curve, sittin' on my cock like y' were made for it."

His words made you whimper. You rolled your hips, experimental, grinding down on him, and his hands clenched on your waist, a low groan tearing out of him.

"'s it. Ride me, baby. Fuck yourself on my cock."

You found your rhythm slowly, then faster, your hands braced on his chest, your tits bouncing in his face with every stroke. He watched you with dark, hungry eyes, his gaze dropping to your breasts, to the way they moved, and he reached up and cupped them, thumbing your nipples, groaning.

"Lord, y' so beautiful," he said, his voice rough and reverent. "Look at these perfect tits. Takin' all o' me. Squeezin' me so damn good."

You leaned forward and kissed him, sloppy and open-mouthed, and he groaned into it, his tongue tangling with yours. "Mmmm, Mikey... Y' feel soo good." You mumbled messily against his mouth. "Yeah? 'm fucki' you good, baby?" A little 'mhm!' sound left your lips.

His hands slid down to grip your ass, squeezing hard, kneading the soft flesh, guiding your pace as you rode him.

"My perfect, beautiful girl..."

You rode him harder, the sound of skin against skin filling the room, wet and obscene, and he let you take what you needed. But then his hands tightened on your hips, and he stilled you.

"Turn around, sweetheart."

You blinked, breathless.

"want to watch that ass bounce on my cock. Want to watch it swallow me up."

He helped you lift off him, the sudden loss of him making you whimper, and then he guided you to turn around, your back to his chest. He pulled you down onto him again, and you both groaned as he filled you from behind, his cock sliding back into you to the hilt.

"Jesus," he breathed against your ear, his hands already gripping your hips. "Feel even better this way, beautiful. Look at that pretty ass..."

You rode him reverse, his hands gripping your hips, his mouth on your shoulder, your neck, kissing down your spine while you moved. The angle made his cock drag against a spot that made your thighs shake, made you gasp and grind down harder. "Shit─ y' so deep in me, Mikey─"

And then his hands moved— one sliding up your back, the other reaching down to grip your ass, and then he spread you. He spread you open with his thumbs, pulling the cheeks apart, and you felt the cool air on your slick, wet flesh, felt him watching you — watching himself slide in and out of you. He groaned, a sound so raw it vibrated through your whole body.

"Ohh," he breathed, his voice wrecked with wonder. "Look at that. Look at my cock goin' in 'nd out o' ya. 'nd look—" His thumb traced the base of him where he was buried inside you, and you felt the creamy ring that had formed there, the mess of you and him slicking his skin. "Look at that, sweet girl. Look at all that cream. 's aaaall you, baby. That's how wet this pussy 's fo' me. How bad you want it."

You whimpered, grinding down on him, and he let you feel him watching, his eyes burning into the place where you were joined.

"Right there," you gasped. "Don't stop."

"Not stoppin', sweet girl. Not 'till y' come on my dick."

His hand slid around to your front, fingers finding your clit, slick and swollen, and you cried out. He worked you in tight circles while you rode him, his other arm banded across your chest, holding you against him, his cock buried deep inside you.

"'s it, sweetheart. Feel that? Feel how deep I am? Feel how good I fill ya up?"

"Yes—"

"Y' gonna come fo' me? Gonna soak my dick like a good girl? Gonna cream aaall over me?"

"Yes, Michael, yes!—"

"Come on, pretty baby. Let go. Come all over me. Make a mess."

You shattered.

Your body clenched around him, wave after wave, your pussy milking him, and he groaned through it, his hips bucking up into you, driving deeper.

"Thaaaat's it. Fuck, feel you squeezin' me."

He didn't let you stop. He shifted beneath you, and before you could catch your breath he was lifting you off him, pressing you down onto the couch on your hands and knees, your ass up, your spine arching.

"Flat, baby," he said, his voice soft but commanding. "Arch that pretty back fo' me. Push that pretty ass up."

You obeyed. His hands spread your thighs wider, and you felt the head of his cock press against you, slick with you and him, the mess of your cream coating his skin.

"Messy girl," he breathed, his hands gripping the soft flesh of your cheeks, squeezing, spreading. "So messy, sweet girl. So perfect. Love this perfect body o' yours."

He pushed in. Slow. Inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt, and then he stilled, both of you breathing hard, his balls pressed against your wet flesh.

"You feel that, hunny? Feel how deep I am?"

"Yes," you whimpered.

He pulled out almost all the way, so slowly you felt every inch of him dragging against your walls, and then he slammed back in, and you cried out, your fingers clawing at the cushion.

"That's it," he growled. "Take it, baby. Take all of me."

He set a brutal pace, deep and hard, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, and the sound of it filled the room— the wet slap of his hips against your ass, the slick sound of him driving into your soaked cunt, the heavy, obscene slap of his balls against your flesh with every thrust. The couch creaked beneath you, the rain hammered the windows, and your moans mixed with his grunts, a filthy, perfect rhythm.

"You feel so good," he said, his voice wrecked, barely holding together. "So wet, baby. Squeezin' me like y' never wanna let go." Then he slapped your ass, a sharp, wet crack that made you gasp. "Love watchin' it bounce. Love the way it takes me."

He leaned over you, his chest pressed to your back, his mouth at your ear, his breath hot and ragged.

"That feel good, beautiful?"

"Yes—"

"Say it, sweet girl. Tell me how good it feels."

"So good," you gasped. "Mikey, y' feel so good—"

"Mhm," he groaned. "Feels so good."

He drove into you harder, faster, his hand sliding around to grip your throat — not squeezing, just holding, tilting your head back against his shoulder. His other hand found your clit again, working you in tight, relentless circles, and you were already so close, the pressure coiling tight and hot in your belly.

"Y' mine tonight, angel. All mine. Gonna come again, sweet girl? Gonna come on my cock again?"

"Mhm!—"

"Come on, then. Come on me. Let me feel it. Soak me, baby."

You came with a cry, your body clenching around him so hard he groaned and drove into you through it, his hips stuttering, chasing his own release.

"Just like that," he said, his voice shaking, wrecked. "Ohh, that's my good girl. That's my beautiful—"

He buried himself deep and came with a shudder, his hips grinding against you, a groan torn from his throat as he filled you, hot and pulsing, spilling deep inside you. You felt every pulse of him, felt him empty into you, and you collapsed together onto the couch, both of you breathing hard, slick with sweat and each other.

He pulled out slowly, and you felt the mess of him and you slide down your thigh, warm and wet. He kissed the back of your neck, soft and tender, his hand stroking the curve of your hip.

"Y' so beautiful, baby," he murmured against your skin. "'m gonna take good care of you..."

the date was a complete disaster from start to finish. you would’ve at least given him a point for driving across town to pick you up at your place, but that didn't even scratch the bare minimum considering what he put you through the rest of the night. he showed up twenty minutes late without so much as a quick text or apology, spent the first half of dinner monologuing about his workout routine, and spent the second half checking his phone under the table. by the time the bill came, he acted like he’d bought you a house instead of two watered down drinks, leaning in at the end of the night with a sleazy, expectant grin like he fully counted on an invitation to your apartment.

you didn't even let him drive you home. the second you excused yourself to the restroom, you pulled out your phone. 

can u come get me?

his reply came back almost immediately.

send me the address. i’m on my way. 

that was just how it was with him.

it had always been that way. ever since you two were kids running around his house, scraping your knees on the driveway and playing around. jaafar was your safe haven. he knew every single thing about you — every secret, every insecurity, every terrible decision — and you knew him just as deeply. you knew the insane work ethic he hid behind his easygoing nature, and the grounding presence he brought into your life whenever the rest of the world felt overwhelming. when nobody else listened, jaafar did. 

a few minutes later, his car pulled up to the curb.

jaafar’s eyes swept over you as you walked to his passenger door. you were wearing a short white sundress — tight at the waist, flowy at the bottom, with a low scoop at the neck. a bit too low, maybe. not that he should be noticing that anyway.

by the time he put the car in park and rolled the windows down — engine idling, radio low — you were right there, resting your arms on the edge of the driver’s side window as you leaned through it. you brought the summer heat in with you, coming so close he could smell your perfume. a new scent, he thought, but the same old proximity. you never had much of a sense of personal space with him. though he never complained. 

he didn’t mind when you leaned so far over into the body of his car that the neckline of your pretty dress fell open. but he kept his eyes on yours. somehow, even looking at your face felt indulgent.

you were done up. you took time and care getting ready, and now you were looking down at him through heavy lashes, your lips — shiny with gloss — curving into a smile.

he wondered how someone could’ve fucked up a date with you.

“are you the uber i ordered?” you grinned.

“oh you think you’re funny, don’t you?”

“one of us has to be the funny one.”

he smiled at you as he scanned your expression.

you were also smiling, but then again, you always were. you were good at faking it, but he was attentive enough to tell the difference.

“how’s my comedian doing?” he asked. “you okay?”

you let out a dramatic sigh. “i’m fine. it’s not a big deal.”

“but you made me come pick you up. that sounds like a big deal.”

there was a moment of heavy silence, and then you let your smile relax.

“if i’m being honest, i’m better now that you’re here. so thank you.” you said.

“you don’t have to thank me,” he said, shifting his car into park.

he pushed the door open, and you stepped back to give him room. he stepped into the space, now being the one to look down at you. he was always so much taller than you, even when u were kids.

he opened his arms wide, giving you an unsaid invitation.

a small smile broke across your face as you stepped right into him, melting against his frame. you pressed your cheek firmly into the center of his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, and wrapped your arms tight around his torso.

he closed his arms around you instantly, pulling you flush against him. one of his large, warm hands settled flat against the small of your back, holding you close, while the other rested gently against the back of your head, his fingers threading into your hair. he rested his chin right on top of your head.

it was a short hug but it instantly made you feel better.

when you pulled back, he leaned and rested his side against the car “so what do you want to do?” he asked. “go somewhere? take you home? 

you chewed your lip. “sure, you can take me home, if that’s easier.”

maybe if he didn’t know you so well, he wouldn't have noticed the tiny shift in your expression. he knew you didn't mind going back home with him to do nothing in particular, but then he took another look at you — all done up in that dress.

"actually,” he corrected. “why don't we go somewhere?"

"yeah?" you smiled.

he signaled toward the passenger side with a tilt of his head, guiding you over. you expression was brighter as he opened the passenger door for you. 

you were already settled intot he passenger seat by the time he realized it was as far back as it is.

jermajesty had been riding shotgun earlier with his legs stretched all the way out, and jaafar had completely forgotten to adjust the seat back to its usual position — or more like your preferred position.

he rested one hand on the roof of the car and ducked his head in, leaning right over your lap to reach down. his knuckles brushed against the side of your thigh as he pressed the little switch on the side of the seat, sending it humming smoothly forward along its track.

“sorry,” he murmured. “i forgot to move it back for you.”

there was a high electronic whir as the seat inched forward, and jaafar meant to look up at you. but as he raised his gaze — from the button on the side of the seat, to where you were sitting, with your leg resting just a few inches from his hand — his eyes caught on your thigh.

before he could think about what he was doing, he let his vision linger. he paused with his eyes right where your dress had ridden up, high, leaving the skin of your upper thigh bare.

god, that dress.

you put this dress on for him? for some random guy who didn't even care to look at you? the thought made his jaw lock so tight his back teeth ached. some idiot who wouldn't spend a dime on you, who wouldn't even think to buy you all the pretty dresses you wanted, got to sit across from you looking like this. got to look at you done up so sweet, when he didn't deserve to even be in the same room as you.

“i could’ve moved the seat myself, jaafar.” you laughed, oblivious ot his glance, and fortunately, to all the thoughts that were running wild in his head. “i know how to press a button.”

he was still reeling from that glance, barely even processing that he’d moved the seat forward more than enough. in fact, you were now face to face, and he was looking you dead in the eyes. his mind was still on that dress. that dress on you, and that smile on your face, and that perfume filling his head, dizzying him.

you cocked your head to the side. “y’know it is kinda nice, though. getting taken care of.”

taken care of.

you really shouldn’t have said that, because something was now flashing through his head that he absolutely shouldn’t be thinking about; laying you down, shoving your dress up, kneeling between your legs, your thighs shaking on his shoulders as his fingers grazed over your skin.

taking care of you.

treating you right, the way you should be.

your fingers tangled and tugging at his hair, his tongue on your—

“jaafar?” your eyes were locked on his. “hello? did you just zone out?”

he pulled back when he broke out of his daze.

“sorry,” he said quickly, “i was just thinking—” about things he shouldn’t have, looking at places he shouldn’t have. “—some things i have to do this week.”

horrible excuse, but it was the best he could do.

he shut the door.

“i think it’s nice that you always open doors for me. there are like… no gentlemen left.”

gentlemen? fuck.

he had to suppress a wince, his hands on the frame.

if he was a gentleman, he wouldn’t have been looking at you like that.

“opening doors is the bare minimum.”

“mm, well at least chivalry isn’t dead for one guy in this city.”

but what about the rest of them? the guys who did next to nothing and called it enough, the ones who didn't even think about doing the bare minimum for you — why waste your energy on men who didn’t even care enough to see what was standing right in front of them?

it wasn't any of his business, though. just like it wasn't any of his business what you looked like under your dress. he crossed a line looking at you the way he did. he shouldn't have been imagining any of that.

just like he shouldn't have been sighing your name right then.

you looked up at him through the open window.

“you look really nice,” he murmured. “i hope you know that.”

you smiled. “you think so?”

“yeah.” of course he did. he’d always thought you were. but he didn't say it out loud, because he knew he shouldn't.

what he needed to do was shake off whatever the hell those fantasies were — where had they even come from? that was never the nature of your relationship, and it never would be.

you dont see him that way.

the worst part about all of it was that he knew exactly how you viewed him. a friend. and even knowing that, he still had that filth running through his mind.

pervert.

“thank you, j.”

“‘course.”

he walked over to the driver's side of the car, fighting the pull in his gut before sliding behind the wheel.

“where are we going?” you asked, fiddling with the ac to how you want it.

"where do you want to go?” he asked softly.

"... can we go to the lake?"

it felt like forever since he was here with you last.

back before work and filming and life got too hectic for the two of you to make the long drive out.

yet here you were again, staring through the glass at the moonlit ripple of the lake. the place hadn't shifted a bit; it remained untouched by time. standing so completely still, it felt like stepping back into an old memory, reliving some long-forgotten summer night without even realizing it.

there was a time when this turn-off belonged only to the two of you. it started years back, on a night you’d called him crying — a rare thing for you, since you weren't the type to shed tears easily. through soft sniffling, you’d told him you just wished you could get out for a bit, and within minutes, his car was idling down the street from your house.

he watched you sneak out the back door, carefully avoiding the creaky steps so you wouldn't wake your parents. any trace of your tears had vanished the second you made it into his passenger seat, giddy from the excitement of sneaking out in the middle of the night. you’d told him to hurry up and drive before anyone noticed, begging him to take you somewhere far away.

and this was where he took you.

after that night, it became your go-to spot. whenever life got too overwhelming, or you just needed to disappear for a while, he’d pull up without a word and take you on the long drive out to the water, sitting there with you for as many hours as you needed.

jaafar missed it.

a cool night breeze swayed the dark trees along the bank, rustling the leaves as the moonlight poured over the dashboard. the rolled down windows let the soft summer breeze in.

"we used to come here a lot," you murmured softly.

jaafar turned his head to look at you. the glow of the moon lit up your profile, softening your features and turning your eyes into dark pools that caught the faint light.

"yeah," he said, his voice quiet. "all the time."

you laughed. "i was always going through some shit back then. and you were always bringing me out here whenever i needed it."

"things were hard back then," he replied, watching you closely. "but they're better now, aren't they?"

you went quiet for a beat, staring out at the water as your smile slowly faded into something softer, a look on your face he couldn't quite read.

"yeah," you whispered. "but it's because of you. you always took care of me."

"i'll always take care of you," he said firmly, not missing a beat.

you looked away for a second, your fingers tangling together in your lap as you took a slow breath. "jaafar—"

before you could finish, a heavy crack of summer thunder rattled the car, followed by the pounding of rain against the windshield.

jaafar rolled the windows back up, the sound of the rain muffling behind it. he turned the ac on high and watched the fog on the windshield spread.

he was about to ask you what you were saying but your phone chimed.

his eyes flickered down to your phone, a sudden urge to ask if it was him.

but it wasn’t any of his business. so he lay his head back on the headrest, fiddling with the material of his sweatpants as you checked your phone. 

turns out, he didn’t need to ask.

“what an asshole,” you muttered. “no way he expects a second date after that.”

jaafar let out an exhale. “he texted you?”

“yeah,” you sighed, holding the screen toward him. “he’s asking if i'm down for ‘round two.’ can you believe this guy?”

jaafar didn’t touch the phone, his eyes sweeping over the notification, shaking his head.

your phone chimed again.

you both look down at your phone screen at the same time.

maybe you can come over to my place this time

wyd now? are you in bed already?

jaafar clenched his jaw, prying his eyes away from your phone. 

“he’s asking if im in bed?” you mused. “how much do you wanna bet he’s gonna ask for nudes after all that.”

you were laughing, and he had his jaw clenched. 

“don’t text him back.” it came out a bit rougher than he would’ve liked.

“you’re giving me orders now?” you snorted. “what are you, my dad?”

jaafar sighed, his eyes closing. “sorry.”

he knew he was being too intense, but he didn’t know what had gotten into him tonight. 

“is something bothering you, j?”

he inhales deeply. “i don’t know.” he said. “‘s just…”

he rolled his head on the headrest to meet your eyes. you looked at him, expectantly — almost needy and he felt his throat tighten. he would give you anything in the world, give you whatever you need. care for you, protect you, and keep you—

but you were not his.

so jaafar chose his next words carefully.

“if you’re not getting what you deserve,” he said. “then drop him.”

he didn’t want to sound too harsh. “it’s up to you, but i just don’t like seeing you hurt. that’s all.”

your eyes softened. “i’m not texting him back.” you said. “wasn’t going to. he’s an asshole.”

he couldn’t help but feel relieved. 

you watched as his fingers moved over his sweatpants. he had a habit of doing that. 

he was gentle in everything he did — always had been, at least with you. he’d only ever treated you gently. but tonight felt different. he felt different.

you don’t know why you couldn’t stop looking at them. you couldn’t stop the feeling building in the pit of your stomach that intensified when you imagined him touching you with the same purpose.

you knew he’d be so good at it. jaafar was eager to please, eager to give — he always knew what to do.

he looked out through the rain-streaked windshield, a sliver of his tongue slipping out to trace his bottom lip before he bit down on it.

you imagined it on you, him running his tongue up your body.

the bite of his words from earlier still echoed in your head — don't text him back. drop him — he’d always been protective of you — that wasn't anything new. but again, it felt different. 

“what is it?” he asked, meeting your eyes.

you were leaning closer now, resting your arm over the center console, oblivious to the way the thin strap of your dress slipped slightly down your shoulder.

his eyes flickered down for a second, his gaze wandering over your falling neckline, taking in the soft dip of your cleavage and the faint, lacy outline of your bra. before his thoughts could go any further, he dragged his eyes back up to yours, his throat working as he swallowed. 

“can i admit something to you, jaafar?”

“anything,” he said smoothly.

“when i was younger, i used to think all guys would be a little like you. caring and… selfless.” you paused, huffing out a laugh. “but i found out most of them are the opposite.”

“what do you mean?”

“some guys are just selfish. and some only want you for one thing.”

he was quiet for a second.

“i shouldn’t have let you set the standard,” you murmured, a faint smile on your face. “you gave them way too much to live up to.”

set the standard?

jaafar glanced at you as thunder rolled above, but you were looking out through the windshield again, your face unreadable.

“there have to be some good guys out there,” he murmured softly. “they can’t all be bad.”

that made you laugh.

