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Your eyes have been glued to the back of your head for the past hour, and sweat beads against hot skin as you attempt to hold on to your last bit of sanity. The moans that fill the air are hoarse, and your bones have turned to jelly. Bite marks and hand prints are littered everywhere, left by the feral man beneath you. Jermajesty’s stamina is a force to be reckoned with.

His leaking tip pulverizes that gooey spot that melts your brain over and over again. It’s a blissful torture. Overstimulation hums through your body, and drool falls from swollen lips onto his chest as your hips grind down on him. Truthfully, you’d lost focus after orgasm number two. The man pawing at your curves had reduced you to a babbling mess that couldn’t remember her own name.

"Still with me, baby?"  He coos with a wicked smile. How cruel. He really expects a response from you now? The bed creaks softly, not suited for this kind of passion. Disheveled whimpers are pulled from your chest and flow through his ears, like a song he can't stop listening to.

"S’right, let me hear how good it feels." He groans, trying his best not to break underneath you. The way you fall apart stirs something in his belly. It's a primal, all-consuming need to mark you up and show the world you're his. Jermajesty's fingers dig further into your flesh as he turns both of you over. In the process, his cock hits a place you didn't know existed. Stars form behind hooded lids, muscles contract under marred skin, and ecstasy rolls over you yet again.

Jermajesty lets out a fractured groan as you squeal. Your back is arched beautifully, the heat between your legs grips him tight, and all he sees as he looks over you is divinity. The feeling of your devotion, coupled with the fucked out expression on your face, leaves him reeling. "Shit! Pretty girl—." He slows his pace, feeding you deep, languid strokes as you come down again.

Your hair is frizzy, the lashes he just paid for are half gone, fat tears roll down the apples of your cheeks, and your lips are plump from stolen kisses. And yet, Jermajesty has never thought you looked more beautiful. He goes to tell you just how much you mean to him, how he wants to marry you, and stuff you full of his babies. Before he can, a familiar tune cuts through the air. The phone dances on the nightstand, trying its hardest to catch your attention. You're too far gone to register what's happening, but when you get like this, Jermajesty does all the thinking.

He pauses to look over, and a frown immediately overtakes his face. It's your coworker, Tyrone. The one he’s been watching for quite some time. Your boyfriend doesn't consider himself to be a jealous man. Just…cautious. Your boyfriend noticed a few weeks ago that the guy you work with just couldn't stay away from you, and it wasn’t hard to tell the man was thinking things that he shouldn’t be.

Jermajesty's first instinct is to decline the call and continue worshiping you like the goddess you are, but then inspiration strikes. Since Tyrone decided to call so late, your boyfriend couldn't find any reason to stop what he was doing. You were off the clock, and this was his time.

"It's that guy you work with, mama," He says while moving to grab the phone. You roll your eyes and whine, not yet wanting to part ways with nirvana.

"So? Let it ring, Maj. I need you."

He chuckles at that. If there's one thing the man under you knows, it's that you don't care about anything or anyone when he's deep in your walls. That kind of attitude toward the guy who is obviously desperate to speak with you wouldn't be very nice, now would it?

"I know, baby, but it would be rude not to answer." He says, pretending to be concerned as he slides out of your pussy. The loss of contact nearly breaks you, and you whine in protest. Jermajesty shakes his head and tuts, "Look, he's calling so late too. Could be an emergency, ma."

You sit up on shaky elbows while glaring at the device held in his hand. After another moment of contemplating, the ringing stops. A grin forms at the corners of your mouth, "Well, the problem solved itse—"

Again, the little glass box sings, declaring that you've spoken too soon. With an annoyed groan, you hold out your hand. Jermajesty places the phone there and shifts so that you can sit up fully. You answer, properly annoyed. "Hello."

The man on the other end of the line is almost taken aback by your tone. "H-hey, y/n. Um, are you busy?" He asks, rethinking his decision to call altogether.

Jermajesty snaps his fingers, drawing your attention toward him. He gives you a look that says, 'play nice'. You clear your throat, attempting to sound somewhat professional while the man to your left eyes you like dinner.

"Yeah– I mean, I was just um…relaxing. What's up, Ty?" You rush out, trying your best to speed up the interaction that is already taking far too long.

Jermajesty's jaw tightens at the way you say the guy’s name. So sweetly too. ‘Ty?’ Really?

Your boyfriend expected you to struggle with this conversation, to sound as desperate as he knew you were, not like you were actually interested in what another man had to say. He masks his irritation with a deceptively sweet smile as he crawls toward you on the bed. His movements are predatory and deliberate, dark eyes fix on yours with an intensity that makes your breath hitch.

You try to focus on whatever Tyrone is saying about some account, something about numbers not adding up and needing your expertise first thing in the morning, but Jermajesty doesn’t make it easy. He settles between your trembling thighs, broad shoulders forcing them wider, and presses wet, open-mouthed kisses over the skin. Your voice cracks as you attempt to respond to your coworker’s question about quarterly projections.

