#denial

You’ve noticed when he walks the deck of this ship, he doesn’t even falter or stumble. He swings around the ropes because he’s done it all his life. Trades bawdy songs with the sailors. Laughs that thunderous great laugh when the ship breaks a tall wave. Cuts it through like a butter knife.

Barrelling through life as he usually does. His ship is no exception. As much a part of him as his own arms and legs. You watched him on deck. Authority sewn in every step.

You were sailing from Tarth. Homebound. Any minute now, the colossal mountain of brick that was Storms End, would be rising upon you out of the headland. Ser Quentyn Tarth had hosted you at Evenfall Hall for the name day of his son.

You’re stood at the side of the ship. Watching the waves leap. The silver blue scales that rolled and tossed under the seers eye of the sun. The spray that spat up.

The ship lists. Tilting to one side. Bobbing and slamming down. Waves dash salt and foam up the side. Your stomach curdled in protest.

You reach out and steady yourself holding onto a rope. Close your eyes and fight the wave of sickness that grips you bodily. A dizzying rush pulsing your insides. Your breakfast roils unpleasantly in your stomach.

“Now you are emerald green. My storm.”

You sigh. “I am not unwell. I am just… tender.” You decide.

You swallow. Throat dry. Mouth feeling salt stung. When you open your eyes and peer across. Lyonel has not moved. Not an inch. His expression unchanged.

“Tender…” He chews the word around.

“Hmm. Well, I suppose the things we got up to last night was enough to make a Dornishman blush. It is entirely unsurprising that parts of you are… tender.” He raises his brows with that last word. Curls it around his tongue all salacious.

You’d both been drinking. Quite a bit. Too much wine. It had led to a carnal encounter in the beautiful Evenfall gardens.

Your hands pressed to the castle wall as he pinned your skirts to your waist. Took you hard and rough from behind. Hands dug into the globes of your ass. Slamming into you. All rough passion and bruising teeth on your neck. Left you dripping when he was done. Then kindly got to his knees to lap you up.

Between your thighs throbs now with the memory of it.

You shift where you stand. His beard left a burn on the backs of your thighs. “Not like that.” You inform.

“I could take your mind off it….” He offers. Standing with his back to the water. Eyes turned to you. The look he gives is dipped in flirt.

“How?” You check. Frowning.

“Take you to my cabin right now for a quick tongue fuck.” He leers. “I have a large bed and a very nice cabin.”

“Thank you. But I fear I must decline. I need the air.”

The ship lurched and slammed down again. He barely flinched. Your breakfast threatened to make a sudden appearance. Bile building on the back of your tongue like clammy wildfire.

He’s watching you with continuing interest.

You were a Stormlander. That is no meagre title. It is a feat earned with determined grit and sheer tenacity. Born and bred. Iron spine. Sailing shipbreaker bay should have been a stroll for a girl like you. You were raised on ship and sea and storm before you could even walk or talk.

“You are not usually so unsturdy. Sweeting.” Suspicion narrowed his eyes.

You close your eyes and breathe the mineral sharp air. The fierce breeze whipped hair back off your face. Twirled it behind you. The sun spun through it.

It swayed the cold gems that draped your ears. Bashing them into your neck. Sapphires set in gold. Glinting in the sun like you’d captured a piece of the sea to take home.

“I attribute that to the loud company I keep. And the revelries of that feast last night…I suppose I overindulged. I had two flagons of arbour gold. is it any wonder my head is delicate this morning.”

“It was merry was it not?” He grins. Fantastically so.

“You drank a barrel of wine to yourself. And ended the night dancing on the tables so I would say so.” You remind him.

He looks awfully smug. “When have I ever wasted a good celebration.”

“Never, my heart.” You assure. “And I’m sure you never will.”

He comes across. Tucked his arm around you. Drew you back. Letting his cloak enfold you at the sides. Rests his chin on the crown of your head. Nectarine honey blossoms of your perfume meets his nose. Your soft silky hair at his lips.

“You’re sure it’s just seasickness?” He asks.