“oh, it’s all bad.” you turned back to face him, propping your chin on your hand. “i mean, i’ve told you pretty much everything. but i never told you what a mess these guys are in bed, did i? they take selfish to a whole new level.”

in bed? 

jaafar felt his mouth go dry, another image surfacing in his head, but one that put a pit in his stomach — someone else’s hands on you.

his jaw clenched so hard his back teeth ached. “oh. really?”

god, he wasn’t any better than them. here he was, secretly fantasizing about you while you sat right beside him, trusting him with your heart.

“really,” you studied him with a curious look on your face. "you wanna know all the dirty details?”

he was torn — stuck between not wanting to picture another soul touching you and needing to know every single thing that fell short. he needed to know where they failed, everything that wasn't enough, just so he could fix it for you. so he could make it up to you.

but above all else, he pushed those feelings down. when he told you that you could tell him anything, he meant it.

“we can talk it out.” he finally said.

“okay.”

and just like that, you were slouching forward over the console, leaning into his space just like old times — back when you’d bring him all the hot gossip from your friends. you trusted him implicitly, confiding in him the way you always had.

“jaafar…”

you pursed your lips, a subtle, conspiratorial smile playing on your mouth. for a second, the closeness of you was dizzying.

“... none of the guys i’ve been with have ever made me cum.” 

fuck.

“not one.”

there was a pressure in his chest, and he didn’t know what it was from. he didn’t even know what was suffocating him more — the sickening thought of another guy trying, the fact that every single one of them had failed and left you unsatisfied, or the realization that he knew he could do better. he’d been dying to see what you looked like when you were undone, dying to be the one to give it to you.

“really?” he breathed out, his voice barely a murmur.

“really,” you said, a faint smile touching your lips. “i always have to take care of myself.”

he had to swallow hard to keep from sputtering out. god.

“maybe it’s because… you don’t really know them?” he muttered, looking away toward the window. a dry, awkward laugh escaped him. he didn’t even know what the fuck he was saying anymore. “like… you just met them?”

“what are you saying, j?” you asked, your tone dipping a bit critical. “i should go for someone i know instead?”

his heart dropped. he didn’t mean it like that. now he’d made it sound like he was putting his own name in the running, and he’d never do that.

“‘m not saying that.” his words were careful. “just… you deserve someone who treats you better well. better than that.”

but this time, you pushed.

“better? what does that look like to you?” 

jaafar let out a frustrated laugh, shaking his head. “what does it matter what it looks like to me?”

“because,” you scoffed. “i trust your judgement on guys. why are you being so shy with your opinion all of a sudden? you’ve never done that before.”

he was taken aback by the tone of your words. he didn’t get why you were digging so hard, why you wanted to know so badly. 

what was better anyway? there was better, there was good enough, and then there was what you actually deserved — and in his mind, none of those were the same thing.

“at the bare minimum,” jaafar finally said. “someone who’d appreciate you. someone who appreciates your time, and doesn't pull bullshit like your date did tonight.”

“and what if i haven’t found that?” you murmured. “what if i can’t?”

“you will,” he said softly. “there are a lot of guys who’d jump at the chance to treat you right. because you’re—” 

he cut himself off.

you were watching him so intently, clinging on to every word.

“because i’m what?”

there were so many things he wanted to say, but he couldn’t.

he laughed humourlessly. “because you’re you,” —because you’re everything a person could want— “and you deserve someone who…”

he trailed off, trying to place the look on your face.

“go ahead,” you pushed. “you’re the expert right? you get to size up every guy who even looks at me. no one’s ever been good enough for you. aren’t you dying for the chance to tell me exactly who i need?”

he laughed, frustration rolling over him. what even was this? a conversation? an argument? a challenge?

“try me.”

his eyes scanned over your face. “you need a guy who’s good for you.” the words were in his voice, but they felt completely unfamiliar. “he should treat you right. be there when you need him. he should be attentive, show up for you, appreciate you. tell you how pretty you are. he should be taking care of you... meeting all your needs with no questions—or excuses—do you know how tired i am of hearing excuses? you need someone who’ll give you everything, because you deserve—”

"so someone like you?" you were staring at him, head titled. and he knew he fucked it all up. that was way too much; he was going to push you away.

“i’m sorry,” he murmured, running a hand over his mouth. “really, i don’t know what i’m...”

your expression melted. the rain beat on the roof of the car as you shook your head slowly.

“what are you apologizing for? caring?”

“i’m being overbearing,” he said, voice low.

you sighed softly, your eyes flickering all over his face. you leaned in closer.

"what if i did want someone like you?"

he froze in place, his breathing quickening.

“...you said i need someone who's good for me, right?” you said quietly. “someone who treats me right. someone who shows up for me, no excuses.”

you don't even remember how the distance between you guys shrunk, but he was so close now — too close to be respectful. his eyes were low and pretty.

his face was just a few inches from yours. your chest was leaning right over the center console, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating off you.

your voice was so quiet, your nose brushing over his.

“‘m sorry i didn’t see it before, jaafar. i was looking for that person for so long. in so many places, and you were right in front of me the whole time.”

his head was spinning, skin tingling. was he dreaming?

“did i misread things?” you breathed, your lips almost touching. “do you not feel the same way?”

“please tell me you’re serious.” he sounded borderline desperate. but he didn’t care.

“i’m dead serious,” you whispered.

“i want you,” he started. “so much. in all the ways i shouldn’t, and it’s killing me.”

“you can have me in every way you want.”

he said your name, and it came out helpless.

instead of saying anything else, he pulled you forward, closing the gap. 

he finally tasted you, felt you, his skin buzzing at every point where it was touching you. he parted your lips with his, and you opened for him like a flower.

you let him in, let him have you.

you let him devour you and taste all his feelings reciprocated on your tongue.

you let out a little gasp into his mouth, and it made him dizzy.

“i want you. so bad.” your arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him closer. your voice was in his ears like a song, every one of your desires a new note as you reached over the console to his thigh. 

he wasn’t expecting you to touch him. he was so hard already. he’d been hard for you—got hard for you so fast.

he was so sensitive to every movement of your hands on him.

“i need you” you breathed.

he pulled back, breathing hard. “are you sure? right here?”

“yes, ’m sure. i need you right now.”

he’d give you everything you need.

you deserve endless things. so many things that for a second he didn’t know where to start. but then you were moaning softly in his mouth, so responsive to his touch.

and all he could think about was that sweet little secret you told him:

none of the guys i’ve been with have ever made me cum.

and so he ran his fingers up your thigh, long fingers snaking up your skin while his other elbow rested heavy on the console. you’d never seen him so needy — his hands seemed to grasp everywhere at once, his mouth hungry on yours as your tongues moved together. he gave your thigh a soft squeeze, a light touch, his hand lingering just long enough to claim one spot before drifting to the next.

his fingers moved higher and higher until he was playing with the lower hem of your dress.

you knotted your fingers into his hair — it was soft to the touch. your skin grew more sensitive with every moment, his hand stalling on your upper thigh as his thumb rubbed near its apex. he broke the kiss, trailing his mouth down your jaw and down your neck.

oh—

your gasp devolved into a shudder as he licked up your throat, his tongue hot on your skin at the exact same time his hand slipped slowly under your dress.

it left goosebumps all over your neck and thighs, your back arching off the leather seat as your legs spread slightly.

"jaafar—" you gasped.

"yeah, baby?" he slurred against your pulse.

"want to be closer," you breathed, hips twitching instinctively against his touch. "'need you."

"c'mere."

his large hand spanned around your waist, using his strength to pull you straight toward him over the center console.

you straddled his lap, your hands resting on his shoulders for balance as his fingers gripped your hips tight. you were so close now — you could feel him pressing firm through the fabric of his sweatpants. the warmth of his lap under your bare thighs sent butterflies wild in your stomach.

he was big. with his height, you probably should’ve guessed.

jaafar’s eyes roamed over you, greedy and heavy-lidded as he took in the sight of you.

"look at you," he said softly.

the look on his face was pure awe and reverence, and it made you bashful under his gaze.

"you can look," you laughed shakily, heat rushing to your cheeks as you tried to cover your face. "but not for long."

"why not?" he murmured, a faint, lopsided smile touching his lips as he gently caught your wrists, pulling your hands away so he could see you again.

"’cause... it's embarrassing," you whispered, biting your lip.

“i’d look at you all day if you let me. never seen anything better.”

"stop." you tried to look away, but his hand came up, warm fingers gently cupping your jaw, bringing your face back to his.

"you're too sweet to me," you murmured softly.

"you deserve it," he smiled softly, his eyes brimming with so much sincerity it almost made your chest ache. "i hope you know you deserve the world."

"you mean it?" your breath caught when his large hand squeezed your hip softly over the thin fabric of your dress.

"i do," he said. his fingers idled at the middle of your back, slowly tracing up your spine until they wrapped around the nape of your neck, his touch sending a shiver straight down your length. he pulled your face gently down to his, your lips almost touching, his hot breath fanning across your mouth. "y'know what else you deserve?"

"what?" you breathed, your pulse racing in your ears.

"let me show you."

he kissed you deeper, instantly turning hungry. you cradled his face, feeling him squeeze your waist with both hands. he pulled you down against him, once, just so your weight pressed right down on the hard shape of his dick. it made him shudder.

you resisted the urge to grind over him, but you were so wet already, making a mess over the front of his sweatpants.

"you deserve someone who knows just how to touch you, baby," he murmured against your mouth, his lips brushing yours with every word.

"and how's that?" you asked, your heart hammering against your ribs.

"slowly."

his hands ran lazily down your hips, the heat of his palms bleeding through your dress. long, smooth fingers lazed over the skin of your thighs, unhurried and attentive.

"gentle, at first..." his voice was so low and quiet.

you were focused on his hands as they grazed further up your thighs, slipping easily under the hem of your dress to lift the fabric. you grasped at the front of his shirt, gasping at the size of his hands as they gripped your bare skin, his thumb resting at the front of your hip while his palm spanned around to rest just above your ass.

"'til you're ready for more."

he was so hard under your thigh, the thick length of him pulsing with heat — so much pre-cum at the tip that it was already starting to seep through his pants.

"want more," you begged.

"i know, baby," he whispered, trailing a kiss from the corner of your mouth down to the sensitive skin under your jaw. "you know 'm gonna give it to you."

his gaze dropped, eyes fixed on your chest as he lifted your dress up and off. "you deserve someone who'll give you everything you want."

your legs spread around him, straddling his lap in just your bra and panties — a little lacy set you’d put on for someone else. but you wouldn't have anyone else take it off you now.

you didn't have to ask if he liked it; you felt the response in his dick, twitching underneath you. his tongue darted out to wet his lips. "you're so perfect."

your breath caught when his hands cupped your tits lightly. you squirmed on his lap.

"that feel good?" he whispered.

all you could do was nod.

"good," he murmured, brushing his thumb over your nipples through the lace of your bra. "you deserve someone who can make you feel good."

it was better than good. his touch on your skin, his big hands gripping your tits, long fingers tweaking your nipples through the lace.

he had you pleading his name, so needy for him that you couldn't help but lean forward and pull him into a sloppy kiss.

but that wasn't enough either.

even with your tongues tangled together and his dick straining harder up against you, you were dying for more, desperate to be closer.

you ground down on his lap, pressing your weight into the bulge in his pants. he was so hard under your pussy, so big it made you whimper.

"i know," he said between kisses. "i know."

jaafar pressed his fingers lightly into your skin and gripped your hips, helping guide you back and forth over his cock so you could get the friction you needed. slow and easy, he rocked you on his lap until your panties were soaked through.

"i know how bad you want it... an' you deserve it..." he said softly.

his mouth left yours, adjusting as he sank back into the leather to elevate you on his lap. he brought you up as he trailed kisses down your jaw and down your throat. you were higher up, and he was lower down, kissing over your collarbones before pausing.

"you deserve someone who’ll give it to you... at the right time, baby..." he murmured into your skin, his voice low and muffled as he reached the level of your chest, scattering kisses just above the lace of your bra 

he licked and sucked your skin, making it tingle. you carded your fingers through his soft hair, chills shooting down your spine. his fingers slid up your thighs slowly.

"...and for exactly how long..."

his fingers moved inward, languid as they reached the apex of your inner thighs and brushed over the hem of your panties.

"...because it would be so mean to make you wait too long, wouldn’t it?"

he wrapped one arm around your waist to steady you, resting his hand on your side — his fingers splaying wide over your skin, greedy — while he touched you with the other.

your mind lifted, as if floating into a fog, intoxicated by his touch. they made your eyes heavy, clouding your head so you heard his sweet words as if in a daze.

"you deserve someone who..." his voice dropped, his touch a little heavier as he ran his hand slowly over the lace of your panties.

"...knows how to tease, how to make you wait..."

his fingers brushed over your clit, and you gasped, shuddering.

"...but not for too long..." you heard the strain in his voice as he rubbed over the soaked fabric under your entrance. you felt his dick growing under your ass, getting harder.

"...just long enough to get this little pussy nice and wet, baby."

while he rubbed circles over your clit, the hand on your side moved down until you felt his big grip on your ass. moaning softly, you watched through foggy eyes as he craned his neck to kiss your tits through the lace of your bra — light kisses through the fabric, just one tease after another. but as soon as you started to whine, he gave you his tongue, running it over the fabric, swirling it over your hardening nipples, and flicking it. even through the barrier, it made you shudder as much as the wetness and heat of his mouth.

the heat intensified when he started to suck on your tits through the lace; it got hotter when he grazed his teeth over your nipples, hottest when he bit down gently. he was careful with his teeth, but you were so sensitive that each bite made you squirm. coupled with the desire growing inside you, you were dying to be skin to skin, hating the barrier between you.

"so wet for me," he slurred between soft sucks and bites to your tits. "so good for me, such a good girl. you know what a good girl like you deserves?"

"tell me," you breathed.

"someone who knows how to get you ready."

he pressed his fingers to your swollen clit and gave you enough pressure to build that heavy feeling in the pit of your stomach. it sent another rush of arousal between your thighs, making everything puffier and wetter.

you were more than ready; you were desperate.

"you need someone who preps you right—" his fingers skimmed right to the hem of your panties.

"—'cause then..." he slipped his fingers under the hem of your panties, letting them linger there for a second as he looked up at you. his mouth was swollen from sucking at your chest, his cheeks flushed as he licked his lips.

your heart hammered in your chest.

"... when they really touch you..." he hooked his fingers over the damp fabric covering your pussy and pulled your panties to the side.

"...it’s gonna feel so much better for you, baby." his fingers brushed over your slit — finally a real touch.

you shuddered. he was right. it did feel better.

you should’ve known he’d do it better. jaafar had always shown you how things should be done. after all these years, after everything, you should’ve known he’d be the only one to do it right.

he’d prepped you so much, worked your body just right; he had you dripping wet, and he’d barely even touched you. you’d never been this wet. you were worked up, so sensitive that just the feeling of his fingertips brushing over your pussy made you drip.

"jaafar, please—" you couldn’t remember a time you’d ever needed it enough to beg.

he licked his fingers, cleaning your wetness off them, just to get them wetter with a glob of spit. softly, he brought his hand back between your thighs.

"c’mon, baby. you don’t have to beg me for a thing. jus’ tell me what you want, and i’ll give it to you."

"keep going," you gasped.

"what you need..." he hummed, his voice soft. his eyes, half-obscured by heavy eyelids and dark lashes, settled on your face, watching intently as he used his fingers to smear his spit over your pussy. "what you need is someone who knows when you’re ready to take it."

and you were. as soon as he applied a little pressure to his fingers, working at the tight muscles of your entrance, your pussy opened for him, stretching around him for the very first time.

"someone who knows when you’re dying for it..." his voice was hazy and low. your head went foggy, dropping forward as he pushed into you. your noses brushed together, and he pushed deeper, the air muffled with your pleasured gasps. "...so they can give you exactly the relief you need."

"and when they finally sink into your pretty pussy..."

with his mouth against your jaw, he sank one finger all the way into you, slow and easy. then it was all the way inside, and you shuddered, clenching around him.

"...you’re already gonna be so worked up..."

you trembled, pulling at his hair as he pumped his finger slowly in and out of you, aching to be full of him, to take him deeper.

"...and you’ll be so wet already, so needy..."

you whimpered his name as he pulled it out, craving the stretch of him like nothing else.

"...that when they give you more..."

he slipped another finger in, stretching you out around two. he gave them to you all the way, letting you take them to the knuckle, letting you feel the warm skin of his hand pressed up against your entrance for a second before he fucked them into you. he curled them forward so your soft moans and all the sticky, wet sounds joined the rain beating outside.

"...you’ll already be so close. won’t you, baby?"

he was right. you were so close, gasping “yes, yes,” dripping down his knuckles while that knot in your lower stomach tightened. 

"but the most important thing," he slurred, your thick arousal dripping down his fingers, each movement filling the car with wet noises, "is that they’re willing to learn what spots make you feel best. right here, sweetheart?"

his fingers pressed deeper, curling into a spot that felt good.

you gasped, "y-yeah—"

then he adjusted, saying, "or there?"

he angled his hand, pressing into a spot that felt even better. it felt so good that it drew out a burst of wetness, making your pussy clamp down on him suddenly, and his cock pulsed underneath you in response. he moved his fingers again, curled them a little harder, and fucked more wetness out of you.

"right there makes you squirt? that feel good, baby?" he groaned.

he stuck to that spot, fucking another short burst out of you that made your thighs shake. he coaxed you the whole time, cooing as you told him how close you were to cumming for him, how good he gave it to you.

“yeah? you want more?" he asked sweetly — but he was already giving it to you, working over that little sweet spot deep in your pussy, again and again, watching you try not to fall apart. you were so close, and he pressed his thumb to your aching clit, rubbing it as he fingerfucked you.

"do you get it yet?"

you couldn’t manage an answer, just a few jumbled words cut off by heightening moans.

"you need somebody who knows how to make this pussy cum."

your thighs trembled around his, your toes curling — you grabbed at his hair, pulled him into a kiss, and into your mouth 

"you’re gonna cum for me, aren’t you?" he asked lazily.

"yeah, yes, yes," you gasped.

"i know you need to cum badly, i can feel it. let it go, baby."

one simple instruction. just like that, you spilled over, doing exactly as he said. this was how he rewarded you — encouraging you as the tension snapped, letting you cum for the first time on fingers that weren’t your own. they were longer, better, drenched and fucking you through your orgasm as pleasure rolled through you in waves.

you slumped forward with the last wave, catching your breath against his chest, feeling its slow and steady rise and fall. in the hollow of his chest, you heard the low hum of his voice, reassurances murmured to ease you down as you closed your eyes. you felt his arms wrapped tight around you, his large hands on your skin — squeezing your neck gently, rubbing your back, keeping you safe. 

“was that okay?” he asked softly.

"that was perfect." you shifted on his lap, grinding your hips forward right into the hard length of his dick.

jaafar let out a low groan, his head rolling back against the leather headrest. "fuck..." he murmured your name, his voice desperate.

you knew how badly he wanted it. it was obvious, especially when you dropped your eyes down to his crotch, watching the outline of his dick tenting the fabric of his sweatpants.

but when he brought his head back down to look at you, there was a hesitance in his eyes, bordering on guilt.

“i don’t have a condom on me,” he said softly, his thumbs stroking your hips carefully. “i’m sorry, baby, i didn’t expect—”

you shook your head before he could finish. “’s okay. i would’ve told you not to wear one anyway.”

he murmured your name again, his brow furrowing like he was trying to talk you out of it, trying to be the responsible one. but you already knew he was going to fuck you. he’d do anything for you, give you whatever you asked for.

“when you put it in,” you whispered, holding his gaze, “i want to feel all of you.”

jaafar cursed under his breath.

“are you sure?” he asked, searching your face, but you could already feel his dick twitching and swelling beneath you at the thought of taking you raw. his body was giving him away.

