THE OG PYT

Your hair catches against the glowing light, long eyelashes shadowing your cheeks and plump lips parted slightly with every small breath. Peaceful and serene. His beautiful girl right beside him. Completely at ease within his presence and trusting enough to let him have his arms wrapped around her through the night.

Your skin is soft beneath his fingertips when he grazes them up and down your bare arm, still acknowledging how you’re asleep. You don’t stir when his fingers trail to your shoulder, drifting to your hair to tuck away the strands that brush your temples behind your ear. You’re faced away from him, your back nestled against his bare chest and your warmth radiating comfort and closeness.

The two of you only began dating recently but Michael is sure that you’re the only one for him. He’s in love, and he told you that only a few weeks into your relationship. Everything about you is seemingly perfect. Your graceful movements, your bright smile and laughter, your occasional snorts and annoyance from his gentle teasing. Your selfless nature and willingness to help others when in need. Your admiration for his success and efforts within the industry.

You are his woman. The lady in his life. The only one he needs.

He groans softly when he feels you push against him in your sleep, and only then he registers your lower half pressed up against his hard on. It’s not uncommon for him to wake up in such a state — in fact it’s almost every morning — but it’s even more grueling to have you right beside him, tempting like a hot fudge sundae that’ll melt across his tongue the moment he takes a bite. Your skin is smooth and your moans are lucid, dripping past your lips to edge him on with tender praises tangled in between.

He loves to pleasure you. He loves to see you in a state of ecstasy. He loves the quiet hair tugs that grow needier with the moments that pass of him teasing, or the small begs for him to just give you what you need most when he drags on foreplay. You’re like music to his ears. His muse. His love.

He hums when his hand trails down, finding your hip beneath the tousled sheets and squeezing carefully only to pull you back slightly, finding a hint of relief in your body pressed up against his. He finds you stirring again, as though responding to his touch beneath the weight of sleep, and the thought of it turns him on even more.

He shifts a little to pull you onto your back. Your eyes are still shut, and gentle breaths continue to slip past your lips as his hand smoothes over your lower belly, grazing the patch of skin exposed beneath your shirt, fingertips edging down closer and closer to your panties before his hand slips inside. He dips a finger between your folds with ease, lowering to your entrance to barely insert a finger yet finding your wetness continuing to grow with every passing second. His jaw drops slightly at the thought of you getting wet for him even in your sleep, the thought of you continuously keeping him on your mind and possibly even dreaming about him when he’s right there with you.

“Think ‘m goin’ crazy,” he mutters to himself. His hand slips out from your underwear and his head falls back against the pillows as he registers your state beside him. You’re asleep, and normally you wake long after he does, after he’s showered and gotten dressed for the day to find you calling and coaxing him back to bed for a few more cuddles. But right now, with how beautiful you glow beneath the morning light, his desires can’t help but take control of his actions.

He stares at you for a moment longer before he’s shifting once more, ducking his head beneath the sheets and rolling over your lower body. Your cotton panties slip down with ease when he tugs on them, guiding them down your smooth legs to your calves before tearing them away. Then he bends your knees, his arms scooping beneath your thighs to hold you in place as he faces you straight on. Just enough light seeps through the covers for him to capture your arousal waiting for his attention, and his crotch presses against the mattress, grinding down with a chase of his own desire.

But you first. Always you. 

He’s certain you’re still asleep when he presses a soft kiss to your mound. Then one slightly lower, then one just at the dip of your opening, right above your clit. He blows cool air onto your slickness and feels you shift slightly upon its impact, only for him to smile at your response. “Hm, my precious girl.”

Then he begins. His tongue begins at your entrance to swipe a slow, fat stroke up to your clit, registering your taste on his tongue with a pleasant hum before he’s repeating his action, yet this time not stopping once he reaches your clit. His tongue swirls around your sensitivity slowly, his breath warm against your heat before his lips latch on and he begins to suck. You’re startled with a gasp, a jolt of pleasure shooting up your spine and into the back of your head to pry your eyes open and to the sight below you. You find his head buried beneath the sheets, nestled between your legs with his tongue on your slit.

“Oh, Michael.” Your head tips back with a moan of his name before you’re ripping the sheets away from your figure, finding the exact sight before you. His lips work on sucking at your clit with the exact right amount of pressure but enough to have you bucking your hips against his mouth for more. “Oh, fuck.”

“Good morning, my pretty girl.” The vibrations of his slightly rough morning voice send a shiver up your spine. He readjusts his hold, guiding your legs over his shoulders to give him more and closer access. “Hm, missed you so much.”

But there’s no time for you to respond as he dives forward, tongue seeping into your entrance as he begins to move with faster strokes. He zigzags up your expanse, drawing out your juices mixed with his saliva to circling and sucking on your clit. The sound of wet skin and puckering fills the room, mingled with your gradual moans that have you grasping at anything you can get a hold of — the sheets beside you, the multitude of pillows, then his soft curls that disappear between your legs.

“So, so pretty,” he mumbles against your skin between his licks. “My girl. Wanted to do this for so long.” His fingers dig into the skin of your thighs but hold you upright as his tongue moves back and forth before puckering against your sensitivity, drawing out a long moan from you and a cry when you feel the need for him at your entrance. He registers your neediness immediately. “Patience, my love. I’ll give it to you. Everything.”

Your head falls back against the sheets, your back arching with every movement of his tongue against you. He feels so good. And he does it so right. Every single time. He knows where to touch and what you need most. He knows where you feel pleasure and what the cues are for your release. The fact that you get to wake up in the morning to such a sight simply has you wishing that this will never end.

His tongue drives far into your entrance, between your slick walls as he eats at you with progressive speed. Your hands push him further towards you, if even possible, your hips rocking and his nose bumping against your clit with every movement. “Michael, I need you baby.”

“I know you do.” His response is instant, his mouth never leaving your heat as his hand smoothes down your ass from your hip for his fingers to poke at your entrance. Then he slips two inside, long and deep into your core that only has you crying out again with pleasure. He twists them around before they face up, and he finally peers over at you to find your head fallen back against the pillows, your chest heaving with urgent breaths. “Look at me, baby.”

When you manage to lift your head, heavy and flooded with desire, you find his gaze locked on yours as he begins to pump his fingers inside of you, swirling to find that one spot that has your toes curling and and your head falling back once again. “Look at me.”

“I-I can’t—fuck!” You’re crying out with the motion of his fingers before his lips wrap around your clit to suck. He moves between sucking and licking, trailing down towards your entrance where his fingers pump with incredible speed before back up again. All of it feels amazing. All of it has him working harder, your eyes fluttering shut when you begin to feel a knot building up in your stomach. “Baby, I’m gonna—“

“Look at me.” 

His words are sharper than before and you manage to pull your head from the pillows once again, meeting his innocent eyes in contrast to his dirty actions that only adds further to the knot building in your stomach. You position yourself to lean back on your forearms for a clearer view, hair sticking to your temples and eyes threatening to slip shut as your moans grow louder.

And then it snaps. 

Your release is followed by a loud cry, a crashing wave of ecstasy that begins in your core and spreads throughout every limb in your body. It has you writhing in his grasp along with a string of moans and curses followed by his name. His fingers continue to pump inside you, riding out your climax and slowing as you finally settle in its aftermath. Your head drops, body going limp, hair tickling the pillow behind you as Michael gazes up at your glowing body. Your hardened nipples beneath your soft sleep shirt, the sweat dancing across your exposed neck and laboured breaths.

Michael removes his fingers, slowly, and you look down at him to find him shifting upwards, lips plump and moist with your arousal as he sucks both fingers into his mouth with a hum of approval. Your jaw drops at the sight before he moves closer, leaning on his hands to hover above you.

Bending down, he attaches your lips with ease. His tongue darts out and against yours to give you a taste of yourself, and you lower flat onto your back with your arms looping around his neck to pull him close. You move slowly in comparison to his lips a few moments ago, drawing in the sensations of a good morning.

He’s the first to pull back, peeking down at you with passion and love. “Hm, y’taste so sweet. Can never get enough.”

You giggle in response, hands threading into his soft and untamed curls to scratch softly against his scalp. “Good morning to you too.”

Then his eyes flick with what you know as mischief, a grin spreading across his face before he drops down to press his weight against you. Your mouth falls at the feeling of his rock hard length pressing up against your sensitivity. “Round two?”

you had been waiting for a night like this one for what felt like an eternity.

not dramatically. just in the quiet, constant way that had become familiar over the past couple of months. the low ache under your ribs every time he left for the studio with that soft, almost apologetic look and the same request: “stay tonight, please.”

he always asked. even when he already knew he would barely see you. even when the album was eating up every free hour, he asked, as if the house needed your body in it to keep from becoming completely empty… and you kept saying yes. you slept in his bed more nights than not. you learned the particular silence of neverland after dark when the staff had gone and the only sound left was the distant ticks of clocks scattered throughout the property.

the rooms stayed too quiet. your own footsteps started to sound wrong in the long hallways. you had begun leaving lights on in places you didn’t need them, just so the dark wouldn’t feel so absolute when he still wasn’t home.

tonight was supposed to be different.

michael had dismissed the staff early. the main house settled into that rare, soft quiet that only happened when he decided the world could wait. dinner was simple and late. you sat across from him at the small table near the windows as the last light drained from the sky. he barely ate. mostly he moved the food around with his fork, offering you small, tired smiles that reached his eyes for a second before the fatigue took him somewhere else.

the room was quiet enough that you could hear the soft scrape of his fork against the plate. you watched the way his shoulders stayed slightly hunched, the way his attention kept drifting past the glass into whatever version of the album was living behind his eyes. the silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable. it was just familiar. the kind that had been growing for months. the kind that made you feel like you were sitting with a memory of him instead of the real thing.

you tried not to fill it. you had learned that filling the silence only made him retreat further.

afterward, you followed him into the sitting room without asking. he dropped onto the long couch with a low exhale that sounded like it had been waiting to escape all day. you curled into his side immediately, tucking your bare feet under his thigh the way you always did when you needed to get as close as possible. he let you. the couch was soft and deep, the fabric worn smooth under your bare legs. his body was warm against you, but the rest of the room felt cool.

after a while, his hand came down to settle at the curve of your neck, thumb stroking once, absently. the heat of his palm against your skin felt like the first real thing that had happened all evening.

he put on a charlie chaplin film. the black and white picture flickered in the corner in silence. normally he watched these with a quiet, almost boyish delight. tonight his gaze rested on the screen without really seeing it. he didn’t smile at the parts he usually smiled at. he just sat there, warm and solid against you, present in body yet somewhere else entirely in his head.

you stayed quiet for as long as you could stand it, breathing in the faint trace of cologne that still clung to his shirt. your fingers traced slow patterns over his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing, the steady beat of his heart under the soft fabric. almost no real time with him had left you starving for exactly this. the weight of his arm. the sound of his breathing. the simplicity of him not moving away.

you pressed closer and turned your face into the warm skin on the side of his neck, and michael tipped his head just enough to give you more of it. when you placed a soft kiss there, his hand tightened briefly in your hair. a small, instinctive response that made something in your chest loosen for a second.

but he still wasn’t laughing at the film.

the longer you sat there, the more you noticed the tiny absences. the way his fingers would still completely in your hair for several seconds at a time, like his mind had left the room. the way his breathing would go slightly shallow, then deepen again when he came back. those small disappearances hurt more than the longer ones. they made you feel like you were holding onto someone who was already halfway gone, even while his arm stayed around you. you had been living inside that feeling for months; invited to stay, asked to be here, and then left reaching for someone who was only partly present.

you tried again. you shifted closer, sliding one hand up to rest against the side of his face. he leaned into the touch for a moment, eyes still on the screen.

he didn’t come back.

after another few minutes, you lifted your head enough to look at him properly.

“you okay?” you asked softly.

michael blinked like the question had pulled him back from somewhere far away. he looked down at you, and the smile he gave you then was real. small, but real.

“just tired,” he said. his voice was low and rough around the edges. “long couple of weeks.”

you nodded against his shoulder even though the answer didn’t fully settle.

you settled back against him and let the film keep playing. his fingers resumed their slow path through your hair. you kept your face tucked against his chest and tried to memorize the feeling of finally having him still for more than ten consecutive minutes.

the chaplin film ended. michael got up to put on another one without asking. the second film started. the light from the screen flickered across the side of his face. you watched him for a while instead of the picture, studying the tired line of his mouth, the way his lashes sat against his cheek when he blinked too slowly. he was beautiful in the low light. he was also somewhere else. you reached for his hand where it rested on his thigh and laced your fingers through his. he let you. his thumb stroked once over your knuckles and then went still again.

you stayed like that longer than you expected, holding his hand and listening to him breathe and trying not to need more than he was giving. the desperation sat right under your skin, quiet and constant. you wanted him to look at you the way he used to before the album swallowed everything. you wanted him to laugh at the film. you wanted him to pull you closer like he meant it instead of like he was simply allowing it. you wanted, more than anything, to feel chosen instead of allowed.

eventually he pressed a brief kiss to the top of your head and sat forward with a quiet sound of reluctance.