"Y-yeah, I can look at the files. Just– god, just send them over."

Jermajesty slowly drags his tongue upward, ending in the crease before leaning over to taste where he’d been buried just moments ago. All you can do is bite your lip and pray you can hold steady. He wraps his lips around your sex and  hums. The vibrations are enough to make you dizzy.

You gaze down and watch with wide, panicked eyes, silently pleading with the madman trailing his tongue over your pearl. He lifts his head just enough to meet your stare. The expression he wears tells you not to hold your breath, that he’s just getting started. Your head tips back, and your chest rises and falls in uneven beats.

"Are you okay?" Tyrone cuts in, genuinely concerned now. All he’s able to hear is odd shuffling and heavy breathing.

A high-pitched response is all you can manage, trying your best to sound convincing. "Fine! Just, uh, dropped something."  

Jermajesty chuckles and takes that as his cue to shift gears. He sinks two fingers into you without warning, curling them just how he knows you like it. The sudden intrusion causes the phone to nearly slip from your grip.

"O…kay.” Ty drags out, leery of your tone. He decides to brush it off and get to the real reason he called.

“Well, actually, y/n, I was wondering if you'd want to grab coffee sometime? Outside of work, I mean." Tyrone finishes. His tone carries a sound that your boyfriend can’t seem to stand. Genuine hope.

Jermajesty's fingers still, and for a moment you think he's had enough of this game, that he might let you cut the poor man loose. But before you can blink, he's moving again, fucking into you with vigor. His  thumb circles your clit with devastating precision, and you quickly realize that he was never stopping. He was just sizing up his competition.

Your eyes flutter shut as pleasure builds at the base of your spine. You try your hardest to keep your composure, while Jermajesty tries his hardest to break it.

"Sorry if this is forward, but I really enjoy working with you, and I thought…maybe we could get to know each other better?" Ty continues, oblivious to the fact that you're being ravished by another man a few feet from the screen.

Jermajesty adds a third finger, stretching you deliciously, and you can't help the whine that escapes. You try to cover it with a cough, but Ty’s already heard it.

"Are you sure you're alright? You sound—"

"She's perfect," Jermajesty says loud enough to be heard, and your eyes stretch as wide as saucers. Your body fills with equal parts panic and arousal. He still doesn’t stop. No, if anything, he doubles down. The line goes quiet; it’s clear the man on the other end is processing what he’s just heard.

"Is someone there?" Ty questions, more than sure that he’s tripping.

"Her boyfriend," Jermajesty answers without missing a beat. "And you're calling awfully late, Ty. Can this wait? We’re busy.”

In this moment, there are three things you really want. One, for the mattress to open up and swallow you whole. Two, to cum so bad your vision goes white. And three, to murder Jermajesty.

"I-no. Just, well–" Ty stammers as  his courage begins to evaporate.

You decide to spare what might be left of his pride, "Ty, I really can't talk right now," Your voice comes out breathy and hoarse. With the added context, Tyrone now understands why you’ve been so weird tonight.

Jermajesty's thumb presses down hard on your clit, and you let out a high keen; the sound is unmistakably vulgar. This time, you save yourself the embarrassment and offer up the best response you can put together under this kind of pressure. "I'll see you at work. Bye."

You all but throw the phone and immediately turn to smack Jermajesty's shoulder. Not that it means anything, he has you so close to the edge, too wound up to give a fuck about what just happened.

"You’re—fuck! Maj you’re an ass," you pant.

Jermajesty giggles in return, watching the way your hips chase his fingers. He doesn't answer. Instead, he just replaces his hand with his mouth. His tongue fucks into your sopping hole, and the sensation has your back coming off the bed in a sinful arch. His hands pin your hips to the bed before he shifts focus to the bundle of nerves nestled between your folds. The figure-eights he draws with the wet muscle are all it takes. You fall apart in seconds, chanting his name like a prayer. Your body quivers with the force of your release, and the sheets are clutched in your grip so tight the tension nearly rips them.

The aftershocks don’t even have time to subside. He’s already crawling up your body, guiding himself back inside with one deep thrust that you nearly feel in your lungs. Jermajesty cages you in with his arms, his face hovering inches above yours, all signs of his earlier playfulness gone. "Mine," he growls, snapping his hips forward with enough force to move the bed. "Say it."

"Yours," You gasp, "Only yours."

His girth nearly splits you in two, and the jealousy that sparked this entire encounter fuels every stroke. The headboard knocks against the wall, and a small crack forms where the edges meet the plaster. You're both lost in each other, in the raw ecstasy of one another. He sits back on his haunches and pushes your knees to your chest, leaning in to rest all of his weight on the back of your thighs.

"Shit– m’gonna marry you, mama," Jermajesty rasps. The expression he wears as he fucks you into the bed fans the embers glowing in your belly. He doesn’t stop there though.

"Wanna give you my babies. Want– Ohh, fuck– everyone to know you're mine." His words border on a whine. Those thick brows knit together, and as much as he wants to keep up this dominant act, your pussy just feels too good. He can feel tears of his own welling in his eyes as euphoria washes over his body.