“i’m sure.” you said as you tugged his shirt up. 

jaafar reached up to help you, lifting his arms so you could pull the fabric over his head and toss it onto the back seat.

as your eyes adjusted to him, your breath caught in your throat. he’d been working out consistently for his role — putting in endless hours to get into shape and build stamina — and it was showing in every line of his body. his shoulders were broad, his torso cut and defined, with lean, smooth muscle stretching tight over his ribs and chest.

you reached out, pressing your hands to the center of his stomach and slowly rubbing up his torso, feeling the heat of his skin.

you traced up over his chest, feeling his heart pounding against your palms, before letting your fingers drag back down.

"you got so strong," you murmured, staring at him in awe.

jaafar stayed still under your touch, eyes heavy and fixed on your face as you admired him.

"you know," you added with a soft laugh, "there was probably a point in our lives where i could've taken you in a fight."

a low chuckle rumbled in his chest. "you really think you could take me?"

it didn't sound like he was talking about a fight anymore.

the heat of his quiet voice on your skin, combined with the slight jerk of his dick in his pants — still so hard, pressed tight between his body and yours — sent a wrenching heat straight through your stomach.

"could i take you...?" you breathed.

you reached down between your bodies, grazing your fingers over the bulge against his thigh, tracing all the way down the long, thick length of it through his sweatpants.

probably not.

"i don't know, j." a firm squeeze to his dick through the fabric had his breath catching hard in his throat, his jaw clenching as a needy look filled his eyes. "but i'm dying to find out."

you felt his dick respond as he leveled himself in front of you.

"are you sure?" he rasped.

“never been more sure. i want this so bad, you don’t even know.”

“okay, sweetface,” he said softly, before placing a light kiss on the tip of your nose.

you pouted, crinkling your nose up at the nickname. “don’t call me that.”

“why not?” he teased, his face breaking into a lazy smile as he moved his body slowly over yours, rubbing his hard dick right against you. “you don’t like it when i call you names?”

“n-not like that,” you laughed shakily, spreading your thighs wider so he could get closer. “not that.”

with the same teasing tone, his thrusts getting a little harder, his dick more persistent against you, he murmured, “what kind of names do you like, then?”

he dropped his head down, breath fanning over your throat with each word, his hair tickling your skin. “baby?”

“y-yeah...”

“yeah?” he slurred, trailing kisses up the column of your neck, over your hammering pulse. he paused right under your ear, his lips lingering on your hot skin. “you like angel?”

your stomach went instantly into knots. “yes, j.”

he placed a soft kiss right below your ear.

“princess?”

“yeah, yes.”

he nipped your earlobe, thrusting his hips again, pressing the thick length of him hard against your body.

“and what about good girl?” he asked softly against your ear.

you gasped and pulled on his hair, overwhelmed by it all — the feeling of his weight on you, the way he was grinding his cock against you, his low, breathy voice, and those words dripping from his lips.

“that’s what you like,” he said, and it wasn't a question. “you wanna be a good girl for me, i know you do.”

he trailed light kisses over your skin — up from your jaw, to your cheek, to your lips.

then he looked down at you, his eyes low when he said, “that’s why you keep cumming so easily for me, isn’t it?”

you bit your lip, unable to find your voice, but still gave him one small nod.

“now if you want to be even better for me, baby,” he whispered, his hands gripping your hips tight as he lined himself up, “you’re gonna cum all over my dick.”

you could barely get an affirmation out before you couldn’t take the waiting anymore. you knotted your hands up in his hair and pulled him into a sloppy, desperate kiss.

this time you could feel the firmness of his body on yours, the heat of his skin, his burning hot fingers on your bra clasp. a quick movement that made your bra pop free.

you pulled it off as soon as it was undone, dropping it off the seat while his tongue was still in your mouth.

you wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him flush against you. a groan slipped out of his mouth, caught up in yours as his weight pressed you down into the leather  —  his chest on your tits, his dick hard against your pussy, separated from you by just the soaked fabric of his sweatpants and your thong.

“fuck, baby,” he sighed, rocking his hips, dragging his clothed bulge back and forth over your clit so slowly while you murmured his name, telling him how good he made you feel, how wet he got you. you let him tease you until you couldn’t take it anymore, whining for more.

“tell me what you want,” he coaxed sweetly between thrusts. “want me to stretch this pretty pussy out?”

"fuck me… i wanna feel you so deep in me—" it all spilled out of your mouth in a stupor.

“y’know i’m gonna give you anything you want, don’t you?”

“you’re gonna take care of me?” you shuddered.

his reply was a low murmur against your neck. “don’t i always?”

his big hands travelled over your skin, his long fingers hooking over the sides of your panties, easing them slowly downward. he slipped them off you and looked down cloudily, his eyes grazing over every inch of bare skin.

“you don’t know how long i’ve wanted this,” he said softly.

you breathed his name, tracing your hands down his abdomen, over the light sheen of sweat on his skin. you reached down to palm the hard outline of his dick through his pants, hearing him breathe shakily as you pulled his zipper down.

you pulled his sweatpants and boxers down together, and he let you. he watched, inhaling through bared teeth, as you pulled his dick out and wrapped your fingers around it.

“you’re so big,” you murmured, met with a soft groan.

he was so hot, so hard, throbbing in your hand. he was already slick with precum, the slit of his dick oozing, smearing more onto your palm. but you were a bigger mess — your pussy dripping onto the seat beneath you as you spread your thighs wider around his hips, dying to take him.

“baby, baby,” he moaned softly, shuddering as you tightened your grip on his dick. gliding your palm back and forth, dragging his precum all the way down to the base and back up, you could feel the blood pulsing in his veins, getting him even stiffer.

eyelashes fluttering against his feverish face, his eyes tracked your hand as you stroked him. “look what you’re doing to me. feel how bad i want you?”

“are you gonna give it to me, jaafar?” you whined.

“so eager,” he hummed, fixing his eyes between your thighs as he lowered his body over yours. “i wanna take my time with you.”

he shifted beneath you, reaching past your hips to release the lever on the side of the seat. with a click, he leaned the seat back, moving you so that you were on the seat. he was hovering over you now, his heavy frame pressed between your thighs as he lowered his body over yours.

you hung onto his biceps, digging your nails into his skin as he wrapped a hand around his dick, supporting the heavy weight of it in his palm as he positioned himself above you. with the tip over your pussy, he gave the shaft one slow stroke up from the base and watched his precum dribble onto your clit.

“i need you inside,” you gasped.

“can you even take the whole thing?” he asked so sweetly.

you didn’t know if you could, not with the size of him, but you wanted it so bad that you nodded anyway.

you saw him smile a little in the low light before he craned his neck down. “we’ll see.”

he pressed his dick to your pussy and slid all that wetness — his precum, your arousal — over it. he stimulated you over and over, until his breaths were coming fast and heavy, and you were whimpering about how good it felt.

“jaafar, please,” you begged. “i want more.”

“you’re so sweet for me; ‘course i’m gonna give you as much as you can take.” he tapped the head of his dick against your clit. not hard, but enough of a pleasurable jolt that you bucked your hips up, chasing the touch. “but first i want you to see how deep i can get.”

he laid the hot length of his dick on your pussy, letting the wetness on his shaft meet your skin. you were soaked with slick, glistening all over your thighs

 jaafar got it messier, sliding his dick over your cunt — back, then forward — stimulating your clit with the head each time he moved through your folds.

he stopped with his dick laid out on your stomach, heavy and throbbing.

“you’re gonna feel me in your stomach, baby.” he slurred.

“i want it,” you shuddered, pulling him into another kiss as he rubbed himself over you.

“i know you do, i know.”

he pulled back then, dropping his body down a little to position the tip of his dick against your fluttering entrance. you craved the stretch, gasping at the tail end of a kiss.

he lingered there — breath shaky and catching in his throat.

“okay, baby, okay,” he whispered as he pushed inside, just barely stretching your entrance around the tip.

you both moaned at the same time.

a little further in, the heat of him filled you, his dick stretching your walls open.

“oh, you’re so wet,” he groaned.

he was shuddering, and you were gasping, “you feel so good.”

he was so hard for you, so snug against your walls that you could feel his dick pulse as he pushed in deeper, his lazy voice dripping with euphoria, “so good for me, baby... feel good when i fuck you raw? are you getting what you wanted?”

“yes, yes... more.”

“so tight,” he murmured, and you clamped down around him, hearing him suck in a breath through his teeth. “y’have be careful squeezing me like that… might cum inside you. you know i shouldn’t do that.”

“but i want it.”

“yeah? you want me to fill you up. make me yours?” his breath caught as he pushed the throbbing length of his dick further in, filling you up deeper and deeper with what you’d been wanting so desperately. “you want me to fill you up, baby? wanna be my girl?” 

“yes, j,” you gasped, fingers knotting tight in his soft hair, pulling his mouth inches from yours. “i wanna be yours.”

each word was breathy, said with so much pleasure that it made your insides expand to accommodate more of him. one glance between your spread thighs — where he was lowering his lean weight as he sank his dick into your puffy, wet pussy — was enough to make your toes curl on the leather seats. watching him sink deeper was too much; you were unable to hold your soft moans in.

“you like watching me stretch it out, don’t you?”

you nodded with your lip caught between your teeth, unable to manage an answer, just a whine.

“jaafar,” you gasped, fingers knotting in his soft hair as you looked up into his dark eyes. “i want all of you.”

jaafar’s gaze softened, a heavy, tender warmth breaking through the haze of pleasure on his face. he leaned down, hovering just an inch over your lips, his hot breath fanning across your mouth as his hips kept a slow, agonizing grind against yours.

“you have me, baby,” he whispered, his voice thick and rough with emotion. “all of me. i’m all yours.”

“yeah?” you breathed, your heart hammering against your ribs.

“yeah,” he murmured, placing a lingering, desperate kiss on the corner of your mouth before sinking his dick just a fraction deeper. “always been yours.”

you forced your eyes open, watching him sink in a little more. he stopped short, not pushing all the way in yet; you were already so full, and the bottom of his thick shaft was still visible. he fucked you like this — giving you as much as you could take, making sure you adjusted to him.

“feels so good in you, baby.”

you were so tight, so sensitive that you could feel him throbbing in you. when he pulled his dick almost all the way out, you could see it twitch before he stroked your wetness down the shaft, telling you to look how wet you were getting him. he was all lubed up from your pussy, practically dripping, and when he pushed back inside to fuck you, he was even harder.

you could barely keep your eyes open to watch, your eyelashes fluttering as you whined for his dick. “so fucking good... i’m so close—”

“you wanna cum again?” he asked, fucking you a little faster, a little deeper. “keep your eyes open, be good and watch yourself make a mess on my dick.”

your body treated his words like a command. that craving for his control physical; your body so desperate for his guidance that as soon as he gave it, the knot in your stomach released with a rush of pleasure.

your mouth dropped open; you were cumming, digging your fingernails into his biceps and whimpering, trying to keep your heavy eyelids open so you could watch him fuck you, seeing your pussy drenching his shaft.

“that’s right, baby, there you go... see how good this pussy is for me, how wet it gets for me?” his strokes started to slow as your orgasm died down, but he was still fucking you through every contraction; filthy words on his tongue said so sweetly, “see how fast it cums for me? how many orgasms are you gonna let me fuck out of you, princess?”

“more,” you gasped. “more—”

“you’re gonna let me fuck more out of you, huh? you’re gonna let me give you everything you need?”

“yes, jaafar, yes.”

your pussy was so sensitive from cumming that the stimulation felt insane. you’d barely come down from your last orgasm, and somehow you were building up again. even though he was slowing down, you couldn’t stop that cresting feeling.

“cumming so much for me... i know you needed this so bad, baby.”

“i need it so much, j,” you whined. “i need you to keep going, please... i need you to fuck me harder. i think... i think i’m gonna—”

“already?” he groaned, fucking you harder, faster, slurring, “oh, fuck, i can feel it... gimme another, lemme feel you cum again.”

it was so good, each stroke getting you closer, but you were craving more, something deeper. “gimme the whole thing, jaafar, please.”

he swore under his breath, shaking his head, so much pleasure on his face. “i don't wanna overwhelm you.”

“please, j.”

“god,” he shuddered, slipping in a little deeper.

you watched him sink his dick in, your wetness coating the shaft further down. as he pushed all the way in, the head of his dick kissed right against your cervix — a deep, intense stretch that made you gasp, your toes curling around his waist.

he groaned, raw satisfaction making his voice hoarse, and pulled back slightly, breathing hard. “you okay, baby?”

“yes, yes, yes— it feels so good.”

“tell me if it’s too much,” he said, his voice thick with anticipation as he pushed inside, going deep. “tell me if you want me to stop, okay?”

you nodded, so much tension stored up in your quivering walls as he coaxed them open. you whined for more, wanting him deeper.

“you want me to give you the whole thing? yeah? you wanna take my dick deep?” he put a big hand on your stomach, pressing down on it as he pushed forward, coaxing, “oh, fuck, baby, you’re taking so much... doing so well for me... that’s a good girl, take it all the way.”

you took it all the way — right up against that sweet pressure, taking every single inch of him. you locked your legs around his waist, telling him with tears beading in your lashes, “you’re so big, ‘’m so close.”

he was getting so much gratification at the end of each stroke. he felt it in his catching breath, in his long fingers as they pressed into your lower stomach, feeling himself fucking you, feeling himself buried deep inside.

he pulled back for another stroke, thrusting back in, and you watched his face change as he got all the way in — his eyes flitting down to your pussy, his mouth dropping open slightly when he saw you taking him balls deep. eyebrows knit, he watched himself move in and out, his entire length coated in you.

“takin’ it so deep,” he murmured, his voice thick with pleasure. “no one’s ever...” he was overwhelmed, unable to finish his sentence, gritting his teeth as he pushed back in.

you were begging for it harder, getting fucked with his big hand on your stomach and that full feeling making your walls clench around his dick with every thrust. 

his mouth met your skin, kissing your jaw and cheek as he fucked you, his mouth kissing at your neck before he murmured, “feels so good, doesn’t it?”

“yeah— f-feels so good.”

“you want me to mark you up, baby? you want me to fuck you so deep, you feel it in the morning?”

you whined for it. “yes, yes, yes.”

it was building; all of it was getting sloppier, more needy — his thrusts, his words slurred against your throat, his breaths catching as you tangled your fingers into his hair and tightened your legs around his waist. his voice was so breathy with pleasure, so desperate for release, making your pussy clench up around him each time he murmured to you.

“i’ve been so close for so long, baby... you don’t even know how close i was earlier when i felt you cumming on me. almost had to pull out, i wanted to fill you up so bad.”

“i want you to fill me up,” you gasped.

“i can’t do that, baby,” he panted against your throat, fucking you hard enough to make the car rock with each thrust. desperation was in each breath; it was building up, and you were right on the edge too, your walls slick and quivering around his dick. “god, i need to... but you know i shouldn’t.”

“please, please...” there was a tremor in your voice, another wave threatening to wash over. “you said you’d give me anything i wanted.”

“fuck,” he murmured. “how am i supposed to say no to you?”

there was tension in the hot air, the windows fogged up with the warmth of your rocking bodies and desperate breaths. you were both so close, so sloppy  — spit on your lips, sweat on your skin, your moans heightening with each stroke.

“you really want my cum?” he asked, his voice raw.

“i need it,” you whined.

then he was groaning softly, your moans getting louder as he panted, “cum on me, baby... cum on me and i’ll fill this pretty pussy up, i’ll get you nice and full just like you want.”

that was all it took — just the promise of being full of his load, and you crashed over, gasping, “i’m— oh fuck—” the curve of his dick hit just right, splitting your convulsing walls open as he hit that sensitive spot deep inside.

“good girl, my good fucking girl,” he slurred as your walls gushed all over his dick, digging his fingers into your ass. “you deserve so much cum, baby—”

his lashes fluttered, his face dropping forward, and then he was half-panting, half-moaning against your jaw, his thrusts sloppy, his hips catching as his dick twitched inside you. you could feel every inch of him, every throb as your sensitive walls pulsed around him.

the warmth came in spurts, a growing fullness as he shot his warm load deep into you. it was pulled further inside with each contraction of your walls, but there was so much of it that as his strokes went lazy, it gushed out around his dick and dribbled down your skin.

he stayed deep until you were both done, and when he pulled out — looking down, breathing hard — his dick was glistening, a mess of your cum and his, a little white surge leaking from the tip and dripping onto your stomach.

he swore under his breath, his face hazy.

“look at you,” he murmured, eyes still on your pussy. “you’re so pretty, baby.”

his lips were on yours again. he placed a light kiss on the left corner of your mouth.

you looked over at him in the soft glow of the dashboard — the sharp line of his jaw, the soft curve of his mouth.

“i meant what i said, you know,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “about being yours. it’s not just because of tonight. i’ve cared about you for way too long to ever let this be just a one-time thing.”

"yeah?" you squeezed his hand in yours, your thumb tracing the familiar lines of his knuckles.

"yeah."

you leaned up, pressing a slow, sweet kiss to his lips, feeling him immediately melt into it. when you pulled back, a teasing smile broke across your face as you looked at him.

“you know... i really didn't expect you to be such a dirty talker.”

a sheepish grin broke across his face. his chest rose and fell in a breathy laugh as a flush crept up his neck. "i don't know... you brought it out of me."

for years, you’d convinced yourself that love was supposed to be something you had to chase, something complicated that always left you feeling like you were settling for less than you deserved. you’d let other men touch you without ever really seeing you, leaving you wondering why it never felt the way it was supposed to.

but the truth was undeniable. it had always been him. the boy who knew every version of you, the friend who’d spent years quietly holding your world together, was the only one who could ever really have all of you.

jaafar brought your joined hands up to his lips, placing a tender kiss over your knuckles.

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───

once again, i got carried away </3

also ik i had more things listed in the cw in the ss i posted the other day but it was getting a bit too long.. don't be mad at me

i'll prob just write them into another fic :p

The hustle and bustle of Manhattan was practically white noise to you as you had lived there for over a decade at this point. The honking cars, screeching tires and insane ramblings of homeless people on the street didn’t faze you. Every so often you would have a head turn in your direction as you gracefully weaved through the population but you paid them no mind.

A floral baby blue skirt swished around your calves while your white kitten heels avoided cracks in the sidewalks. Your diamond belly button piercing peaked out the skirt, sandwiched between a white spaghetti strap crop top.

In one hand held a stylish cream colored Liz Claiborne leather wallet and the other gripped a large paper sack with the lunch your husband requested. After Pilates, you went home and made yourself pretty then picked up turkey clubs and wings from Nick’s favorite restaurant. Luckily, it wasn’t that far of a walk from the restaurant to Epic Records, plus you enjoyed the October breeze.

You smiled at the front desk attendant, letting her know who you were there to see even though the young intern had seen you plenty of times. With being married to Nick for five years though with him for eight, most of the staff at the label were more than familiar with your presence. You were graced with several pleasant greetings and friendly hugs as you made your way up to his floor. You could find his designated studio in your sleep. Sniffing your wrist one last time to see if you could still smell your Giorgio perfume, you ran your tongue over your teeth to remove any residual lipstick before pushing the door ajar.

The smile that you’d initially intended for your darling husband dropped when you saw who was sitting at the mixing console. Somehow your blood ran hot and cold simultaneously. You cursed inwardly because of fucking course he would be here.

Michael slowly swiveled the chair around as if anticipating your arrival which irritated you to no end. You couldn’t help the heavy sigh that was released seeing that fuck ass smile of his at the sight of you. The accompanied giddy swirl in your chest was involuntary.

“Hey girl.” He rubbed his bottom lip and leaned back in the chair while eyeing you from head to toe, as he always did.

“Hello, Michael,” you reply dryly. “Where is my husband? I have his lunch.” You settled into the leather couch in the back of the studio.

His brown eyes flashed in delight at your emphasis of the word ‘husband’.