“i need to finish one thing in the office before bed,” he said. his voice was almost apologetic. “give me a little bit, baby. i won’t be long, i promise.”

you nodded even as something in your stomach tightened. he stood, and the sudden loss of his warmth left the couch feeling too big. you watched him walk to the doorway without looking back. the sound of his footsteps faded down the hall.

you sat alone on the couch for a long time after that, while the film kept playing to no one. you could still feel the place where his hand had rested in your hair. you could still feel the shape of his fingers between yours. the longer you stayed, the more the quiet started to press in. the house felt larger again. the rooms beyond the sitting room seemed to stretch farther than they had a few hours ago. you thought about getting up and going to bed. you thought about waiting right there on the couch until he came back. neither option felt right.

eventually you stood and walked back to the bedroom.

his large black shirt was draped over the chair where he had left it earlier. you pulled it on without thinking. the fabric was soft and worn and still held the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the clean soap he used. it hung to your knees and slipped off one shoulder the way it always did. you weren’t wearing anything underneath. you climbed into the big bed, sat against the headboard, and tried to wait.

twenty minutes later, the restlessness won.

you decided you were going to find him. you were going to walk down the long hallway in nothing but his shirt, push the office door open, and climb into his lap before he could finish whatever was keeping him from coming back to you. you wanted to take his mind off whatever had been sitting so heavy on him all night. you wanted his hands under the hem. you wanted the low sound he made when he realized you were already bare for him. you wanted to be the thing that pulled him out of the fog, even if only for a little while, even if he went right back into it afterward.

you needed it more than you wanted to admit, so you left the bedroom with the decision still warm in your chest.

the only light in the hallway leaving his bedroom came from the small nightlights left on low, the way the staff always left them. neverland at this hour felt like a held breath. vast and completely still. your bare feet were quiet on the carpet. his oversized shirt brushed against your legs as you walked, the cool breeze from your movement sliding under the hem and teasing the soft skin of your inner thighs.

with every step you took, the more the image of him brushing his fingers up your soft thighs and touching your aching heat filled your mind.

the thought of it made the anticipation and hope sharper, and more desperate at the same time. you told yourself he would look up when you opened the door. you told yourself that if you could just get close enough, if you could get his hands under the shirt, you could still be the thing that brought him the rest of the way home.

the office door was closed, but not all the way. a thin line of warmer light spilled into the hallway.

and then you heard his voice.

it was soft.

not the voice he used with the engineers, or the dancers, or the people who needed something from him. this was the private register, the one that only came out when the armor was off and he thought no one was listening. it was lower. warmer. there was a quiet almost-laugh in it, the kind he rarely gave you anymore.

“…no, it’s better now,” michael said, and the fondness in it made something cold slide under your chest. “you were right about the layering. i didn’t hear it until you said it.”

a pause. the soft creak of his chair. the quiet shift of fabric as he settled deeper into it.

“it’s so good talking to you.” another quiet breath, almost like relief. “yeah. i needed that.”

the words were simple. they shouldn’t have gutted you. but the way he said them, like whatever was on the other end of the line was giving him something he couldn’t get from you, made your stomach drop so hard you felt dizzy. your fingers tightened in the hem of his shirt. the hallway suddenly felt too narrow.

you didn’t stay for more.

you turned around before he could hang up, before the softness could turn into goodbye, before you heard his actual laugh. his shirt against your skin felt heavier with every step. the air in the hallway felt thinner. by the time you reached the bedroom again, your pulse was loud in your ears.

you climbed back into the bed the way you had left it. you sat against the headboard and pulled the shirt down over your thighs, smoothing the soft black fabric as if it could somehow cover what you had just heard. the residual cold in your chest hadn’t left. it sat there quietly, waiting, spreading. you could still hear the soft shape of his voice in your head. the words kept replaying, gentle and private and not meant for you.

the clock on his nightstand read 1:51 when you heard his footsteps coming down the hall.

he pushed the door open quietly, the way he always did when he thought you might already be asleep. he was still in the black sweatpants from after dinner, the long-sleeved shirt pushed up to his elbows. his small cell phone was in his hand. he walked straight to the nightstand, set it face down on the wood with a soft click, and then looked at you.

“you’re still up.”

his voice was normal again. the private softness was gone, scrubbed clean. the contrast made your throat tighten.

“couldn’t sleep,” you said. your own voice came out thinner than you wanted. smaller.

he nodded once, reached up and dragged a hand through his long dark hair, then glanced toward the bathroom.

“i’m gonna take a two minute shower,” he said. “then bed?”

there was no real question in it. no pause to see if you needed anything. he was already turning away. you watched him walk into the bathroom. you listened to the door click shut. you listened to the water start. the sound of it filled the room and somehow made the silence between you feel even larger.

the phone was right there on the nightstand.

you stared at it. the way it sat so casually where he had left it, as if there was nothing on it that could hurt you. the water continued to run. your pulse continued to climb. the twisting feeling in your stomach continued to settle deeper.

you lasted eleven seconds.

your fingers closed around it before the decision finished forming. you touched the tiny keyboard, causing the small green-tinted screen to light up, bright in the low light of the lamp. the call log was still open, like he never bothered to close it. like it hadn’t occurred to him that anyone might look.

elena.  

outgoing.  

1:06 a.m. – 1:47 a.m.  

41 minutes.

it sat there clean and undeniable. forty-one minutes of the soft voice you had just overheard. forty-one minutes of it’s good talking to you, and i needed that while you were down the hall in his shirt, planning to climb into his lap and pull him back to you. while you had been telling yourself that tonight was different, that if you were just patient enough and soft enough the distance might finally loosen its grip, but he had found whatever he needed in someone else’s voice.

you sat there with the phone in your hand, your favorite shirt of his hanging off one shoulder, the entire quiet weight of neverland pressing in through the windows. the hurt was no longer sharp. it had become something heavier, something that lived in your chest and made breathing feel like work.

you set the phone back down exactly where he had left it: face down, slightly angled toward the lamp, like nothing had been touched. your hands were steady when you did it. they only started shaking after the screen went dark and the evidence was hidden again.

you sat up against the headboard and waited. the shirt still smelled like him. the fabric had gone slightly warm from your skin. the only sound was the water running in the bathroom, steady and distant.

after another minute, the water shut off. there was the soft sound of the shower door opening, the rustle of a towel being pulled from the rack, the quiet pad of his bare feet on the tile. then the bathroom door opened, and the warmer light spilled into the bedroom for a second before he stepped through and closed it behind him.

he was wearing only a large towel. it hung low on his hips, knotted carelessly on one side. his hair was longer than it had been the year before, the soft dark curls still wet and clinging to the back of his neck and the sharp line of his jaw. tiny beads of water tracked down the center of his chest, eventually disappearing underneath the towel. the scent of his soap moved into the room with him; clean and familiar. the same scent that usually made you want to press your face into his neck.

he looked at you immediately, and whatever your face showed made him pause for half a second in the doorway.

he didn’t ask right away.

he walked to the dresser, opened the second drawer, and pulled out a pair of soft black pajama pants. he turned slightly toward you as he loosened the towel, dropping it to the floor without a second thought. he stepped into the pants bare, pulled them up over his hips, and tied the drawstring with slow, deliberate movements. only when the knot was finished did he glance over at you again.

his voice was quiet. careful.

“you okay?”

the question sat in the air between you for a long moment.

you looked at him, and the soft voice you had overheard in the hallway rose in your throat like something you might choke on.

“who’s elena?”

he went still.

not the sharp, defensive stillness of someone already prepared for a fight. this was slower. genuine surprise first, then something that looked almost like disbelief.

“what?”

“elena,” you repeated. your voice came out thinner than you wanted. “you were on the phone with her for forty-one minutes. who is she?”

his eyes moved from your face to the phone on the nightstand and back again. he didn’t pretend not to understand.

“you went through my phone.”

it wasn’t a question.

“yes,” you said flatly. “it was eating me alive. i had to know who you were speaking to like that.”

“speaking like…” he said it slowly, like he was still putting the pieces together. “you listened? you stood out there and listened to my conversation.”

you didn’t deny it.

something shifted in his expression. the surprise was still there, but anger was moving in underneath it now, cleaner and sharper than the earlier tiredness. he took a step closer to the bed, then stopped.

“i already have to worry about everyone else invading every private second of my life,” he said, voice low. “now i have to worry about you doing it too?”

“you lied to me,” you spit out.

“i told you i needed to finish one thing—”

“you didn’t mention you were going to call another woman in the middle of the night,” you pushed the covers the rest of the way off your legs and sat forward. the shirt slid further down one shoulder. “that’s a lie by omission, and you know it.”

he was stopped at the foot of the bed. close enough that you could see the last drops of water still clinging to his collarbone. close enough that the clean scent of his soap reached you again. the air between you felt tight, almost warm from how close he was standing. you could hear the soft, controlled sound of his breathing. the lamp on the nightstand threw a low gold light across the side of his face, catching on the damp ends of his hair.

the proximity made it worse. your body still wanted him even while your chest felt tight with anger. you hated that most of all.

“i didn’t lie.”

“you did.” the words came out harder this time.

he exhaled through his nose. the sound was pure irritation.

“you’re exhausting when you’re like this.”

“i’m exhausting because i don’t like being lied to?”

“you’re exhausting because you invent problems when there aren’t any and then force me to stand here and defend myself against your imagination.”

you swung your legs over the side of the bed and stood. the shirt fell to your knees again. you felt completely exposed under it. bare. small. ridiculous.

“my imagination,” you repeated. “that’s what we’re calling the call log now.”

“the call happened. the meaning you’re giving it didn’t.” he paused, dragging his hand across his jaw in frustration. “you went through my phone. you stood outside my door and eavesdropped on my conversation. and now you’re sitting there looking at me like i did something to you.” his voice stayed low, but there was real heat in it now. “what exactly do you think happened, huh? what story did you convince yourself of while you were going through my things?”

“i don’t know,” you said, the words coming out thinner than you wanted. “i just know it didn’t sound like nothing. you were soft with her. i could hear it in your voice. you laughed at something she said like it was easy. forty-one minutes of easy.”

for a second, he only stared at you. the irritation was still there, but something more focused moved in underneath it. like he was forcing himself back into order.

“she’s someone i’ve known a long time. longer than i’ve known you,” he said finally. “she’s helping with some of the vocal ideas. that’s all. it was nothing. it was work.”

you let out a short, humorless breath.

“that wasn’t a work call.”

his eyes narrowed.

“yes, it was.”

“no.” your voice had gone quieter, but it was harder now. “that was a relief call. that was you needing a break from me. you called her because you didn’t want to deal with whatever this is right now. you didn’t call her about a song. you called her because you needed to talk to someone who doesn’t make you feel the way i do.”

the words sat in the air between you.

you watched them land. watched the way his expression tightened, then closed.

“you have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said.

you let out an air-filled laugh. his shirt had slipped further down your shoulder. you didn’t fix it.

“then explain it to me,” you said. “explain why you needed forty-one minutes with someone else at almost two in the morning. explain why you can be soft with her and then come in here and go cold again. explain why the second things get quiet you go looking for someone who isn’t me.”

his jaw flexed. the muscle jumped under the skin.

“you’re really doing this again?” he asked. the control was starting to fray. “every time i take one breath that isn’t about you, you decide it means something. i needed to talk to someone who wasn’t already waiting to turn every little thing into a problem.”

“someone easier. someone who doesn’t see you.”

the words came out quieter than the ones before them. they still landed.

he went still.

“that’s what this is,” you continued. your voice had started to shake, and you hated it. “you let me close enough to see how lonely you are and then you punish me for seeing it. you go looking for someone who doesn’t know the weight of you. someone easier. someone who doesn’t notice when you disappear.”

“stop.”

“no.” you took a step closer. the floorboard under the edge of the rug creaked. “i think i’m the only person who actually sees you, and it scares the shit out of you. so you go find someone who doesn’t care enough to notice.”

for a second, the only sound in the room was the faint tick of the clock and the wind moving against the large windows of his bedroom. you watched the words hit him.

when he spoke again, his voice was lower. colder.

“you think you understand me. you think because i let you into my bed and my schedule and the private parts of this life that you somehow earned the right to diagnose me. the right to invade my privacy.” his eyes had gone dark. “you went looking for a reason to be angry, and then you made one up out of thin air. that’s not me leaving. that’s on you.”

he let out a short, angry breath.

you watched the way his jaw tightened, the way something cold and final settled behind his eyes. whatever he was about to say, you could already feel it cutting.

“it’s immature,” he said. “going through my phone, standing outside the door listening. turning one conversation into some big betrayal. it’s immature, and it’s exhausting.”

the words hit with enough force that your ears rang for a second.

