girl, that's just my baby daddy 𓈒 ✈️ ݁ ۪ ୧
bad!michael x black reader. part one here !
synopsis: After a few weeks of your last encounter with your baby daddy michael, you kinda ghosted him, and he did not appreciate that. So he decides to let naomi stay with katherine for the week and insisted on taking you to italy.....your dream date, cute.
warning: baby this even more nastier than the first one, dad!michael, mentions of pregnancy, traveling, cocky!michael, edging, cursing, use of toys, multiple positions (a few described), this is kinda long got carried away, mdni please !!!!
The grand bedroom is drowned in pale blue early morning light. The heavy velvet curtains are drawn, but thin beams of sunlight slice through the room, landing across the massive king-sized bed.
Michael is fast asleep, sprawled out on his stomach with one arm thrown over your empty side of the bed, his dark curls messy across the pillow, face completely relaxed.
You’re standing near the foot of the bed, fully dressed in yesterday’s outfit, quietly putting your shirt on. Your hands are slightly trembling. You glance over at Michael, your heart aching with a familiar, terrifying mix of love and panic.
You stare at his sleeping face. Last night was magic soft words, gentle hands, and that lingering feeling that nobody could ever replace him. But as the sun comes up, reality hits you like ice water. He’s Michael Jackson. He has the world at his feet. What if you’re just a habit he can’t break? What if you’re the only one drowning in these feelings while he’s just enjoying the convenience?
Swallowing hard, you pull your shoulder bag over your arm, turn on your heel, and tip-toe out of the master suite, carefully clicking the heavy oak door shut.
You quietly make your way down the hall, heading towards your daughter's room, making sure you don't bump into anything or make any unnecessary noise
Naomi is sound asleep under her canopy bed, her thumb tucked lightly in her mouth, and her stuffed rabbit hugged to her chest.
You gently sit on the edge of her mattress and shake her shoulder lightly you whisper tenderly. "Nae... sweetie, wake up. Time to go home."
Naomi rubs her eyes, let out a tiny yawn, and blinks up at you in the dim room. Voice groggy" Is Daddy awake? Where's Daddy?" She asked
You started smoothing her hair down, keeping your voice steady. "Daddy’s sleeping, baby. He worked really hard yesterday, so we’re gonna let him rest. Come on, put your shoes on, okay?:
Naomi nods sleepily, swinging her little legs over the edge of the bed putting her small bedroom shoes she had that her dad gave her.
You waited for her, once she was done you grabbed her hand walking down the stairs making sure to be extra quiet not to wake michael or any of the cleaners up.
You made your way outside, closing the door silently behind you. The morning air is crisp and cool. The ranch is dead silent except for the faint chirping of birds and the distant rustle of leaves.
You hold Naomi’s small hand as you quickly walk down the front steps toward your car parked in the driveway. You open the back door, buckle Naomi into her car seat, and shut it gently.
Before getting into the driver's seat, you stop and glance back at the main house. You look up at the second-floor window where his bedroom is, biting the inside of your cheek as a lump forms in your throat. You sighe to yourself
"I can't keep doing this to myself, Michael..."
You get into the car, turn the key, and drive through the iron gates before he even wakes up.
Three weeks have passed. You’ve deliberately avoided his calls, ignored his messages, and completely ghosted him. Every time you think about him, your stomach twists in knots. You’re in the kitchen folding laundry while four-year-old Naomi sits on the living room rug, coloring in a giant coloring book.
The landline phone on the wall starts ringing. You glance at the caller ID.
CALLER ID: WESTLAKE STUDIOS / PRIVATE
Your heart jumps straight into your throat. You freeze, holding a bath towel against your chest. You take a slow breath, trying to harden your heart, and refuse to pick it up.
You called out toward the living room. "Naomi! Sweetie, come pick up the phone! It’s your daddy!"
Naomi instantly drops her red crayon, her little eyes lighting up as she scrambles off the floor and runs over to the wall phone, grabbing the receiver with both hands.
Naomi excitedly squealed into the phone. "Daddy!!"
Michael smiled over the phone, his voice instantly brightening. "Hey, my big girl! Hi princess! How are you doing today?"
"I'm coloring a big dinosaur! Mommy bought me new crayons with glitter!"
He softly started chuckling over the line. "Glitter crayons? Wow, you're living fancy, huh? Did you draw a picture for me?"
"Uh-huh! I drawed a elephant drinking water for you and bubbles!"
He laughing warmly. "I can't wait to see it. ...Hey, Nae? Is mommy right there with you? Can I talk to her real quick?"
You immediately shake your head frantically at Naomi from across the kitchen island, mouthing "NO" and making a swiping motion across your neck.
Naomi looked at you, completely innocent. "Mommy's right here! She folding towels."
You glare at your daughter, slapping a hand over your forehead in exasperation.
his tone instantly shifting dropping low, smooth, and laced with quiet frustration. "She is, huh? ...Nae, baby, hand the phone to mommy for a second, please?"
Naomi held the phone out to you. "Mommy, Daddy wants to talk to you."
You started whispering angrily. "Tell him I'm in the bathroom!"
Naomi looked at you utterly confused, then held the phone back to her ear. "Daddy, mommy said to tell you she's in the bathroom!"
You close your eyes, letting out a long, defeated sigh while Michael's smooth, unmistakable chuckle echoes through the speaker, loud enough for you to hear even from a foot away.
"Tell your mommy she’s a terrible liar, baby. And tell her I know she’s been dodging my calls for three weeks." He said leaning back into his chair.
You snatch the phone from Naomi's hand, placing your palm over the mouthpiece briefly as you look down at her. "Nae, go back to your coloring book, sweetie. Go on."
Naomi happily skips back to her crayons. You drag the phone to your ear, leaning your hip against the counter, your wall coming right back up to shield your breaking heart.
You rolled your eyes as if he could see them, your voice cold, slick. "You know it's really low to use your daughter to get at me michael, i dont appreciate that shit."
His voice low, velvety, and dripping with dangerous charm. "Well, since you've been acting like a ghost every time I ring your house, I gotta get creative, tinka. Why are you runnin' from me?"
You raised a brow. "I'm not running from anybody. I'm busy living my life and taking care of our child. Something you should try focusing on instead of blowing up my house phone."