His cloak snaps on the wind where he tried to keep it around you. Burnt birch and clove oil. The scent that wraps him up. So you can always tell what way the storm is coming from. You just have to find that clove-woodsy scent on the air he brings. It comforts you.

“I’m fine.” You repeat. “The sooner I can plant my feet on sturdy land. The better.”

The ship lists to one side again. You groan. Grip that rope tight once again. Closing your eyes. Breathing evenly and exhaling low and slow. Bile climbing into the back of your mouth too easily.

“I have you.” He mumbles. Arms strong around you. Chest at your back.

You smooth your gloved hands around his.

You smile. Cause he always does. Always had. Even when you weren’t intended for each other. He loomed large in your life like storm clouds. And you’re never the type of girl to run from the rain they threatened.

“No wine with supper tonight.” You propose. Leaning back to the brace of his arms. “And perhaps we’ll retire early”

He smiles. “As my lady commands.” Hands linking around your waist. Pulling you back to his larger frame.

Arms crossed over your belt. The golden one he’d gifted. It slinks to rest low on your hips. The clasp was a stags head. And the pin slotted in your braided hair coiffure, was a golden stag with sapphires set as eyes.

You’d rolled your eyes. But ultimately let your maid slide the decorations on you. You were a Baratheon bride. It was naturally expected to support your husbands sigil and colours.

But let it be known he saw with a hint of pride that the clasp for your cloak chain around your neck, was a lightning bolt. The old with the new. You’d insisted.

His mouth snuck its devious way down to your neck. Beard scratching behind your ear in a way that suddenly got your stomach swooping for a different reason.

“Quick tongue fuck is still on the table by the way.” He offers again.

You pat his hand.

“I know you can’t. But, do shut up.”

You pushed your spoon around the bowl for the third time.

He watches you out the corner of his eyes. You think he’s studying a letter. Crop figures. Dull as dirt. Hence why his eyes turned to you.

Breakfast you always took together in the dining hall. A tradition you clung too after you married.

He was carving and picking over his own plate which groaned with crisped bacon, baked crusty bread, oiled fish, two fried eggs and a dark stout beer.

His attention couldn’t be more on you.

You’re tracing shapes in the gloopy porridge. Seeing what impressions the spoon carves.

Looking at it like it was a bowl of slugs laid before you. Steam wafting up into your face. Curling tendrils of sugary milk and the warm earthy hum of oats.

You swallow. Leave the spoon on the side. Push the plate away. Reach for the green mint tea you’d asked for. It was sharp, but you seemed to prefer the taste of it to the thick porridge you used to take. Cream and sugar. Each morning.

Now the thought of it made you heave.

He thought back to your dinner the previous eve. Mutton chops, fried but still tender, with sage. And duck fat scalded potatoes and yellow turnips.

You barely ate more than two mouthfuls. Yet come the sweets, you’d asked for seconds of the sharp blackberry and cream tarts.

He lowers his letter to the table. Studying your face carefully.

“Everything alright, my storm?” He asks.

Voice falling loud and sudden off the cavernous walls. Skipping over the swish and burn of the tallow candles that soared gentle smoke up in the air. Trickling to enmesh with the thick shafts of light from the high windows.

He studies your face when you turn to him. The sudden smile that plastered over your expression. Masking the frown that had been there.

A careful smile. He doesn’t do careful.

“I think I need some fresh air. I’ve been shuttered up inside too long. Maybe a ride out would do me some good. Care to come?” You seek. Placing your teacup down.

“Unless you’ve business to attend.” You add. You know there’s usually three or four things per day that require his attention and input.

“Of course. But I can ignore that. One of my skills.” He grins.

“Shall we?” He asks. Pushing his chair back from the table.

“Irresponsible. But I’ll take it.” You answer.

His hand lands in the dip of your lower back as he leads you through the hallways to change.

You’d need your thick wool riding dress on. The weather of these lands were never kind to fancy silks or fine cottons.