“fuck you,” you said.

the two words came out quiet and precise.

he blinked once, like he hadn’t expected them. then something in his expression shifted; not softer. darker. the kind of focus that made the air in the room feel thinner.

“say that again,” he said.

your pulse was already too high. the anger was still there, hot and sharp, but underneath it something else had started to move, something that had been sitting under the entire fight, waiting.

“fuck. you.”

he closed the space between you in two slow steps, arriving so close that you had to tip your head back to keep looking at him. the warm scent of his skin hit you like a freight train. you hated how much your body still reacted to it. you hadn’t felt this much of his attention in weeks. the type of attention that was charged and locked completely on you; it made your composure crumble.

your breath had gone shallow. you felt it happen, and you couldn’t stop it. the small, traitorous catch in your chest, the way your thighs pressed together under his shirt for half a second before you forced them still. heat had already started gathering low in your stomach, slow and heavy, and the thin fabric of the shirt suddenly felt too rough against your skin.

your pulse was visible in your throat. when you swallowed, the sound was soft but unmistakable in the quiet room. his eyes flicked down, tracking all of it. the tight breath, the shift of your thighs, the way your nipples had gone tight under the soft black cotton… and when they came back up, something darker had settled in them.

“you’re shaking,” he said quietly.

“i’m angry.”

“is that what we’re calling it?” he murmured. his eyes dropped to your mouth for a second, then came back. “interesting.”

for a second, neither of you moved. the fight was still all over both of you. every accusation. every wound. it had nowhere left to go, except into the small amount of space still left between your bodies.

his hand came up, not fast, and he brushed his knuckles along the edge of the shirt where it had slipped off your shoulder, watching the path of his own fingers like he was deciding something. the contact was light, but it still sent a slow current straight down your spine.

“you want to keep fighting,” he said, voice rough now, “or do you want me to shut you up?” his hand slid from your shoulder up the side of your neck, thumb resting against your pulse so he could feel exactly how fast it was going.

the question was filthy in its simplicity. the heat flared low in your stomach, sharp and completely honest. you hated that he could still do this to you. you hated that the answer was already in your body before it reached your mouth.

he moved his thumb over your pulse slowly, and when you didn’t back away, he tightened his hand slightly, just enough to drag you forward by his grip on the side of your neck until your mouths collided. the kiss was nothing like the ones he’d given you when he was being soft or careful. it was all teeth and leftover venom from the fight.

he walked you backward without breaking the kiss, one hand locked on your throat, the other shoved under the hem of his shirt to grab onto your bare hip. your shoulder blades hit the cool glass of the window with enough force to knock a small sound out of you. the temperature contrast made you shiver: the chilled surface against your back, the heat of his bare chest sealing you in from the front.

you made a small, broken sound against his lips and he answered it by pushing closer, tightening his grip on your waist and pulling you flush against him. you could feel how hard he already was. the knowledge sent another pulse of heat between your legs, humiliating and electric.

the anger was still sitting under your skin, sharp and useless, while your body opened for him like it had been waiting for exactly this.

his hand on your hip moved to find you completely bare underneath the shirt. two of his long fingers slid between your legs without any warning, and the sound he made when he felt how wet you already were was filthy. low. almost disgusted with how much he liked it.

“jesus christ. you’re soaked. standing here calling me a liar meanwhile you were dripping down your thighs for me.”

he didn’t ease into it. he pushed those two fingers inside you in one thick, deliberate stroke and curled them hard against the front wall. your head knocked back against the glass with a soft thud. a choked, helpless noise left your throat before you could swallow it.

“that’s it,” he said, voice low and mean right against your cheek. “make that noise again. let me hear what all that righteous anger sounds like when i’ve got my fingers buried inside you.”

he fucked you with his hand right there against the window, rough and relentless, the slick, filthy sound of it loud in the quiet room. the heel of his palm ground against your clit on every inward thrust. his other hand stayed on your throat the entire time, thumb stroking the frantic pulse under your jaw.

“you went through my phone,” he said, almost conversational, while his fingers kept working you open with that same punishing rhythm. “stood there looking at me like i betrayed you. and look at you now. spreading your legs the second i touch you. dripping down my wrist.”

you tried to speak. it came out as a moan that cracked in the middle. he laughed under his breath, dark and satisfied. he pulled his fingers out slowly so you could feel every inch of the loss. they were shiny under the low lamplight, coated in you. he lifted them between your faces so you had no choice but to see.

“open.”

you did. without hesitation. he pushed both fingers into your mouth, and you tasted yourself. he watched your lips close around them with an expression of pure possession.

“suck. taste how wet you got while you were calling me lonely.”

you obeyed even while a tiny part of you still wanted to scream at him. the contradiction sat heavy in your chest as you sucked his fingers, tongue working between them. a thin strand of saliva connected his fingers to your bottom lip when he finally pulled them free. he wiped it across your mouth with his thumb and then kissed you again, deep and claiming, tasting yourself on your own tongue.

while his mouth was still on yours, you dropped. your knees hit the carpet, soft but sudden. you kept your eyes on his as you reached up, fingers hooking into the waistband of his pajama pants. you dragged them down his hips, freeing his hard and thick cock, which was already leaking a clear bead at the tip.

he looked down at you for a long second, something dark and approving moving behind his eyes.

“such a good girl,” he said, voice low and rough. “didn’t even need to tell you. so eager for me.”

one hand came to the side of your face, thumb brushing once along your cheek before settling under your jaw, tipping your head back just enough. he pushed his cock between your lips with a low, controlled exhale. the stretch of your mouth around the thickest part of him burned in the best way. he groaned at the feeling. low, almost pained, and the sound went straight between your legs, another pulse of wetness slipping out of you.

he held you there, nose pressed to the warm skin of his stomach, until your eyes watered and your throat fluttered around him. only then did he pull back just enough to let you drag in a rough breath before pushing in again. the rhythm he set was deliberate and deep from the start. spit started to run down your chin. your eyes kept watering. he never looked away from your face.

“that’s it,” he said above you, voice rough and strained. “just like that. look at you… so fucking perfect like this.”

tears slipped from the corners of your eyes and tracked down toward your temples. he wiped one away with his thumb without ever slowing the pace of his hips, the gentleness of the gesture completely at odds with how deep he was pushing into your throat. the contrast made your heart rate skyrocket. you hollowed your cheeks and took him deeper on the next stroke, just to hear the way his breath stuttered.

he pulled out suddenly. a thin, glistening string of spit connected your bottom lip to the head of his cock for a second before it broke and fell. you were gasping, chin wet, lips swollen and red. he was breathing hard too, chest rising and falling, the earlier anger still sitting under the surface but softened now into something hungrier.

“get on the bed.”

he stood over you while you climbed onto the bed with shaky legs, still breathing hard, the taste of him thick on your tongue. you scooted back toward the middle of the mattress, the oversized shirt riding up your thighs. he watched every movement like he was deciding how much of the fight he still wanted to punish out of you.

“lie back.”

you did, but slower than he wanted. a small, stubborn delay. his eyes narrowed.

he climbed onto the bed after you, knees spreading your legs open as wide as they could go. the shirt was still on. he didn’t take it off. he just shoved the fabric up past your hips and left it bunched under your breasts, so you stayed half-covered, and somehow more exposed by it. one hand pinned your thigh open. the other wrapped around the base of his cock, stroking once, slow, watching your face.

“still angry?” he asked, voice low.

you swallowed.

“yes.”

“good.” he dragged the head of his cock through the mess between your legs, coating himself in how wet you still were. “stay angry. i want to feel it when i fuck it out of you.”

he lined himself up and drove into you in one long, brutal stroke that punched the air straight out of your lungs. the stretch was sudden and perfect and almost too much. your back arched hard off the mattress, and a high, cracked sound tore out of you before you could stop it. he didn’t give you time to adjust. he set a hard, deep rhythm immediately, hips snapping forward like he was still answering every accusation you’d thrown at him.

“fuck. there it is. that’s the noise i wanted.” he pulled almost all the way out so you felt the drag of every ridge and vein, then slammed back in hard enough that the bed frame knocked against the wall. “still think i’m lonely? still think i need somebody else when i’ve got this tight little pussy wrapped around me like it never wants to let go?”

you tried to answer, but it came out as a filthy, desperate whimper. he laughed under his breath, dark, and drove into you harder.

“say something,” he ordered. “you had plenty to say five minutes ago.”

you dug your nails into the flexing muscles of his back hard enough to leave marks. he hissed through his teeth and fucked you harder for it, like the small pain only fed him. your words came out shaky and defiant at the same time.

“this still doesn’t make you any less of a liar.”

“say it again,” he caught your wrist and pinned it above your head, fingers locking tight around it. “say it while you’re full of me and see what happens.”

he kept the pace punishing. deep and angled precisely to drag against the spot inside you that made your vision blur at the edges, deliberate, like he was trying to drag the fight out of your body through pure force. the wet slap of skin against skin filled the quiet room. your free hand continued to claw at his back. he didn’t slow down.

“look at me,” he said.

you did. his eyes were dark, focused, still carrying the edge of the argument, but something more possessive was at the forefront.

“you’re the only one who gets me like this,” he said, voice rough, almost angry about the admission. “you know that? the only woman in my bed. the only one i let see me when i’m like this.”

the words hit differently than the earlier cuts. they landed lower. your breath stuttered.

he felt it. his rhythm stayed hard, but the angle changed, deeper, more claiming.

“say it,” he muttered. “say you’re the only one.”

you shook your head once, still trying to hold onto the last of the anger, but your voice betrayed you.

“i’m the only one.”

“louder.”

“i’m the only one.” it came out broken. “you’re… fuck. you’re all mine.”

something in his expression cracked open at that. the last of the pure anger bled into something darker and more possessive. he dropped his forehead against yours, still fucking you in long, heavy strokes that made the headboard knock softly against the wall.

“that’s right,” he said, almost to himself. “all yours. and you’re going to take it.”

he released your wrist only to shift his weight, and he hooked one of your legs over his elbow, and the new angle made you sob openly. the slick, filthy sound of him driving into you was the only thing you could hear. the soft slap of it, mixed with the low broken noises you were making and the occasional sharp, controlled exhale from him.

sweat was starting to slick both of you. a drop fell from his temple onto your collarbone. the clean soap smell from his earlier shower was gone, replaced by the thicker, heavier scent of sex and warm skin and the faint metallic edge of leftover adrenaline from the argument. your hands slid down to his moving hips, feeling the powerful flex of muscle under smooth skin every time he thrust forward.

he pulled out without warning, causing you to make a desperate, needy sound of protest that would have embarrassed you any other night. he ignored it completely. before you could reach for him, he had already flipped you onto your stomach like you weighed nothing. the motion was effortless, almost careless. one second you were on your back, the next your face was pressed into the sheets and your hips were dragged up until you were face down, ass up, the oversized shirt still bunched under your chest.

he shoved the soft black fabric further up your back in one rough drag, exposing the full line of your spine. his palm settled between your shoulder blades, warm and heavy, and he pushed down until your chest was flush to the mattress and your ass was higher in the air. the position left you completely open. you felt the cool air against how wet you were, felt the way your thighs trembled trying to hold the angle.

“arch your back for me,” he said, voice low and rough. “deeper. let me see how good you take it.”

you did. you arched as deep as the hand between your shoulder blades would allow, presenting yourself. he made a dark, approving sound and lined himself up again. the head of his cock dragged through the mess between your legs once, twice, before he sank back into you in one thick, unforgiving stroke that forced a broken cry out of your throat.

the new angle was deeper; every time he pushed himself to the hilt, you could feel him in your stomach. his hand stayed planted between your shoulder blades, the other tangled in your hair, not pulling yet, just holding, using the grip to keep your back in that deep, obedient arch.

“that’s it,” he muttered. “just like that. good girl. taking me so fucking well.”

you could barely answer. every thrust punched little broken sounds out of you that you couldn’t swallow. your fingers clawed at the sheets. the pressure in your stomach was building too fast, too sharp, the earlier fight still sitting under your skin even as your body opened for him completely willingly and desperately.

he felt it. the way you started tightening around him. the way your thighs started to shake harder.

“you close already?” he asked, almost mean with it. “after all that anger you came at me with, you’re about to cum on my cock this fast?”

you tried to speak. it came out a desperate, high sound. he answered by fucking you harder, the hand in your hair finally tightening so he could pull your head back just enough to deepen the arch even further. the stretch of your throat, the burn in your scalp, the relentless drag of him inside you, it all stacked too high.

you finished hard around him, a full-body shudder that made your arms give out. the sound that left you was raw and helpless. he kept fucking you through it, drawing it out until your thighs were trembling and you were gasping into the sheets, oversensitive and still pulsing around him.

he pulled out before he could follow you over the edge.

the sudden emptiness made you whine. he didn’t give you time to recover. he flipped you onto your back again with the same effortless strength, climbing up your body until he was straddling your chest. his cock was slick, and he wrapped one hand around the base and used the other to tip your chin up, and slapped the tip against your lips.

you opened your mouth without him needing to say a word, and he fed his cock back into your mouth slowly this time, not thrusting, just letting you taste. the flavor of the two of you mixed together was thick and unmistakable: salt and heat and the evidence of how hard you’d just come for him. he held himself there, watching your lips stretch around him, watching the way your tongue moved under the head like you couldn’t help it.