He couldn't tell if he was hearing the words you said correctly, he scratched his head. "You got a real smart mouth for somebody who snuck out of my bed at six in the morning like a thief in the night."
Your breath hitches. Your grip on the plastic receiver tightens until your knuckles turn white. "That was a mistake, Michael. A lapse in judgment. I told you before, we aren't together. We're divorced."
his voice dropping into that deep, possessive register. "Didn't feel like a mistake when you had your arms wrapped around my neck, baby. Didn't feel like a mistake when you were kissing me back and clenching all on this di-"
You started biting your lip hard, heart pounding against your ribs. "Shut up, Michael. Seriously, we were just in the heat of the moment and y'know that so don't start that shit with me today before I hang up on your ass."
His voice dropped to a softer tone. "I miss you. Both of you. Come back to neverland we can have family time again y'know..." he tapped his free hand against the table.
You swallowed down the ache in your chest, trying desperately to stay strong. "No. I'm not doing this game with you, michael. If I come I'm only dropping nae off."
He chuckled smoothly, right before you hang up. "I'll see you Friday, pretty lady. You can't hide from me forever."
You slam the phone back onto the wall mount, standing alone in the kitchen, leaning against the counter as your breath catches in your throat—terrified of how much you still love him, and even more terrified of letting him break your heart again.
"Fuckin prick, can't stand his good dick good for nothing ass....ugh!" You rubbed a hand on your forehead trying to calm your nerves.
Later that night, close to around 7 pm, you bathed naomi, fed her, the same old night routine that the two of you settled into that suited you both comfortably. Around 8 pm, she was out like a light. You did not play about that sleep schedule.
Eventually, you took you a shower and changed into a comfortable pajama set. Settling down on the couch just thinking about everything that's been happening in your life and maybe even michael, you sighed, taking a sip of your wine.
Your mind replayed all the filthy things he did and said to you, causing you to take a deep breath
"Right there mama?, I got you"
Each slow roll of his hips when he said "all ova"
Each and every time he sped up his pace.
It all replayed in your head like a broken record, causing you to get extremely frustrated with yourself. "I can't stand that man fuck" you took another sip of your wine. The wine starting to catch up with you. You eventually made your way to the kitchen and cleaned the cup out before wandering off to your bedroom.
You unfolded the sheets, getting beneath them. Today's events finally took Atoll on you, and you eventually drifted off to sleep.
The red digital numbers on your nightstand clock read 3:14 AM.
Your bedroom was pitch-black, save for the faint slant of moonlight cutting through the blinds. You were fast asleep, tangled in your blankets, when the harsh, shrill ring of the landline on your nightstand shattered the quiet.
You jolted awake, your heart instantly leaping into your throat. At three in the morning, a phone call usually meant bad news. Panicked, you threw off the covers and snatched the receiver off the cradle before the third ring could wake Naomi in the next room.
"Hello?!" you hissed into the phone, your voice thick with sleep and laced with panic. "Is everything okay? What happened?"
A quiet, low breath came over the line, followed by the faint sound of music playing softly in the background—a slow, classic jazz tune softly echoing through a recording studio control room.
Michael’s voice was smooth, velvety, and completely unbothered. It was that deep, late-night rasp he only got when he’d been up all night working, his tone carrying a quiet, intimate warmth that immediately made your heart do an unwanted flip.
You let out a harsh, exasperated breath, sinking back against your pillows and rubbing your hand over your face.
"Michael? Are you out of your mind?!" you whispered angrily, keeping your voice down so you wouldn't wake your daughter. "It is three o'clock in the morning! I thought somebody was in the hospital!"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he murmured softly, letting out a low, breathless chuckle that vibrated right through the receiver. "I didn't mean to scare you, tinka. I just... I couldn't wait till morning to call you. I've been thinking about you all night."
"Well, stop thinkin' about me and go to sleep," you snapped back, slick as ever despite being half-asleep. "Normal people sleep at night, michael. What do you want?"
"Pack a bag," he said simply.
You blinked in the dark, pulling the phone an inch away from your ear to look at it before pressing it back. "What?"
"Pack a bag," he repeated, his voice dropping into a tender, persuasive murmur. "Come to Italy with me."
The room went dead silent for three full seconds. You sat up straight in bed, the rest of your sleepiness instantly evaporating.
"Italy?" you repeated, your voice incredulous. "Michael, have you lost the rest of your sanity? I am not going to Italy with you."
"Why not?" he asked gently, the smile in his voice obvious. "You’ve been talking about wanting to see Florence and Rome since the day I met you. You used to look at those travel books in the living room at Hayvenhurst for hours. I have a break in my schedule for four days before I gotta be back in the studio. Let me take you."
"Michael, no," you said firmly, trying to harden your heart against the sudden, overwhelming wave of yearning in your chest. "First of all, I have a life here. Second of all, I have a four-year-old child! I can't just drop everything and fly across the Atlantic Ocean on a random night because you had a sudden burst of spontaneity."
"Naomi is taken care of," he said immediately, his voice soft, steady, and completely prepared. "I already talked to Joseph and Mother. Katherine is more than happy to watch her at Hayvenhurst for four days. You know Mother loves having her over, and Naomi’s gonna be spoiled rotten the whole time. It’s already set up, baby."
Your jaw dropped slightly in the dark. "You talked to your mother before you even asked me?!"
"Because I knew you’d use her as your first excuse to say no," he replied softly, letting out another quiet chuckle. "I'm eliminating your excuses, pretty lady."
"It's not an excuse, Michael, it's reality!" You gripped the phone tightly, your pulse racing. "We are not together! You can't just buy me a trip to Europe and act like we didn't spend the last three weeks arguing and ignoring each other. Do you think a plane ticket fixes everything?"
The line went quiet for a moment. The playful, cocky edge in Michael's tone suddenly faded away, replaced by a raw, heavy sincerity that made your breath catch in your throat.
"I don't think it fixes everything," Michael said, his voice dropping so low it was almost a whisper, deep and vulnerable against your ear. "I just... I need to get away, tinka. And I don't wanna go without you. I don't want the press, I don't want the bodyguards crowding us, I don't want the noise. Just a quiet villa in the countryside. Just you and me."
"Michael..." you breathed out, your voice softening against your will.