“Please let me, baby. I need it so bad,” he whimpers.

His words are a requisition your body can’t ignore. You clench around him, and your manicured nails claw down his back, almost enough to draw blood.

He knows he can’t hold on much longer. Your heat cradles him in a way that breaks his mind and leaves him intoxicated. His pace quickens as he chases his high, “Baby, where you want it? hm?”

You can’t possibly give him a coherent answer, too lost in your own bliss. The spring that had been so tightly wound snaps, and your ankles lock around Jermajesty’s waist, pulling him impossibly deep. A pornographic moan rips from your throat as you cum, body

Jermajesty wails loudly in your ear as he follows you over the edge with a shattered cry of your name.

His lips crash into yours as he shudders above you. The kiss is hungry, all teeth and tongue, while his spunk stuffs you full. When you two finally come down, trembling and breathless, he pulls away from your lips, leaving a string of spit connecting you before he presses kisses to your temples, cheeks, and the corners of your mouth.

Still nestled inside you, your boyfriend suddenly feels uncertain about his behavior. "Was that too much?"

You laugh, tired and almost delirious. "Never. But I'm definitely going to have some explaining to do at work."

He grins, unrepentant. "Good. Maybe he'll finally get the message."

You roll your eyes but can't stop the smile tugging at your lips. "Asshole."

"Your asshole," he corrects, settling you against his chest and pulling the covers over you both. You don't bother arguing, too comfortable and sated to start anything else tonight. The phone lies forgotten on the floor where it fell. Here, in the dark with Jermajesty's heartbeat steady beneath your ear, nothing else matters.

"I love you, Maj." you mumble, already half asleep. His arms tighten around you, and he lets out a deep breath.

"I love you more, pretty girl. Get some rest. Round five in an hour."

Michael plops himself on the edge of his bed, the sunlight pooling through the window behind him & on the polariod he’s holding, a polaroid of you. In the picture, you’re sat on your boyfriend’s lap in an oversized tee, probably his. Your bare ass is jutted out as you look back, smiling cutely at the camera lens, your boyfriend’s hand gripping the fat of your cheek. As much as Michael loves it, it doesn’t belong to him.

The Polaroid he’s holding actually belongs to your boyfriend, your loyal & loving boyfriend. He found it poking out his wallet that was laying on the couch while you, Janet, his brothers & of course your boyfriend, were in the occupied in the back garden drinking & chatting, completely unaware of his sly acts.

Michael’s always been a bit nosey, especially when it comes to you & your boyfriend. He can’t help but despise him, hates the way he looks at you, hates the way he touches you. He’d always feel a way when you brought him over almost every-time you visited. He was still such a boy even in his 20’s, so lustful & envious yet so shy & enclosed.

He’d always ogle at you from across the room anytime you weren’t looking. The natural pout of your ripe pink lips, or the way your tits would bounce a little any time you giggled or moved, practically threatening to fall out of your skimpy camisole.

He lays back on the bed, placing the sultry Polaroid next to him so he’s able to pull of his shorts & his boxers, his eyes never leaving the picture beside him. He leaves them pooled at his ankles, too excited & frantic to take them off completely.

His cock is already rock hard, standing upright, just begging to be milked after multiple painful hours of weeping pre-cum in his pants from the way your ass looked in those denim shorts today. Thank god it was summer, he thought to himself.

His cheeks flush hot & pink as he picks up the picture again, trembling from adrenaline. He knows it’s wrong, you’re taken, someone else’s property. But Michael’s a traditional man, a boyfriend ain’t a husband is it?

He wraps a shaky hand around his meaty shaft, long n’ full veins already making an appearance under the skin from his intense arousal.

Shallow pathetic whimpers fall from his lips as he gently strokes his cock, staring at your slutty little picture, his mouth agape. He’s never been so erect in his life, he can barely wrap it around his hand from how big it’s gotten.

"God help me." He whispers, his voice box cracking.

He was obsessed with you, he’s had a crush on you ever since Janet brought you over, he’s just never acted on it as he’s doing now.

His attempts to keep his eyes out the back of his head start to fail as he gets closer to his climax, his hips bucking sloppily into his fist as he shuts his eyes, falling deeper into his imagination & less in reality with each stroke. Your name fell out of his mouth instinctively like a mantra, his cock a ticking time bomb in his grasp.

All of a sudden, his selfish trance was broken with a creak with what sounded like a door. He looks to the sound briefly, thinking it was something else. But it wasn't, it was you. You'd been standing in the doorway for at least 2 minutes, leaning against it with your mouth pried open in a teasing, judgmental manner. Secretly, you liked watching him touch himself when he knew no one was watching, you found it primal & dirty.

It was you who'd pushed the door open a little so it would creak, making yourself known to Michael.