“that’s it,” he said quietly, almost gently under the filth. “clean it up. taste what you just did to me.”

he stayed like that, not fucking your throat, just letting you clean him with your mouth while his free hand stroked your hair. the earlier anger had softened into something darker and more possessive, but the edge was still there; satisfied, claiming, and completely locked on you.

“good,” he murmured. “just like that. take your time.”

after a minute or two of letting you worship him with your tongue, he pulled free with a wet sound, moved back down your body, and pushed your thighs apart with both hands. for a second you thought he was going to fuck you again immediately. instead, he lowered his head between your legs and put his hot mouth on you without any warning.

the first long, flat lick made you cry out sharply. you were still sensitive from your orgasm, and his tongue was relentless. broad strokes over your swollen clit, then pointed and precise, then dipping lower to push inside and taste exactly where his cock had been minutes ago.

he ate you like he was starving and angry about how much he needed it at the same time. two fingers pushed back inside you while he sealed his lips around your clit and sucked in a steady, devastating rhythm. the dual sensation built another orgasm almost immediately, faster than you thought possible.

“fuck” was all you managed to get out as you slammed your thighs tight around michael’s face.

he lifted off of you for a second, just long enough to shove your thighs back down onto the mattress, opening you up again. his mouth was shiny. his eyes were dark.

“don’t you dare cum yet,” he warns, voice dripping with lust. “you cum when i say. not before. you hold it.”

you whimpered, already shaking, the edge so close it hurt. he watched your face for a second longer, making sure you understood, then dropped his head again.

this time he was even meaner with it. his tongue worked in tight, focused circles while his fingers curled hard against the front wall, dragging over the spot that made your vision blur. every time the pressure started to tip too far, he eased off just enough to keep you right on the edge, panting and trembling, your hands fisting the sheets.

“michael—” you choked out.

he hummed against you, the vibration making your hips jerk.

“not yet.”

he kept you there, holding you open with his forearms, eating you like he had all the time in the world and zero intention of letting you fall until he decided. your thighs were shaking so hard the muscles burned. every breath came out broken. the need was so sharp it almost felt like pain.

“ask me nicely,” he commanded.

“please—” you choked out, the rest of your plea turning into loud moans as you started wiggling against his grasp, the sensation being too much.

“use your words.”

“please let me finish. please, michael, please. i need it. i’ll be a good girl, i promise.”

he sealed his mouth over your clit again, sucked hard, and curled his fingers deep.

“give it to me,” he ordered, voice rough and right against you. “right fucking now.”

your body broke on the command. the orgasm ripped through you so hard your back arched clean off the bed, a raw, helpless cry tearing out of your throat as you pulsed around his fingers. he stayed right there through all of it, licking and sucking every wave until you were shaking and oversensitive and trying to twist away.

only then did he slow down, pressing one last open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh while you tried to remember how to breathe.

“there it is,” he murmured. “that’s two. my turn, mama.”

he didn’t give you long to come down.

he moved up your body slowly this time, almost deliberate about it, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he settled between your legs again. you were still trembling, thighs weak, the aftershocks of the second orgasm still flickering under your skin. he looked down at you for a long second: flushed, wrecked, lips parted, chest rising too fast. the sight made his cock twitch.

he hooked both of your knees over his elbows and folded you open, pressing your thighs back toward your chest until you were nearly bent in half. the stretch pulled at your hips. the position left you completely vulnerable, completely exposed. he held you there, looking down between your bodies at where you were still shiny and swollen from everything he’d already done to you.

“look at you,” he murmured, voice low. “still so wet. still open for me. so beautiful.”

he lined himself up and pushed in with one long, thick stroke that made you gasp and pull on his hair that was dangling in front of your face. the angle was devastating. he sank so deep you felt it in your stomach, every inch dragging against places that made your toes curl, and your back try to arch even in the folded position. a high, shattered sound tore out of your throat before you could stop it.

he stayed buried to the hilt for a moment, just breathing, letting you feel the full stretch of him. then his hand came back to your throat, not squeezing, just resting there, warm and steady. the light pressure was enough to make you flutter hard around his cock on instinct. the sudden clench dragged a low, rough sound out of him.

“fuck,” he breathed, forehead dropping against yours for a second. “that’s it. just like that.”

he started to move.

slow at first. deep. every thrust rolled all the way in until his hips were flush against you, then dragged back out almost to the tip before pushing in again. you could feel every ridge, every thick inch, the way your body stretched to take him. his hand stayed on your throat the entire time, the steady pressure keeping you grounded while the rest of him took you apart.

“you wanted nasty,” he said, voice completely wrecked now. “you wanted a fight. you wanted to push until something broke. this is what you get. my cock rearranging you until you forget every single word you said.”

you tried to answer. the words came out broken and shaky as he bottomed out again.

“you were such a bad girl earlier. going through my phone. coming at me the way you did. and now look at you. all you can think about is how full you are. how deep i am.”

you shook your head weakly, barely able to form words. every thrust forced little helpless noises out of your throat that you couldn’t swallow. your hands gripped his shoulders, nails digging in hard enough to leave marks.

“say it,” he ordered, breath hot against your mouth. “tell me that’s all you can think about right now.”

“you—” you gasped as he ground against you especially deep. “you’re so deep i can’t. can’t think about anything else—”

“good girl,” he dropped his forehead against yours again, still rolling his hips in those long, deliberate strokes.

he kept the pace deep and measured on purpose, grinding against you on every inward thrust just to watch your face change. the third orgasm built slower this time, heavier, coiling low in your stomach and spreading outward until your thighs were trembling against his arms. every time he buried himself completely, you clenched around him harder, and every time you did, he made a low, satisfied sound like he could feel exactly how close you were.

“that’s it,” he murmured against your mouth. “squeeze me just like that. show me how sorry you are.”

his hand on your throat stayed light but constant, the pressure making everything feel sharper, more intense. you could feel your pulse against his palm. you could feel how hard he was inside you, how he still hadn’t cum, how every deep stroke seemed to push him closer too. the air between you felt thick. every breath mixed. every small sound you made seemed to pull another rough noise out of him.

“you’re getting so tight,” he said, voice starting to strain, the rhythm losing a little of its control. “i can feel you shaking. you’re close again, and i’ve barely been back inside you.”

you nodded frantically, eyes locked on his because he wouldn’t let you look away. the pressure in your stomach had become almost unbearable. every thrust dragged against the front wall, every grind of his hips pushed you closer, the hand on your throat keeping you right there in the moment with him.

“michael—” his name came out cracked and pleading.

“i know, baby. i know.” he drove into you harder, deeper, the wet slap of skin against skin filling the room. “you’re gonna cum with me this time. i want to feel it. i want to feel it while i fill you up. don’t you dare look away.”

you couldn’t have looked away if you tried. his eyes were locked on yours, dark and focused and almost desperate under the control. the coil inside you kept tightening, low and heavy and relentless, until it felt like you were balanced on the edge of something that might ruin you.

“take it,” he ordered, voice rough and breaking. “take all of it. cum with me, mama. right now.”

you came with a raw, wrecked cry, your whole body locking up around him so hard it almost hurt. the way you clamped down dragged him right over the edge with you. he buried himself as deep as he could go with a low, broken groan, hips stuttering as he spilled inside you in thick, pulsing waves. you felt every single one of them; hot, heavy, flooding you while your body kept fluttering and squeezing around him like it was trying to pull him even deeper. the shared orgasm rolled through both of you in long, overlapping waves that seemed to last forever. your thighs shook hard against his arms. his forehead stayed pressed to yours. both of you were breathing like you’d been underwater for too long.

he stayed locked against you through all of it, hand still on your throat, cock still buried to the hilt, letting every aftershock pass between you. he stayed inside you for a long time after, longer than he needed to, like he wasn’t ready to break the connection yet.

neither of you spoke. the only sound in the room was the slow, uneven pull of your breathing and the faint tick of the clock on the nightstand. his hand had slipped from your throat at some point and now rested against the side of your neck, thumb stroking absently over your pulse like he was checking that it was coming down. his forehead remained pressed to yours. every few seconds one of you would shift the smallest amount and both of you would feel it; the residual heat, the wetness, the way your bodies were still soft and open and tangled together.

eventually he eased out of you with a quiet, careful sound. the loss made you flinch. he noticed. he always noticed.

“shh,” he whispered, voice rough and low. “i got you.”

he reached down between your bodies and gently wiped the mess from your thighs with the soft inside of the discarded towel from his shower, slow and thorough, like the act itself was part of the apology. only when you were clean did he guide your legs down from where they’d been folded against your chest, rubbing the faint ache out of your hips with warm, careful hands.

then he pulled his oversized black shirt back down over your body, smoothing the soft fabric over your stomach and thighs like he was tucking you back into something safe. only then did he shift onto his side and gather you into him.

you went willingly. your face found the warm hollow of his neck without thinking. his skin still smelled like clean soap and sex and the faint trace of cologne that always lived at the base of his throat. his hair was still slightly damp against your cheek, the soft curls brushing your temple every time he shifted.

one of his arms slid under your shoulders. the other wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against the full length of his body until there was almost no space left between you. he even hooked one heavy leg over both of yours, the weight of him becoming its own kind of comfort.

for a while, he just held you like that, breathing you in. you felt the soft press of his mouth against the side of your neck, then higher, against the hinge of your jaw, like he was grounding himself the same way you were. his hand moved in long, absent strokes up and down your back. every so often he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, or your temple, or the damp hair at your hairline. the silence between you wasn’t heavy anymore. it was quiet in the way that felt earned.

then, soft against your hair:

“i’m sorry.”

the words were quiet. honest. no edge left in them.

he exhaled slowly, the breath warming the side of your face.

“i’m sorry i got so angry. and defensive.” his hand kept moving on your back, steady and gentle. “i should’ve just reassured you instead of shutting down. i love you, and i hate that i made you feel like you had to go looking for answers.”

you felt the apology settle somewhere deep in your chest. your fingers curled lightly against his collarbone.

“i’m sorry too,” you whispered into his neck. your voice came out small and a little rough. “i shouldn’t have gone through your phone. i should have trusted you. i just… i heard you laughing with her, and it scared me. i thought—”

his arm tightened around you immediately.

“hey.” he pulled back just enough to look at you. his eyes were soft in the low light, the earlier darkness completely gone. he lifted one hand and brushed a few strands of hair away from your face, fingers lingering against your cheek. “i’m not going anywhere. you hear me?”

you nodded, but he wasn’t finished.

“i’m not leaving you.” his thumb stroked once over your cheekbone. “she’s just someone i’ve worked with for a long time. that’s all it was. i promise.” he leaned in and pressed a slow kiss to your forehead, then another to the space between your brows. “you have nothing to worry about. not with me. not with this.”

the words landed deeper than you expected. something in your throat tightened. you closed your eyes and let yourself lean into the touch of his mouth against your skin.

he kept talking, voice low and steady, like he needed you to feel every word.

“you’re the one i come home to. you’re the one i ask to stay. you’re the one in my bed every night. i know the album has been taking too much of me. i know i’ve been distant. but none of that means i’m pulling away from you. it just means i’ve been tired and stupid about how i handle it.” his hand slid up into your hair, cradling the back of your head. “i’m still here. i’m still yours. nothing about that has changed.”

you turned your face further into his neck, breathing him in. the solid warmth of his body, the slow rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers kept moving gently through your hair… it all wrapped around the leftover fear and started to quiet it.

“i got so scared,” you admitted, barely above a whisper. “talking to her sounded so easy. and things between us haven’t felt easy in a while.”

“i know.” he kissed the top of your head again. “and that’s my fault too. i should have been better about making sure you still felt chosen even when things get busy. i’m going to be better about it. i promise.”

he shifted slightly so he could pull the covers up over both of you. the sheets were cool at first, then warmed quickly from the heat of your combined bodies. he tucked them carefully around your shoulders, then settled you more firmly against his chest, one leg still draped heavily over yours so you were completely surrounded by him.

for a long time after that, he just held you. his hand kept up its slow path along your spine. every so often he would tip your chin up and kiss you; soft, closed-mouth, lingering kisses that had nothing to do with the earlier heat and everything to do with reassurance. you kissed him back the same way, slow and quiet, letting the tenderness settle into your bones. between the kisses, he kept murmuring things, half against your mouth, half against your skin. you could hear the whispers, little broken pieces of “i’ve got you” and “you’re safe” and “i’m right here.”

the house around you felt different now. the earlier emptiness had eased. the dark beyond the windows no longer felt quite so large. his heartbeat under your cheek was steady and real. the scent of his skin, the weight of his arm, the quiet way he kept murmuring soft things into your hair… all of it wrapped around you until the last of the fight finally loosened its grip.

you fell asleep like that, tucked against him under the covers, his hand still moving slowly up and down your back, his mouth occasionally brushing your temple in the dark.

and for the first time in weeks, the quiet didn’t feel like distance.