You do look more yourself. He thinks. As his huge black destrier, Storm, clops nicely alongside your temperate chestnut gelding, Bolt.

You look more recovered. Out on horseback. In the misty enclave of ancient gnarled trees. The scent of dried leaves, churned with mucky thick mud. The miserly wet hanging of fog on the air. Cold ozone and the flavour of old rain on your tongue. It’s like manna to you. Home.

The feeling of a saddle beneath you. The creak of leather. The slow rhythmic pace. It’s like it returned something of you to yourself. You were never a lady to sit idle.

You take deep breaths. Silver air spurning out your mouth like a ghostly spirit. Gentle rain beading in white gems down your dark purple cloak. The way it framed your face with the hood. The back of it spilling over your horse and around you to shield from uncaring elements at that snuck in anyway.

You turned to look skywards. Face tilted up. Rain speckled across your cheeks like a soft caress.

Still he watches you. Cataloguing your renewed energy. The way you’re looking at these misty rainy woods like they’re a part of you, you’ve missed. The easy countenance of your smile does something to his heart he can’t lay name too. Something he’s happy to know is ownership

You turn back and catch him staring. Brown eyes sunk into you. He’s forgone a cloak. Rain tamps his wild hair back. Beads down and drips off his beard, and the end of his nose.

“What is it?” You ask. Cheeks gleaming with dewy rain.

“Nothing. My storm.” He smiles.

He’s climbing the stairs of the tower to your room. When he spies the maid who tends you.

She curtseys a polite bob of a nod. And tells him that you’re sleeping.

It’s barely nightfall. He takes that with a nod. Thanks her. Makes his way to your shared chambers.

Now you had his concern. His entire concern if he was honest. The little changes of late had been mounting;

The bags under your eyes had darkened. You complained one of your dresses now felt tight around the waist. The other day he’d slid his hand under your nightgown to cup your breast, when you were slowly waking up abed, and you’d hissed like a poisonous beast had bitten you.

You’d been snappish with his steward too. - though the bastard often deserves it. Over some nonsense grain accounts. You’d flung vitriol at him and corrected him with a viciousness bred in your tongue.

He reckons he can determine the root cause of these changes.

The creak of the door whines on its hinges like a dying gull. Showing him the serenity of the room within. All is soft and dark. Copper candles spurn the black clumps of dark that stick to the corners. Shapes that shiver with the flame from the large hearth.

You are a wrapped sprawl on the bed. Curled into the pillows. The poster drapes drawn up a little. Skirts spilling over the side of the bed like a toppled bottle of ink.

He kept his steps gentle. Soft boots on the stones. Eases down onto the mattress. Slinks across and settled with a sigh by your side.

He watched your expression. The caramel copper of your face caught in the half light. Dark shadows that melted in the corners of your eyes. Down your lashes. Caught the smooth of your cheeks in the light. The pull of your lips. Shine of your hair.

“My savage storm.” He whispers. Trailing his lips along your temple. His beard abrading your soft skin.

You groan. A sleepy soft noise that wrinkled at the back of your throat.

“Lyonel.” You whisper. Silk shifting where you moved. Said his name with peaceful reverence, like a lover would. All soft edges and lulled tones. Sleep husked whispers.

You crack open your eyes. Candlelight sparks and glimmers across them like amber sherry caught in a glass.

He leans back. Shared the pillow with you. Strokes his thumb over your warmed cheek. Grazed red from where it met with the pillow.

“I think I should tell you something.” He begins gently.

“What is it?” You ask. “Something wrong?” you ask. Peeling your sleepy tongue off the roof of your mouth. Going to sit up. He keeps you pressed where you are.

He grins. He can’t not.

“No. Everything is very, very, quite right.”

Your eyes squint at him.

“Are you drunk?” You seek. It wouldn’t be a complete shock if he was. That was mostly his prevailing condition.

He cups your face. Thumbs your cheek. He is drunk these days. Drunk at all times even when there isn’t a cup in his hand. Drunk with love of you - and now the little one that is to come.

“Sweeting. I think you might be with child. Our child.”