As soon as he saw you, he shot up & grabbed his boxers to pull them up in a scurried motion. He looked like a deer in headlights, his eyes all blown out & scattered. You watch him slide the Polaroid under his pillow, thinking you wouldn't notice, but of course you did.

Before he could open his mouth to talk, you butt in.

"I was just walkin' past, & I heard my name?" you coo, your sweet Indiana accent making him even more shy.

You step into the room, closing & locking the door behind you with a small click as he sits up. His shorts are still pooled at his ankles as you move closer, taking a seat next to him.

He plants his face in his hands, stiff as anything. He genuinely looked as if he could cry. The last thing he expected to see was you, that's the last person he'd want to see him in that state.

"m' so sorry—" Is all he could manage, his voice shaky & eyes glossy as he looks at you, "please don't tell Janet, I'll do anything for you not to tell her, Im so sorry—"

You place a hand on his cheek, caressing him softly as you tilt your head with a small pout of your lips.

"I ain't gonna tell anyone, okay baby?" You mewl at him like a kid as you nod.

He nods along like he has no mind of his own, totally dumbfounded by anything you tell him. Now that you think of it, he kind of reminds you of a puppy.

"I wasn't thinkin' about you though, I promise, it was just to some Playboy magazines." He protests.

You let out a little giggle as you pull out the Polaroid sticking out from under his pillow like a sore thumb. You hold it up in front of his face with an amused expression.

“What’s this then huh?”

You watch the colour literally drain out of Michael's face as he goes silent. His pulse booms in his ears as he feels his hands grow clammy. He stammers as he tries to explain himself to no avail.

"That's not mine—" He says.

"I know it's not yours silly, it's my boyfriend's." You reply, your bottom lip drawing in from how horny he must've been to take this.

"N-no, but I dont know how it got here."

You tut, putting the polaroid on the bedside table.

“I’m not dumb, I mean look—“ you lift his hand off his crotch, revealing his hard poking under his boxers. He hisses through his teeth from the mere sensation of you touching his hand.

“You’re still hard, I know you were touching yourself to me. You’re such a little perv.”

“No I promise it wasn’t like that.” He presses, shaking his head.

You start to pull his shorts off from his ankles, startling him.

“What are you doing?” He says frantically, his eyes darting back & fourth from your face to where you’re pulling his shorts off.

“Shh, just relax.” You whisper, throwing his shorts to the floor, “I’m just trying to help you, but you can’t tell my boyfriend, you hearing me?”

Selfishly, you wanted his dick after seeing the size of it. & plus, you’ve always found him cute, Janet’s shy older brother who doesn’t talk much always appealed to you.

Michael watches you as if you’ll disappear if he blinks or moves an inch. He nods slowly in regard to your statement, understanding what’s going on. To him everything feels like a hazy dream, like he hasn’t accepted its reality yet.

You throw his shorts on the ground, leaving him in his boxers as you situate yourself in-between his legs. Your mouth salivates at the sight of him under the fabric like an incubus, ready to feed of him.

You caress his slim thighs, the stubble of hair making your palms tingle.

“Wait, this is wrong. This is really wrong.” Michael whines, dragging a hand across his face as he watches you tug at the hem of his boxers.

“I’ve always had a little thing for you Mikey, y’know that?” You say, pulling down his boxers & off his feet.

“—Always found you so cute.” You continue.

His cock sprung free the second you pulled down his boxers, hitting his lower abdomen. His tip was a deep mauve, glistening pre-cum still gathered at the top. His chest rises & falls as he stares at you, waiting for you to make another move.

You take his shaft in your hand & you can barely get it around. He bites his bottom lip at the sensation of your warmth wrapped around him. You bring your hand up to his mouth, laying your palm out.

“Spit,” you tell him.

He does as you say, gathering as much salvia as he can to put on your hand. You rub the fluids onto the head of his cock as you begin stroking slowly.

Michael’s eyes pinch shut tightly as he battles with something deep inside him. He’s tried to be holy his entire life, as unlustful as possible, following the ways of God. Not only that, but he was also thinking about how angry his brothers would be if they found out he betrayed their close friend. So many things were circling in his mind.

That thinking was soon brought to a stop as he feels something warm & wet touch him down there. He opens his eyes, seeing you bent slightly with your plumpy lips wrapped perfectly around his swollen tip.

“Oh my god,” he groans.

You swirl your tongue around his tip as you watch him squirm & struggle. His knuckles turning white as he tugs at the sheets beside him. You loved how in control you felt. You wrap a hand around the bottom of his base, not being able to take him all.

You begin bobbing your head up & down his shaft enthusiastically, squeezing him tighter with your wrapped hand as little gags rip from your throat, making him swell larger in your mouth. You love your boyfriend, but you didn’t expect Janet’s brother’s to be bigger than him. You release him from your mouth with a wet pop, stroking him absentmindedly.

“Anyone ever done this to you before?” You question with a twinkle in your eye.

Michael shakes his head frantically, his breath now completely erratic.

“No never, I’ve never done something like this before.” He admits, his cheeks flushed a light pink.