Michael found the plane ride back to the US quite stuffy. Despite him being in a private jet catered just for him, the air just didn’t seem to move at all where he sat. Usually, he would use his travel time as a means to get away from the world, maybe play some games and read some books. Sometimes he’d even pull playful harmless pranks on his staff. But right now, all he wanted was to get home right away and rest.

He leans his head back on his seat and lets out a big sigh as he closes his eyes, exhaustion radiating off of him. The Dangerous Tour had just ended. Quite early, actually. Not because he wanted it to, but because he had to. The physical and mental toll of constant traveling and performing show after show had got to him. His body was starting to hurt in places he didn’t even know could hurt and the jet lag started to get too much to handle.

Michael loved to perform. It was his whole life.

But even the King of Pop can only handle so much.

“We landed, Joker.”

His eyes snap open at the sound of Bill’s voice and he turns to face the man to his right. He smiles at him and with his hoarse voice, he utters, “Thanks, Bill.”

The man pats his shoulder. “Time to get up so you can rest up.”

He nods and moves to get up from his seat. He stretches his limbs out, grunting as his joints crack. The ache in his legs and back was almost too much to bear and he fights the urge to wince every time he takes a step towards the exit of the plane.

“Forgot your hat,” he hears Bill say from behind him. Before he can even turn around to grab it, the older man has already situated the accessory right on top of his head.

Michael chuckles, adjusting the hat. “Thank you.” Bill hums in acknowledgement and goes to lead him out of the aircraft and down the stairs.

He’s met with a cool breeze of wind as he steps down onto the concrete floor. He scrunches his nose up as the sharp scent of jet fuel greets him. He supposes he’s glad to be back in his home country after the absolute hell that his body has been put through these past months. Honestly, he felt like he was about to collapse.

“Let’s go,” Bill says from beside him. Too exhausted to say anything more, Michael nods and continues on to walk to his car.

—

Not even a few seconds after Michael had sat down in the backseat of the car, he falls asleep. Bill decides not to wake him as he drives, aware of how much physical and mental exertion the star had to go through.

Truthfully, he’s been very worried about him. He sees how much he overworks himself, how much he drives himself to exhaustion. It was hard to watch, having been Michael’s bodyguard since he was a child. He was almost like a son to him and he hated seeing him this fatigued.

He's at a red light now and he taps his fingers on the steering wheel as he thinks. An idea pops up into his head and he checks his watch.

9:23 PM, it said.

He hums. Not too late. There’s still time.

Then the stoplight turns green and instead of driving in the direction of Neverland, he makes a different turn.

—

“Bill, this isn’t home.”

“I know.”

“…Why are we here?”

“Figured a massage would help you.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up into a small smile. A massage does sound really good. In fact, it was just what he needed. Bill knows him too well now. “Thank you,” he says.

Michael stares at the building outside the car window. He’s been here before. A lot of times, actually. He always comes to this place whenever he felt like his muscles were getting too tight. And he always knows just who to go to whenever he’s here.

“Alright, come on, kid.” Bill then steps out of the car and opens the door for him before the both of them jog towards the entrance. Most times, fans would be swarming him and give Michael no room to even walk but right now it was oddly very calm. He makes a mental note to thank his team for not leaking any information this time around.

They walk through the door and immediately, the smell of eucalyptus and peppermint is noticeable. The lights were dim and a relaxing tune plays in the background. The woman at the desk perks up at the sound of the door opening and smiles immediately when she sees who has entered.

“Mr. Jackson, Mr. Bray! We weren’t expecting you tonight.”

The older man chuckles and pats Michael on the back lightly. “Just thought Joker here would need a little relaxing time after his tour.”

Michael smiles and immediately, he says, “Good evening, Elise. Is she here?”

The woman nods excitedly. “She is! Your usual package then, sir?”

He nods in response and Elise goes to write something down in her log book before looking back up at the two. “I’ll be right back, let me go get her. Please have a seat,” she says as she gestures to the cushions behind them before disappearing through the doorway behind the desk.

Michael sits down on one of the seats and Bill follows shortly, sitting down with a little huff. “You want a massage too, Bill?”

The man in questions winces and shakes his head, moving to grab one of the newspapers set on a nearby table. “Nah, I’m alright. Not really in the mood for it right now. I’ll just wait out here.”

“You sure?”

“Positive, Joker.”

Michael hums and nods his head, running his hands up and down his thighs as he waits. He can’t deny that he’s started to feel a little excited. He loved getting massages from this place, they always seemed to know what he needed work with the most.

He also really liked his massage therapist. You, for that matter. You with your soft and delicate hands, your gentle voice, and your breathtaking smile. You knew just where to poke, prod, and knead. You knew his body almost like the back of your hand and Michael knows he can completely put his trust on you.

“Michael?”

His head snaps up at the sound of your voice and when he looks up, he can already some of the stress leave him just at the sight of you. “Hey,” he says, standing up from his seat.

You beam and wave at him before looking over at the man seated next to him. “Hi, Bill. No massage for you tonight? We have other therapists available.”

Bill shakes his head. “Not tonight, kid. Just for Mike here.”

You nod and look back at Michael. “Let’s go?” You gesture down the hall and he hums in response.

He turns back to Bill for a second and says, “Be right back!” The older man only waves him off with a smile.

You lead him to his designated room which he was very familiar with. With how much he’s been getting massages at this place, the spa had reserved a private room for him and him only.

It wasn’t too big of a room but the ambience was nice and cozy. It was dim with orange lights and plants scattered around. There was a single massage bed situated right in the middle while a soft tune played in the background. It had all the essentials for a typical spa room but this one had its own bathroom and shower behind the door in the corner.

Michael doesn’t really care much about the extravagance of the room. All he wanted was to be able to unwind and relax his sore muscles. But the thing was the massage had to always be done by you. And it wasn’t because he might have a little crush on you (a huge one really), but because he knows you’re the only one he can trust with seeing him in his most vulnerable state.

You’ve been his friend and massage therapist for years. Since before his skin condition had started to slowly take over his body. You never spoke a word about it, never stared at him in judgment, and that’s why he feels as though he could only trust you.

“You’re back early. I thought the tour would go on for a little longer?” you ask as Michael takes a seat on the bed and you rummage around the room for the essentials.

He shrugs. “Had to end it sooner… don’t think I can handle doing any more shows right now,” he replies, taking his fedora off his head and fixing his curls.

You hum in response. “Anything I should be worried about? Injuries? Pain?” You crouch down to search through one of the cabinets.

He shakes his head. “No injuries, really. But my back’s been killing me. Legs too.” He winces when he reaches over his shoulder to rub on a particularly sore spot on his back.

“Must’ve been from all that dancing.”

“Yeah… getting too old,” he says with a slight smile.

You snort at that. “You’re thirty-five, Mike. That’s still your prime.”

He chuckles humorlessly and looks down at his fingers. “Doesn’t feel like it…”

“Hey,” you call out. You tsk and let out a sigh as you straighten yourself back up, now with a few towels in your hands. You go to walk towards him and stop once you’re stood directly in front of him. He looks up at you and you point your finger. “No talking like that in here. This is a place of relaxation and peace.”

A grin creeps up onto his face. “Right, sorry.”

You nod in approval and reach over to gently squeeze on his bicep. “I’m gonna make you feel better, okay? Like I always do.” You then place the towels you’ve brought out on the edge of the massage bed and place your hands on your hips. “Towels are right here. I’ll wait outside while you undress and I’ll knock after a few minutes.”

Michael nods and hums in response, watching as you make your way out the door, closing it behind you. He turns to look at himself in the mirror hung up on the wall on the other side of the room.

He looks tired. Spent. Drained. There were dark circles forming around his eyes. These were the side effects of touring and traveling from country to country. There wasn’t any time for sleep. If there was, he’d barely get a few hours in anyway with the leftover adrenaline from his shows.

He lets out a sigh and gets up, starting to shed his clothes off.

—

A few minutes go by rather quickly. As soon as he’s situated himself on the massage bed with his face resting down on cradle and a towel covering his lower half, he hears you knock on the door. “All good?” he hears you say from the other side.

“Yeah,” he calls out.

Then he hears the door open and shut as well as your footsteps padding across the floor. He feels your presence right beside him and he listens to you open a cap. He raises his head a little to peek at you and grins when he catches your eye. “Keep your head down and relax,” you say as you rub some oil on your hands.

“Is that jojoba oil?”

“Of course, your favorite.”

He smiles and goes to rest his face back down again on the cradle. He hears you move again, then you ask, “Pressure?”

He grunts, shifting a little. “Go all out, please.”

“Anywhere you want me to focus on?”

“Uh… my upper back and legs.”

“Mkay, I’m gonna start now.”

He hums in response and closes his eyes in anticipation. A deep sigh escapes him when he feels your soft hands slowly press down on his back, rubbing up and down as the heels of your palms pushes against his flesh.

It’s how you always start off the massage, he’s come to notice. You always start with feeling out and kneading his muscles, checking for tight spots and knots, your thumbs pressing down on the space near his spine. He breathes out another sigh and lets himself relax into your touch. He can already feel himself getting some relief.

Your hands then move to his upper back, still gently kneading but he notices the deepened pressure of your fingers. You’re onto his shoulders now and he lets out a quiet moan when you press down and swipe your thumb around a knot.

See, one thing about Michael was that he was a vocal man. From his playful adlibs in the studio, to voicing out his opinions, to when he feels sensations in his body. He can be really loud when he wants to be, and a massage is no exception.

At first, he was a little shy about it. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable so he’d choke down the moans and whines that would threaten to erupt from his throat. You ended up noticing how tense he was and made it clear to him that you were fine with whatever noises he made as long as he was relaxed. He appreciated your sentiment and from there, he allowed himself to fully let go.

And now, as you work on some knots on his upper back, he lets some noises out. A little whiney grunt when you press a little harder down on his skin, a sigh when you move to a different area, and a low moan when you hit just the right spot.

You press down on a particularly tight spot on his back. “Ah…” he moans, his voice all breathy.

“Am I hurting you?” he hears you whisper as you soothe the ache in his muscles.

“No… feels nice,” he replies.

Then you continue on massaging his upper back, occasionally using your knuckles to deepen the pressure. You stay on that spot for a little longer before you move to the lower part of his back. Again, applying more pressure to tight spots.

When you move on to his legs, he sucks in a breath and hisses when you maneuver a particularly sore spot on his left calf.

You notice and pause for a second. “Too much?”

“No just… could you be a little gentler on my calves? Yeah- mm…” He lets out a sigh when you apply just the right amount of pressure.

You use your fingers to gently stretch his skin and then you press the heel of your hand onto the muscle, slowly running it up and down his calf. Michael lets out tiny whimpers as you do. He just loved the way your hands felt. It was as if you could see all his weaknesses and all his aches.

He then feels your hands travel up to his thigh. He shudders a little at the feeling. Michael always did feel like the skin around his thighs was more sensitive. He usually didn't have a problem with you poking, prodding, and kneading around that area. But right now, he feels as though that he was more delicate than usual. He chalks it up to the fatigue.

You knead around the meat of his thigh for a bit, going higher and higher but stopping just below where the towel covering him ends. He whimpers again. Suddenly, all he can think about was how much he wanted you to go higher. Maybe go under the towel. Maybe even take the towel off entirely and-

His eyes snap open in realization.

Fuck.

No, he can't be having these thoughts about you.Why was he even thinking about this?

Was it because of how tired he was? It can't be. Because when he felt exhausted, just the thought of doing anything that strenuous would make him cringe. And also, not only was he your client, but you were his friend too.

His very attractive and gorgeous friend that he might have wanted to ask out on a date before but didn't because he was scared. That's besides the point, though.

He can't be thinking about you like this. Especially not now.

Not when he was completely nude under the damn towel.

You've moved on to his other leg now and Michael struggles to keep his thoughts at bay as he bites down on his lip to keep his moans down. What if …. What if you just ask him to flip over and crawl over him to-

Oh no.

He just felt his dick twitch. He's getting hard. This is bad.

And the fact that you were still massaging his thigh wasn't helping. He feels scummy, you're just doing your job and now he's having these perverted thoughts. But no matter how hard he tried to close his eyes and keep his dirty thoughts away, they only came back stronger and worse.

No, he should stop the massage right here before it gets out of control.

He lifts his head up and calls your name. "…Um, could we… maybe end early?"

He sees you blink up at him in slight surprise, lifting your hands off of him. "Why? Did I do something?"

He shakes his head. "You didn't, it's just… I'm so tired… I don't wanna fall asleep accidentally…" A bullshit excuse. Even he knows it.