"Please," he murmured. The word was so soft, so genuine, coming from a man who rarely had to beg for anything in his entire life. "Please, baby. Just say yes. Stop fighting me on this. I miss you. I miss talking to you without you having one foot out the door. Just give me four days. If you still hate me when we get back, I’ll leave you alone. I promise. But please... come with me."
You closed your eyes tightly, biting your lip so hard it almost bled. Hearing him sound so soft, so desperate for just a piece of your time, completely shattered the high walls you had spent weeks building up. You loved him God, you loved him so much it terrified you, and hearing the raw need in his voice was a weapon you couldn't defend against.
"You are relentless," you whispered, a quiet, defeated sigh escaping your lips. "You know that, right? You are an absolute menace."
A slow, breathless chuckle rippled through the phone line, rich with satisfaction and relief.
"Is that a yes, pretty lady?" he asked softly, his tone dipping back into that dark, velvety charm.
"When is the plane leaving?" you asked, rubbing your forehead.
"Driver's picking you and Naomi up at eight in the morning," Michael said smoothly, a triumphant smirk practically radiating through the speaker. "We drop Naomi at Hayvenhurst, and the jet leaves at ten."
"Eight in the morning?!" You sat up sharply. "Michael, it is almost three-thirty right now!"
"Then you better get to packing, baby," he purred teasingly, his low laugh echoing softly in your ear. "Wear something pretty. I’ll see you in a few hours, tinka."
Before you could fire off one last slick remark, the line went dead. You stared at the glowing red clock on your nightstand, letting out a long, dramatic groan as you threw your head back onto the pillows, knowing deep down that you were running straight back into the fire and you weren't even sure you wanted to be saved.
The red glow of the digital clock seemed to mock you every time you glanced at it: 4:15 AM, then 5:30 AM, then 6:45 AM.
You hadn't slept a single wink. Instead, you spent the rest of the night frantically throwing outfits into a suitcase for yourself trying to strike the impossible balance between "I don't care about you, michael" and "I want to look gorgeous in Italy"—while carefully packing Naomi’s small pink trunk with four days' worth of clothes, favorite toys, and her nighttime blanket for her stay at Hayvenhurst.
By the time the sun began to filter through the blinds, your head was pounding, your eyes were burning, and your patience was completely nonexistent. You were running on pure exhaustion, a cup of lukewarm black coffee, and intense regret for letting Michael Jackson sweet-talk you into this at three in the morning.
At exactly 8:00 AM, a sleek black town car pulled up to the curb outside your apartment building.
"Come on, sweetie," you grumbled, hauling the two heavy suitcases toward the door while Naomi happily trotted alongside you, holding her stuffed rabbit and completely oblivious to the chaos.
The driver helped load the bags into the trunk, and within twenty minutes, you were pulling up the winding driveway of Hayvenhurst.
Michael was already standing on the front porch waiting for you. He looked frustratingly handsome and entirely too rested, wearing a dark fedora, red button-down shirt, and sunglasses tucked into his collar, holding a warm cup of tea. The moment the car stopped and you stepped out, his eyes locked onto yours, and that slow, insufferable, triumphant smirk spread across his lips.
"Good morning, my two favorite—" Michael started, stepping down the stairs.
"Don't 'good morning' me, Michael," you snapped before he could even finish the sentence, throwing your purse over your shoulder with enough force to tear a seam. "I haven't slept, my back hurts, and if you start with all that cocky shit I'm goin home."
He stopped in his tracks, his smirk instantly softening into an amused, knowing grin. He knew exactly what a sleepy, cranky version of you looked like, and he found it entirely too cute.
"Mhm," he chuckled softly under his breath, kneeling down as Naomi sprinted into his arms. "Looks like somebody didn't get her beauty sleep, huh princess?"
"Mommy was loud packing bags all night!" Naomi announced loudly to her father.
"Is that so?" He teased, kissing Naomi's cheek before looking up at you from the ground, his dark eyes sparkling behind his curls. "You could've just come over last night and let me pack for you, baby."
"In your wildest, most delusional dreams, michael," you rolled your eyes, snatching Naomi’s small bag from the trunk.
Katherine stepped out onto the porch with a warm, welcoming smile, rescuing the moment. You gave her a tight, loving hug, making sure Naomi was settled in with her grandmother before giving your daughter a dozen kisses goodbye.
"Be a good girl for Grandma Katherine, okay?" you whispered, smoothing Naomi's hair.
"I will! Bye Mommy! Bye Daddy!" Naomi cheered, running inside to show Katherine her stuffed rabbit.
"Alright, pretty lady. Time to go," Michael said smoothly, sliding his hand gently against the small of your back to guide you toward the waiting black SUV that would take you both to the private airport.
You shot his hand a sharp look, shoving your hands into your jacket pockets instead. "Touch me again before I've had real sleep, and see what happens."
"Feisty," he whispered in your ear, letting out that low, raspy laugh that made you want to slap him and kiss him at the same time.
The interior of the heavy SUV was quiet—or at least, it should have been quiet.
Bill, Michael’s long-time head of security, was sitting in the front passenger seat, staring straight ahead at the highway with the posture of a man who had seen too much and endured too many long car rides.
In the back row, the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.
"I just think it's hilarious," you said, staring out the tinted window with your arms crossed tightly over your chest, "that you think four days in Italy is supposed to make me forget how arrogant you've been."
Michael was leaning back against his leather seat, completely relaxed, one leg crossed casually over the other while he played with the silver buckle on his belt.
"I'm not trying to make you forget anything, tinka," he said smoothly, turning his head to look at you with that maddeningly cocky grin. "I'm just giving you what you've always wanted. You should be thanking me. Most women would kill to have Michael Jackson call them at three in the morning to fly 'em to Rome."
You slowly turned your head, glaring at him with pure venom. "First of all, I am not 'most women.' Second of all, don't talk about yourself in the third person. It makes you look like a tool. And third of all, you didn't fly me out because you're generous. You flew me out because you missed me and couldn't handle me ignoring your phone calls!"
He let out a breathy, arrogant laugh, leaning slightly toward you in the backseat. "Oh, is that right? You think I was sitting by the phone crying over you?"
"Yes! Exactly that!" You shot back, slick as ever. "You were sitting in Westlake Studios, pouting into your microphone because I made Naomi answer the phone instead of me!"
"I don't pout," he said, tilting his head with a smug click of his tongue. "I improvise. And clearly, my improvisation worked because who's sitting in the back of my car right now?"