“Well, your husband got pulled away into a meeting about five minutes ago. You just missed him. Who knows how long those boring meeting go on for. He told me to keep an… eye out for his beautiful wife.” He turned facing you with his legs spread.

It killed you to admit it but he looked good. Shit, better than good. You hadn’t seen him in nearly two months since he was in Europe for one thing or another. His skin glowed and he looked healthy. The way his jaw moved when he talked was hypnotic. Your eyes hungrily drank him in.

“You look good, baby.” His voice interrupted your musing and you couldn’t have been more grateful.

“Oh please,” you scoffed, sitting the food bag on the side table and stood. If you rolled your eyes any harder they would fall out of your head. “Tell Nicky I dropped his food off. I’m not entertaining this today. Goodbye, Michael.”

“Oh absolutely not.”

You weren’t given the grace to take even half a step in the direction of the door before that bastard of a man snatched you by the forearm and tugged you unceremoniously into his lap. Fuming as you sat sideways on his strong thighs, you shrieked in frustration.

“Michael! Let me go!” You struggled in his strong hold.

“I don’t know where you think you going, pretty girl. I haven’t seen you in two months and you think you about to hop, skip and jump on up outta here like that? You real funny.” He whispered against your cheek and you fought a shiver feeling his breath brush your ear.

Michael was stronger than he looked. You attempted to get out of his grasp for another minute and a half before the fight left your body. You weren’t new to this, you knew he wouldn’t let you go. Your face heated up thinking about his possessiveness over you and how it made you feel. Though, of course, you’d never say it aloud.

“Why am I in your lap?” You sighed with your face in your hands.

“Because that’s where you belong. I thought you knew that,” he said casually as if talking about the weather.

You groaned in exasperation. Oh, how you found him insufferable.

“What if somebody walks in? Somebody like Nick? I don’t need to tell you how bad that would be… for both of us, but mainly me.”

“I love how concerned you are for me.”

“It’s almost as if you didn’t hear a damn thing I said.”

“Girl, you know I can’t concentrate with you on my lap like this.”

“So fucking let me go, Mike, what the fuck? Are you good up here?” You sarcastically poked his temple and wiggled again trying to release yourself.

He laughed and held you tighter. “Baby, I’m just playing with you. Don’t worry. No one is walking in here. I made sure of it.”

You twisted your torso to stare at him suspiciously. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

One of his hands squeezed your thigh and his eyes flickered to your lips. The sly smile on his face made your heart skip a beat.

“It means that after he told me you were coming, I made sure Nick would be in a meeting for at least two hours so we would be undisturbed. Perks of being me.”

“I wish you knew how much I couldn’t stand you.” Another sigh.

“Good thing you’re sitting then.” You’d never wanted to punch somebody in the face as badly as you do now. Unfortunately, his face is part of the merchandise and you’d probably get the book thrown at you in court.

You bit your lip, swallowing the scathing retort you were desperate to spit at him. Sadly, he’d probably like that.

“I did plan to have my wicked way with you but I actually think I want to do something different. You know how much I missed you, princess? Did you miss me?”

“No.” A lie and he knew it. The stiffness of your body confirmed it. “Michael!”

The sting came through your thin skirt when he slapped your outer thigh. “What I tell you bout lying to me?”

Still raging on the inside, you couldn’t control the slow leak of your center. There was too much stimulating you — the feel of his strong thighs under your ass, the hardness of his body, that cologne of his you were obsessed with, and the lasting heat of that sting on your thigh. Fuck, you did miss him however you refused to ease up and melt into him fully to deny him the satisfaction.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me the truth because I already know. But enough about that. I wanna play you something.”

“Oh God, I have to be subjected to that too?” You moaned petulantly.

“You keep playing with me, girl, and I’ma show you what’s up. Watch it. Stop being a brat and just listen.” He pressed some buttons before some ominous intro played through the speaker then the beat dropped.

The way she came into the place

I knew right then and there

There was something different about this girl

The way she moved

Her hair, her face, her lines

Divinity in motion

The way your body reacted to Michael’s voice had to be some sort of Pavlovian response. You found it terribly irritating. You squeezed your thighs and swallowed. His eyes stayed on the side of your face, eating up every single tiny reaction.

Every head turned feeling passion and lust

The girl was persuasive

The girl I could not trust

The girl was bad

The girl was dangerous

The nerves in your face twitched as you fought to keep your face neutral. Directly contradicting how you felt internally. Who the hell did this guy think he was? You loathed that he knew what kind of effect he had on you.

Michael was writing songs about you and the world would never know who they were referencing. Despite the circumstances of your involvement with him, you found this knowledge so thrilling.

At some point during the song you had relaxed against him, with his hands rubbing gentle circles into your skin. You tapped your fingers to the beat because admittedly it was a stellar song.

“So, what did you think?” He nuzzled the side of your neck.

“I hated it.”

He popped your thigh again and nipped at your skin with his teeth. You tongued the side of your cheek to keep from laughing out loud.

“Fine! It was good. Really good.”

“M’Glad you think so. S’bout you, baby.”

“And water is wet. Tell me something I don’t know, Mike.”

“Girl, you have developed a real smart ass mouth in the time that I’ve been gone. It’s gone get you in trouble one day.”

“I’m sitting in trouble’s lap right now. I’d say I’m already there. And really, ‘With the eyes of desire I felt trapped into her web of sin’?” You mimicked his deep voice, unamused at his choice of words.

He chuckled, rolling his eyes. “I was gone for you the second I laid eyes on you, it’s true.” He began to lay deep kisses along your exposed shoulder and neck, while also inhaling your perfume.

“I’d say if anyone was trapped,” you gasped when he took your earlobe in his mouth. “It was most definitely me.” You shivered and your words staggered. You felt him harden underneath you and your hips subtly rolled on their on accord.

“Oh but my girl, you are dangerous. Danger personified if you will. You are no damn good for me.” His fingers squeezed the flesh at your hip and dipped underneath your shirt, sweeping the underside of your breasts. “I can’t help myself around you. I don’t know what I’d do with myself without you and your sweet kisses.”

Your lips fell open in a gasp, and you twisted in his lap to hold the side of his head, assisting his assault of your skin. All logic and reason failed you when he was near.

“Kiss me, Michael.” He had you straddling his lap in an instant and claimed your soft lips.

Electricity burst behind your eyes as you melted into his hard body. You had missed him so much but you would never give him the satisfaction of hearing you admit that. He attacked your lips with a fervor that could only be explained by his desire for you being amplified due to the time apart.

Michael’s hand seized the back of your neck, deepening the kiss with his tongue tangling with yours. You moaned, feeling his tongue swiping your molars. It felt like he was trying to desperately consume you as if he were starving. It left you lightheaded.

He stood with you in his arms, then laid you down on the leather couch, never disconnecting your faces. The tension between you two exploding as you hastily untucked his shirt from his slacks. He posted himself between your thighs while rolling the straps of your shirt down your shoulders, popping your breasts free.

He rolled his hips against your core as he captured one of your peaked brown nipples in his mouth. You cried out feeling warmth and wetness engulfing your tit. Groaning, you met his clothed thrusts while sliding your hands up and down the smooth skin of his torso.

“Mike, please don’t stop,” you whimpered.

“That’s never something you gotta worry about, princess.” He blew against your damp nipple and you shivered. “I need to taste you so bad. It’s been too damn long.”

He pulled back to look you in the eyes before sinking to his knees and pulling you to the edge of the couch. He licked his lips, grinning like the devil and lifted your legs to his shoulders. Pushing your floral skirt up, he drank in the sight of your panties sticking to your wet cunt. You thought you heard him whine like a needy dog.

You dropped your head back, feeling his breath ghost over you. Michael french kissed your cotton-clad sex, savoring the juices through the fabric.

“Oh God, I missed this pretty little thing.” He pushed your panties to the side and invaded your pussy. One second he was spitting on your sopping heat and the next the flat of his tongue licked up your slit. That pink tongue of his circled your clit so scandalously then he wrapped his lips around it and sucked hard.

“I bet she missed me too.”

“Look at you, clenching around nothing.”

“You so wet, baby, I might just drown down here.”

Your vision blurred hearing him dirty talk. You were so aroused, you knew it wasn’t going to be long before your whole body shattered.

His long thick fingers probed your folds as you tried to catch your breath. Your slick ran over his digits while he feasted on your hardened nub. With two fingers, he pumped into you at a maddening pace. Pathetic whimpers rose in your throat. You hadn’t been this wet since the last time he fucked you.

You loved how his fingers filled you, much different from your husband or anybody you ever hooked up with before meeting Michael. However, you craved something thicker that would leave you shaking and out of your mind.

“Please, Mike…”

“You beg for me so sweetly. And yet you acted like you didn’t miss me. That wasn’t very nice of you, baby.” Suddenly, his fingers were no longer in you and three firm slaps came down on your clit and you cried out. You arched your back and grabbed your tits, playing with your nipples.

“M’ sorry, Mike. Missed you so so bad,” you rambled.

“You missed me or this dick?” He replaced his fingers with his tongue, fucking you with it as his nose nuzzled your bundle of nerves. You felt like you could combust.

“You, baby, always.” Words flowed out of you before you could filter them.

His hands gripped your thighs tighter when you squeezed his head and practically rode his face. His lidded eyes stared up at you, reveling in the ecstasy crashing over you.

He hummed into your pussy sending vibrations that vaulted you over the cliff. He never stopped consuming you as you rode out your release. You thought he might want to smother himself in your core.

Michael leaned back then lurched forward and stole your lips in another intense kiss. You focused on his tongue, basking in the taste of yourself. You felt filthy but everything was moving so fast, nothing could stop the train once it started. The sounds of your lips smacking and teeth clashing bounced off the walls of the studio.

The only thing that cut through your dizzy brain was the echo of foot steps and loud laughter outside the door. Your whole body seized up and your breath hitched.

“Shit!”

You pushed Michael away in a panic and scrambled to cover yourself back up. In your quickness, you caught sight of Michael’s shiny lips and chin and your stomach rolled. He sat back on his legs looking disheveled and in a daze.

The familiar sound of your husband’s booming laugh near the room made you nauseous. Your hands shook as you tried to right yourself on shaky legs.

“Michael, get up!” You pleaded. He stared up at you with a smirk curling at the side of his mouth. Your stomach dropped even further because you knew he could hear Nick too.

“Please don’t do this. Please.” Your throat tightened as your eyes stung.

Your heart felt like it was about to fall out of your ass. This couldn’t be happening. You weren’t ready. He wouldn’t do this you — he couldn’t.

“Tell me you love me.” He cocked his head to the side menacingly. “Like you mean it, baby.”

“Michael, don’t do this!” You hissed through clenched teeth.

“All this shit could be over today and I wouldn’t give a single solitary fuck,” he scoffed, shaking his head and smiling.

You flinched knowing he meant it too. Though he may lie to the public often, he never did with you and the fact that you knew he was telling the whole hearted truth scared you shitless.

You opened your mouth and nearly choked on your own spit. You began to feel faint. He watched you struggle like it was nothing. You dug your nails into your palms, hoping maybe you could break the skin and slide your focus elsewhere.

“You know I love you.”

The whisper came out so faint you yourself almost didn’t hear it.

It couldn’t have been more than thirty seconds that Michael deliberately stayed in place but time felt like it moved differently in this moment. Footsteps and conversations drew closer and you would’ve sworn you could feel the makings of a heart attack.

In the blink of an eye, he was composed and back sitting in the chair at the console. Your head spun at the change. Your legs trembled and you sank into the couch just as the studio door opened.

You released a shaky breath seeing Nick stroll in. You glanced at Michael briefly, seeing him licking his finger unabashedly and your lungs seized.

“There’s my girl!” Nick scooped you into a tight embrace and kissed you with a familiarity that came with being together for eight years. “Fuck, you smell good.”

“Thank you, baby,” your voice wobbled.

“You not wearing that gloss I like. The one that makes your lips look extra delicious,” he purred lowly and you scrambled for an immediate response.

“Oh, damn, I must’ve rubbed it off at some point. Didn’t even notice til you said something.” You grabbed your shimmery lip gloss out of your wallet. “I brought your food though!”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you. You always taking good care of me. Sorry I wasn’t here when you got here. Did Mike keep you entertained at least?”

“S’what he does best.” You swallowed deeply, fighting the urge to collapse. “He let me hear some of the songs from the new album.”

“It’s fucking dope ain’t it? Album releases next month and I know it’s gonna go crazy.” Nick fished out his food and nodded along.

You rubbed your arms to self sooth, the shame clawing at your nerves with both your lover and your husband in the room.

“Dog, what’s that on your face?” You stopped breathing when Nick addressed the state of Michael’s face.

Without missing a beat, Michael wiped his chin and giggled in that way that made him seem inculpable to the untrained eye.

“I can’t even lie, brotha, I ate some of your food. Guess I got a little messy about it.” He shrugged his shoulders and licked his lips, grinning. You were horrified. ‘Food’ being his best friend’s wife’s pussy in this scenario.

“Black folk, I swear,” Nick sucked his teeth then laughed with Michael and you joined in, albeit more subdued. Still reeling from the whole ordeal.

You wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole. You had to get out of there before you combusted from the guilt alone.

Clearing your throat, you inched closer to the door, watching them go back and forth like friends did.

“You outta here, girl? Sure you don’t want to stay?” Michael called out as your hand hovered over the door handle. Without turning around, you could hear the amusement in his tone.

“Y-yeah I have some phone calls to make so I’ll leave you boys to your work. Don’t need me in here being a distraction,” you chuckled weakly.

Nick pouted, “Oh ok, sweetness. Well don’t leave without giving me my kiss then.”

Your legs ate up the space between you and the men. If you had been lighter in shade, you wouldn’t be able to hide the warmth spreading over your cheeks as you leaned to kiss your man. He attempted to deepen it when you pulled back. He bit his bottom lip, eyeing your form brazenly. You turned and squeaked feeling a tingle on your backside, immediately knowing Nick slapped your ass.

“Nicky!” You swatted his shoulder, embarrassed.

“What, baby? You look so fucking good I can’t help myself. Mm, can’t wait til I get home later.”

“Behave…” Your eyes ran to Michael sharply and the look on his face made you want to evaporate from the building. He was not amused, not even in the slightest.

“Oh I’ll show you how well I can behave at home. Go on before I act a fool in front of Mike.” He winked at you.

Flustered, you exhaled and went for the door again. You felt those big brown eyes glaring at the back of your neck. It was almost as if being controlled by a puppeteer that you turned around and said goodbye to your lover. As you left Epic Records, you could still feel him between your legs, consuming every inch of your core without restraint.

The second both of your feet stepped inside the condo you shared with your husband, you were able to collapse right there by the front door. A sob bubbled in your throat then shockingly a laugh at how close things were to being blown up. Everything almost went to shit and yet, luck was still on your side.

For now, you surmised. Just for now.

Blood pounded in your ears. Everything was in flames, that much was obvious. You knew it would happen eventually but this… you never imagined this.

That night when Nick came home you had the condo smelling like the south with the meal you prepared. He loved your cooking and he could put away some food so you had the bright idea to throw down in the kitchen. Only a small part of your brain reminded you that this was done out of regret but you vehemently ignored it.

His favorite meal being mac and cheese, collard greens, chuck roast and sweet potato pie. That ‘itis’ would hit him like a brick wall.

You had hoped that once he came home and took in the spread you so carefully prepared that he would forget about his taste for you like he had mentioned earlier. You couldn’t have been more wrong.

“Shit, you’re so tight. Goddamn, you fit me like a fucking glove, every single time.” He had you bent over the red upholstered armchair on your toes.

His length was in you as far as it could go though you struggled to breathe from the sheer velocity that which he thrusted into you. The slight curve of him brutally scraped your walls and had you a bumbling mess. He wasn’t small by any means and he could fuck like nobody’s business. It was one of the reasons you dated him in the first place.

His hips slammed into you and you tried to push back against him. You pressed your face into the seat, muffling your moans.

“Aht aht, turn that head. I need to hear you.”

His strokes were harsh and deep, with his balls slapping your clit. You could feel your walls convulsing around him and your vision began closing in around the edges.

Your calves burned and your thighs were sticky with your cream. He never stopped his beating of your pussy. You were losing it and felt ready to burst. All coherent thought abandoned you as you squeezed your eyes shut, focusing on the pleasure zipping up your spine.

“Yes, Michael, just like that, baby.”

Time ceased to exist. In the worst way possible.

It wasn’t until you felt empty that your brain caught up with your mouth. There you were bent over, naked, and shivering after just moaning your lovers name while being fucked by your husband. The temperature in the room seemed to drop and there was a numbness that enveloped you.

“The fuck did you just say?” The calmness in his voice rattled you more than anything. The measured breaths made you tense.

Overcome with dry mouth, you couldn’t even swallow to sooth yourself. You squeezed your wet eyes shut.

“Oh God,” you whispered, turning yourself over to sit on the arm of the chair. Your nudity was the least of your concerns presently.

“Baby—“

“No! Don’t you fucking dare ‘baby’ me right now. What the actual fuck did you just say?”

You flinched again, every word felt like a shot to the chest. “I didn’t—“

“Didn’t what? Say another man’s name while I was in you?” He took a step back, shaking his head in disbelief.

“This wasn’t… isn’t… how I wanted you to find out, Nick…”

“No fucking way am I hearing this shit right now.” He rubbed his face and let out an empty laugh. Nick was normally pretty uncensored but everything was amped up to a thousand right now. He turned facing the wall, giving you just the view of his chestnut back, firm ass and thighs.

“How long?… How long have you fucking another man behind my back?”

You hesitated to say, knowing how atrocious it would look. You knew he deserved the truth though.

“Six years.”

“Oh you dirty bitch — we’ve been married for five!” Shocked couldn’t even begin to describe his reaction. “Who is this Michael? Michael who?”

You ground your teeth, shaking your head. This was the hardest conversation you’d ever had.

“Jackson…” Your reply was nearly inaudible. Nick jumped back like you threw a brick at him.

“Now I know good and damn fucking well you ain’t just say Michael Jackson. Surely I’m hearing things. Surely you ain’t just say my best friend.”

Silence was your answer.

“This nigga…” Nick chuckled in bewilderment. “This nigga was the best man at our wedding, whole time he was fucking my girl.”

You thought you might’ve broken him.

“Call him.”

“W-what?”

“Call. Him. Right now. And I’m not playing with your ass.”

“Nicky, I— We don’t need to do this.”

“Baby girl, don’t make me say it again. You in the hot seat right now and you really have no choice. Fucking call him or I’m gonna leave and find his ass myself.”

The look in his eyes told you he was dead serious. As serious as a stroke. You didn’t want to test him. This was the bed you made.

You grabbed the phone off the coffee table and dialed Michael’s private line. The one he only used for you. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, praying that for once he didn’t answer.

You chanced glancing up through your eyelashes at Nick and swiftly averted your gaze. He stood a few feet from you with his arms crossed and legs spread. His softened member coated in your drying slick really highlighted the absurdity of this scene.

The phone rang a total of five times before Michael picked up and you cringed, cursing your luck.

“Hey there, pretty girl.”

Your head fell to your chest in defeat. It was so quiet in the condo that you couldn’t even pretend to think that Nick hadn’t heard that through the receiver.

“Michael… He knows,” you huffed and bounced your leg nervously. Your voice shook and the line went eerily silent.

“Knows what?”

“He knows…”

More silence then your stomach dropped in horror as the rumble of what only could have been deep, reckless and unburdened laughter burst through the phone. Nick snatched the phone out your hand, pressing it to his ear, though it wasn’t hard to make out what was said.

“Well, good Lord, finally. I was beginning to lose all hope he’d ever figure it out.” Michael’s laughter dissolved into minor unhinged giggles. “Guess that’s settled. Princess, I’ll have a car outside in fifteen minutes. Say your goodbyes.”

The dial tone rang out ominously. He hung up unconcerned about the explosion he surely just triggered.