You hum in satisfaction, “you’re so innocent, that’s what I loved about you. You ain’t like everyone else, you’re pure.”

Michael’s unable to respond as he watches you remove your t-shirt, leaving you in your black laced bra. You lean down, giving his cock one last lick from bottom to top, making him wince & contract.

You stand on your feet as you push him back so he’s laying flat on his back, helpless. You reach behind you, unclasping your bra. Your perky tits fall free, sitting politely infront of him as you let the useless material fall to the ground.

“You’re so perfect, so beautiful.” Michael says barely above a whisper. His mouth falls agape as he gawks at them like a moth to a flame.

You giggle as you bend down, pushing your capris down your legs & off your feet. You follow along with your panties, throwing them onto his chest. He wastes no time in grabbing & touching them as if they’re gold. He brings them to his face, inhaling the natural scent of you he’d been dreaming of.

Never would you think you’d be standing in front of Michael stark naked. He relishes in the sight of you, his cock visually twitching as he furrows his brows. He comes back to reality for a second.

“What if someone comes? My brothers or Janet—“

“They won’t, just be quiet & they won’t okay?” You say, walking over to him as you situate yourself on his lap.

You were just about to grab & position him to your entrance when he stops you, grabbing your waist.

“Wait, can I?” He whispers nervously, pointing to your pussy.

You get off him, looking a little confused. You think you know what he’s asking for, yet you love to play games.

“Can you what baby? Use the right words.”

He hesitates before finally saying, “Can I lick it? Just wanna taste it so bad.”

“C’mere then.”

You nod with little giggle as you lean your back on his headboard spreading your legs in-front of him. You play with yourself with one hand, the other reaching out to place on his head as he lays down on his stomach. He looks up at you momentarily as you thread his curls between your fingers tediously.

He latches his mouth on your pussy instantly, lapping up your juices from bottom to top. The hums of satisfaction from him send a vibration to your clit, making you tense up & whimper. For someone who’s never eaten pussy before, he does it pretty well. Your boyfriend never made you feel this way, not enough desire as Michael has.

He continues suckling gently, moving to random places that wouldn’t usually bring pleasure, completely messy & inexperienced but so damn desperate.

“Feels real good Mikey, just like that don’t stop m’kay?” You breathe out, your thighs starting to clench as your eyes become teary.

You pinch your eyes shut, the muffled sounds of him slurping up your arousal adding to your pleasure. His hand comes up to gently grab one of your breasts.

“Right there, gonna come, y-yeah—“

Before you can process anything else, an orgasm rips through you with searing force. You arch your back into a sharp C as Michael makes an attempt to keep riding you through it with his mouth. Deep guttural moans erupt from your throat as you cover it with your hand, trying to stay quiet.

Michael sits up, wiping his chin with his wrist as he smiles in pleasure.

“You taste,” he pauses, “so good.”

You push him back down again to his original position, crawling on top of him as you hover yourself above his erect cock. You grab his face gently, pulling him in closer for a messy kiss. He’s probably been dreaming of simply kissing you for a while.

He moans into the kiss as your tongues battle for dominance, both of you extremely horny & greedy for eachother.

You reach down & grab his base, angling him perfectly with your weeping slit. Once it’s in the perfect position, you sit up & place both your hands on his chest.

“Remember, not a soul.” You remind him, placing a finger over his damp lips.

Michael blinks at you with his big brown adoring eyes, humming in submission as he waits impatiently to be inside of you. He’s excitement is tripled due to him never having sex, always having to wonder how it felt.

Finally, you start to sink down onto his length slowly. Each inch fills you up to the brim more & more, causing your eyes to roll back automatically. You reach the bottom, wiggling your ass you try to squeeze the last inch inside.

“It's so much bigger than his, fuck.” You whimper as you start to create little bounces.

Michael’s head falls back as low strangled groans rip from his throat. He’s not touching you yet, as if he’s afraid to overstep a boundary.

“You can touch me, Michael.” You say in between moans.

You bring his hands up to grab your hips, looking at you dumbfounded. He grabs you so gently you can barely even feel it. He slides his hands down towards your ass with a squeeze, a little wave of confidence washing over him.

"Like this?" he asks.

"Yes, exactly like that."

You continue bouncing on his length, a sweet ring of white elixir forming between the base of his cock & your pussy. Even if you two weren’t making noise, the obvious sound of skin slapping against skin & the erotic sounds of your mixed arousal filling the room — almost ratting out your little secret to the rest of the house.

“it's so tight,“ he manages to push out.

Never would Michael have thought his first time would be having his cock shoved deep inside his sister's best friend, he genuinely didn't know how to operate. All he knew was unrelenting pleasure, the rest of his brain foggy.

The room begins to feel humid, the unique aroma of your scents melting together to create an addictive combination that fills your nose with each breath.

Michael’s hips rut into you desperately from beneath, the thrusts becoming sloppy & erratic as he chases his release. He sits up slightly, wrapping his arms around your lower waist as he latches his mouth onto one of your nipples. He sucks with a warm gentle pull, catching the breath from your throat. He pulls you in tighter each second he gets closer, murmuring gibberish around your areola.