You furrow your brows in confusion. "You've fallen asleep during sessions before, it's not a problem."

Shit. "…I think I wanna head home now, if that's okay… I'm just really exhausted…"

You stare at him, studying and scanning his face. He gulps. It was a long shot, you always did manage to see right through him. "I mean that's fine, but if I did something wrong, just tell me-"

"You didn't."

"Michael, you got really tense when I was working on your thighs. I'm just worried that I made you uncomfortable or something."

Of course you noticed that. Of course, you did.

"You didn't, okay? I promise, I'm just…" Hard. Excited. Turned on. He can't bring himself to look at you now so he puts his head back on the face cradle and groans. "I'm embarrassed to say…"

"Hey, come on it's just you and me in here."

"Don't laugh."

You raise a hand and do a zipping gesture on your lips as a response. There was a silence for a bit as the anticipation in the air strengthens.

Then he lets out a big sigh. "…I have an erection."

A beat.

He sees you roll your lips in, as if trying to surpress a laugh. He huffs and points at you.

"Don't."

"I'm not!"

"I see you holding it in!"

You smile at him and he glares at you. You giggle slightly and shrug, replying with, "I mean I kinda noticed something was off… you were trembling a little."

Michael sighs and pushes himself up to sit on the massage bed properly, carefully maneuvering the towel so that he wouldn't expose himself. He shifts, covering his crotch with his hands. "Okay, so now that I've made you uncomfortable, I think it's best if-"

"Who said I was uncomfortable?"

He blinks. "…What?" He brings himself to look you in your eyes and notices how much they've changed. They're lidded now, a little darker than before. You're staring at him so intensely and it's making his heart race.

You shrug. "It's not a big deal, I mean… If you want I could help you with it…"

He pauses. You wanted to help him with his boner. He knows what you're offering, obviously. He's a grown man. And quite frankly, just the thought alone has made his dick twitch again. But you're his friend, he doesn't want you to feel forced just because he couldn't control himself.

"…I don't want you to feel like you have to…"

"I don't, Mike. Think of it as like… a friend helping out a friend."

A friend helping out a friend. Ridiculous. This was going to complicate things a lot. But you're just so pretty, and he's just so hard. And with the way you're looking at him, how the hell was he supposed to resist?

He swallows again. "…Okay," he utters.

You tilt your head and grin. "Yeah?"

He nods. "Yes… yes, please…" He doesn't even register the plea that comes out. But you seemed to really like it because your eyes practically sparkled at his response.

His heart hammers in his chest as he watches you make your way closer to him. And when you get down on your knees, he has to suck a breath in to calm down his nerves. But then, he realizes something.

He looks around for a moment and spots the fluffy towels that you've placed on the edge of the massage bed. He reaches over for it and hands them to you. You take them with a raised eyebrow. "For your knees," he says. "I don't want you getting hurt."

You smile at that. "Aw, such a gentleman," you say as you situate the towels under your knees. You fix your positioning and gaze up at him. Then your eyes shift down to the tent in his covered crotch for a moment before you return your stare back up. "May I?" you ask, your hand coming up to fiddle with the towel covering him.

"Yes," he breathes out. Your fingers then wrap around the soft material of the towel and you lift it off, placing it to the side.

Michael lets out a sigh when his thick cock is finally fully unrestrained. It stood tall, with slick already oozing out of the tip. He glances at you and feels his cheeks warm up at the sight. You were staring at his dick so intensely with your mouth slightly agape. It's like you've been wanting this just much as he did.

You look back up at him. "Can I touch?"

He nods slowly. He was practically shivering with anticipation now. A hiss escapes his lips when you wrap your hand around him. It feels warm, still a little slippery from the oil that you used on his body earlier. "You have such a pretty dick…" you say, almost like you were in a trance.

You press your thumb onto the tip and Michael gasps. You glance back up at him and smile. "You like that?" you ask as you slowly start to stroke him up and down. Swiping your thumb over the tip whenever your hand goes up.

"Yes," he whines out, leaning back on his hands as he looks down at you. He bites down on his bottom lip as you continue to stroke his cock. He can't let himself be too loud. He can't risk people from outside the room hearing him moan pathetically.

You notice his strained whines and say, "Mike, you don't have hold back."

"But-"

"It's okay, baby, no one's gonna hear. We're far from reception."

He mewls at the nickname."But what about- I don't know- ah- the- the other customers?"

"It's late. You're the only one here right now."

That's good enough for him. He lets himself moan out loud when you give his dick a little squeeze. "A-Ah! Please-" he squeaks out. It all feels so surreal. He's secretly wanted you for so long and now you were on your knees in front of him with your fingers wrapped around his aching cock.

Suddenly, you reach your other hand up to play with his balls and his hips jerk up at the feeling. "Fuck!" He groans, throwing his head back in pleasure.

Too lost in the feeling, he doesn't notice how wide-eyed with desire you've become as you watch him writhe under your touch. "Oh, I didn't know you were so sensitive, Mike." Your voice comes out sultrily. "Was this what you were thinking about earlier?" you ask, tilting your head and smiling seductively.

He whimpers out, "Y-yes, yes- ah!" His hips jerk up again when you press your thumb against his slit.

"Yeah?"

"Mm- Mhm- yes- yes." he gasps.

"Dirty," you remark, continuing to pump on his leaking cock. You lick your lips as you stare down at it, his pre-cum spreading all over your hand. "Would you like it if I sucked you off?"

Michael's eyes go wide as he looks down at you and immediately he says, "Please- please, I need it- o-oh…!" His moans are cut off when you lean forward lick a strip from the base of his dick all the way up to the tip.

And the view. Fuck, you look so good looking up at him like that.

Your eyes stay on him and he's just unable to look away. And he damn near loses it when you wrap your lips around the tip. He shudders, letting out shaky moan of your name. You swirl your tongue all over his tip and he shivers. "Oh fuck, oh fuck!"

He feels like he's going hysterical. He'd never ever thought that this would happen. You always just seemed so out of reach despite him consistently showing up at your workplace for years. But now, with how eager you were to please him, with how your eyes are sparkling up at him as you take him further into your mouth, he knows now. You were just as desperate for this as he was.

You start to bob your head up and down now with one hand simultaneously still stroking on him and the other still gently toying with his balls. You're slurping all over him, slobber and spit starting to mess up your face. His hands fly to your head as his fingers start to tug on your hair. "Bab- Baby- please." He can't handle it anymore, he's getting closer to the edge.

He closes his eyes and lets his mouth drop open as he gasps out your name. "I'm so close. God, please, I'm… fuck!"

.

.

.

Meanwhile…

Bill stands up from his seat and walks down the hall in search for the bathroom. It's been roughly around forty-five minutes since Michael had disappeared with you. And quite frankly, the drinks that the people at the spa had given Bill while he waited was starting to go down quick.

He spots the bathroom near the end of the hall and goes to walk towards it. It just so happened that he would have to pass Michael's designated room and when he does, he takes a pause.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck!"

He tilts his head in confusion and stares at the door for a second. He knew you were a skilled massage therapist but this was something else.

After a moment he shrugs and sighs as he continues on his way to the bathroom.

He stood as you entered, and for a moment neither of you spoke. He was taller than you expected. The sunglasses came off and his eyes took you in slowly, careful and with intent.

That quiet, almost shy softness around the edges of his face that never quite matched the power people talked about... you were frozen like a deer in headlights. All the years of hearing that voice on speakers and televisions suddenly collapsed into this one quiet body standing in front of you, still holding the flowers.

Michael smiled, small and almost bashful, then warmer.

“Hi,” he breathed, and the voice was deeper than the records.. “You’re even prettier than he said. Come sit. Please.” He pulled out your seat and set the flowers down on the table between you and waited until you sat before he settled back into the chair.

For a little while the conversation stayed light. He wanted to know about you, and asked about your work in a way that felt genuinely curious, listening more than speaking, head tilted slightly. You told him about the long hours, the pressure, the way your mind never seemed to clock out. He nodded like he understood the weight of it.

“I know what that feels like,” he murmured after a moment, voice still quiet. “Always having to be on. It’ll wear you down if you let it.” He looked at you over the rim of his glass, eyes soft but intent. “ Thinking too hard… it takes something away from a girl, you know? I like when she can go quiet. Soft. Open. When she stops trying so hard to be impressive and just lets herself be taken care of.”

You shifted, the excitement still fluttering under the nerves.

“That’s a heavy thing to say to somebody you just met. Most folks want a mind that can keep pace.”

He gave a small, bashful laugh, then the smile faded into something more serious.

“Most people do... and most women fight it. They want to stay sharp, stay in charge of everything, even their own undoing. But I think everyone needs some escapism for a while. The ones who can let go a little… the ones who let me show them how to be soft… those are the ones I keep close. I try to show them how good it can feel to set some of that weight down." He shrugged, sticking a fork into his broccolini.

Your mind started to race, so you decide to change the subject. "Enough about me... what about you? What made you want to talk to little ole me?"

“Well I’ve been divorced a while now. House gets real quiet. I miss having a woman around but I think I'm done with celebrities. I don't want somebody already polished and complicated. Just want somebody real... Somebody who would let me teach her how to be soft for me. A blank canvas, almost. Someone I could shape and keep and spoil and… empty out a little, so she doesn’t have to carry all that noise anymore.”

Your eyebrows couldn't help but raise at how direct he was. And you couldn't help but want to be that somebody. By the time the plates were cleared the air between you had changed.

“Come with me tonight,” he offered quietly. “I want to show you my home. I think you might like it. I think maybe you’ve been needing somebody to take some of that weight off you for a long time.”

You agreed because the curiosity and the exhaustion and the strange thrill of him had already loosened your hesitations.

The drive was quiet. His hand stayed on your thigh, thumb moving slow over your skin and you couldn't help but think how lucky you are. When the gates of Neverland opened he glanced at you and spoke almost tender.

“You gonna like it here. I’m gonna teach you how to stop all that hard thinking that’s been eating at you. How to just be pretty and open and empty the way I need. It feels like relief once you let it happen. I’ll tell you what I want. You just listen to me and the rest’ll fall away. I meant what I said at dinner. I want to take care of you. Really take care of you.”

He walked you to a dim room and closed the door. On the bed, laid out with deliberate care, were the clothes he had chosen for your stay: soft pinks and baby blues, tops that would bare the midriff of your tummy, short skirts that would barely cover the cusp of your ass, thin fabrics that would surely cling to your breasts, thin enough to reveal the brown color of your nipples. Beside them were delicate collars and lacey socks.

He watched your eyes open wide as you saw them.

“These are for you,” he explained quietly. “For while you’re here. I want you in things that remind you what you’re becoming. Pretty. Open. Easy to look at. Easy to keep. You’ll wear what I choose. You’ll look the way I want my princess to look.”

You let out a nervous laugh. Not mocking but clearly a woman who didn't know what to say. You noticed he was dead serious and the quiet had intensified.

“Look at me, baby.” The softness in his voice still felt electrifying. His eyes made you want to melt into the floor.

“From now on you don’t think. You don’t decide. You exist for me. My pretty little princess. My perfect doll. Say yes so I know the understanding has started.”

You swallowed. The sight of the clothes and the certainty in his voice made your stomach dip and flip.

“Yes, Michael.”

He took your chin and lifted it, thumb stroking the warm skin under your jaw the way a man strokes something he has already claimed.

“Good girl. You’re gonna be my perfect little princess. Soft. Empty. Sweet. Obedient. I’ll carry everything. All you have to do is look pretty and stay open. Let your mind go quiet. Every time a thought rises, let it melt. Stay empty for me. That’s how you stay safe. That’s how you stay mine. The quieter you become inside, the more room I have. I don’t share what is mine. Not the body. Not the thoughts. Not the smallest corner of you. I’ve been wanting this. A real woman I could take care of the right way. You’re that for me now.”

Michael undressed you with the patience of someone unwrapping a delicate gift. Each piece of clothing leaving felt like another version of the hard, careful woman you had been was being folded away. He set your posture with his hands: chin lifted, spine long, breast open, thighs touching, moved your dark curls behind down your back.

Later he would dress you in the soft, revealing things he had prepared, the little skirts and tiny tops that made you feel on display and cherished at once, but first he wanted you bare.

“That’s better. Look at you. Already standing the way I like. Keep your eyes and your mouth soft. You’re here to be pretty and good for me. Mine. I want to take care of you so well you forget how to worry.”

Heat rose in your face.

“This feels a little strange... I've never done anything like this now.”

“Strange is the beginning of it,” he answered gently. “Strange means the change has started. Keep listening. You’re doing well already. Let the sharp parts go quiet. You won’t need them here..I’m going to take such good care of you."

Michael had you sit on the floor between his knees while he sat on the edge of the bed. His fingers slid into your dark strands and began to pet your hair in slow, steady strokes, over and over, the same gentle rhythm.