"Because you bribed me with your mother watching my child!"
From the front seat, Bill let out a deep, heavy, long-suffering sigh, resting his forehead directly against his hand and staring out the windshield as if praying for strength.
"Are you two gonna do this all the way to Europe?" Bill asked quietly, his voice deadpan and exhausted without even turning around. "Because if so, I'm asking for a raise the second we land in Florence."
"Maybe." You and Michael said in exact unison.
Michael looked at you, a sudden smirk breaking through his tough act, clearly enjoying the argument way too much. "See? We still agree on some things."
"Shut up, Michael," you grumbled, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself and slumping back against the leather seat, closing your eyes.
"Make me, baby," he murmured softly under his breath, just quiet enough so Bill wouldn't hear, his fingers lightly brushing against your knee under the blanket. You slapped his hand away without even opening your eyes, though the heat rising in your cheeks betrayed you completely.
Twenty minutes later, the SUV pulled up directly onto the tarmac at the private airfield.
Standing right, there was Michael’s private jet, its massive silver body gleaming under the morning sun. The stairs were unfolded, and the flight crew was waiting at the top to greet you.
Michael stepped out of the car first, putting his sunglasses on and offering you a hand as you climbed out. You ignored his hand entirely, grabbing your own purse and walking right past him up the stairs, your denim skirt swaying with every step.
"Always gotta have the last word," he chuckled to himself, following right behind you up the airstrip stairs.
As soon as you stepped inside the cabin, the luxury was overwhelming deep cream leather seats, warm wood paneling, fresh flowers on the table, and a private bedroom set up toward the back.
You tossed your purse onto one of the broad executive chairs and sank into it with a loud groan, resting your head back against the leather.
He walked into the cabin behind you, taking off his hat and tossing it onto the table. He stood over your chair, leaning down until his face was just inches from yours, his dark eyes locking onto your tired face with a look that was equal parts of beautiful yet so playful.
"Welcome aboard, pretty lady," Michael whispered, his voice low and smooth. "Now... are we gonna keep fighting for the next twelve hours, or are you gonna let me take care of you?"
You glared up at him through heavy eyelids, taking in the way he hovered over you the subtle scent of his perfume filling your nose, his dark curls spilling past his forehead, and that infuriatingly smooth expression that said he knew he had you right where he wanted you.
"Taking care of me would mean letting me sleep for the next couple of hours without you whispering in my ear, michael," you grumbled, though you didn't actually push him away.
"I can do that," he murmured softly, his thumb gently catching the underside of your jawline, holding you still for just a second. "I can lay right back there with you and keep quiet. But you gotta promise to be good f'me mama."
"I don't make promises I can't keep," you shot back, a tiny smirk tugging at the corner of your lips despite your sheer exhaustion. "Especially to cocky men on private jets."
Michael let out a low, breathless laugh, his big eyes sparkling with that deep, dangerous affection that always made your stomach do backflips. "But you love this cocky man."
He straightened up, extending a hand out to you. "Come on. The flight attendants already turned down the bed in the back. Go lie down before you pass out in this chair."
You stared at his outstretched hand for a beat, your brain screaming at you to maintain your boundaries, to stay strictly in the leather chair, and to keep up the unbothered facade. But your aching muscles and burning eyes won the argument. With a quiet, defeated sigh, you slipped your fingers into his warm palm.
"Fine," you muttered, letting him pull you up from the chair. "But if you start running your mouth while I'm trying to sleep, I'm kicking you out the room."
"Deal," He whispered, leading you down the carpeted aisle toward the back compartment of the jet.
The private bedroom was dimly lit, the plush king-sized mattress fitted with crisp, high-thread-count white sheets and heavy silk pillows. A small basket of fresh fruit and two covered glasses of ice water sat on the nightstand beside the built-in window, which was already shaded against the glare of the morning sun.
You kicked off your shoes without ceremony, practically collapsing onto the soft mattress and burying your face into the oversized pillows. The sheer comfort was so overwhelming that an involuntary groan escaped your throat.
"Told you," he said from the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms loosely crossed over his chest, watching you with a soft, fond expression.
"Shut up," you mumbled into the pillow, pulling the heavy duvet up over your shoulders. "I'm trying to sleep here."
He chuckled quietly, stepping into the room with that silent, effortless grace of his. He reached down to gently pull the duvet up higher, tucking it carefully around your shoulders. His hand lingered on the side of your head, his long fingers lightly stroking through your hair in slow, soothing motions.
The touch was so gentle, so full of that quiet tenderness he only showed when the rest of the world wasn't watching, that it instantly melted away the last bit of fight left in your body.
"Get some rest, baby," Michael murmured, his voice dropping into a whisper-soft against the quiet hum of the jet's engines starting up. "We got a long flight."
"You're not staying?" you asked softly, your eyes half-closed as you looked up at him, the sudden, raw vulnerability slipping through your cranky wall before you could stop it.
Michael paused, a faint, genuine smile touching his lips. The cocky, teasing front completely vanished, leaving only that deep, intense gaze that always made you feel completely exposed.
"You want me to?" he asked softly.
You bit your lip, turning your face back toward the pillow so he wouldn't see the blush creeping up your neck. "Only because you'll distract the flight attendants if you're out there. Just stay quiet."
"Whatever you say, pretty lady," Michael whispered, a low, contented chuckle vibrating in his chest as he carefully unbuttoned his collar and slid onto the top of the sheets beside you.
He didn't push it. He simply reached out, sliding one heavy, warm arm over your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest as the plane slowly began to taxi down the runway. His warm breath fanned softly against the back of your neck, his fingers resting gently over your hip.
And as the jet lifted smoothly into the sky, taking you miles away from home and straight toward Italy, you finally let out the breath you felt like you'd been holding for weeks wondering how on earth you were going to survive four days alone with the only man who could completely dismantle you with a single touch.
The twelve-hour flight had been a blur of heavy sleep and low, quiet conversations whenever you woke up. But as the private jet finally touched down at the airport near Florence, the sheer reality of what you had agreed to hit you all over again.
The heat of the Italian afternoon air greeted you the moment the cabin door opened. Bill was already down on the tarmac, coordinating with the private security team and making sure the tinted Mercedes sedan was pulled up directly alongside the plane.