Nick’s jaw hung open as you slapped your hand over your mouth. You were mortified. You couldn’t begin to imagine how this made the man before you feel. It wasn’t as if he was a bad man because that couldn’t have been farther from the truth. He was a good person who simply got screwed over… by you and his best friend. There was nothing you could say to rectify this situation.

You were fucked. Plain and simple.

You knew eventually you were going to have to face the music. This, however, was another monster entirely.

One thing though, you knew Nick would never put his hands on you. That was never a concern. Perhaps your only saving grace.

At a later date, you would look back on this and reminisce on how normal the day started then how quickly it turned to utter shit. Your heart felt like it was in your throat.

“Nick… I am so sorry,” you whispered, hands in your lap.

“Man, fuck your sorry. Get out.”

Instinctively, you pushed back. “You can’t—“

“I can and I am. Get the hell out. Your boyfriend is on his way, didn’t you hear?”

“He’s not—“

“He’s not what? Because he sure as shit isn’t the person I thought he was. I can’t believe y’all. What a fucking dumbass I must look to him. Not once did I ever suspect this. As a matter of fact, what were y’all doing in the studio this morning? And don’t lie, ain’t no point now.” He pulled his jeans up, covering his nudity. You tossed your moomoo over your head.

You bit your lip, casting your eyes downward.

Frowning, Nick scoffed, “I cannot believe this shit.” He stalked out of the room angrily and you stupidly followed him into the kitchen where the food you cooked lay cold.

“And what was this, an apology for that bullshit in the studio earlier? Let me ask you this, baby girl, who else knows? Who else is laughing at me behind my back?”

“No one, I promise. We were careful.”

“Yeah too careful I see,” he said ruefully. He sat at the table, grabbing a big scoop of mac and cheese to shovel into his mouth.

“Nick… you can’t tell anybody.” You cringed hearing the words coming out of your mouth.

“Fuck you. You can’t tell me shit anymore,” he snorted. “Don’t worry. I ain’t spilling your dirty little secret. Only just because I’m not about to have it blasted for the whole world to know I’ve been cucked by Michael fucking Jackson.”

You didn’t realize the breath you were holding as you exhaled. You shuffled your feet nervously, thinking about your next move.

“I really am sorry, Nick.” You blinked away tears.

“I don’t care. Get out. And tell that light skinned nigga to go fuck himself. I’m done with his album. Next time he see me, he better not say shit or I’m decking his ass. King of Pop, my left nut. I don’t want shit to do with you either. I don’t even wanna see your ass in court so when you see those divorce papers, sign that shit and go on about your life.”

You swallowed, unable to strings words together when there was a knock at the door. The heaviness of your body felt like you were made of stone.

“Don’t look scared now,” Nick taunted, feeding himself that chuck roast by hand.

You dragged your feet to the door solemnly. Your hand shook unhooking the latch and turning the knob.

There he was in all his glory though dressed down considerably for someone of his status. Sweats and a thin jacket with shades perched on his nose. You couldn’t stand how seeing him so casual made the organ in your chest flutter.

“You ready, mama?”

“Michael…” Your lip quivered considering all you wanted was to jump in his arms but you were trying to be respectful of your soon-to-be ex-husband.

“Don’t worry. Everything will be alright,” Michael cooed, brushing the baby hair at your temples.

“I need to get my stuff,” you sniffed pathetically.

“Princess, I will buy you all new stuff. Anything sentimental you can get later, or I’ll send my assistant to do it. Whatever works. But right now, you’re coming with me.”

You had no energy to argue. You slipped your sandals on, ignoring that you were naked underneath the moomoo. You turned around one last time thinking maybe Nick was going to watch you leave but all you heard were quieted sobs from the kitchen and you felt your heart break. Michael intertwined your fingers, leading you away from a life that had really been a farce for longer than it was a reality.

In the back of Mike’s black Cadillac limo, you curled into the far side of the backseat, staring out the window. Michael told his driver to circle the block multiple times then activated the partition. He knew emotions were high so he attempted to be gentle with you.

“C’mere here, baby.” He tapped his knee. You slowly turned your head and crawled across the seat to him.

He hauled you into his lap for the second time today. This time, however, it was entirely accepted. You circled his neck with your arms, inhaling the smell of his hair and relaxed.

“You okay?” He rubbed your back.

“I will be,” you whispered. “Thank you for coming to get me, Mikey.”

“You can always count on me.”

“Please don’t start singing ‘I’ll be there’ or I’ll jump out of this moving vehicle,” you grumbled into his neck.

This tickled him greatly. “Damn girl, you are no fun.”

“And that’s how you like me.”

“No doubt about it. Guess I love your mean ass or whatever.”

You pressed your lips together, smothering the girlish giggle that threatened to tear through you. You kissed up the side of his face until he pulled you into a searing kiss. Your lips melded together perfectly.

Looking him in the eyes, you sat back on his knees and unzipped his pants. The fiery need in his gaze emboldened you. Thankful that you were naked underneath your clothes because all you had to do was sink into him, letting him stretch you out, inch by inch. It was like coming home after an arduous journey.

“Ride me, mama.”

You sighed happily, mouth dripping in pure ecstasy. Michael’s huge hands sat on your hips, controlling your movements. You were stuffed with his dick. There was no feeling like it and you knew deep in your soul that nobody else would ever feel as good.

The tenderness of your coupling was so different from the usual, you basked in it. With his size, your thighs were already quaking from tiredness and you loved it. It was nothing for him to hit that spongy spot inside you with every thrust.

“Michael, I love you so so much. Fuck, I love you.”

There was a budding pressure in your abdomen signaling your climax was near and you whimpered. You were obsessed with the wet slapping sounds that reverberated in the limo as his big dick bullied your cervix.

One of his hands snuck between the two of you seeking your sensitive clit. It wasn’t long after that you were coming so hard that you lost consciousness. Him filling with you with his cum combined with the stress of the day and all its contents sent you over the edge.

You were beyond spent that when you opened your eyes next, you were in Michael’s luxury penthouse lying in bed. With his arm propping up his head, he watched you wake up with a shit eating grin on his face.

“I put it on you that good?”

If you had the energy for it, you would’ve rolled your eyes so you resigned yourself to staring at him blankly.

“I can’t stand you,” you managed wryly.

“Good thing you’re lying down then.”

“Ugh, what am I gonna do with you?” You wiped your hand down your face, and licked your chapped lips.

“Marry me.”

The seriousness in his voice was jarring, however the joy that sung in your veins was immeasurable. A burst of energy shot through you and you tackled him, smothering him in kisses. Despite how you two came together, if you knew that it would have lead to this right here, you wouldn’t change a thing.

i cannot wait!! you thought to yourself. michael, a friend of yours, invited you as his plus one to a celebratory party. you met each other on set of the wiz in the summer of ‘79; you were completing an internship as a production assistant. both of you quickly became fond of the other.

beyond all the fame, michael was truly a humble and caring young man. there was only a two year age gap, though you had plans to attend college which made it difficult to see him often. between semesters, he’d fly you out fly in himself, practically inseparable every time you were together. some people commented on it, occasionally a magazine would headline ‘a mrs jackson?’ featuring a very shadowy image of you and michael. you two laughed it off, both of you were too focused on your careers to even imagine a relationship right now.

you completed your degree a year ago now and michael was finally off tour. this meant that for the first time in nearly one year you would be able to see your best friend, not to mention attend an exciting event. michael jackson was probably the most famous person in the world, and as your friend he always wanted to help your career- though you never accepted it… inviting you was his way of inadvertently helping you out. director robert zemeckis is hosting a party to celebrate the premiere of back to the future. various entertainer, producers, and celebrities were invited to this event- how exciting!

you walked down the deep brown stairs of your home, the mesh of your blush dress barely dragging along the floor.

ding!

as your face lit up, you practically skipped to the front door. your heels click-clacked along the floor.

“well,” once the door opened, you were greeted by your best friend’s smile. you saw him in photos of course, but there was nothing like seeing him in person. he boyishly signaled to his ensemble, michaels voice was just as tender as you remembered it. the porch lights illuminated the silky black tie around his burgundy top which complemented the pink accents around your dress.

you squealed and clung onto him, wrapping your arms around his neck and stuffing your face into his neck, “mikey!! i missed you so so so so much.”

“i missed you more,” he softly giggled. instinctively, his hands went to the curves of your waist, grazing the fabric of your expensive garment.

you pulled back and took a moment to examine his face, cupping it in your hands. it’d been so long, you just wanted to keep him here forever- fearful you’d loose him any moment now. the two of you paused here longer than you should, his face made your heart skip... michael could say the same of yours. your glance faltered, making its way to his lips.

he bit his lower lip, “lets go now… hm?”

you awkwardly laughed, “yeah, right,” and snapped back into your cheery demeanor.

michael grabbed your hand and led you to the car, his skin was just as smooth as the last time you felt him.

★

you rested your head on his shoulder, smiling so hard you swore your face would freeze. you loved him so much, michael was like your other half. his hand was wrapped around your hips, rubbing his thumb along your back. tender moments like these blurred the lines between platonic and romantic, especially as michael was quite protective of you. in college, he advised you not to date- to focus on your career. he insisted that a college boy wouldn’t know how to treat you and break your heart. you never had a boyfriend, so what would you know about heartbreak? without thinking twice, you listened to his guidance.

“are you excited?”

you lifted your head to him, “am i excited?”

you moved your hands to grab the collar of his blazer, shaking him a little, “i can’t wait! this is like.. the biggest night of my life!”

he raised his hands in protest, laughing as he let his body fall limp to your grasp. michael found it adorable how perky you got when you were excited for something.

“i know you do things like this all the time, but,” you placed your hands to his thigh, “are you looking forward to tonight?”

he cleared his throat, slightly thrown off guard by your touch, “well, it’s not every time i get to go with you,” quickly recovering.

you cheesed, but before you could respond the car came to a stop.

a beautiful infrastructure stood before you, you took in the gorgeous iron swirls of the doorframe and romantic lighting outside of the venue. your jaw slowly dropped- michael swore he saw sparkles in your eyes. as much as he was in awe of you, the sensation of your hands on his thigh conflicted him. a spew of lewd thoughts entered his mind while he was trying to focus on the beautiful woman in front of him. you, of course, were too taken aback to notice.

★

the party was more extravagant than you could ever imagine. an unknown jazz singer performed on a stage at the other side of the venue, through speakers across the venue you could hear her over the chatter and clanking of glasses. aside from the party being absolutely huge, the crystal chandeliers and marble floor made you swoon.

michael held your hand as you walked in, “i’m a little nervous,” you admitted beneath your breath.

“just follow me,” he winked through his sunglasses, guiding you over to the bar.

you were still taking in the beautiful scenery, your heart fluttered with passion- imagining attending events like these yourself.

"hm," michael asked.

you raised you eyebrows, "what happened," now focusing on michael.

"what do you want to drink," he wrapped an arm around your waist, rubbing his hand up and down the fabric of your dress.

you smiled to the bartender, "a lemonade, please?"

the light haired woman laughed, "a lemonade mimosa?"

rubbing your neck awkwardly, "i'll just have a water," you were slightly embarassed.

"hey-"

michael was cut off by a deep voice behind you, "if you offer a lemonade mimosa, you can make it virgin."

almost instantly, the bartender started on your drink. you turned your head and noticed a highly respected casting director. his skin was olive and he had very defined features that fell right in with his black hair. he was slightly shorter than michael but far taller than you. he'd discovered molly ringwald in sixteen candles. she's got a few movies lined up at this point... a good relationship with him could mean big things for you, and it already seemed to be off to a pretty good spot.

you turned to face him entirely- sneaking from michaels touch, "oh, thank you," you responded, smiling.

"adrien brooks," the man extended his arm towards you, "i've never seen you around before."

shaking his hand, "i'm here with mr. jackson," you looked over to michael... who was now standing  just a bit taller than before.

the two shook hands, you noticed michaels hand flex a bit harder than normal. brooks complimented michael on thriller being such a success; it was rare to see people speak so casually to your best friend. it was heartwarming.

"i'm working on a new movie soon, the audition dates should be in the fall..." adrien started as you collected your lemonade and michaels wine.

he paused, staring at you as if you could read his mind.

"that sounds interesting," you searched for the right words, because truly you had no idea what he was insinuating.

"i'd like to see you there," the words fell off his tongue, so smoothly it's appeared as if he had no idea what he was saying.

an audition? an audition with adrien brooks? adrien. brooks. your heart practically cartwheeled.

shaking your head to snap yourself out of it, your gaze meeting his "well, where are the auditions being held," you tried very hard to contain your excitement, you weren't sure how good you were at that though.

"in fall...," michaels hand met your back, "does that work for you?"

your friends face scrunched up, and you were just as confused as him...

"well, if that doesn't work, we can reserve a date that your free."

michaels hand went to your waist, "november you're attending an event with me, out of the country,” he stated, flexing his jaw.

right now was the first you even heard of an event happening.

you shook it off and complied, “if it isn't too much of a hinderance, could we schedule another time?"

"we can, though, the entire panel may not be able to be there... if that's alright with you?"

something in his face darkened at the same time michaels fingers dug into your side. you couldn't fully understand brooks' expression, but you did know that this opportunity could jumpstart your career.

"um.. that should be alright," taking a sip of your lemonade.

"how about sometime in august?"

nodding, "that should be great," holding in the fact that you wanted to skip around the entire party. your first real audition, in the room with a real casting director- this conversation alone was an accomplishment.

"what day in august," michaels tone was sharp.

brooks laughed, "what day works for you, pretty lady?"

you blushed slightly, unsure if it was out of embarrassment or flattery, "i'm not quite sure-

"the beginning of august wont work, i'm flying you out to new york with me."

"well, the auditions are in new york, so that should work perfectly."

your face lit up- but before you could respond

"listen, adrien... brooks was it," michael removed his sunglasses.

the man nodded, his demeanor never shifting from any other than confidence.

his tone turned to one that was accusatory, "what is this project you're working on?"

"michael," you pressed a hand to your friends chest, "oh my gosh, i'm sorry. i know that you have to keep these things private." you felt embarrassed, and slightly betrayed. michael wasn't fucking stupid, you knew what he was doing. this was not the first, and definitely not the last, time michael has become protective of you around someone- though now he was messing with your career.

brooks laughed, "no, it's alright. i can't say anything about it here, but if you'd like to speak in private i'd be more than happy to share."

you shook your head and laughed awkwardly, "no, no, that's okay. i do believe in you, i mean your work speaks for itself-"

"can i speak with you," michaels gaze never left the casting director, though he was talking to you, "privately?"

you scrunched your face, beginning to get aggravated, "can't it wait michael?"

"that's alright pretty, we can speak later, alright," as brooks turned around he shot a dirty look at your best friend.

at that moment something in michael switched, "excuse me," his voice was naturally soft, but it now had an intensity to it.

brooks didn't even offer a second glance.

"michael, stop," you warned.

he ignored you, walking to meet brooks' back.

"what the fuck is your problem," the black haired man abruptly turned around, only inches away from michaels face.

he scoffed, "the fuck is your problem," looking slightly down out him.

"michael," you grabbed the end of his sleeve, glaring at him.

his tone was soft when speaking to you, "angel, it's fine."

brooks crossed his arms and pursed his lips together, "ah, i see," squinting his eyes at michael.

you took a step closer to brooks, "what are you talking about?"

at this point, nearly everyone was focused on the scene the three of you were causing.

"the rumors are true."

"what fucking rumors," you and michael asked, almost in sync.

"you didn't want me to audition her- because you're dating."

so many different expressions of disbelief splattered across your face in only 15 expressions, michael- however, had a far better poker face than you.

"we're not dealing with this shit," your best friend grabbed your wrist and started to the exit.

you tried to yank your wrist back, but his grip was far too tight.

"mike-," close to tripping, "let go of me."

you glanced behind you, noticing the numerous eyes on you. adrien brooks shouted something indistinctive while the guests gossiped about the fight between michael jackson and this casting director- an unknown compared to michael. embarrassment washed over you.

once you entered the elevator, he released your wrist. you held it in your other hand, trying to soothe the pain as michael dialed lobby on the door. tears threatened to fall out of your eyes, but you hid it with anger.

you shouted at michael as he faced the door, "what the hell is wrong with you?"

no response.

"you're actually fucking kidding me right now, right?"

still no response.

"talk to me mike," you shoved his shoulder, and as the elevator opened he walked out, not looking at you once. the sound of your heels took up the entire hallway.

"thank you for coming," an usher smiled as you two walked by.

"thank you for having us," michaels gentle tone responded.

you rolled your eyes, "oh shut up."

luckily, as soon as you made it to the door, the car was out front. the driver held the door open for you, and michael "chivalrously" let you slide in first.

continuing as soon as the door shut, "are you fucking kidding me michael?"

he turned his head to face you, raising his eyebrows, "am i kidding you?"

"yes! are you kidding me? this is the one thing, the one thing, i have always wanted in life- and there you go! you ruined this for me michael," tears threatened to fall out of your eyes as you turned your hands into a fist, digging your nails into your palms.

michael noticed, he knew you better than anyone else. he would be lying if he said i didn't make him melt... everything you did made him melt. unfortunately, he was conflicted with feelings arising elsewhere. anytime you were mad, or cried, he made it a point to be there for you for his own selfish reasons.

he shook his head, facepalming, "did you hear what he was saying?"

"that he wanted to audition me!"

"privately,” removing his hand from his face.

"people do private auditions all the time, mike!"

"angel," he cupped your face.

"get off me," you bit back.

michaels touch was tender, "angel. you didn't know what you were doing. you were making stupid choices... you've not been in the industry long enough-," a tinge of pity arising in his voice.

"then that's my decision to make.”

his patience was wearing thin, “angel, just drop it.”

“drop it?!”

“i said, drop it,” letting his hand fall to his lap.

“i’m tired of listening to you all the time, michael, all you do is tell me what to do! you’re not my dad, you’re not my brother, you’re my-“

“do you know how much i do for you,” his voice overpowering yours, “you don’t know what you’re doing, at all! how long have i been in this industry?”

you stared into his eyes for only a few more seconds before backing down. you didn’t respond, fiddling with the fabric of your dress. his volume shattered your heart. sometimes, mike would raise his voice at you… but sometimes you really were being just too difficult.

michael commanded, “tell me.”

the car fell silent. you sniffled, and wiped your face with your eyes. his demeanor quickly shifted.

“m’sorry mikey,” you crossed your arms, hugging yourself. embarrassed by your outburst… which truly wasn’t your fault.

shit, he thought to himself, “no, i’m sorry, angel.”

you shook your head, not wanting to speak to him, to be in this car, to ever have even gotten ready for the evening.

“c’mere,” michael took you in, bringing you onto his lap; you tucked you head into your best friends chest, holding onto his blazer. michaels arms wrapped around your entire body, running up and down your back.

“s’okay, angel, you don’t know any better.”

you frowned and peered up at him, “i just wanted to make it…”

“you will, but you don’t need anyone else. i’ve been trying to help you-“

“i want to do it myself, mike,” your face was desperate. michael always told you that you needed him, since you’ve known each other. as much as you wanted to say it was untrue, it was. especially in scenarios like this. it was absolutely true. any time you tried to defy him, michael always ended up being right- and he always was there for you no matter what.

he kissed your cheek, “i just want whats best for you,” and then placed a peck on your lips.

“i know mikey,” your voice trailed off.

“i’m the only one that knows whats best for you,” his voice was low…

he held you for a few moments before you kissed him back. every time you guys argued, you couldn’t help but want to love him. you felt so guilty, and no matter what- your best friend was always there for you. he held your head to deepen the kiss, and it slowly turned into several passionate and sloppy kisses.

which was soon cut off by you, “should we be doing this?”

you innocently stared into his eyes, unsure of all your feelings.

he bit your lower lip and gently pulled away, “it’s what friends do…”

which was enough for you.