“Just breathe for me,” his voice above you murmured. “That’s all. In… and out. Let the day fall off you. "

You closed your eyes and breathed.

"At dinner I could tell you've been thinking so hard for so long.. you don’t have to do that here. Every time my hand moves through your hair let one more thought leave. Feel how nice it is. Feel how quiet it can get inside if you let it. This is just like meditation, baby. Just relaxation. Just letting go of all that stress. Soften for me... That’s it…”

At first it really did feel like meditation. The repetitive petting, the soft voice, the permission to stop holding everything. Your shoulders dropped. The constant noise in your head began to thin. A warm, floaty bliss started to spread behind your eyes. You thought, distantly, that he was just helping you unwind, that this was the care he had promised. His fingers kept moving through your curls slow and hypnotic like.

“Good girl. So soft already. Every stroke makes you quieter. Every breath makes you emptier. You don’t need the thoughts right now. They can wait outside. Just stay here with my voice and my hand in your hair. Deeper... softer. That’s my princess. Let the bliss take you."

Your eye lids felt heavy.

"It feels so good to be empty, doesn’t it?”

The bliss thickened. You felt yourself sinking, mind going pleasantly blank, body warm and pliant under his hand.

But then the thoughts of your apartment came up, your rent, your job on Monday all came up, and he could feel your tension again.

“No thinking, baby. That’s my job. You stay soft and empty. Good girls don’t need the weight of thoughts. My little doll needs only to look pretty and take what I give. Every time a thought comes, let it slip. Sink deeper... empty and sweet. That’s how my princess remains. The quieter you are inside, the more I can fill. Do you understand me?”

Your voice came smaller, already thick with the tears that had started to gather from the sheer relief of the quiet. “Yes, Michael.”

“Good. Cry if the crying comes. I like when my princess cries. Let the tears carry the thoughts away. Every tear lets me fill you more. You’re mine. I decide what you feel and when. I’ve been missing this. A woman I could take care of completely. You’re safe here... I’ve got you.”

Every pass of his hand seemed to pull another thought loose and let it drift away. You barely noticed when his other hand came under your arm and guided you up from the floor.

“Come on, baby,” he murmured, voice still soft and low. “That’s it. Up. Good girl. Keep that soft empty feeling right where it is. Don’t let it go.”

He walked you the few steps to the bed, steadying you when your legs felt a little unsteady from how deep the quiet had taken you. The soft pinks and baby blues he had laid out earlier were still waiting. He sat you on the edge of the mattress and reached for one of the tiny tops, then the short little skirt, dressing you slowly, carefully, like you were something fragile and precious. He smoothed it all into place, then tipped your chin up so you would look at him.

“There. Look at you, princess. Soft and quiet and dressed the way I want. Lie back for me.”

You did. The sheets felt cool under your back. He arranged your dark curls across the pillow, then sat beside you for a moment longer, still petting your hair in that same hypnotic rhythm.

“Stay right here,” he told you gently. “Stay in that soft blank place. No thinking. No moving unless I tell you. Just rest and wait for me like a good girl. I’ll be back. You’re safe. I’ve got you even when I’m not in the room. Keep the emptiness. Keep the quiet. That’s my princess.”

His hand gave your hair one last slow stroke. Then he stood, looked down at you for a long second like he was memorizing the picture you made, and walked out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

You staring at the ceiling, mind still floating in the warm, thoughtless haze he had put you in. The house was silent. The only thing left was the memory of his fingers in your hair and the soft command to stay empty until he returned.

Days lost their edges. He kept you bare or dressed in the soft, tiny, revealing clothes he had chosen, the fabrics thin against your skin, the skirts short, the tops small, everything designed to make you feel pretty and owned.

The air on your skin became a constant reminder that nothing on you was yours anymore. He fed you from his fingers, calling you sweet baby while you sucked them clean, still petting your hair in that same slow rhythm whenever he wanted you deeper in the blankness.

“That’s it. Take it from my hand. Good girl. My sweet little princess doesn’t even need to feed herself. I do that. I do everything. You’re mine to tend. Mine to use. Mine to keep empty. All that old stress is leaving. You don’t have to be sharp here.. only soft.. only pretty in the things I picked for you. Let me take care of you. That’s all I’ve wanted.”

Your answers grew simpler, slower. The tears came easier now, not from sadness but from how good the surrender felt, how grateful you were that the noise had stopped, how safe it felt to be small in his large hands, how the earlier “meditation” had quietly become the way he kept you pliant and open.

“Yes, Michael. thank you.. I’m soft…”

He made you kneel with your head on his thigh so he could bury his fingers in your hair and pet you while he spoke. Sometimes he slid two fingers into your mouth and let you suck while he worked, voice darker now while the petting never stopping.

“That’s it, babygirl. Keep sucking. Keep the mind quiet. Cry if you need. I like when my princess cries. Let the tears take what is left. Every tear makes room. You’re doing so well. So soft already. So mine. Look at you getting softer, getting quieter... becoming perfect. I’ve been wanting a woman like you. A normal woman I could shape and keep and take care of the right way. Just stay in that soft blank place I taught you, okay. It feels like bliss, doesn’t it? Stay there.”

Your voice had gone soft, slow and a little blank. The gratitude sat heavy and warm in your chest. The bliss he had first framed as simple relaxation now felt like the only place you wanted to live.

“Yes, Michael… I’m soft for you… I’m yours… feels safe… feels good…”

He kept you on the floor between his knees for a long time, your back resting lightly against the edge of the bed, his thighs bracketing you. One of his hands stayed in your dark curls, petting in that same slow, steady rhythm that made the blankness deepen. The other hand slid down your front, over the tiny top he had dressed you in, then lower, pushing the short little skirt up around your waist.

“Open your legs for me, baby,” he murmured. “Just like that. Lean back against the bed. Let me hold you up. You don’t have to do anything.”

You let your thighs fall open. Your caramel skin looked warm in the low light. He shifted you a little so your weight rested more fully against the mattress behind you, your head tilted back into his petting hand, your body open and supported between his knees. From that position he could look down and watch everything while he touched you.

Michael's fingers traced the soft skin of your inner thighs before finally slipping between them. He stroked over you through the silk fabric of the panties he had chosen, then eased them aside.

You gasped at how large his fingers felt.. better than any toy could: warm and alive.

Two fingers slid through your wetness, gathering it, spreading it, before he pressed one thick finger inside you, then a second, sinking them deep while his thumb settled over your clit.

“There we go,” he breathed, still stroking your hair with the other hand. “Just like that. Stay open. Stay soft. Let me feel how wet my princess is for me.”

He curled his fingers and began to move them in slow, deliberate strokes, never rushing, watching your face the whole time. Every time your hips tried to lift he pressed you back down with the gentle weight of his hand in your hair, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

He edged you without mercy, slipping his fingers slow between your legs and chuckled softly. "So wet for me already girl."

Just when you began to whimper, he stopped. still stroking your hair in that same hypnotic rhythm. The denial made the tears come harder, but even the ache felt like care.. like he was protecting you from your own wanting until you were soft enough to take what he gave.

“Not yet, baby. That pleasure belongs to me now. You stay on the edge where I place you. Cry if it hurts. I want the tears. The ache keeps you soft. The denial keeps you empty. You’re mine. I decide when you feel good. I’m taking care of you the best way I know."

You begged in a new soft voice, words growing simpler, the tears slipping free. It felt so relieving to be held at the edge by someone who refused to let you fall alone... his other hand in your hair still promised safety even while he denied you.

“Please, Michael… it hurts… I need… please…”

“I know it hurts. That’s how I keep you empty. The ache tells you who you belong to. Stay there for me." The more he said it, the more it throbbed for him.

You wanted to protest more, opening your mouth but his eyes told you otherwise.

"Good girl. My perfect little princess.. Getting so quiet already... I love it. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

The next day, he gave you a tour of Neverland... almost as if you never were the same little slut that begged him just 24 hours ago. Your outfits were more normal, but still revealing. You almost felt like his toy, like he was taking his dog out for a walk.

Despite the intentional sexiness of the dresses he picked, his sweet demeanor went cold and silent if any of his staff's eyes lingered on you too long. He did not like you speaking unless spoken to. He did not like your hands on yourself. Everything that happened to your body happened because he allowed it, and somehow the strictness began to feel like the only safety you had ever been offered.

The word no grew heavy and distant. The mind softened day by day, emptied and simplified.. until the woman who had once run a marathon of corporate politics was being slowly written over by something that knew only how to open and say yes and thank you and please.

The tears that came were tears of relief, of gratitude, of a safety so complete it undid you. What had started as petting and soft words about relaxation had become the deepest kind of training, and you no longer wanted to climb out of the blank, blissful place he kept you in.

One night he decided the teaching had gone far enough.

He came to the bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed and directed you to sit in the usual position between his legs. His large hands tangled inside of your hair, not in a rough way, but certain.. possessive as he positioned you.

Michael then unbuckled his belt, groaning as his erection flung from the band of his pants and boxers.

His dick was already rock hard, thick, heavy, uncut, the foreskin half drawn back from his wide swollen mushroom head, veins throbbing along the shaft. It looked too much. It felt heavier still when he rested it against your cheek, hot and solid. Michael watched your face as if memorizing the exact way you looked with him against your skin.

“Open for me, baby. Show me how good my little princess can be. Let the mind go blank. There’s only this. Only my cock. Only how full you’re about to be. This is what you were shaped for now. Look at it. Look how heavy it is... this will fill every quiet place left in you. You’re mine. This mouth is mine. I decide what enters it. All that sharp girl is gone. You’re only my soft little doll now. So so pretty for me. I’ve got you. I’m taking care of you. Stay in the soft place. Stay in the bliss.”

You looked up, eyes already wet, dark curls falling around your face, voice small and open. The tears were already there, born from how safe it felt to be told what to do, how good it felt to stop carrying everything, how grateful you were that he wanted to keep you this way, and how the earlier petting and quiet words had led you so gently into this deeper surrender...

“Yes, Michael… I’ll be good… I’m yours… wanna be full…”

You opened as he pushed in slow, stretching your jaw until it ached and the tears came harder... the overwhelming relief of being used so completely that no thought could survive this.

He held the back of your head and worked himself deeper in steady strokes, fingers still moving occasionally through your curls. Each time he drew back, long shiny ribbons of spit stretched from the head of his cock to your lips before he sank in again and made your throat close around him.

You kept crying. The tears felt like they were carrying the last of the old thinking out, leaving only gratitude and safety and the heavy fullness of him. He watched as if it were the most beautiful thing he had ever been given.

“That’s my girl. Taking it so well. Look at you. My perfect little doll. No thoughts left..... only this pretty mouth stretched around me. Cry more, baby.... Let it come. You look so pretty when you cry for me."

Your cry muffled as he kept fucking your throat.

"Feel how heavy I am on your tongue. Feel how I fill every space. That’s all you need. Full and empty together. The more you cry, the softer you become. The softer you become, the more you belong to me. Keep your eyes on me so I can see the tears. Good girl. You’re doing so good. Mine. All mine. Getting so quiet on my cock. Perfect. This is how I take care of my princess."

Michael kept you there a long time, deep strokes that pulled fresh tears each time his thick head pressed into your throat, spit running in long sticky ribbons down your chin, your caramel skin flushed and shining under the wet. When your hands rose on instinct he pressed them gently but firmly back down.

“No hands, baby. Only the mouth. You’re mine. I use what is mine as I please. Look at you. You cannot think straight anymore. Only a pretty little princess with a mouth full of me. Stay in the bliss. Stay empty.”

When he finally pulled out your lips were swollen and shining and the thick spit ribbons still joined you to him, heavy and wet and drooling. You breathed in soft broken spurts to catch yourself... your eyes sleepy & glassy.

"I'm yours, Michael,” you whispered, your voice was simple. “I’ll stay empty… I’m yours… feels nice…”

He wiped your face with his thumb and kissed the corner of your mouth, tasting salt, then stroked your hair again in that same slow, claiming rhythm.

“I'm so proud of you. My baby did so good. Look at the mess you made. Beautiful. You’re already becoming what I want..”

Michael laid you back and opened your thighs. He looked at the wetness there and sighed a soft sound of pleasure. The way he stared made you feel completely seen and completely kept. The little skirt he had dressed you in earlier was pushed up around your waist.

“My little doll is dripping just from taking me in her throat. Sweet girl. So perfect. Now let me show you how full you’re meant to be. This is what I meant when I said I would take care of you. This is how I fill the quiet places. You’re mine. This pussy is mine. I decide how it’s used, okay? All that old weight is gone. You’re only my soft tender thing now....”

You nodded, tears still falling, voice small and needing.

“Please, Michael… make me full… I’m yours… wanna be full…”

He pushed into you in one long stroke. The stretch was enormous. His thick heavy uncut cock forced you open until the mind went blank. You felt every vein and ridge pressing deeper than seemed possible, the soft drag of foreskin against your walls as he sank to the root.