You hold the back of his head, running your manicured nails through his hair as you continue bouncing on him, occasionally grinding back & fourth.

“Think I’m gonna come, can’t stop.” He moans around your breast.

You pant furiously as you feel your own release crest in your lower belly, “f-fuck, me too. Come with me honey.”

Before you could move any more, the cord in your belly snaps. Your second orgasm riding through you blissfully. You throw your head onto Michael’s shoulder as you cry, your heartbeat booming in your ears as blind spots cover your vision temporarily.

Michael tried to last in hopes of staying inside you longer, yet the way your pussy tightened around him during your orgasm brought him to a sudden halt.

"Gonna come—"

His body stiffens up as he releases himself with one last thrust beneath you. He pauses before a singular, lengthy moan escapes his throat. You feel his warm seed paint your walls as he twitches, flopping onto his back as he tries to steady his breathing.

You lean forward, allowing him to slowly fall out of you. His flaccid length drops down on his abdomen as soon as it leaves you, his release dripping from you & onto his thighs.

All that was left was you & michael's bodies spent & glued together, a secret that only you two will have to hold from now on.

You look down at him, all fucked out & mesmerised by you. His eyes search you as if you're not supposed to be real. You pepper a kiss on his cheek,

"You're going to make this real difficult aren't you?"

a/n: i felt like a SLUT writing this

taglist:

you weren’t doing the absolute most—no shaking ass on the wall or making a scene—but you were doing a little polite throw, moving perfectly to the rhythm while your homegirl hyped you up, hands on your waist. you looked stunning. a literal goddess under the neon lights, effortless and completely captivating.

jermajesty locked eyes with you from across the room, his heart doing a sudden flip. he set his drink down, determined to break away from his section just to get your name. but the second he blinked and looked past a passing bottle girl, you were gone.

your best friend had grabbed your arm, practically begging to hit the restroom before an emergency happened. you let out a whimper, looking back toward the section. you were genuinely sad, thinking you’d completely lost the pretty boy who had been staring a hole through you, but your girl was the priority.

ten minutes later, you walked out of the restroom, smoothing down your outfit. you expected him to be long gone, back to his friends. instead, you found him leaning against the bar. he wasn't buying a drink; he was just standing there, eyes scanning the crowd until they landed right back on you. it was like he was waiting.

you didn’t hesitate. you marched right up to him, hips swaying, determined to leave the club with his number.

“you’re cute,” you said, leaning slightly against the bar counter.

jermajesty was immediately taken aback. his dark eyes widened slightly, a faint blush creeping up his neck that he hoped the club lights hid. he didn't think you’d be so bold. at first, he wondered if it was just the liquor talking, but as he got to know you over the next few weeks, he realized that was just who you were. unapologetic, vibrant, and completely magnetic. you had the whole baddie aesthetic thing going on.

it became the exact thing he loved most about you.

fast forward months later, and he still found himself wondering how a nerdy guy like him ended up with a girl like you.

you weren't an anime fan by any means. your timeline was filled with fashion, beauty, and music, but you loved him, which meant you loved the things that made him happy. you’d curl up right against his chest on the couch, the glowing television screen illuminating your face as hunter x hunter played.

you’d look up from your phone, blinking your glossy eyes at the screen before pouting up at him. “but why is the hunter exam so long, baby?”

jermajesty couldn't do anything but smile down at you, his heart melting into a puddle. he’d press a kiss to your forehead, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders. “they gotta screen out the weak ones, ma. just watch, it gets better.”

you were his whole world, and he showed it every chance he got. he’d willingly go sit in the nail salon for two hours, tucked into a chair next to yours, just listening to you and your friends gossip about absolutely nothing. he didn’t mind being the designated bag holder when you went shopping, trailing behind you through the mall with your luxury bags resting on his forearms.

and whenever you surprised him with a new funko pop to add to his growing collection, he would completely lose his shit. he’d lift you right off your feet, laughing, and cover your entire face in warm, breathless kisses until you were giggling and begging him to stop.

you were his outgoing baddie, and he was your quiet, nerdy boy. it made absolutely no sense to the rest of the world, but to the two of you, it was everything.

If you were to ask me how I felt about Jaafar, I'd tell you I love him. I'd tell you I love him so much it hurts. There's no one quite like him, you know. The sweet boy I met so many years ago has grown into a kind man with the biggest heart. Still, he's cruel. Cruel in a way that doesn't feel fair. 

He was my first kiss.

Can you believe it? 

We were sixteen. It was an unnaturally hot day, spent biking around our neighborhood. He was faster than me, a few feet ahead, laughing as if nothing mattered. My legs began to hurt, and I was thirsty. I didn't want to keep going, but he didn't want me to leave. I'd asked him when this would be over, when we could go inside and enjoy the air-conditioned house we'd been so desperate to escape. Jaafar chuckled and told me I was being dramatic.