Your expression is an absolute picture. He watches the gears click and turn in your mind. Adding up all the little happenstances of late. A crinkle forms between your brows. Crowning the space there.

“Pregnant?” You surmise.

“Hardly a surprise. The way we’ve been going about it. Frankly, I’m shocked it’s taken this long.” He leers. Winking at you like a scoundrel.

“We’ve hardly been discreet. I’ve been spilling in you every damn day since our wedding night - and quite a bit before.” He cheeks.

“Pregnant.” You repeat. As if tasting the word for the first time. A revelation.

He laughs. It’s such a joyous sound.

Fracturing the silence of the chamber.

“I shall send for the Maester in the morning. To confirm. But from what I’ve seen, I’m certain.” He smirks.

“For the rest of the night. I want nothing beyond these four walls. I want it to be just you. Me. And our little stag makes three.” He beams.

Sliding his hand down to rest on your stomach. Thumb swiping an arc over your belly. The tide of gratitude and excitement in him was a huge swell he couldn’t quash.

“How in the seven hells did you figure it out before I did?” You gawp.

He winks. “Dogged husbandly intuition.”

“I thought it was just- tiredness. I suppose I have been abnormally tired. I did bite your poor stewards head off too. But he deserved that he was being an ass.”

Lyonel smiles to hear that. You do keep everyone on their toes that’s for certain. You are whip smart and so fantastic at beating out the laziness or slothful attitude from courtiers, or cousins, or stewards. Never let it be said Lady Baratheon met this world with a placid, winsome nature. You met it like a spark to a line of gunpowder.

“And the food- I wondered why the smell of roast boar suddenly makes me want to heave.” You speak aloud. As if to yourself. Eyes wandering across the room.

He chuckles. Slides himself down the bed to march an onslaught of kisses to your silk clad stomach.

“Your mother is usually the most hard-headed, sensible woman. Don’t hold this against her. Little stag.” He nudged his nose into you. Kisses your belly in quick succession after he speaks. Nuzzling.

“You will be glorious. Storm bred. Look at you? Barely a moon old. Already you are weakening the mighty house of lightning.” He catches your eye.

“Enough cheek out of you.” You sass.

“Making your poor mother green on a ship. Putting her off her food. You’re a relentless little thing already. Can’t wait to see you tumbling around. Knocking into this world like the stormy fury you’ll be.”

“My heart-“ you reach down and lose your fingers in that tangle of grey curls. “You do know this child will not be born with antlers. If anything only for my sake...”

“Hush your impertinence. He will if he knows what’s good for him. He’s a Baratheon with a Dondarrion for a mother. He’s going to be the storm that will shake the world.”

“He might be a girl.” You point out. Stroking your hand through his hair.

He grins up at you, like a mad man.

“All the better. Then she’ll have your lightning, sweeting. Of that I’ve not one shred of doubt.” He shakes his head. “And she will be fucking splendid.”

He leans down and kisses your stomach once again.

Before he moves up and throws his lips to yours in a powerful kiss that crushes you to the bed. Enough to make you squeak. Cupping his face. Thumbs on his cheeks. The heel of your hands brushing against that greying beard.

“You’d be happy if I bore you a daughter?” You check. The crinkle between your brows was back. Sharing the muggy air after a heavy kiss. Pressed nearly nose to nose.

You know how deep the lines of succession run here. Rooted deeper and more bloodied than any vein. An ancient old monster that hangs over every noble castle like a great beast. Long teeth. Ruthless. Waiting in the dark. Stubborn and as punishing as flames.

Men, women, and children have died in their thousands on the cursed altar that was the succession. Wars and death have followed lines like hunting hounds. Many a mishap too. Murder disguised as the gods fate.

Falls from cliffs. Hunting accidents. Dying in the battlefield that was the birthing bed. Poison dropped in a cup. All things designed to slip someone out of the way and place another heir in the family seat.

It would break your heart to pieces and grind it to powder, to see it happen to your roaring, boisterous husband. The sour faces and sneering talk it would bring, scorn and disappointment, if the mighty house Baratheon’s first heir to the laughing storm was a girl.