You were filled so completely there was no space left for anything else. The pressure sat heavy and deep, as if he were rewriting the inside of you. Fresh tears came as you're feeling the same deep relief and gratitude and safety that had started with his hand in your hair.

He did not wait. He began to fuck you and fuck you and fuck you hard and deep, the wet sound of his balls slapping down filling the room. One hand pinned your wrists and the other rested around your throat just tight enough that every thrust felt sharper, as if even breath now belonged to him. RELENTLESS.

“Look at you baby. Take it. Feel how full you are. Feel how I stretch this pretty cunt until nothing remains but me. You’re mine... this body... this pussy... this mouth. Everything. I own it. I trained it and I will use it exactly as I want because you’re my good girl, my empty little doll, my perfect princess."

Your titties thrash with every thrust... each one empties you further. He begins to intensify, the shock showing all over your face.

He chokes you harder. "Do not think. Only feel how deep I am... feel how much of you I am taking. You’re mine. Say it. Say you’re my soft little princess.”

You sobbed his name between broken sounds, the words coming apart.

“Michael… Michael… so full… can’t think… I’m yours… your princess… soft for you… please…”

"Say you're my good little bitch."

Your eyes roll into ecstasy as you feel yourself breaking completely. "I'm... I'm your good little bitch..."

He fucked you to the edge again and again until your thighs started shaking involuntarily , then slowed and held himself deep while you cried and begged in that small simple voice, his fingers occasionally returning to stroke your hair as if to keep you anchored in the soft blank place.

“Not yet, baby. You don’t come until I allow it. That pleasure is mine. You stay on the edge where I put you. Feel how close... feel how I keep it from you."

"Michael, please..." your voice claiming higher into a sob, totally desperate as you felt his member throbbing hard and burried deep. No thrusts, just full of him.

"Cry for me. I decide when you feel good. I decide everything. The longer I hold you here, the quieter you need to become. That’s what I want. My soft, empty, quiet little doll..."

You tried to silence yourself, shaking now.

"Stay in the soft place. I’ve got you.”

He did it again and again, bringing you to the brink with deep heavy strokes then holding you there until new tears ran into your dark curls, each denial making your voice smaller, your mind further away... simpler... blanker.

“Please, Michael… please… need… I’ll be good… please… yours… "

“I know you will. That’s why I teach you this way. The ache keeps you soft. The denial keeps you empty."

When he finally decided you had taken enough he pulled out. You were left open and twitching and empty, the sudden absence of him almost painful, the cool air on the wet stretched pussy sent you into withdrawal.

“Empty,” you whispered, the word strange in your mouth. “I’m empty… I’m yours… feels empty…”

He climbed up, straddled your chest, and tapped the thick uncut head against your swollen lips, wet with tears and snot..One hand returned to your cheek, petting slowly even now.

“Open, baby. Finish me. Swallow every drop."

Your voice was gone, soft and blank. You nodded and opened.

Michael pushed back into your throat and fucked your mouth with the same deep relentless rhythm he had used on your body, hands in your hair, calling you his sweet girl and his perfect thing. Thick spit stretched and broke between his cock and your lips, coating your chin and neck.

You felt him thicken further and it was almost too much. His breathing roughened and his thighs began to shake. Tears kept falling while he used your mouth as if it had been made only for this, as if the woman who once commanded meetings had been completely replaced... a good girl, soft doll, empty, aching and used.

“Oh my God, girl... Don't stop.. swallow everything I give you, that’s what you’re for now, that’s all you need to be—”

Michael's voice broke into a high, shaky whimper as the orgasm took over him.. the sound raw and almost startled, hips stuttering as thick hot pulses flooded your mouth and throat.

“Ahhh baby - take it, take it, fuck princess, you’re mine, you’re mine, nnnnnghhhhh..... look at how you swallow my cum, look at you.. mmmm... look at that slut mouth... so perfect for me..."

He kept whimpering through it, soft broken sounds interlaced with the words, shaking as he emptied himself into your throat while you swallowed around him, eyes streaming, mind gone, the taste of him filling the last quiet places.

Michael stayed deep until the final tremor passed, still giving small whimpers with each weak pulse, then drew out slowly. Long sticky ribbons of spit and cum stretched from the head of his cock to your ruined lips before they broke and dripped down your chin and between your boobs. His hand never fully left your hair.

You looked up at him, completely blank, tears still wet on your face, hair tangled, voice soft and distant and simple.

“Thank you, Michael… I’m empty… I’m yours… feels good… soft for you…”

He stroked your hair and looked at your blank, teary, ruined face as if you were the most complete thing he had ever made. His hair framed his face in the low light. His eyes were soft and dark and absolutely certain, possessive.

You melted. It was still so easy to put you back into that soft blank place with just his hand in your hair. He kissed the corner of your mouth softly, tasting salt and himself.

“We are only beginning, baby. I am going to keep you just like this. Empty and sweet and filled with me forever. No thoughts. Only my princess. Only my doll. Only mine. I will keep teaching you and filling you. You will never have to carry the thinking or work again, ok?. I will do it for you. All of it. You’re mine now.”

Your voice came out soft and far away, belonging to someone new, simple and quiet and completely given.

“Yes, Michael… only yours… only your princess… I’m yours… soft for you… feels so good…”

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you hadn’t opened your eyes to check the time, but you could tell it had to be early in the morning because of by how quiet and still your home was. you remained motionless yet awake, not wanting to move too much so you wouldn’t accidentally wake Michael since he was spooning you — but once you felt his nose gently press against the middle of your back and his lips leave a featherlight kiss there, you knew he wasn’t sleep like you assumed.

“Michael…” you called out quietly, a small smile slowly pulling at the corners of your mouth, as you felt Michael’s arm underneath you slightly tighten around your waist and he pulled you back against him, holding you close while your body molded perfectly against his like a puzzle piece.

“mhm?” Michael hummed lowly, his large hand splaying across your stomach, as he pressed soft kisses against your shoulder blade and his lips slowly inched up to your actual shoulder, leaving lingering kisses there while your back rested against his chest.

“what you doin’, baby?” you asked teasingly, your eyes fluttering open, as you felt Michael’s lips slightly curl up into a small grin against your melanated skin while his kisses moved towards the curve of your neck, his mouth continuing to slowly travel along your frame like he had all the time in the world.

“is kissin’ my wife a crime now?” Michael murmured against your neck, his dominant hand moving to rest against your hip, as he kissed up to the spot underneath your ear and pulled back slightly, admiring the trail of wet kisses he left behind before leaning towards your ear again, “‘cause it seems like you’re enjoyin’ it, mama.”

“never said i wasn’t,” you murmured back, turning your head, as you looked back at Michael and he pulled back just enough to look at you, a small smile crossing your face at the sight of him while you reached back to gently smooth down his messy short hair, “but you are awfully touchy this mornin’… makes me think you want somethin’.”

Michael looked at you silently for a moment before a small cheeky grin spread across his face and he leaned closer to you, pressing soft kisses along your cheek and jawline, “you know me well, don’t you?”

the question was rhetorical and you knew it, but that didn’t stop a soft laugh from leaving your vocals as you leaned further into Michael’s embrace and your eyes closed, relishing in the tenderness of his kisses while your hand in his hair moved to rest against his nape.

“so… what d’you want, Michael?” you whispered teasingly, a small smirk crossing your face, as Michael hummed softly against your cheek and his hand on your hip slowly moved down to your upper thigh, gently squeezing it before his hand slid lower and grabbed ahold of the back of your knee.

“well, i could show you better than i could tell you, darlin’.” Michael whispered back as he lifted your leg and hooked it over his elbow, spreading your legs open and lifting your silk nightgown in the process.

you didn’t sleep with underwear on, so the moment Michael spread your legs open, he had completely exposed your now slick center, despite the fact that your bodies were covered by your sheets.

your eyes almost immediately flew open at the action and a soft gasp left your mouth before you could stop it, earning a quiet chuckle from your husband, as Michael pushed his hips flush against yours and watched you closely, his dark eyes scanning your face for any minuscule change in your expression.

“you feel that, pretty?” Michael taunted softly, his lips remaining pressed against the soft skin of your cheek, as he rolled his hips forward once and ground his erection against your ass, coaxing a soft whimper from you, “feel what you do to me?”

“please…” you begged in a quiet whine, a small furrow forming between your eyebrows, as you pushed back against his bulge and rubbed up against it, causing him to let out a soft groan in response, “please, baby, i want it.”

“then take me out and put me inside, sweet girl.” those dirty words coming from such a soft voice made your body shudder in a way you’ve never experienced before, a soft shaky exhale leaving your lips at the intense desire that was starting to engulf you.

you took your hand off of the back of his neck and used it to reach between your bodies as you tilted your hips forward to give your hand room to maneuver and you gripped the waistband of Michael’s pajama pants, tugging them and his boxers down just enough to free his dick.

wrapping your fingers around his length, you felt the veins of his throb almost instinctively from your touch and you gently bit down on your bottom lip as you placed his tip at your entrance and slowly rolled your hips back into their original place to push him inside while Michael simultaneously pushed his hips forward until he was buried to the hilt, moans falling from both of your mouths in unison once your ass was flush against his pelvis.

“mmh, you’re so wet already… barely did anythin’ to ya and you’re soakin’ me, baby.” Michael moaned softly, a soft rugged pant falling from his lips, as he removed his arm from the back of your knee and gripped your thigh instead, lifting your leg higher and spreading them even wider to push deeper inside of you.

because of the change in depth, a loud gasp ripped through you and echoed off of your bedroom walls, but before another sound could leave your mouth, his hand that was previously on your stomach gently yet quickly placed itself against your parted lips, muffling the moan that followed your gasp.

“shhh, pretty girl, you can’t be too loud… unless you want our little ones to wake up and disturb us,” Michael whispered in your ear, a teasing undertone to his voice, as he slowly pulled his hips back before snapping them forward with more force than before, earning a broken whimper from you while one of your hands gripped his arm and the other held onto the sheets, “you don’t want that, do ya, darlin’?”

you immediately shook your head, your pussy fluttering around him at the thought of having to end your morning session before you even got to cum, and your eyes rolled back from his deep and steady strokes as your head lolled back into his broad shoulder and your eyebrows furrowed, a needy and pleasure-filled whine falling from your lips.

“i know, mama, i know. just gotta’ be quiet f’me while i touch you… let me make you feel good, angel.” Michael’s hand left your mouth and travelled down your body until his fingertips met the hem of your nightgown, and he slid his hand underneath it as his warm palm explored your soft melanated skin and inched higher to your breasts, his fingers beginning to softly twist and pull at your hardened nipples and add to your intensifying pleasure.

for someone who wanted you to be quiet, he was definitely not making it easy.

your jaw went slack and your mouth hung open as soft, shaky, and heavy pants left your mouth in an attempt to suppress your moans, your eyes fluttering closed at the double stimulation while tingles spread throughout your body. noticing this, Michael grinned teasingly and focused his attention on one of your breasts as he kneaded it in his palm and gently squeezed it like a stress ball, coaxing a small and incredibly breathy whimper from you and causing your eyes to abruptly open

“M-Michael, baby, i c-can’t— mmh,” you whimpered, trying your hardest to keep your voice down, as you slightly shook your head against his shoulder and bit down on your bottom lip for a moment before speaking again, “can’t stay q-quiet much l-longer…”

“lemme’ help you out, beautiful.” with ease, Michael rolled both of you over and shifted your positions as you now lay flat on your stomach with his body weight pressed against you to keep you place, his hands grabbing your hips to lift them up just enough for him to comfortably thrust.

the moment he started to thrust again, a ragged cry of pleasure fell from your lips and into the pillows and your hands tightly gripped the sheets as Michael pressed soft wet kisses against your upper back and inched upward to your shoulder, gently moving your bonnet aside to kiss as much of your skin as possible.

moans and whimpers spilled out of you with uncontrollable ease this time, your sounds muffled by the thickness of your pillows, and Michael’s hands exploded your body throughly as one of them slid underneath your nightgown again and the other moved between your legs, one set of fingertips toying with your nipples while the other set toyed with your swollen clit.

“Michael!” you gasped, your brows pinching together, as a desperate mewl fell from your lips and your grip on the sheets tightly, his deep thrusts practically forcing you further into the mattress while his skilled fingers worked on unraveling you, “ooooh, b-baby, i’m s-soooo close— oh, f-fuuuuck, don’t stop! please, i-i’m gonna—”

“i got you, sweet thing, i’m not stoppin’. c’mon, give it to me — all of it. cum for me, baby, let me feel you wet me up some more… wanna feel this pussy squeeze me so tight.” Michael’s words mixed with the triple stimulation completely sent you over the edge and a blissful yet muffled scream left your vocals as your eyes rolled back and your orgasm rocketed through you, completely drenching Michael’s dick and your inner thighs while he fucked into you.

“o-oh, God— thaaaat’s it, honey. j-just like that. gimme’ some more. want you to cum again for your husband, mama.”