★

the rest of the car ride was spent intertwining your tongues. as soon as you arrived to your home, michael carried you upstairs into your room. he kissed you all the way there.

your friend laid you down onto the bed, nibbling n licking stripes on your sensitive neck.

“mikey…”

he hummed, still working you up.

“i really,” you arched into him, “need you…”

he sighed, his erection only becoming more snd more prominent, throbbing through his suit pants.

“yeah?”

you frantically nodded, no one made you feel as good as your best friend. you felt a lewd sensation between your legs… already leaking for him.

“how much,” michael looked up at you.

“please, mikey,” wrapping your legs around him, “please.”

he softly chuckled at your desperate, “anything for you, princess.”

you untangled your legs from him, allowing michael to rise. he kissed your forehead and began pulling down your dress, and then your undergarments. this isn’t the first time you two have gotten intimate before, he’s the only boy you’ve ever been with.

the cool air on your skin made you shiver while he removed his own clothes, carefully discarding them on the rug beside your bed. you desperately reached towards him, aching for him. michael has only ever been there for you… your best friend is such a good man. he thought your desperation was adorable, it just made him want to take care of you even more. your little squirming, needy, body.

he used his thumb to graze your clit, forcing the most embarrassing sounds to escape your lips.

“mmikey..,” your eyes fluttered shut, “feels s’good-“

you reached your arm towards his erection, you were addicted to him.

michael rested his slender hands on your hips, his touch was so gentle. he began to rub his aching cock onto your heat.

“so wet, huh, princess?”

you nodded, “mhm, mikey,” biting back your lip.

you never could get used to his length or thicknes but it felt so good every time he stretched you out. michael pulled back to align himself with your hole, to comfort you, michael ran his hand down your right arm and made his way to your hand, interlocking his fingers with yours. he eased his tip inside you, which caused tears to stream down your face- ruining your makeup just a bit more.

“i know, princess…” he slid in a few more inches, “i know.”

you threw you head back as he entered you entirely, beginning to cry.

“i’m sorry mikey-,” you covered your face with your free hand and squeezed his.

michael cursed beneath his breath, “it’s okay… you fuck know better now, right?”

your best friend continued with deeply passionate strokes. your mouth hung slightly open, saliva almost dripping out the corners. you were absolutely entranced.

“so dumb f’me, yeah?”

“yes mikeyy,” you slurred out.

michael grabbed your other hand, holding it as well. your breasts bounced with each stroke inside, he was in awe of how beautifully his best friend took him.

“not gonna act out any more?”

“m-no, nno, mikey!”

“‘m the only one that knows what’s best for you… the only one shit that makes you feel this good.”

he continued at the same pace, until he noticed you were getting close. he paused while deeply inside of you. you cried out, begging him to move.

“please!! mikey, i need you,” you arched your hips into him.

“stay still,” he commanded, “from now on you’re going to listen to me.”

“yesssmm,” whining and forcing your body in place.

he pushed himself a little deeper, “i’m the only one who knows whats best for you. say it. i’m-“

you repeated in unison, “the only one who knows whats best for me..”

“that’s my angel,” he continued his deep pace. the room was instantly filled with your pants and moans, you didn’t know how to respond to such erotic emotions. the two of you arrived at the same time, he made sure to release onto your stomach. you twitched, trying to come down from your orgasm before…

“fucking shit,” michael forced himself back into you, “youre still so tight.”

“mikey,” you attempted to push him off of your sensitive body, but you were too weak to release from his hands.

“s’okay, s’okay. need you, angel.”

you shook your head, clamping down on his cock, “i can’t.. ttake- can’t, mikey- please-“

he released your right hand to cup your cheek, “yes you can,” michael encouraged.

uncontrollable sobs escaped your aching body, pleasure overtaking you once again.

“y’know why you can?”

“mm-mmm,” you whined out, partially in response but also in ecstasy.

“cause you’re my best friend,” he kissed your lips, lowering his body onto you- allowing his cock to enter you further, “n no one makes me feel this fucking good.”

it wasn’t long before you unraveled with each other, your bodies truly in sync.

“mikey.. s’good..,” you cried out as he rubbed his length onto your stomach.

his body twitched on top of you. a few moments were spent in the silence of the both of you catching your breaths, soft i love yous.

michael kissed your lips before finding the drawer with his clothes in your bedroom, and a towel. he wiped your aching clit before sliding his boxers up your legs- then, dressing you in a black top. he then dressed himself, putting on his boxers. michael lifted you up to place you on your side of the bed, tucking you in.

“thank you for being my friend,” you murmured as he climbed into bed beside you.

“of course, my angel.”

a place like this would’ve never been jaafar’s choice for a night out. some rooftop party jermajesty had practically forced him to come to, insisting he “needed to get out of the house.”

for once, his younger brother was right. home had become exhausting. every conversation with his wife somehow turned into an argument. dishes in the sink. unanswered texts. what time he’d gotten home. little things that somehow became big things.

he was only twenty nine. but lately, it felt like he’d already been married for decades.

he was sitting, overlooking the city view when you walked in. instantly, there was something about you. he wasn’t sure if it was the way your perfume lingered in the air after you walked past him.

or the way your dress hugged your body like it’d been tailored just for you. whatever it was, there was something magnetic pulling jaafar towards you. you looked like a woman who knew exactly what she wanted.

and exactly how to get it.

and that is what he craved.

since you sat down, he couldn’t stop looking. it wasn’t even intentional. his eyes just kept finding you. the way you laughed with your friends. the way you casually sipped your drink. the way the rooftop lights reflected against your glossy lips. how your curls moved perfectly with the wind.

he was completely invested in someone he knew absolutely nothing about. he took a slow drag of his whiskey, his eyes meeting yours for the first time all night after one of your friends subtly nudged you.

“jaafar.”

his brother randy’s voice cut through his thoughts. he blinked, finally pulling his attention away.

“hm—yeah, what’s up?”

“you’ve been staring over there for a minute.” randy smirked. “you know her?”

his eyes unconsciously drifted back to you. “no,” he dragged out. “i don’t.”

“she’s pretty though,” jermajesty chimed in. “tell her to come over here,” he nudged randy.

“nah—no, don’t do that.” jaafar shook his head.

“cmon what?” randy teased. “you gonna go up to her?”

jaafar had never been the type to chase. people naturally gravitated toward him. that’s how he’d met his wife.

but for some reason…he wanted to be the one to approach you. he wanted to initiate. he’d feel disrespectful making you walk over to him. having to introduce yourself to him. 

no.

he couldn’t have that.

“i don’t know,” he muttered, finally looking away. “i’m gonna go get another drink.”

“girl,” your friend noelle’s eyes followed jaafar as he made his way toward the bar. “have you not seen the way that man’s been eyeing you since we got here?”

you sighed, taking another bite of your hors d’oeuvre.

“so?”

amara, the friend across from you, lightly kicked your shin beneath the table.

“what do you mean, so?” she laughed. “he looks grown. that’s your type.”

“to the t,” noelle chimed in. “he looks like he’d take real good care of us.”

“i’m already planning the girls vacation,” she joked, earning a chorus of laughs.

you rolled your eyes, unable to stop yourself from smiling.

“you guys are annoying.”

despite yourself, your gaze drifted toward the bar. black button up, the top few buttons undone. sleeves rolled to his forearms, flashing an expensive watch.

“he is fine tho.” you murmured.

“well, if you think hes fine and he’s been looking at you like that…” noelle muttered, raising an eyebrow. “what are we still doing here?”

“you guys need to calm down,” you laughed. the friend beside you shook her head.

amara squints her eyes, “hm, i’m thinking… twenty four? twenty six?”

you stared at her.

“mara.”

“what?” she gasped. “girl, we need to start planning. this could be your husband.”

you laughed, shaking your head.

“you guys are a mess.”

“we’re just saying,” she shrugged. “a man like that doesn’t just sit alone at a rooftop party looking like that.”

“he’s literally with his friends,” you pointed out. 

“okay, and?”

you rolled your eyes, taking another sip of your drink. but despite yourself, your eyes drifted back toward him. he was laughing at something the bartender said, his hand wrapped around his glass as he leaned against the bar.

“you’re staring now,” noelle teased again.

your eyes snapped back. “i’m literally just looking.”

“same thing.”

“no, it’s not.”

“mmmhm.”

“you know what,” amara suddenly says.

you already know that tone.

“let’s go. we’ll bring him over here.”

“yes!” noelle gasps. “oh my god, that’s actually smart.”

“no—what the fuck? don’t do that!”

but your protests are useless because they’re already standing. you stare at them in disbelief.

“guys.”

“too late!”

your friends grab their drink, already walking away. “we are leavinggg!”

“wait!” you call after them, but they don’t even look back. you sink into your chair, covering your face for a second. “oh my fucking gosh.”

across the rooftop, jaafar noticed them approaching. two women he’d never met walking toward him with matching smiles. he couldn’t help but laugh slightly.

“oh, you’re cooked,” jermajesty muttered.

jaafar frowned. “what?”

“you’re about to be recruited.”

jaafar rolled his eyes, but there was still a smile on his face. your friends stopped in front of him.

“excuse me, hi,” amara greeted.

“hello,” jaafar replied, amused.

“okay, don’t think we’re weird,” she started, already making him laugh, “but we have a very important question.”

“a very important question?”

“yes.”

she nodded seriously.

“what’s your name?”

jaafar smiled.

“jaafar.”

“jaafarrrr,” she repeated, dragging out his name. “okay. and where are you from?”

“LA.”

“okay, see? that’s not even bad.” she nodded. “we’re neighbors.”

he chuckled.

“neighbors?”

“malibu,” she pointed back toward the table. “our friend was just curious.”

jaafar’s eyes flickered over to you.

“was she?”

your friend smiled, “maybe.”

he laughed softly.

“well, jaafar, you’re coming with us.”

his eyebrows lifted, “i am?”

“yes.”

she nodded like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“our friend thinks you’re cute,” noelle said, pointing back toward your table, “and we’re tired of watching you two stare at each other from across the room.”

jaafar’s eyes immediately found yours.

“didn’t think she noticed.”

your friends laughed.

“i think everyone here noticed.”

the sound of jermajesty and randy laughing behind him made jaafar glance back. a small, almost embarrassed smile tugged at his lips.

“i really don’t want to be a bother,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

“you’re fine,” amara reassured him, already grabbing his arm. “trust me, she wants you over there.”

jaafar let out a quiet laugh, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt as he let them lead him back across the deck. “yo, buy her another drink,” randy teased from the bar, giving jaafar a small push. jaafar shook his head, laughing under his breath.

you watched them walk over, your fingers tightening slightly around your glass. “okayyyy, babygirl,” noelle announced when they reached the table, sliding back into her seat. “so, this is the cute man that’s been staring at you all night.”

you immediately rolled your eyes. “you guys are insane.”

“no, listen!”

she held up a hand.

“his name is jaafar. he lives in LA, which is actually not far at all from you.”

“hey,” he said softly.

your attention shifted back to him. he was even finer up close.

“it’s nice to meet you.”

you placed your hand in his.

“nice to meet you, jaafar.”

“okay! see? this is perfect!” amara clapped once. “wasn’t bad, was it?”

“okay, okay,” noelle interrupted. “you sit. you two get to know each other.”

jaafar didn’t hesitate. he pulled the chair out and sat down, shifting slightly so his body was angled toward you.

“we’re gonna go see what’s up with your friends over there—”

“brothers.”

“oh…” she paused. “brothersss. perfect.”

you sighed. “okay, can you guys like—”

love you! they mouthed, already walking away.

you watched them leave before shaking your head. “sorry about them. they don’t know how to mind their business.”

“don’t apologize,” jaafar said, resting one forearm against the edge of the table.

a small smile played on his lips. “i was actually trying to figure out how to walk over here anyway.” he glanced briefly in the direction of his brothers. “they just saved me the awkwardness.”

“is that right?” you asked, taking a slow sip of your drink.

he reached for his whiskey, taking a small sip as he held your gaze. “yeah,” he said quietly. his thumb brushed against the side of his glass, his eyes dropping for a brief second before returning to yours.

“i was beginning to think you had some sort of staring problem.” you tilted your head slightly, waiting.

jaafar set his glass back down on the wood, the ice clinking softly against the bottom. “i kept telling myself i'd wait until you went to get another drink,” he said, his voice dropping slightly. “that way i could just happen to be standing at the bar at the same time.”

you let out a soft laugh. “that was your plan?”

“it was a terrible plan,” he admitted, a quiet chuckle escaping him. “your friends definitely handled it better.”

he adjusted his position, leaning back against his chair while keeping his eyes locked onto yours. he took in the way you were looking at him, his gaze tracing the outline of your face before settling back on your eyes.

“so,” you cleared your throat. “tell me about yourself.”

you leaned back in your chair.

“how old are you?”

jaafar smiled.

“if i tell you, promise me you won’t get up and run away?”

your eyes widened dramatically.

“oh my gosh…” you laughed. “are you, like, sixty?”

he let out a laugh, shaking his head.

“no.”

he took another sip of his whiskey.

“i’m twenty nine.”

a beat passed.

“thirty in a few weeks.”

“thirty?” you raise your eyebrows, setting your drink down on the table. “okay, so you’re actually older.”

jaafar lets out a quiet laugh, his chest rising slightly under his unbuttoned shirt. “hey,” he says softly, his eyes dropping to your mouth before pulling back up to your face. “twenty nine isn’t old.”

“it’s older than twenty three,” you say, leaning forward on one elbow. “my friends were convinced you were like twenty five.”

he doesn't answer right away. instead, he reaches out, his fingers slowly turning his whiskey glass. he slides it to the side, completely clearing the space between you two.

then, he shifts his weight, leaning his forearm flat against the table. he comes in close enough that you can catch the faint smell of his cologne over the cool rooftop breeze.

“well,” he murmurs, his voice dropping as he holds your gaze. “i mean, your friends guessed wrong.”

he stretches his hand out across the small gap, his knuckles resting just a fraction of an inch away from your fingers. he doesn't touch you yet.

“is thirty a problem for you?”

you don't pull your hand away. you just look up at him through your lashes, taking a small breath.

“it’s not the age,” you said “it depends on how you act.”

jaafar’s lips curve into a smirk. his eyes drop to your chest, watching the rhythm of your breathing for a second before his gaze drags back to yours. “is that so?”

“mhm.”

“and what have you decided so far?”

you took another sip of your drink, letting the question hang between the two of you.

“i haven’t.”

“guess i’ve got some work to do.” he smiled to himself, shaking his head. “but i’m not complaining.”

“of course you do,” you smiled. “what did you expect from me?”

as the night went on, you found yourself enjoying jaafar’s company more than you expected. he was funny, charming, and somehow always knew exactly what to say. jaafar kept the drinks coming, signaling the bartender with a simple wave of his hand without ever fully taking his eyes off you.

every time you thought he couldn’t surprise you, he did. conversations with him felt effortless, like you weren’t sitting across from someone you’d just met an hour ago. you found yourself laughing at stories you didn’t expect to find funny, asking questions you actually wanted the answers to.

it was refreshing, like a breath of fresh air. especially because, for once, you weren’t surrounded by someone attempting to impress you.

jaafar wasn’t asking about the things you owned or the places you’d been. he wanted to know about you. and somehow, you realized you wanted to know about him too.

the two of you found yourselves relating on more things than you expected. enough that you almost forgot you were strangers when the night started.

but you noticed it.

every time you leaned in to speak over the loud music, his breath caught, his chest pausing mid rise. his eyes trailed down your throat, following the line of your dress, taking in every slow movement. whenever you shifted in your seat, your thigh brushing against his under the table, his hand tightened around his glass.

but your eyes kept trailing back down to the visible strain against his dress pants he didn’t even attempt hiding. you were barley the ‘fuck first meet’ kind of girl. sure, maybe it happened just a couple of times. but it’s not like every man you spoke to had you wanting to pounce on them like jaafar did.

maybe it was the fact that you had far too much to drink. or maybe the cadence of his low voice had you wanting to pull him out of his chair right then and there, or the maturity in the way he moved. everything about him sent a rush down your core.

“so tell me,” he starts, words slurring a bit due to his now drunken state. “what’s your problem?” 

you paused, taking a beat. “wow, my problem?”

“what is that supposed to mean?”

he let out a soft giggle, shaking his head. “no not like—i didn’t mean it like that.”

he rests his chin in his hand, heavy lidded eyes tracing your features. “why are you single?”

“i mean you’re young, stunning,”  he leans back further, his gaze dropping over your body. “ and i mean, absolutely gorgeous. plus you seem to really have your life together.”

“wow i love this, keep it coming,” you tease, resting your elbow on the wood.

he shakes his head, the small smirk fading into something serious. “no, seriously. i genuinely want to know.”

“well, i don’t think i have the problem. i think i’m perfect.” you tilt your head, holding his gaze. “all men are just insufferable.”

that comment gained a sharp hiss from jaafar, “harsh.” 

“no just listen,” you say. “they find out you have something to offer them—in my case money, maybe some clout, a name. suddenly they want to wife you, keep you trapped in the house, get you pregnant.”

you shake your head. “it’s too much and they are annoying.”

“understandable,” he sighs, leaning his forearm back on the table. “i mean, those are the little boys though. not really men.”

“hmm.”

you drag your chair an inch closer, closing what little space is left between you two. you can feel the heat radiating off his body, see his chest rise and fall a little faster. this was something you wanted, and he was completely on the same wavelength.

“what do you really want, though?” he asks, his voice dropping low, his eyes locked on yours.

“just a good time, no expectations, no strings attached.” your hand reaches across the small gap, fingers slowly sliding up his forearm until they reach the metal band of his watch. you look up at him through your lashes. “i don’t need someone thinking i need to depend on them. everything i need—want, i can get myself. i just want to have fun.”

jaafar catches his bottom lip between his teeth, his eyes dropping to your hand resting against his wrist.

“i hear you,” he whispers, his voice raspy. “i can…i can provide that for you.”

“oh really?” you ask softly.

“definitely,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing against the side of your hand without pulling away. “if that’s what you would want, of course.” his eyes burn into yours, his hand sliding off the table to glide his fingers gently down your thigh.

“so then what’s our plan, jaafar?”

he looked at you in a way that made you want to risk it all, “you tell me, pretty.”

jaafar let out a loud curse the second you took him into your mouth, his body stiffening on the mattress. he wasn't used to this—someone so sure, taking complete control of him like it was nothing. you were definitely way different than his wife.

“fuck—wait,” he gasped out, his voice cracking slightly. he gripped the sheets on either side of his hips as he tried to hold himself together.

if you were to tell yourself earlier that you’d be in a hotel room downtown, with a man who’s last name you didn’t even know, you would never believe it.

the cool air conditioning hummed against the quiet room, but the air felt heavy and warm between the two of you. jaafar sat on the edge of the plush king bed, his legs spread as he leaned back on his hands.

his black button up was completely undone, hanging open over his chest, his expensive watch catching the faint light from the city through the windows.

you were on your knees on the carpet between his thighs. you looked right up at him through your lashes, taking him deeper and letting your mouth work over him.

every time a loud groan pulled out of his chest, you slowed down just enough to swirl your tongue around the sensitive tip before sliding all the way back down.

he was usually so calm and put together, but every sound escaping his throat now was completely unfiltered. he reached down, his fingers tangling tight into your hair.