Michael slipped his sunglasses over his eyes and put his black fedora back on, catching your arm gently as you walked down the stairs. "Stay close to me, tinka," he murmured, his voice dropping into that protective, sharp tone he used whenever he stepped into public spaces.
Within twenty minutes, the car was winding through the narrow, ancient streets of Florence, passing grand stone archways, historic plazas, and sun-bathed villa estates.
The car eventually pulled into the private, cobblestone courtyard of a breath-taking 15th-century boutique hotel tucked away in the Tuscan hills. It was secluded, luxurious, and surrounded by sprawling olive groves completely hidden from the press and screaming fans.
Inside the opulent lobby, the hotel manager personally greeted Michael with low bows, handing over the brass keys to the top-floor master suite before discreetly bowing out.
The moment Bill unlocked the door to the suite, you stepped inside and dropped your purse onto the armchair. The room was stunning high vaulted ceilings, hand-painted fresco murals, exposed dark wood beams, and a private balcony overlooking the red-tiled roofs of the city.
Then, your eyes landed on the center of the room.
There was one bed. A massive, grand king-sized four-poster bed draped in crisp white Egyptian cotton and plush pillows.
You stood dead in your tracks, staring at it before slowly turning around to face Michael, who had just stepped inside after thanking Bill.
"No," you said plainly, crossing your arms tightly over your chest.
He paused, taking off his sunglasses and looking at you with that maddeningly innocent expression. "No, what?"
"No. Absolutely not," you scoffed, pointing a finger at the gigantic bed. "Where is the second room, Michael? Where is the sofa bed? Where is the second mattress?"
He clicked his tongue, a tiny smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he set his hat down on the dresser. "Baby, this is the grand penthouse suite. It's the most private room in the whole estate. They don't put twin beds in a luxury romantic suite."
"Then you can call the front desk and tell them Michael Jackson needs a room with two beds." You said. "Because I am not sleeping in the same bed as you. We are divorced. I am not falling back into your little web just because we're in Italy."
"Tinka, listen to yourself," he chuckled, taking a slow step toward you, his hands resting casually on his hips. "The bed is huge! It’s practically the size of a football field. You could sleep on one side, I could sleep on the other, and we wouldn't even touch each other."
"I don't care if it's the size of the State of California," you snapped, glaring at him. "You stay on your side of the room, michael. I'll take the couch."
"You are not sleeping on the couch," he said, his tone instantly shifting from cocky to firm, his dark eyes locking onto yours with intense sincerity. He walked right up to you, closing the distance until you had to tilt your chin up to look at him. "I brought you out here to relax, not to make you sleep on a wooden sofa frame. Please, baby."
"Please," he repeated softly, his voice dropping into that quiet, velvety murmur, his hand coming up to gently rest against the side of your waist. "I promise I'll stay on my side. I won't cross the middle line. Just sleep in the bed. Don't be stubborn just to fight me."
You looked at the couch, which, actually, looked entirely too small and stiff for a good night's rest and then back at his pleading eyes. You let out a long, heavy sigh, rolling your eyes dramatically.
"Fine," you muttered, shoving his hand away from your waist with a small frown. "But if you so much as breathe too loud on my side of that mattress, im sleeping on the couch."
"Fair enough," Michael grinned, white teeth flashing as he leaned in real quick to press a lightning-fast kiss to your cheek before you could swat him away. "Now go get dressed. I'm taking you to dinner."
By eight o'clock, the sun was setting over Florence, casting a brilliant orange and pink glow across the skyline.
He had reserved the entire rooftop terrace of a private, family-owned trattoria overlooking the Ponte Vecchio. It was lit entirely by soft candlelight and string lights woven through grapevines overhead. A private waiter quietly served fresh pasta, warm bread, and deep red wine, while a soft accordion played somewhere in the distance below.
Michael had traded his fedora for a sharp, dark tailored jacket, his curls styled soft and loose around his face. Sitting across from you at the small round table, the flickering candlelight reflected in his dark eyes, making him look almost overwhelmingly handsome.
"So," he murmured, leaning his chin on his hand as he watched you take a sip of wine. "Are you still mad at me for calling you at three in the morning?"
"Michael," you replied, setting your glass down with a slight smirk. "It is kinda crazy that you did call me at 3 in the morning. Why wouldn't I be upset?"
"Mhm," he chuckled, reaching across the small table. His long fingers gently slid over the tablecloth, lightly wrapping around your hand. He didn't pull away when you gave him a sharp look. Instead, his thumb just slowly stroked the back of your knuckles. "You say that, but you looked pretty happy when we were looking at the view-"
"The view of Florence is beautiful," you said, trying hard to ignore the warmth spreading up your arm from his touch. "That has nothing to do with you."
"You're terrible," he whispered, a low, rich laugh vibrating in his chest. His eyes softened, his gaze trailing over your face with that raw, undeniable affection he could never quite hide. "I missed this, y'know. I missed just sitting with you... no press, no music execs, no screaming fans. Just you talking trash to me."
You bit the inside of your cheek, the slick remarks suddenly dying on your tongue. The ambient music, the warm Italian breeze, and the intense, quiet devotion in his eyes were making it almost impossible to keep your walls up.
"You're a pain in my ass, michael," you whispered softly, not pulling your hand away from his.
"Yeah," he smiled, his thumb continuing its gentle circles over your skin as he leaned slightly closer across the candlelit table. "But you still love me though, baby."
The four days in Italy had gone by in a golden, dreamlike blur. You had spent the afternoon hours wandering down quiet cobblestone alleys, ducking into tiny local leather shops, and indulging in fresh gelato while Michael disguised in an unbuttoned linen shirt, dark glasses, and a low hat walked right beside you, his hand occasionally slipping into yours whenever he thought you weren't looking.
For the first time in months, there were no cameras, no rushing schedules, and no heavy expectations. It was just the two of you, constantly trading slick remarks, laughing until your ribs ached, and slipping back into that effortless, magnetic rhythm that had drawn you to each other in the first place. Now, on the fourth and final night, the warm Italian air was still and quiet outside.
Instead of going out to a fancy restaurant, you both decided to stay inside the penthouse. The French balcony doors were pushed wide open, allowing a cool evening breeze to drift into the grand bedroom, carrying the faint sound of distant street music and the scent of night-blooming jasmine.