He makes his opinion very plain. Forcefully so.

“Our child is a blessing. No matter what they are. Soon the Stormlands shall have three fucking storms to contend with. I ask you. What could be more glorious?” He beams.

Caging you to the bed. Kissing up your neck til you laugh at the tickle of his lips. He finds your mouth again and kisses you like a drowning man whose seen land for the first time in weeks.

Married in a storm.

Married to a man who follows storms like they are his birthright.

And now you’ve bred a little storm of your own making in your belly. Seven help you.

“Good thing we’ve never had a taste for peace and calm in this house.” You decide. Resting your forehead to his. “I’ve a feeling we’ll be having none of it in due course.”

He kisses your cheek. A soft smack that brings a huge smile to your mouth. If that’s his sole occupation in this place, then so be it.

“Excellent.” He smirks.

By the time you reached home, your pulse was already racing. He said nothing as he led you upstairs.

Once inside the bedroom, he quietly shut the door. You barely made it two steps before his hand caught your wrist. Firm, certain.

The pull turned you toward him. Michael said nothing at first. He only looked at you. And whatever restraint he'd been holding onto all evening was gone.

"What was his name?" The question was low, controlled. Your brows drew together. "What?"

"The man you spent half the evening smiling at." His fingers tightened slightly around your wrist.  "What is his name?" Realization bloomed. And before you could answer, Michael stepped closer. Close enough to heat roll off him. "You seemed very interested in whatever he had to say."

His hand slid to your waist, fingers spreading possessively over your side. Your breath hitched, and Michael noticed. His gaze dropped briefly to your mouth before lifting back to your eyes.

"Tell me." His thumb pressed into your waist. "Was I supposed to enjoy watching that?" The quiet jealousy in his voice sent heat rushing through you.

"Michael, I was just being polite." A humorless smile touched his lips. "Were you?"

His hand moved higher, settling at the back of your neck, his fingers threading lightly into your hair. Not rough, but possessive enough to make your pulse jump.

"Because from where I was standing," he murmured, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you, "it looked like he had your full attention."

His forehead brushed yours. "And all night, I've been thinking about reminding you exactly who you belong to." The words sent heat through your body.

His gaze dropped to your lips. "Tell me I'm wrong," he whispered, his mouth brushing yours with every word. "Tell me you didn't notice what you were doing to me."

You opened your mouth to answer.

But before you could, Michael kissed you. Deeply, possessively. The force of it stole your breath instantly.

His hand tightened in your hair while the other held your waist firmly against him, leaving no space between your bodies. The kiss was hungry, claiming, full of all the tension he'd buried behind silence for hours. Heat rushed through you so fast your knees nearly gave out. When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathing hard.

Michael’s dark gaze lingered on your flushed face, taking in your parted lips and dazed expression. "God, you look so beautiful like this."

His fingers slid slowly along the back of your neck before his lips brushed softly against your cheek, then lower to your jaw.

"You made me spend all night wondering how quickly I could make you forget he ever had your attention," he whispered against your ear. He bit the spot right below your ear lightly, then kissed it. A sound of pleasure escaped your lips.

And a shiver ran through you. Michael noticed instantly. A quiet hum of approval vibrated against your skin as his mouth moved to your neck, leaving slow, deliberate kisses that made your breath catch.

“That's right,” he murmured. “Let me hear it.” You reached for him instinctively, clutching at his shirt.

He kissed lower, lingering just long enough to leave marks.

His hand tightened at the small of your back as he lifted his head to meet your gaze. "Look at me."

The quiet command made your breath catch. Before you could respond, his mouth claimed yours again - harder this time, hungrier.

His hand slid into your hair, tilting your head exactly how he wanted as he guided you backward. You barely realized he was moving you until the backs of your legs hit the edge of the bed. A startled gasp escaped you.

Michael swallowed the sound with a low groan, deepening the kiss. "Careful," he murmured roughly. His hand pressed more firmly at your back. And when your knees finally gave out, you sank onto the mattress.