“shit, don't stop,” he stuttered out, his breath coming in short bursts. “just like that.” his hips twitched up against your mouth, another low moan dragging straight out of his chest. his free hand slapped flat against his own stomach, fingers digging into his shirt as he tried to catch his breath.

you used your left hand to stroke him from underneath, your hands moving slowly over his base. when his hips twitched up, begging for more, you held him firm against your lips, tightening your grip on his thigh.

you hollowed your cheeks, feeling the heat off him radiating against your cheek as you dragged your mouth back up his length.

you paused at the head, swirling your tongue over the tip twice until his knees trembled against your hands. “ah, fuck—s’good babe,” you took him all the way back into the back of your throat, holding him there.

he reached down, both hands wrapping around your head now, his thumbs pressing against the sides of your jaw to try and guide the rhythm. but you held yourself steady, your hands clamping tighter around his thighs so he couldn't push you faster than you wanted.

you dragged your mouth all the way off him, a ‘pop’ filling the quiet room. jaafar let out a ragged gasp, his chest heaving as he stared down at you. “shit...where’d you learn this?”

you didn't answer. you just ran your tongue up the underside of his length, from his base up to the tip, watching his abs contract sharply under his open shirt.

“fuck,” he groaned, his hips lifting an inch off the bed on their own. you took him right back in, taking all of him in one smooth, deep motion.

a loud, guttural groan tore straight out of his throat, his head slamming back against the headboard. “you're gonna make me—oh,” he whimpered, his words coming out broken and fast. his arms trembled as he tried to keep his hips from thrusting up into your mouth.

you kept your pace relentless, sucking hard while your hand pumped his base, using his own pre cum to keep everything slick. every time his hips twitched, you swallowed around him. 

“don’t stop, holy—i’m gonna cum.” just as his hips bucked up and his grip in your hair tightened, you pulled back completely. the wet sound broke through the quiet room. jaafar let out a loud groan, his eyes snapping open as he reached for you on instinct.

“shit—wait, what are you—” you didn't give him a second to answer. you stood up from the rug, swung one leg over his lap, and straddled his thighs, bringing your weight down flush against his hips.

he let out a low sigh as your clothed core pressed right against his throbbing length. before he could say another word, you leaned down, grabbing his jaw with one hand and slamming your mouth over his.

jaafar’s hands immediately clamped onto your waist, his fingers digging into your skin to pull you closer. he kissed you back desperately, his tongue sliding against yours while your muffled moan echoed into his mouth. 

you pulled back as you slid your panties down, “do you have a condom?”

“oh shit, i don't…” his eyes widened, his chest heaving under you. “what are we—” your lips trailed down his neck, leaving faint marks along his jaw before sliding lower down his throat.

“let me check my purse,” you murmured against his skin. you shifted off his lap, your knees sliding off the mattress as you stood up. jaafar's eyes stayed glued to you, his chest rising and falling fast as he leaned back against his elbows, completely out of breath.

you walked over to the desk where your bag was sitting, the cool carpet soft beneath your bare feet. you unzipped the main compartment and dug through it, your fingers past your lip gloss, your wallet, and your keys until they brushed against the small square wrapper at the bottom.

you pulled it out, turning back toward the bed with it held between your middle and index fingers. jaafar let out a quiet laugh, a slow smirk spreading across his face as he watched you walk back over. he sat up, spreading his knees wider to make room for you.

“mm, perfect,” he whispered, his voice still rough as his hands reached out to catch your waist the second you got back within his reach. you slid back onto his lap, opening the foil with your teeth.

safe to say you were a little nervous. your sex life had been a mess in the past, you were used to always being in complete control. used to men who just laid there and took whatever you gave them, or defaulted to the same boring, repetitive doggy style that did nothing for you.

but jaafar didn't just lay there, the second the condom was on, he flipped the script entirely. before you could even move, his hands clamped around your waist, he rolled you onto your back, taking control of the bed.

you let out a soft gasp as the mattress rose to meet your spine, but jaafar was already hovering over you, his chest pressing down until there wasn't a single inch of space left between your bodies.

he didn't rush it. he lined himself up at your entrance, “tell me what you want, pretty,” he rasped, his voice rough against your cheek.

you looked up at him through your lashes, hands gripping his forearms, your breath catching in your throat at him hovering over you. 

“you,” you whispered. “please fuck me jaafar.” jaafar’s eyes narrowed at your words.

your head snapped back into the pillow as he bottomed out. a sharp gasp tearing past your lips. hands flying up to his biceps, your nails dug into his skin, your hips instinctively lifting to meet his.

he didn't start slamming into you immediately. he held himself deep inside you for a long second, as his mouth wrapped around one of your nipples.

“fuck,” his breath hot against your chest. “you’re so perfect.” he pulled his hips back before driving all the way back in. every deep thrust hit a spot that made your toes curl, sending a ripple of static straight down your spine. 

he hooked your left leg high over his hip, anchoring you to the mattress. “oh my—please jaafar pleaseee.” his hand slid up your stomach, fingers wrapping firmly around your throat, holding you still while he set a punishing pace.

“look at me,” he demanded, the sound of skin slapping against skin and the air conditioning humming in the quiet room. “you like that?”

you opened your eyes, completely breathless. he was watching every expression on your face, taking in every small gasp and whimper that slipped out of you.

“that’s it,” he groaned, his hips driving into you hard enough to make the headboard thud against the wall. “you take me so well, baby,” he coos. 

you couldn't even reply with actual words—just a broken, breathless moan as he hit that exact spot again and again.

your hands slid down his arms, fingers digging deep into his upper stomach. jaafar was completely devouring you. every single drive of his hips was deep and heavy leaving you helpless against the mattress.

“this is what you wanted, right?” he rasped, his thumb lightly stroking the side of your throat while his grip stayed firm. “does it feel good?”

“yes,” you gasped out, your voice cracking. “yes—jaafar, ohfuck—” a satisfied smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. he leaned down, his lips inches from yours. 

“fuck—you’re such a sweet girl—oh shit,” he growled. “you feel so good.” he let go of your throat, his hand sliding down to cup the back of your thigh, pulling you even tighter against him so there was zero space left between you two. he shifted his angle hitting deeper than before, and the sudden sensation had your eyes rolling back.

“mmph, jaafar i–i can’t,” your hands squeezed the pillow next to your head tightly, feeling every muscle contract with each heavy thrust. “y–you’re s–deep…” 

jaafar’s breathing was hard over the quiet hum of the air conditioner and the wet sound of his body driving into yours. “mm, i know sweetheart,” leaning down until his forehead rested against yours, “but you’re doing so good.”

his thrusts became brutal, driving into you hard enough to make the headboard thud steadily against the wall.

“fuck!” you screamed out, he locked his hand tighter around the back of your thigh, anchoring you completely so you couldn't pull away even if you wanted to.

“i feel it baby, you gonna cum?” he was staring down at you like you were the only thing in the room, feeling the sharp, involuntary pulse starting to coil around his dick.

“that’s it,” his hips stuttered for a half second before he drove right back in, hitting that same exact spot until your voice caught in your throat again. “cum for me.”

the second he commanded you to cum, your back arched high off the mattress. a squeal tearing past your lips as your orgasm hit. your pussy clamped down on him hard, squeezing around his dick so tightly it made his body aggressively jerk back.

“fuckkkk—!” jaafar roared out, the feeling of you coming around him made him lose every last bit of restraint. he drove into you three more times before burying himself all the way to the hilt and locking his hips against yours.

a loud moan dragged straight out of his chest, vibrating against your ribcage as his entire body went still. his fingers dug deep into the meat of your thigh, his knuckles white as his own release hit him, spilling inside the condom.

he collapsed down onto you, his full weight pressing you into the mattress. his forehead rested in the crook of your neck, his chest heaving up and down as he rode out his orgasm.

his hand slowly moved, sliding up from your thigh to tangle into your hair. his lips pressing a soft, lingering kiss against the sweaty skin of your collarbone.

“shit,” he breathed out, a raspy whisper against your throat. “you're going to be a problem.”

© 2026 𝑱𝑲𝑺-𝑳𝑼𝑽𝑹

all works published on this blog are written by me. do not plagiarize, translate, or use my work for ai training.

when you two started dating five months ago, he wanted that structure. he wanted to show you that he loved your mind and your spirit, that he could be the perfect gentleman who honoured the promises you both made to wait.

and for a while, it was easy. you slipped into a comfortable rhythm where everything else seemed to fade into the background. he loved the ordinary days most — the afternoons spent lying in your bed and talking about nothing in particular for hours, sharing snacks, or teasing each other until his stomach ached from laughing.

michael was the kind of boyfriend who couldn't keep his hands off you in the gentlest ways. he’d always reach out to loop his arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his side, or he’d absentmindedly drum out little beats against your knee with his fingers while you talked. it was the little things.

but lately, something had started to change.

every time he kissed you, the boundaries he'd worked so hard to maintain seemed to blur a little more. the sweet, chaste kisses had slowly shifted over the last few weeks, turning into something… hungrier.

you'd spend hours tangled together in the dark, your mouths moving lazily against each other's as your tongues brushed and tangled until both your heads were spinning. by the time he finally forced himself to pull away, his heart would be battering against his ribs, his jeans painfully tight. he'd lower his face into the crook of your neck, pretending he simply wanted to hold you a little longer when really he was trying to hide how badly he ached for you.

eventually, the heat didn't even need a kiss to spark anymore.

just being around you distracted him, clouding his mind with thoughts that left his skin burning with shame.

he'd started doing things he never would've dared during those first few months of dating. his hands, once so careful, had begun wandering without him even realizing it. he'd find excuses to press the growing hardness in his jeans against your hip during a simple hug, letting out a shaky breath as he subtly nudged himself closer just to feel the warmth of your body.

if you were standing in the kitchen, he’d hover behind you, his front flushing right against your ass while he pretended to reach for something, letting his long fingers drag along the curve of your waist a second longer than they needed to. he was becoming a fiend for your body, his lidded eyes constantly tracking the way your clothes clung to you or staring at your ass when you walked past him.

just the other day, you were sitting cross-legged on the floor by his stereo, letting his pet snake, muscles, coil lazily around your arms while your fingers brushed lightly over his scales. you were wearing his button-down shirt that slipped slightly off one side, exposing the smooth curve of your collarbone and the top of your shoulder. michael had been standing near the window, but his eyes were glued onto you.

he watched the slow glide of your fingertips along the scales, and a completely different — dirty image flashed in his mind. It was so filthy that it made his stomach drop.

he imagined walking over right in front of you, unbuckling his belt and letting his hard, aching dick spring free at your eye level. he pictured catching your wrist, gently lifting your hand away and guiding your palm straight onto his skin. he wanted to teach you exactly how to hold him, wrapping your fingers around his thick shaft and moving your hand in that same stroke you were using right now.

he could practically feel the warmth of your hand squeezing him, sliding all the way down to his base and back up to the wet tip. he’d bite his lip as he looked down at you, a groan slipping from his chest as you coated your palm in his precum.

a hot blush rushed straight to his cheeks the second he snapped back to reality. his heart was hammering, and he could feel the thick length of his dick swelling and pressing uncomfortably against the denim of his jeans.

michael quickly licked his lips, pressing them together in that nervous habit of his, pretending to fuss with the cuffs of his shirt as he tried to steady his breathing. he was terrified that if you looked up right now, you'd somehow see every sinful thought written across his face.

the guilt from those daydreams always ate at him later. it settled deep in his chest, making him feel sick for even letting his mind wander that far. he'd whisper quiet apologies to god on the drive back home and promise that it wouldn't happen again.

but then he'd see you the next day, and the cycle would repeat.

the very first time the boundaries cracked was a couple of weeks ago.

the house was full from a family gathering, and the distant chatter of his siblings echoed from down the hall. you were curled up against his side, one of your legs draped comfortably over his thighs while your fingers idly toyed with the buttons of his shirt. michael’s arm was stretched out along the back of the couch, holding you close while the pad of his middle finger slowly stroked back and forth against your leg. 

"i was thinking we try that little milkshake place tomorrow," you murmured, looking up at him with a smile. "the one down the street with the neon sign. you keep saying you wanna go."

michael nodded, but his mind was already completely somewhere else. his gaze had dropped, his half-lidded eyes slowly roaming over your face before sliding down to the bare skin of your collarbone. "mhm... yeah. okay," he murmured, his voice low.

you couldn't help the warm blush that rushed to your cheeks at the look he was giving you. "is something distracting you?" you teased.

his mouth curved into a small crooked smile, one that shows that he knew he was caught. "'m not distracted."

"no?" you smiled as he shook his head. you leaned up to press a soft kiss against his lips.

before you could even think about pulling back, michael’s hand came alive. his fingers slid up to cup your jaw, his long fingers dragging your face right back into his to completely cut off your retreat. though, the sweetness of the kiss was no longer there.

his mouth opened wide over yours, his tongue pushing past your teeth to slide deep into your mouth, tangling with yours deeply, stealing your breath. you let out a soft whine, your hands gripping his shoulders as his mouth grew hungrier, his lips sliding over yours in a way that made your ears ring.

his hands moved down to your waist, gripping you tight as he shifted his weight, pushing you backward until your back hit the plush couch cushions. he crowded right over you, his frame trapping you against the cushions as your legs opened and welcomed him in. the blunt pressure of his hard dick pressed perfectly against your core through his trousers. a low groan rattled in his chest as his hands slid down to cup your ass through your clothes as he dragged his length firmly up against you.

you let out a sharp gasp at the slide of it, your body trembling. hearing that little noise only seemed to drive him crazier. he loved it and wanted to hear more, so he gripped your hips and dragged you over him again, his own waist giving a nudge into you.

"michael, w-we shouldn't be doing this,” you managed to breathe out, breaking the kiss for a second, your chest heaving as you looked at him with wide eyes.

but he didn't let the words fully leave your mouth before he was leaning back in, capturing your lips again to swallow the rest of your protest. his mouth was so warm and wet, parting yours with a soft, demanding pressure that made your thoughts immediately start to scatter. you tried to hold onto the hesitation, but as his tongue slid back inside to tangle with yours, the worry melted out of your head, drowned out by the thick heat pooling in your belly.

his waist gave another firm nudge upward, his thick length grinding right against your soaking core. you let out a weak whine into his mouth, your fingers digging hard into his shoulders. michael groaned, breaking the kiss only to drag his lips down the line of your jaw, his breath puffing against your skin before he buried his mouth in the soft crook of your neck. he sucked gently at the sensitive skin there.

michael knew you both shouldn't be doing this. there was a small, nagging flicker of guilt at the back of his mind — the quiet voice of everything he'd been raised to believe about keeping things pure. every line drawn only existed until the moment he couldn't stand the ache anymore. but he was certain he was going to marry you one day, so did the rules even matter? it just felt too good.

so he continued to work you back and forth over his dick, his pelvis tilting upward to grind against you.

it wasn't like he was fucking you — but shit, now michael has a mental image of him fucking you, and it was not helping.

you felt exactly how hard he was beneath his pants, and the pressure of him against you only made you wetter. with each rut of his hips, your panties pressed deeper into your folds, soaking through the fabric and sending waves of pleasure through you.

you let out a whine that was a little too loud, the sound cutting through the room. michael’s eyes widened slightly in panic, his hand slid up to cover your mouth

"shh, y'gotta stay quiet f'me, honey," he whispered.

you nodded helplessly against his hand, your fingers clawing at his shoulders as he started to grind against you again. you let out a quiet gasp when your legs wrapped around his hips, pulling him down to press him even harder against you. the hard edge of his zipper caught on your clit with one upward push, sending a shock of pleasure through your body. and you were cumming before you could even think, his name slipping out of your mouth in a muffled cry as you squirmed against him.

michael looked down at you, his brows furrowing slightly as he breathed out. “christ, did y’just…”

but the way your hips were jerking against his was the only answer he needed. and with a low whimper, he was cumming too, his hips rutting into your lap as he spent himself, his cum soaking through his pants until a wet patch bloomed across the denim. his head dropped onto your shoulder, his whiny moans vibrating against your ear as his whole body went slack and melted against you.

the murmur of his family down the hall had felt miles away, drowned out by the sound of your ragged breathing. as the daze slowly cleared from his head, michael pulled back, his eyes still hooded and dark as he looked down between your laps at the ruined denim. a wave of guilt settled over the space.

you swallowed hard, looking up at him with nervous eyes. "michael... i can't believe we just did that."

he bit his lip, brushing his hand over his mouth. his fingers tapped lightly against his lips as his gaze roamed over your flushed face, grounding himself. his hand slid down to cup your jaw, his touch incredibly gentle as he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead murmuring that it was okay, it didn't count because it wasn't actually sex.

since then, his mind was constantly working to find loopholes, finding ways to bend the rules to chase that feeling once more without feeling like he was betraying everything he stood for.

and it didn't take long for him to find his next excuse. a few nights later, tucked away in your bedroom, he talked you right out of your shorts, leaving you in nothing but thin cotton panties. you were already leaking through the material, the fabric turning damp from where your slick was pooling.

he knelt between your thighs. he could see the plump shape of your pussy from how they clung to you, almost see-through from how much your pussy wept for him.

he parted his lips and leaned in, burying his face into your clothed cunt. the heat of his mouth hit you right through the cloth, and a half-sobbed cry tore out of your throat, your hands flying down to clutch at his hair.

"o-oh, michael, fuck," you whispered, breathless, and he moaned in response — a sound so deep and guttural it vibrated straight to your core. it was filthy and hungry, like the sound of someone finally getting the thing they've been starving for.

his fingers hooked into the elastic of your panties, tugging the waistband up tight so the wet cotton wedged deep between your puffy folds. he began sucking your arousal off your underwear, pulling the cloth taut with his lips as his tongue flattened out to lap greedily over your clit. he was on high off the taste of you, letting out these high, whiny moans that vibrated directly into your clit.

"michael, t-this is so dirty," you whispered, your voice trembling as your hips twitched against his lips.

he paused, lifting his face just an inch. he looked so incredibly pretty from that angle, his dark eyes hooded and his full lips glistening with your moisture. "s'not dirty, baby," he rasped, his soft voice slurring slightly from need. "you're too sweet for it t'be dirty. y'taste heavenly..." his gaze flickered down between your thighs for a second. "...and your panties're still on, so 'm only kissin' you... right?" he looked up at you through his eyelashes, waiting.

hearing his soft words phrased like that made you squirm against the sheets, your hands flying to cover your eyes. you couldn't even form a proper answer, just letting out a tiny whine behind your palm that served as agreement.

his mind was already a mess of filthy thoughts. he was imagining what it would feel like to tear the fabric away with his teeth and drown his tongue inside your wetness, picturing how loud you'd scream if he was sliding his dick into this soaking heat instead of just his mouth.

driven by his own thoughts, he pushed the solid tip of his tongue hard against your entrance through the barrier of your panties. you could feel the blunt shape of it trying to poke inside your hole, stretching the cotton taut against your opening.

you let out a loud whine, quickly clapping a hand over your mouth to muffle the noise as your body bucked right off the mattress. your thighs started to tremble around his head, helpless as he ate you through the ruined cloth.

his tongue dragged up the damp fabric, slow and greedy, before his mouth sealed over your clit. he sucked hard through the wet cotton, making your thighs jerk around his head. michael was losing his mind, completely obsessed with the sweet taste of you soaking right through the cloth.

he groaned again, grinding his mouth deeper against you, smothering himself in your heat and slick as if he'd completely forgotten the cloth was even there. when your body tried to buck, his grip shifted, his large hands clamping onto your hips to pin you down.

he held you perfectly still.

he was fucking feasting, and your body knew it — your body was responding — every muscle tense, your thighs beginning to tremble.

your hands clutched at his hair, desperate, and you felt your own wetness smear hotter through the cotton as he shifted slightly, tongue tracing the edge of your panties now, like he was teasing himself just as much as he was teasing you.

he slowed down for a second, tormenting you by just pressing a soft, feather-light kiss right against your swollen clit — a touch so bare it made you cry out from the lack of pressure. his fingers hooked into the sides of your panties, tugging the fabric up tight so the wet cotton wedged deep between your folds.

with your underwear pulled taut, he used the flat of his hand to rub the soaked material back and forth against your peak, using the damp cloth to grind directly into your slick center until you were sobbing.

he dropped his mouth back down over your drenched center, his lips sealing over your swollen peak. you let out a broken scream, silently thanking god that no one was home as his tongue plunged back into the wet cotton, flattening out to lick you with broad strokes that had your hips bucking off the bed.

the relentless lap of his tongue was pushing you right over the edge, your chest heaved, your fingers knotting into his dark curls as you felt the coil tighten in your tummy.