You were sitting cross-legged on the edge of the massive four-poster bed, stripped down to a silk slip dress, swirling a half-empty glass of deep red Tuscan wine in your hand michael had completely ditched his shoes, jacket, and hat, lounging back against a pile of plush velvet pillows in just an unbuttoned black shirt and pants, his dark, damp curls framing his sharp jawline.
A second bottle of wine already sat empty on the nightstand. "I'm just saying," you said, pointing your wine glass at him with a slight, hazy giggle, "you were terrible at keeping secrets back then. Even now you're horrible at keepin secrets with that loud mouth of yours."
"That is not true!" He protested softly, letting out a rich, breathy laugh that echoed warmly in the quiet room. He reached out and took a sip from his own glass, dark eyes sparkling under the dim amber lamps. "I was discreet, tinka. There's a huge difference, y'know."
"Michael, you literally bought me a giant bouquet of white roses and had the assistant deliver them to my desk in front of everyone," you scoffed, a fond smile breaking through your usual tough exterior. "Very subtle, mikey."
"Well..." he hummed, a lazy, gorgeous smirk spreading across his face as he set his glass down on the nightstand. "I wanted them to know you were taken. There's nothin' wrong with that."
"We weren't even officially dating yet!"
"Doesn't matter," he whispered, his voice dropping an octave, smooth and heavy like silk. "I already knew you were gonna be mine."
You rolled your eyes, but the faint blush rising on your cheeks betrayed you instantly. You took another small sip of your wine, looking out at the glittering lights of Florence visible through the balcony doors. "I can't believe we have to leave tomorrow," you murmured softly, the playful edge slipping away from your voice, replaced by a sudden, quiet ache. "Back to reality, i guess."
He didn't answer right away. The atmosphere in the room shifted, thick with a sudden, unspoken intensity. Slowly, he shifted his position on the bed, crawling forward with that effortless, panther-like grace until he was sitting right beside you. He reached out, his long fingers carefully taking the wine glass from your hand and placing it on the nightstand next to his.
"Michael—" you started, your breath catching.
"Don't talk about tomorrow," he said softly, his tone dropping to complete gentleness. "We're still here right now."
Before you could fire off a protective, slick response, he reached out and gently laid his hand on your knee. His skin was warm, his touch sending a rush of electricity straight up your spine. Slowly, deliberately, his fingers slid up along your thigh, pulling you just an inch closer to him on the soft mattress.
"You've been extra mean to me this whole trip, y'know that mama?" He murmured, a quiet, teasing glint in his eyes, though his gaze was intensely focused on your lips. "You deserved every bit of it," you whispered back, trying to keep your voice steady despite your racing heart. "Someone has to keep your ass in check round here."
"Mhm..." he hummed, leaning in closer until you could feel the warm fan of his breath against your cheek. "And who's gonna keep you in check, pretty lady?"
His touch became bolder, his hand sliding up to rest at the small of your back, pulling your body flush against his chest. The familiar, overwhelming scent of his cologne wrapped around you, completely dismantling whatever logical defenses you had left. He tilted his head, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a heavy, intoxicating yearning. "You still love me, baby?. You disappeared that night, and it really bothered me and I-"
"You are infuriating," you breathed out, your hands coming up to rest against his chest. But instead of pushing him away, your fingers instinctively curled into the soft fabric of his unbuttoned shirt.
"Just tell me you love me," he whispered, his voice dropping into a raspy, irresistible murmur right against your mouth. "You and i both know what we have is real, that night before you left, that was magical baby."
You opened your mouth to give him a sharp, clever comeback, but Michael didn't give you the chance.
He shifted, sliding his hand up to cup the back of your neck, his fingers tangling tightly into your hair. Instead of capturing your lips, he buried his face into the sensitive crook where your neck met your shoulder, pressing his lips firmly, warmly against your sweet spot. A shaky, helpless gasp tore from your throat, your eyes fluttering shut instantly as an intense wave of heat coursed through your entire body.
"Michael..." you gasped out, your grip on his shirt tightening as your head fell back against his arm. "Stop... we said—"
"I know what we said," he murmured against your skin, his voice deep, gravelly, and completely breathless. He didn't stop. He dragged his lips slowly up the side of your neck, leaving a trail of hot, lingering kisses right over your pulse point, making your heart hammer frantically against your ribs. His thumb softly stroked your jawline, holding you right in place as he placed another deep, tender kiss right on that exact spot that made you completely weak.
"Michael, I'm serious..." you tried to protest, but the words came out soundless, a soft sigh escaping your lips as his hands smoothed down your waist, holding you possessively against him.
"I love you, baby," he whispered against the shell of your ear, his breath hot and ragged as he pulled back just enough to look at you, his wide eyes fierce with emotion. "I never stopped. Not for a single second."
Looking up at him in the dim, candlelight glow of the penthouse feeling the heat of his skin, the genuine desperation in his voice, at that very moment. You knew you were absolutely fucked.
You stare up at him, your hands still clutched tightly in the front of his unbuttoned shirt. You try so hard to conjure up one last slick remark, some clever defense to protect your heart, but looking into his dark eyes so raw, desperate, and utterly exposed the slick remarks completely dry up.
"You're a liar, michael," you breathe out, your voice trembling slightly.
"I'm not," he pleads softly, his thumb tracing over your bottom lip, his dark eyes searching yours with a feverish intensity. "I swear to you, tinka, I'm not lying. I know I mess up. I know I drive you crazy and I get caught up in work and everything else... but nobody holds me down like you. Nobody has my heart like you do. Please..."
He leans in closer, his forehead resting gently against yours, his warm breath fanning across your lips.
"Please give me another chance," he begs, his tone so tender and vulnerable it makes your eyes sting. "Just let me love you, baby. I’ll be good. I’ll be a good boy for you, I swear... just don't keep running from me."
Hearing Michael Jackson, the most famous man on the planet literally begging you, promising to be good just to keep you in his arms, shatters the very last wall standing around your heart.
"You better keep that promise, Michael," you whisper softly.
A breathless, euphoric smile breaks across his face, and before you can say another word, Michael captures your lips in a deep, desperate kiss. The moment your lips meet, all the built-up tension, the weeks of ghosting him, the petty arguments, and the endless yearning melt away. The kiss isn't rushed or rough it’s intense, heavy with months of missed touch and lingering love. Michael's hand slides up into the hair at the back of your head, holding you flush against him as he pulls you into the kiss, drinking you in like he’s been starving.