Michael followed instantly, one hand braced beside your head while the other stayed firm at your waist, holding you exactly where he wanted you.

For a moment, he simply hovered over you. Breathing hard.

His dark gaze moved slowly over your flushed face, your parted lips, the hickeys already blooming along your neck. "So pretty all marked up for me." A rush of heat flooded your face. "But it's not enough." 

His hand slid slowly down your side as he lowered himself over you, his lips trailing soft kisses down your throat, over your collarbone, lower and lower until they reached the bare skin of your stomach. The touch made your breath hitch. His fingers hooked beneath the hem of your shirt, lifting it slowly as his mouth followed the newly exposed skin. Each kiss was slow, soft. Like he was taking his time memorizing every inch of you. When his lips reached the spot just below your bra, he finally pulled the shirt over your head and tossed it aside.

For a moment, he simply looked at you. His dark gaze lingered over your body with quiet hunger. Then his mouth found your chest. The first kisses were soft. Almost teasing. Gentle brushes of his lips that made your pulse race with anticipation. But then they deepened. Lingering longer. Pressing harder. Until warmth bloomed across your skin and you knew he was leaving marks there too.

A quiet sound escaped your lips. Michael paused. "Tell me you love me." The words were low. Not a command, a need. As if after everything he'd felt tonight, he needed to hear it. His mouth returned to your skin, trailing another lingering kiss as he waited.

"I love you," you breathed, your voice shaky. He went still. Then slowly lifted his head. His eyes locked onto yours. "You love who?" The question sent your heart racing. He rose over you, one hand lifting to cradle your jaw. His fingers tightened just enough to keep your attention fixed on him.

"And look at me with those pretty eyes when you say it." Your breath caught. The intensity in his gaze made your pulse pound. "I love you, Michael." For a moment, he simply stared at you. And something in his expression softened. The tension that had been simmering in him all evening finally eased, replaced by something deeper. Something almost vulnerable. His thumb brushed gently across your cheek. A quiet exhale left him, almost like relief. Then he leaned down until his lips barely brushed yours.

"I love you more, Y/N." The whisper was soft. And then he kissed you on the lips again. Slowly this time. Deeply. Like he was trying to say everything he didn't know how to put into words.

His hand reached your chest, kissing you as he squeezed it possessively. Then his hand slowly slid down, all the way from your boobs to the top of your jeans. Without breaking eye contact, he unfastened them, impatience creeping into the motion as he slipped his hand beneath the fabric. Your breathing gets heavier as his fingers find your entrance through your drenched panties, slowly feeling it out. "So wet for me already?"

Your body went still for a moment, breath catching as the closeness of him overwhelmed you. It wasn’t just what he was doing in your pants - it was the way he was looking at you, his eyes full of love and lust for you. Hungry for you and only you. "Michael…" you whispered in need for more, your hands instinctively finding his wrists - not to stop him, but to anchor yourself. "You want more? So greedy." he says teasingly.

His long fingers started to rub you through your panties. Massaging your clit slowly, using enough pressure to make you hitch. Soft moans escaped against his lips, and Michael pulled back just enough to watch your face. His gaze traced every detail - the way your lashes fluttered, the way your lips parted, the way your breathing grew uneven beneath his touch. He looked almost fascinated by it, like he was savoring the sight of how easily he could undo you. He wanted to know how good he was making you feel as his hand slid under your panties, touching your clit directly now. He watched your reactions closely.

You can't help but moan softly and shutter under his touch. A quiet chuckle escaped him while looking at you with that dazed, lustful look. "That's right." he murmured, his index and middle finger moving in circles. "I bet he couldn't make you look like this even if he tried."

His two fingers started to move dangerously close to your entrance. "All that talking he did, all that trying to get your attention…" His voice dropped lower, his fingers slowing almost teasingly. "And still, this is who you’re getting off to tonight."