"y'close, baby?" he asked, his voice so soft. he felt the tremors running through your body. he paused his licking for a second, keeping his lips pressed to your swollen nub.

"let go, sweetheart," he mumbled as he looked up at you. "c'mon. lemme feel you. i got you."

his voice was your final breaking point. he lapped at you again, his tongue moving in fast strokes, flattening out to press the drenched fabric deep into your aching folds.

"thaat's it... god, you're so wet," he groaned against your skin, his fingers digging into your hips to hold you still. "give it t'me, baby. let it out."

and then you were crashing over the edge. your back arched off the mattress, a loud, broken sob tearing from your throat as your orgasm hit you in violent waves. your hips jerked uncontrollably against his face. michael stayed buried right against you, lapping over your clit as he worked you through your cries, greedily drinking down every single drop of your release through your panties until your trembling thighs went slack.

the room fell silent again, save for the sound of your ragged breathing.

it wasn't like you didn't know any better. you knew that you weren't supposed to be doing this. but you just couldn't say no to him when he made you feel like this.

and his sweet words were like nectar in your ears, making it far too easy for him to turn wrong into right. if he wanted to push his excuses further, you were going to let him.

besides, you were already so wet, your slick coating your pussy, and he was still throbbing, rock hard and desperate against your hip. there wouldn't be any harm in helping him out too... right?

so when he crawled back up your body, peppering tender kisses over your cheeks, your nose, and your glossy lips, making you melt right into the mattress. he kissed you like you were something precious, his hands trembling as he shifted himself between your thighs.

"baby," he whispered against your mouth, his voice raspy with need as his fingers worked at his unbuckled belt, pulling his length free. "'m achin' so bad f'you. will y'let me jus..."

you were nodding even though he didn't even finish his sentence. he guided the broad head of his dick straight against your soaked panties. he dragged his length up and down the damp seam, pressing the wet cotton deeper into your puffy slit. you whimpered his name, your thighs trembling from how sensitive you still were from your orgasm.

michael moaned in response, his hips giving a gentle thrust into you. his dick ground right against your core, making you squirm under him. he continued his movement once more, dragging himself over your slick before his fingers reached down, hooking the damp elastic.

he pushed it to the side, exposing your bare cunt to the cool air. a quiet groan escaped him at the sight, his long fingers guiding his dick straight to your pussy. his thumbs pulled your folds apart, a string of slick catching and stretching between them before snapping, glistening under your bedroom light.

he bit his lip in concentration as he glided through your slick, letting out a shaky breath as his hot tip smeared up and down your aching folds.

you squirmed under his dark stare, feeling so exposed with the way he was looking down at you. "michael…" you whimpered, your thighs trying to press shut to hide yourself from him.

"no, no, baby, please don't hide." his hands flew straight to your thighs, pinning them open wide. his voice sounded pathetic as he looked down at you.

he guided his dick right back to your center, rubbing his shaft up and down into your folds. the hot tip caught right over your swollen clit, making your hips jerk into him. he bit his lip, his brows knit in concentration as he stared down at the filthy sight.

you lifted your head to look, letting out a soft mewl at the sight alone. his dick was so thick against you that your folds were barely visible underneath him, completely buried beneath his girth, which was probably why he had to pull you so far apart. both of you were so wet — a messy mix of your slick and his pre-cum coating his length and your skin until it looked like he’d already spent himself all over you.

he was hypnotized by it, and so were you.

his thumbs moved to press his dick firmly against your cunt, dragging it back and forth over your opening, and you gasped at the pressure. he was moaning so much you'd think he was actually inside you, his chest heaving as he worked himself against your wetness. he bit his bottom lip — feeling the overwhelming need to bite onto something, anything — as he gently guided the head of his dick through your silken, dripping folds, and oh—

his tip caught right on your drooling entrance, popping against your tight hole and making you buck up hard into him.

"o-oh god— baby," he breathed out, his whole body shaking.

he froze right there, dropping his forehead against your collarbone as he let out a long, ragged exhale. his hands squeezed your thighs, trying to ground himself and pull his head together.

"okay..." he muttered more to himself than to you, lifting his head to look down where he was pressed against you.

he started sliding his length up and down through your wet slit again, taking slow, careful strokes. he tried to keep it gentle, dragging his shaft over your folds, but you were driving him insane — your moans and how soaked you were. and with every slide down, the head of his dick kept nudging itself right into your wet opening.

the restraint barely lasted. his breathing went shallow, his chest heaving as the feeling of your slick on his dick wiped his mind clean. those slow glides turned into desperate, messy ruts before he even realized what he was doing.

his pace was speeding up. the head of his dickkept catching on your drooling entrance with every push, popping against the tight ring and threatening to slip in. your entrance was constricting around his sensitive tip as you bit down hard on your hand to muffle your loud mewls, but it was practically useless against the noises tearing from your throat.

"b-baby..." he choked out, his head dropping into the crook of your neck as he whimpered, his breath coming in hot, shallow hitches against your skin. "i-i can't... i can't—"

he squeezed your thighs tighter, his whole body shaking as he tried and failed to pull his hips back. he sounded out of breath, every word breaking apart in his throat as he dragged his wet head right over your swollen nub before pressing it right back against your tight opening.

"please, sweet girl... please jus'— jus' the tip?" his voice cracked, desperate against your skin as he practically sobbed the words out. "please let me jus' put the tip in."

you were already so dazed, your whole body aching for him. you brought your hands up to cup the back of his neck, your fingers tangling into his damp curls. you pulled him down closer, pressing your forehead against his as you let out a shaky sigh right against his mouth.

"o-okay, yeah, put it in," you whispered, your voice shaking as you spread your thighs just a little wider for him.

so he pulled his hips back slightly, the head of his dick barely hanging in before he pushed right back inside with a mewl. his hips slowly started moving back and forth, relishing the tight squeeze of your pussy gripping him every time he threatened to slip out.

but then he pushed forward just a bit more. you gasped at the new sensation rippling through you, a soft, wet squelch echoing between your thighs as he worked his tip in and out.

and of course, the fucking promise to wait flashed through your mind now of all times, but you couldn't help how good it felt to have his head stretching your walls. you couldn't help how your pussy was greedily sucking him in, only begging for more of him. you couldn't help the way your hips rolled up to swallow him deeper, or how your drooling center was coating his dick in your own slick.

michael was still trying so hard to fight his urges — desperate to keep his word and not push in more than the tip. but then your legs came up, wrapping around his waist and pulling him in deeper, shoving him further into your heat until both of you were gasping for air.

"s-shit, baby," he breathed straight against your lips, his whole body shuddering. your mind didn't even process the curse leaving his mouth — too overwhelmed by the fullness of him.

michael pulled back just enough to look at you, letting out a huff that was full of genuine disbelief. his cheeks were flushed dark, his eyes wide as he hovered over your face.

"did y'mean to do that?" he whispered as he looked down at where your ankles were locked around his waist.

heat rushed to your face. you bit your lip, unable to meet his gaze for a second before nodding softly. "i... i really want you, michael... so bad," you murmured, your voice barely above a breath.

the soft tone of your voice made his dick twitch against your walls. you bit back a tiny smile at the feeling, but he caught it anyway. he let out a quiet breath, a pretty, crooked smile spreading across his face. he bit down on his bottom lip, his eyes melting as they locked on yours.

"yeah?" he breathed. you nodded in response.

"can y'take the rest, baby?" he asked gently.

your brows furrowed in confusion. "the rest?"

you lifted your head, your eyes dropping down between your legs to see what he meant, and your jaw practically dropped. you froze as you realized he wasn't even halfway inside you. the girth of him had filled your entrance completely, so you'd assumed he was all the way in.

michael caught the exact moment it clicked in your head, letting out a soft chuckle. "oh, baby..." he cooed softly, his hand coming up to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone to soothe your wide-eyed shock.

"'s okay, sweet girl. 'm gonna go slow f'you, i promise. just tell me if it's too much."

you swallowed hard, your mind racing as you looked back up into his soft, reassuring eyes. you nodded, your fingers tightening around his shoulders. "okay... yeah."

he nodded back, taking in a steadying breath. holding your gaze, he tilted his pelvis forward and pushed deeper, burying another inch of his thick length inside you.

a gasp tore from your throat as your walls stretched wide around him, your hips twitching on instinct.

"still okay?" michael whispered, his voice straining as he held himself still.

"y-yeah... keep going," you whimpered out.

you couldn't bring yourself to look away. your eyes dropped back down, mesmerized as you watched the length of his dick slowly disappear bit by bit into your wet opening. the sight of it made your cunt flutter around him.

michael let out a whimper at the tight squeeze, his hips accidentally bucking forward harder than he intended. he sank another two inches deep into your core, and a broken whine slipped out of your lips at the fullness stretching you open.

his thumb reached down, finding your swollen clit and rubbing the sensitive nub to help ease the stretch. the sharp sting melted into liquid heat.

"better?" he rasped, his thumb working you in tight circles.

"y-yeah... god, yeah," you moaned out, your head rolling back against the pillow as the pleasure washed over you.

michael watched your face intently, tracking every small twitch, every sharp inhale, and the way your features contorted in pure bliss. holding your gaze, he slowly tilted his pelvis forward, pushing deeper into your cunt. inch by inch, his shaft buried itself past your walls, stretching you open until he finally bottomed out, his pelvis grinding flush against yours.

you let out a broken gasp, feeling him so deep inside you it felt like he was reaching all the way up into your chest.

his dick gave a twitch deep in your gut, and a shaky "g-god..." scraped out of his throat.

you looked up at him, expecting him to be looking at your face or down where your bodies connected, but his hooded eyes were glued to your lower stomach.

you followed his gaze and caught your breath. there was an unmistakable, raised bulge sitting against the skin of your lower belly — the prominent shape of his dick pressing outward from inside your body. you could literally see the outline of his head tenting your skin from within, proving just how ridiculously deep he was buried inside you.

michael traced his thumb lightly over the rounded rise on your tummy, his mouth hanging open in awe as his whole body shuddered on top of you.

"look at you…" he rasped. a breathless groan spilled past his lips as he nudged forward just a hair more, watching the bulge shift under your skin. "takin' every inch… gosh, such a good girl."

the stretch was overwhelming, an aching fullness that made your toes curl into the sheets. you reached down, covering his hand where it rested on your tummy, feeling the heat of his palm pressed right over the spot where he was plugged into you.

"michael, please..." you panted, your hips twitching helplessly under him. "move... please."

and who was he to deny you? he lifted his head, his eyes locking onto yours as he pulled back, slowly dragging his length almost all the way out until just his tip was resting against your entrance before he plunged right back in, burying himself all the way to his hilt with a wet slap.

a loud cry tore out of your chest as he bottomed out again, your walls clamping down tight around him.

his pace picked up as he started working his hips in long, deep rolls, every thrust grinding his pelvis against your clit while his dick stretched your tight cunt. the squelching sound of your slick filled the room, loud and messy — a rhythmic plap plap plap echoing off the walls every time his hips slammed flush against yours.

"so wet for me," he whimpered against your jaw, his lips dragging down your neck to leave messy kisses while his hips pounded steady into your lap. "y'take it so good, sweet girl... look how deep 'm in you..."

he pressed down firm on the bulge on your belly right as he thrust deep, pushing his palm right into the swell of skin. the extra pressure was too much, making your hips jerk clean off the mattress as you writhed under him. you reached down, your fingers trying to push his hand away from your tummy.

"d-don't run, baby," he rasped, catching your wrist and guiding your hand up to grip the pillow, making sure you had something to clutch as you tried to find leverage. "y'asked f'this, didn't you?"

he leaned down and pressed his mouth over yours, capturing your lips while his hips kept grinding deep, burying himself flush against your pussy. you let out a whimper against his tongue, helpless as he worked you back and forth.

you were so close to the edge, your walls began to flutter around him. he felt the squeeze of your pussy gripping his dick and let out a broken gasp into your mouth.

"oh-oh... y'close?" he breathed, pulling back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes wide and hooded. "y'gonna cum f'me again, baby?"

you nodded frantically.

"yeah? c'mon baby... please cum on my— oh," he begged, his voice breaking into a whimpering mess as he slammed his hips forward again. "yes, yes, please... 'need to feel it,"

the snap inside you had you feeling like you were on cloud nine, fireworks bursting behind your eyelids. your chest heaved, your voice so hoarse from screaming his name that your moans completely cut off into dry hitches. you couldn't even form a real sound as a wave tore through your core, your cunt violently gushing and squirting all over his dick, soaking his thighs and drenching the sheets beneath you.

michael felt the warm spray coat his dick, his dark eyes widening before he thrust even harder into your gushing warmth.

"o-oh... y-you're..." his breath hitched, his brain completely short-circuiting at the sight and feeling of you squirting all over him. his head dropped as he gripped your hips tighter. "oh god—"

"that's it, give it all to me," he rasped, his voice a broken mess in your ear.

your walls kept pulsing around him, milking every inch of his dick while you spurted everywhere. he tried to hold out, but the coil in his belly was too much to fight. his hips stuttered, a wrecked groan tearing from his chest as he shoved himself all the way in, burying his face in your neck as his body finally gave out.

with a stretched out whine, he came deep inside you. thick streams of his release flooded into your core, filling you to the brim until his dick was covered at the base.

he kept moving, taking slow, languid thrusts as he rode out his own high. his dick pushed his milky white seed in and out of your walls. with every slide, the mixture overflowed from your entrance, pooling between your thighs and dripping onto the sheets below.

his head was buried in the crook of your neck, his breath coming in ragged hitches against your skin while you both lay there catching your breath.

your hand moved up lazily, your fingers playing loosely with his curls as you stroked the back of his neck. the room was silent except for your panting, until a soft sniffle broke through the quiet.

your brows pulled together, your hand pausing in his hair. you gently pushed his shoulder back to see his face. "michael?" you whispered.

a single tear streak was glistening down his flushed cheek.

"were you crying?"

"no," he immediately mumbled, turning his head away and trying to hide his face in your neck while his hand came up to clumsily wipe at his eye. "n-no i wasn't."

a soft laugh bubbled up in your chest, and you tried to tilt his chin back up so you could actually look at him. he was so cute. "michael, look at me."

he let out a soft huff, his cheeks flushing. "i-i don't know," he confessed quietly. "it just... it felt really good."

you couldn't hide the smile spilling across your face if you tried, your heart melting at him.

"don't make fun of me," he whined softly, hiding his face behind his hands.

"'m not, i promise," you murmured gently. you reached up, gently pulling his hands away, and caught both sides of his face, your hands holding his cheeks as you pulled him back down to kiss him tenderly.

when you pulled back, his eyes fluttered open, looking up at you through his long lashes with so much affection that it made your head spin.

his arms tightened around your waist, pulling you flush against him, holding you so close that there wasn't an inch of space left between your bodies.

tomorrow, the reality of what you'd just done would catch up to him. tomorrow, the guilt would return, and he'd have to face the stained sheets and the fact that every lie he'd told himself to justify this was gone.

he knew it counted — it always counted, you both knew it.

but for now, the unsaid truth hung quietly in the air, pushed aside just for tonight while all that mattered was the warmth of your skin against his, and the sound of your soft breathing as he held you tight.

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───

oh hey guys.. how are we doing on this fine day

you'd felt the cold air of the room against your behind before you could even register that michael had taken your pants off your hips, sliding them down your legs and leaving them at your ankles. the same thing happened with your underwear, although that time you were painfully aware of the article of clothing being tugged down.

now, you're here, stuck in his lap, receiving your punishment.

you'd be less unnerved if he spoke, if he teased or mocked you. instead, he gives you nothing outside of his large hand against your ass, groping, squeezing, and then pulling away to deliver harsh slaps. it's an incredibly grueling pace, so slow, allowing the sting of each smack to linger. just when you think you can grit and bear the pain, he wordlessly delivers a new one to keep you on edge. sometimes, when you're lucky, michael delivers two smacks in a row— sometimes, even three!— quick, successive, just to see your ass jiggle and actively grow warm and raw beneath him. whenever you tense, he just pinches the meat of your butt, a silent instruction to stay nice and relaxed. as relaxed as you can be, anyway...

as your ass undergoes a few more slaps, you start to tear up, unable to stop yourself from succumbing to the pain. it wasn't just the sting of your butt, it was his silence. his refusal to give you anything more than this. "i'm really sorry," you hiccup out, keeping your head hung low, "baby— michael— i'm sorry, i won't do it again. please, i really am."

"you're really sorry?" he asks. you don't have to see him to know his lips are curled in a little smirk; his tone gives away the fact that he has no intentions on making you feel better. "really, really sorry?" michael's palm traces around the curve of your rear, smoothly gliding over all the skin he'd just terrorized.

"i'm really, really, really sorry," you nod through tears, your head flopping almost as desperation takes over, urging you to nod quickly.

he gives a small hum, sliding his hand from your ass cheek towards your cunt. his middle and index slide over soaked lips, spreading for a moment to smear your own wetness around. "you don't seem that sorry," he remarks, "you're completely soaked."

a whimper escapes you, your eyes closing before you let out a yelp— he'd smacked your pussy! the lips of it anyway, letting the new sound, a far damper slap, fill the room.

"look at that," michael murmurs, delivering another slap to your cunt, "i guess you can't see it... just listen, then." another slap, all far gentler than the ones to your ass, but no less stimulating, causing you to twitch along his thighs. it's not like you can move your legs much, especially with your underwear and pants still around your ankles, but your lower half still jerks, unused to the rough feeling in such a sensitive area.

"michael," you mewl, curling in on yourself momentarily before he coaxes you down, finally using a sweeter touch on you. his fingers press lightly, then move in careful circles around your poor pussy, easing your body into a hesitantly relaxed state. "please..."

"are you begging me to stop or begging me to keep going?" he questions, letting his hand pause just for a second. when your body ruts against his still hand, clit dragging against his finger pads, michael seems to finally give in, letting his fingers spread your lips and glide inside. he stretches your insides slowly, feeling your heat flutter and squeeze around his fingers... then, just as slowly, he slides them back out, chuckling and letting his fingers pat lightly against your pussy lips. "i'll stop here," he decides, "but you're still on punishment. you'll have to finish yourself, since you're so independent."

"nooo..." you whine, shaking your head. your gaze lifts, and this time he doesn't stop you, allowing you to see the satisfied look on his face.

"aww, don't look so sad," he coos, "you're a big girl, you've done it before." his head tilts, a new thought coming to mind as he helps you into a new position, now facing him as you sit in his lap, your raw, bare ass cheeks against his thighs as your underwear and pants lay discarded to the side. "look at me while you do it," michael instructs, one hand holding your lower back while the other holds your wrist, guiding your hand down your stomach.

your fingertips trail gently on their way down, manicured-nails trembling against heated skin until you reach your entrance. "michael, i'm sorry," you try one more time, looking up at him with glossy eyes through your lashes.

michael, however, remains unmoved. "go on." it's more a taunt than encouragement, his eyes focused on yours as you swallow and gradually start to touch yourself. "that's it," he whispers, "don't be shy... just like that... make yourself sing for me, baby..."

looking for more?

i'm unfortunately thinking this is going to be the only thing i post today. i got rear ended last night & hit my head against my steering wheel and it still hurts LOL but my car's fine thank god. but as you can imagine it's hard to focus atm. if there's typos, i'm so sorry. ok i hope you all enjoy and umm apologies but expect 2 the rest of the week <3 i used a read more for this just bc he is kind of mean and it is intense(?) and also kind of longer than my usual bs but that means the pics wldnt work... this place is a prison. so sorry for no pics but it had to be done ultimately.