You let out a soft, surrender moan against his mouth, your arms finally winding around his neck, pulling him down as close as humanly possible. He groans softly, his free hand wrapping firmly around your waist, pulling your body completely into his lap as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, tasting like deep red wine and pure devotion.
Every time you try to catch your breath, he presses another warm, lingering kiss to your lips, then down to your jawline, and right back to your lips again unwilling to let a single millimeter of space come between you.
"Michael..." you gasp out weakly against his mouth, your mind spinning, completely intoxicated by his warmth.
"I got you, baby," he murmurs against your lips, his dark eyes glowing with absolute triumph and deep warmth as he pulls back just an inch. "I got you." Without breaking eye contact, he smoothly shifts his weight. He slides one long arm securely around your back and hooks his other arm under your knees, effortlessly lifting you up into his arms in one fluid movement.
You let out a quiet gasp, your hands instinctively clutching his shoulders to balance yourself as he stands up from the edge of the bed.
he carries you with absolute care across the dimly lit room, his eyes never leaving yours. He looks at you like you're the absolute center of his universe, not the screaming crowds, not the record labels, not the press, just you.
He gently lays you down in the middle of the massive, plush mattress. You watched him with needy eyes, "Come on, michael." You said, a smirk forming across your lips. "Come do my back like you do those record, break this shit." You slowly started peeling your pants and panties down along with your shirt, leaving only your bra on.
Michael watched like a animal, he bit his lower lip. "You sure you want that mama....I don't wanna go overboard y'know we have a flight tomorrow morning." He said looking down at you as you started spreading your legs showing him your glistening pussy. A smirk plastered all on your lip. His breath catching in his throat, he pulled you closer by your ankle to the edge of the bed. He instantly dropped to his knees licking his lips looking up at you with those big brown eyes.
He pressed both of his hands on your thighs holding them open, he started kissing your inner thighs kissing everywhere instead of the place you desperately wanted it at. "mikey....baby don't tease-" suddenly you felt his tongue go directly on your clit.
He stopped again and started peppering kisses on your stomach. Then he went back to your pussy and pushes his tongue in. Causing a soft moan to escape your lips. "mmh....right there baby you doin so good f'me.." your own chest tightens at your own words. You try to breathe through it, trying your hardest to stay focused. But all that slips out your lips are broken moans as he ate your pussy like a starving man.
Your hand instantly went to his hair, gripping the soft curls. His nose started to bump your clit, soft groans escaping his lips sending vibrations to your clit. "Mmnghm—" you breathed in, the tip of his nose bumping your clit on purpose now. "fuckk...m-michael....I think I'm gonna-"
He nods like he already knows, he continues to lick and slurp and bump his nose repeatedly on your clit, through your shaky breaths and broken moans, your hips stuttering into his face. Your fingers tightening in his hair, your back arches. "mike! ohmygoshhh!—" you cum with a guttural moan that shakes your whole body.
He kisses all around your clit looking at you, his eyes filled with lust, love, and admiration. Slowly, he pulled away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He un buckled his pants, slowly starting to pull them down along with his boxers. Freeing his long girthy dick, you weren't even sure if michael knew how BIG he was.
He pulled his shirt over his hand, tossing it to the side somewhere, "You look so pretty mama, look at you....I wish you could see the view." He hovered over you. Instantly, his lips found yours, his tongue slipping past your lips as the two of you kissed. His hand snaking its way down to your clit rubbing tight circles directly on it.
Your hips jerking up. You moan into his mouth, "mmh-" he stopped rubbing circles and even stopped kissing you. He sat up straightly and looked directly into your eyes. "Listen to me, listen to my words. Breathe." He said. "I'm gonna make love to you, and I want you to look at me the entire time. Do you understand? If you look away, we're starting over, alright, Mama?" He coached, tapping the tip of his dick on your clit then rubbing it.
You nodded your head, unable to form any words right now, "mhm" you nodded your head instantly. He didn't like that at all, he stopped rubbing his tip on your clit. "Words, Mama." You sighed, looking at him, "yes baby," hiccup, "I understand, I promise."
"Wait..." he climbed out the bed, going to his bag and pulling out a vibrator, you watched utterly confused. "Where did you even get that from?" You said. He walked back toward the bed, a smirk on his face. "Got it to use it on you." He said, climbing back into bed and getting on top of you. "Remember what I said, alright?" His eyes stayed locked on yours as he lined up, the fat head of his cock nudging your entrance. He pushed in slow, stretching you open inch by inch until his hips met yours and he bottomed out. "There it is," he breathed, voice low and rough. "relax mama I got you."
You moaned out. "Oh fuckkk–" you said, remaining eye contact with him. You wouldn't dare look away after what he just told you. "Feel s'good ohmygosh–" you moaned.
He started moving, deep, steady thrusts that rocked your whole body. Every time his cock dragged out, the vibrator he held in his free hand pressed flat against your clit, buzzing hard and constant. The double sensation made your thighs shake. You tried to keep your eyes on him, but the pressure built too fast and your lids fluttered.
"Eyes on me," he snapped, pulling the vibrator away. The sudden loss made you whine. "We start over if you look away." He slammed back in, harder this time, and brought the toy back to your swollen clit. "That's it. Keep looking at me while I fuck this pretty pussy. You feel how deep I am? How I'm stretching you open?" He blabbered.
"michael, oh fuckk....Michael, Michael babyy." You chant his name like a prayer. His fat dick pressing against your gummy walls, right underneath your clit as he nudges your soft cervix. You almost can't take it. The way he fills you completely fucking you so deep, it makes your legs tremble.
Your breath hitched, tears already pricking at the corners of your eyes from the relentless stimulation. Every thrust punched a moan out of you. The vibrator circled your clit in tight, merciless strokes. Your walls fluttered around him, close, so close.
Michael felt it. He pulled the toy off again, hips stilling. "Not yet. You don't get to cum until I say." He leaned down, lips brushing your ear. "Please dont.....don't stop baby, please." Your passionate begging is all he needed to get riled up again. You knew he had all this stamina, hell you weren't even sure he knew he had all this stamina so you knew it was gonna be a very very VERY long night.
He started again, slower, grinding deep while the vibrator teased your clit in short bursts. Your hands fisted in the sheets. Your breathing quickening. "I," slam. "Love," another slam. "You." Another slam.