I remember my shoulders slumping after realizing he had no intention of cutting the excursion short. A pout formed on my face, and a frustrated huff left my mouth. I went to complain, but the words never made it out. Jaafar had planted both hands on the side of my head and leaned in. The world froze for just a moment when his lips met mine. They were soft, like pillows. His hands squeezed my cheeks just a little bit tighter as he kissed harder. It was messy and inexperienced, but it was ours. This was something I didn't know I needed. My mind began to run rampant. Could this be something? I thought so, and for a moment. It seemed he did too.

We didn't talk about the kiss after that day, too scared to disrupt whatever there was lying between us. But, from then on, whenever he would say something about his "future wife" with a smile burning so bright it put the California sun to shame, I thought he'd been talking about me. I thought I fit the way he described her. There under the palm trees, I'd hoped there would come a day when he'd turn to me and whisper those words I'd been waiting to hear since middle school, that he'd find happiness in me and want to start a life together.

 How foolish.

We're nearly thirty now, and that still hasn't happened. 

I mean, he found happiness, but not with me. No, his joy lies with a woman who could give a fuck less about his favorite color so long as he posed for the camera by her side.

Madeline was a wildcard I hadn't expected. We all went to the same school, but I'd never even heard of the girl. Not before she'd been introduced as Jaafar's girlfriend on his seventeenth birthday. The world froze again, but this time it hurt. The ache in my chest was unlike anything I'd ever felt before. I remember the party, remember the way his mother had fussed over the cake, remember the way the candles cast shadows across his face when he'd pulled Maddie in for a picture.

She was beautiful in that effortless way that some girls simply are, with honey-blonde hair and a laugh that sounded like wind chimes. I hated her. I hated myself more for the jealousy that seeped into my skin. I spent the rest of that summer watching them from a distance, cataloging every touch, every shared glance, every inside joke that I would never be part of.

That’s when the coughing started. It was minor at first, similar to a head cold. I thought it was just a bug I had caught, until one night, after a long conversation about how wonderfully amazing maddie was, I’d felt something stuck in my throat. No matter how hard I hacked, it wouldn’t budge. It was suffocating. I remember being so scared because I couldn’t breathe. Tears formed as my fist knocked against my sternum in an effort to dislodge whatever foreign object had made its way into my windpipe. I hunched over and pulled in the deepest breath I could before coughing as hard as my body would allow. Out they came, blood stained petals.. The evidence that what I’d felt for the young man on the other end of the line didn’t matter.

Jaafar still looked for me though, and we’d still bike sometimes. The two of us still sat under those palms, drinking lemonade his mother made. But now, there was a third presence between us, invisible and suffocating. He talked about Madeline constantly, with that smile. The one I thought had been reserved for me. After some time, he’d noticed the persistent cough, the fatigue, and the dark circles that lined my eyes.

 Jafaar would ask if I was okay, and as always, I would nod with a tired grin, because what else could I do? Tell him that I'd been in love with him for the past two years? Tell him that I'd practiced saying "Jaafar and I" in front of my mirror until the words felt natural? Or maybe I’d tell him that I was coughing up flowers because he didn’t love me. Give me a break.

The years unfolded like a map I couldn't read. Jaafar and Madeline somehow made it past a few months and moved in together after graduation. I dated other people, nice men with steady hands and honest eyes, men who didn't make my heart race but didn't break it either. I learned to smile at Jaafar's wedding, learned to dance with his brother while the happy couple swayed to a song that had once been ours. The same one I played when we were eighteen, and he'd said it reminded him of that summer. Now it only reminds him of her.

Here's the thing about loving someone who doesn't love you back, you learn to live with the ache. It becomes a part of you, like a scar you stop noticing until something brushes against it. When it gets hard to breathe, or the itch in your throat won't leave, you just have to swallow it with a smile. The spread was slow. Long and drawn out. My lungs burned, and the petals turned to full blossoms. Still, I couldn't bring myself to stop the torture.

 He’s the air that’s missing, and I’ll hold onto it as long as I can.

Jaafar still calls me every week. We talk about his projects, about his dreams, about the baby his fiancée doesn't want yet, but he hopes for. He tells me I'm the only person he can truly be open with, and I believe him. I believe he means it when he says he doesn't know what he'd do without me. That's the cruelty of it, you see. He loves me too, just not in the way I've spent half my life wanting…needing. He loves me enough to keep me close, to fill my life with his presence without ever filling the space beside me. He loves me enough to make leaving impossible and to make staying unbearable. He loves me so much it hurts.

Some nights I lie awake and wonder what would have happened if I'd opened my mouth that day. If I'd pulled him back for another kiss and demanded to know what we were, would I still be in this room, writing to no one, waiting for fate to finish its job? Probably. I’ve seen Jaafar go the distance for the things he wants, and it's clear that whatever was between us wasn't one of them. Maybe that kiss really was just to placate me. I’m not even sure he remembers it, you know?