You cried out, "ohmy—fuck!" You looked at him, your lips parted open in a silent "O" shape. His hips are rolling slower against you. From your view he looked so fucking good. Sweat glistened his body, his teeth biting his lower lip, his Adam's apple in his throat whenever he threw his head back. Your hands fisted in the sheets.
Before you could even think he flipped you on your stomach, yanking your hips up. He drove back in from behind, the new angle making you cry out. One hand pressed the vibrator to your clit again while the other gripped your hip hard enough to bruise. "Look at this view mommy, oh fuck.." he threw his head back. His hand that was on your hip moving to your back pressing down more to make you arch more.
He fucked you through another near orgasm, pulling the toy away at the last second. You were openly sobbing now, face pressed into the mattress, body trembling. He pulled out again and hauled you upright. A small gasp escaping your lips. He threw the vibrator on the bed somewhere.
He stood up pulling you along with him. Your back pressed against his chest. You were acting completely out. Your arms clinging to his arms, "don't touch me, embrace your cum mama and enjoy it..."
"It's t-too much..." you sobbed out. "I know, but you're doing such a great job takin it," he slipped his tip back inside you while the both of you stood. His hand snaking up to your neck. "But control yourself, can you do that f'me?, hm?" He asked.
You nodded your head, "I'll try," his hips rocking very slow against you. "If you can't control yourself, control your breathing mama." His hand stayed on your throat, not squeezing hard, just holding. Then he started fastening his pace. You were a complete mess, your skin hot, cheeks puffy from crying, your hair a bit messed up, your even drooling. He started picking up his pace again.
Loud moans spilling out your lips as he fucked you dumb, you thought the last time you guys had sex was great. This was even better. Its overwhelming how precisely his hips move.
"Who's fucking you baby?," he asked, his hips snapping against you. You could barely fathom any sentences. Ridiculous blabbering just coming out your mouth. Then suddenly he slowed his pace, "I asked you a question."
"Michael!" You screamed out, voice hoarse. "Michael!—fuck—michael" He grinned, his hips going back to that snapping pace, his hand on your throat squeezing you just a fraction. "I want another baby, you want that too mama?" He asked.
"Yes!" You moaned out, "fuck—mmnghm yes yes yess!" You closed your eyes. He smiled at that, "gonna fill this pussy up til the brim." Your whole body seized. The orgasm ripped through you so violently you squirted around his dick, soaking his stomach and the floor. He groaned fucking you through it, chasing his own release. "atta girl, there you mama–that's it" he buried himself deep and came, pulsing hot inside your womb while you shook and cried.
You collapsed on the bed, breathing heavily tiredly and extremely fucked out, michael collapsed next to you. You both sat in silence for a few moments. Then he finally turned his head to look at you, "im sorry if I was too rough pretty." He murmured.
You looked at him still trying to catch your breath, "michael that was fucking amazing." You said with a lazy smile on your face. After awhile you and michael agreed to shower together with each other. Your legs completely limp and sore so michael mostly did all the work for you anyways. After the shower you both ended up drifting off to sleep realizing you had to be up in the morning, like early as fuck in the morning.
The gentle rustle of silk sheets and the soft, cool morning light filtering through the open balcony doors broke through your heavy sleep. Before your eyes could even open, you felt a pair of warm lips pressing a tender, lingering kiss right against your temple, followed by a quiet, raspy murmur close to your ear.
"Wake up, pretty lady..."
You groaned, pulling the duvet over your head, your body feeling like it had been run over by a very smooth, very energetic freight train. Every single muscle in your legs felt completely shot sore, weak, and utterly exhausted from the last night events.
He chuckled softly, his long fingers gently pulling the blanket back down to reveal your tired face. He was already fully dressed in a pair of dark trousers and a soft knit shirt, his curls neatly styled, looking frustratingly refreshed and far too pleased with himself.
"Come on, tinka," he whispered, a smug, low smirk playing on his lips as his hand rested on your hip. "The driver’s gonna be outside in twenty minutes. We gotta get to the airfield."
"Michael... I can't move," you muttered into the pillow, your voice thick with sleep. "My legs feel like jelly. This is entirely your fault."
A deep, proud chuckle vibrated through his chest. Michael reached under the covers, his warm hands gently sliding along your calves and massaging the tight muscles with surprising care.
"I told you I was gonna take care of you, didn't I?" he teased, his eyes sparkling with that gentle love and care. "Don't worry, baby. I got you." True to his word, michael didn't let your feet touch the cold floor until he absolutely had to. He helped you out of bed, holding your waist securely while you got dressed, brushing off your slick remarks with soft kisses to your shoulder. When it was time to step out into the hallway, he effortlessly threw your arm over his shoulder, keeping his broad arm wrapped tightly around your waist to bear most of your weight as you walked toward the elevator.
The moment you stepped out into the courtyard, Bill was waiting by the open door of the sleek black Mercedes.
As Michael guided you toward the car, his hand resting firmly on the small of your back, practically pulling you flush against his side while whispering something funny into your ear that made you blush, Bill stopped mid-movement.
Bill’s eyes flicked from the way you were leaning heavily into Michael, to the undeniable, glowing grins plastered across both of your faces, and finally to Michael’s completely victorious expression.
Bill let out a long, slow exhale, a subtle, knowing smirk touching the corner of his usually stern mouth as he shook his head. "Good morning," Bill said, his tone dripping with quiet, deadpan amusement as he held the car door open. "I see the four days in Italy went... smoothly."
"Please dont mention anything." you muttered, though you couldn't hide the huge smile breaking across your face as Michael carefully helped you slide into the backseat.
"I didn't say a word," Bill replied smoothly, shutting the door behind you.
Inside the SUV, the dynamic had completely shifted. There were no more sharp jabs or stubborn walls. Michael sat right beside you, one long arm draped lazily over the back of your seat, his fingers tangling into yours while your head rested comfortably against his shoulder. He couldn't keep his hands off you constantly kissing the top of your head, tracing patterns on your knuckles, and humming softly against your skin.
"Look at us," you whispered, teased, looking down at your intertwined hands as the car sped toward the airport. "You really think you're slick, don't you?"
"I don't think so, baby," he said softly, leaning down to press a warm, lingering kiss right to the sweet spot on your neck, making you shiver all over again. "I know so, baby."
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