Last week, he sent me a photo of a house with a wraparound porch and asked what I thought of the paint color. His happiness bled through the screen, it was sickening. I typed back that it's perfect, that Maddie would love it, and that I'm so happy for him. Even though I was watching him give someone else my dream, the words came easily. After all, I've had nearly thirteen years to practice.

God, what a long time it’s been. 

Thirteen years learning to hate the scent of iron mixed with a magnolia’s perfume. Almost a decade and a half pretending I wasn’t doomed from the start and that this wasn't inevitable.

It’s getting hard to see now.

The tears won't stop.

I can feel the branches growing.

I guess this is it.

If there's anything I can ask for now, I just hope he doesn’t forget those palm trees.

Your baby girl finally responds, “Daddy is in the dance room practicing, so we’ve been in here, Momma.” Prince looks up at you, “Momma, we wanted the brownies you make.” Covered in flour, he walks over to you and wraps his arms around you in your red silk pajamas. Lying his head on your stomach. “...Michael Joseph Jackson Jr, I know like hell” running away laughing with his sister following behind him, also wiping her flour-covered hands on your clothes.

“I’m going to hurt them kids…look at my damn kitchen”

Staring at the flour on the floor, the spilled eggs on the counter, and the chocolate on the cabinets. You decided you were not cleaning this by yourself. All while the blanket sits there giggling on your hip.

“MICHAELLLL”

Neverland Ranch - Wash day gone absolutely wrong 

You prided yourself on keeping your coils healthy, so when wash day came around, especially with the Jackson munchkins running around. Your plan was to get up before everyone to wash your hair, which you succeeded in doing. Imagine your surprise when you walked into your bathroom to see your daughter messing with all your supplies. Opening the door, both you and Paris had a stare-off as she stood there on a stool, and you stood at the door staring.

“Paris, I just know,” closing your eyes, “Missy, what is that in your hands?”

Smiling at you with her face greased up from your shea butter, she shows you your good castor oil in her right hand and your super grease in the left. As you walk closer to inspect the top of your child’s hair that was laid more than her daddy's wigs. “Look, Momma, I’m doing my hair like you,” pushing the bristled brush in your face, you stand there confused because this time it’s not the child you expected getting into stuff. Chuckling slightly, “ Okay, Babygirl, we’re going to wash all this off you, and Momma is going to redo your hair. Okay, sounds like a deal.” Looking at her, she nods her head and hops down from the stool, still looking like she ate all her dad's KFC.

Sighing, “this doesn't make any type of sense,” cleaning up the supplies and getting started on your own head first before dealing with the wild child.

Neverland Ranch - The last Nerve

Money grows on trees, apparently 

The concept of money to kids is something that's still being understood, so the babies, as much as you loved them, they loved destroying stuff, especially yours, a bit more. Michael, your dear husband, was always the much, much more gentle speaking, stern parent out of you both. You, on the other hand, were always ready to put them and time out and send them up for a nap after wrecking stuff. 

Hearing Michael yell after Prince was never surprising; it was like seeing the sunrise, a daily occurrence. So imagine your surprise to hear him yell at Paris right after. 

“Prince, get back here before I grind you into a hamburger”

“Paris, your mother is going to get you guys”

Walking upstairs into the beauty room, Michael set up something special for you when you guys got married to see what was going on. You're shocked to see an absolute catastrophe. 

“WHAT THE HELL?”

You see your expensive foundation spilled, lipstick on Paris's face, bonnets and scarves on the floors, one which was actually on the blanket's head sideways, purses and heels all over the place, Mike holding the prince by the back of his overalls. All 4 faces turn to look at you with wide eyes.

With scrunched lips and clasped hands, you look at them, “ Everyone in the living room NOW”. Turning to walk out the door before them, down the stairs to meet them there still clad in pajamas and bonnet.

Standing in front of them, hands resting on your hips as they all sit on the couch waiting for you to speak, spooked by your reaction.

“I make a lot of allowances for a lot of things because I love you kids, but destroying my personal items is a big no-no, I mean hell no. So you guys are going to clean up everything in there and put everything back the way it was. I mean, scrub my damn walls clean. Then write daddy, and I letters on why you won’t wreck things anymore in the house. You’re not going to the zoo next week, and no, you can’t hang with your cousins, and we’re taking away your theater privileges for a week. While y'all are at it, go ahead and stand in the corner for me” 

Hearing their whines, you shrug, sitting on the loveseat across from them. Michael looks from them to you, “Mama, you don’t think they can just clean the room and still get everything else?” Staring at him, “Michael, do you wanna stand in the corner with them?” He comes over to the loveseat, lying down next to you, lying on your chest, bringing a blanket with him. “No ma’am.” Nodding, “Yeah, thought so”. He looks at the kids, “You guys heard your mama go ahead”. Watching and listening to the kids whine as they walk up the stairs.

“You know that really turned me on, mama”

“Applehead”

“Yes, mama”

“Why does my damn baby still have this bonnet on”

Outer Galaxy Space Agents