"Michael-" the protest barely left your lips before your words turned into a sharp gasp as he slid his two fingers inside you. He pushed them all the way in, to the deep sweet spot. Your whole body jolted, your fingers instinctively tightening around his wrist as your head tipped back for a second. Heat rushed to your face instantly, embarrassment and pleasure tangling together as the sound that escaped you was far louder than you meant it to be.

"What is it?" he asked softly, almost sweetly. "Too much for you?" The sympathy in his tone was obviously fake - teasing, amused, and somehow even more overwhelming because of how gently he said it.

Before you could force out a response, his fingers inside you started to move.

In and out.

Slowly at first, but still applying pressure in all the right places. You felt so weak under his touch, like you were melting into it.

His fingers gradually picked up speed. "And how about this?" His fingers slid deeper inside you, your walls desperately clenching around his long fingers as they filled you. The pleasure began to build deep within your body.

"Don't stop," you whimpered breathlessly.

Michael could feel the way you clenched around him, the tremble running through your body, how completely lost you were in the pleasure. Everything coming from you was real, raw, and he loved seeing this side of you.

The friction inside you was becoming too much. You could feel your breaking point getting closer.

"Michael, I-"

He noticed every sign your body gave him, every small indication that your orgasm was approaching.

"No. Don’t come until I say so, okay, honey?" He spoke in a soft, sweet voice just inches from your face.

Then he kissed your forehead gently as he sped up his pace again, making it even harder for you to hold on—to obey him.

And he knew exactly what he was doing. He loved watching you struggle beneath the pleasure. Your moans grew louder, your breathing uneven as he worked his fingers inside you without mercy.

"Michael, I can't… I can't hold it," you finally breathed out.

"Just be a good girl and hold it for me, okay?" Again, that soft voice. The contrast between his tone and what he was doing made you clench even harder.

"But I really can't anymore, I-"

Before you could finish, he interrupted. "You can. You’re my sweet girl, right? So just listen to me."

His other hand rested against your lower stomach, applying light pressure that only intensified the pleasure.

Your body felt completely out of control, but you still tried your best, not wanting to disappoint him.

But it was too much. You couldn't do it anymore. Your orgasm was dangerously close. Your hand wrapped around his wrist, trying weakly to slow him down.

He noticed immediately - in your moans, in the way your grip tightened, in the trembling that had taken over your body.

You were about to come. He couldn't let that happen. So he slowed his movements, his lips still pressed to your forehead. "Shh, shh. Not yet, my angel. I told you to wait, didn't I?" he whispered against your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

Your hips moved subconsciously against his fingers, your body craving more.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't hold it-"

He interrupted you again, pressing his thumb gently to your lips before sliding it downward.

"Shh, baby. It's okay. I know it's hard, angel. But you have to listen to me, understand?"

His other hand gripped your waist, squeezing firmly. You nodded, unable to look away from him, from the intense eye fucking situation you had going on now.

He leaned closer to your ear. "Good," he whispered. Then he leaned back, his hands moving to your jeans and slowly pulling them off.

After that, he positioned himself between your thighs, his hands gripping your hips as he pulled you closer to him.

"Let me see." His gaze dropped to where your panties still clung to you. The damp fabric stuck to your skin, outlining every detail and making your breath hitch under the intensity of his stare.

"So wet," he murmured to himself, his voice low with satisfaction.

His eyes lingered there for a moment before lifting back to your face. "Were you this wet when you were talking to him earlier, hm?" He waited for your answer, his expression dark and expectant.

"No…" At your response, Michael looked at you in a way that said everything without needing words. His gaze alone made it clear - only he could make you feel this good. And deep down, you knew he was right. Nothing compared to the way he touched you, the way he made you feel.

"Thought so," he said quietly. His eyes dropped back between your legs, drawn once again to the damp fabric.

Then he leaned closer. His lips brushed against your inner thigh, pressing soft, delicate kisses against your skin. At first, they were light - almost teasing.

But slowly they grew deeper, firmer, more deliberate. He was marking you again.

The closeness of his mouth, the heat of his breath, the way he stayed just near enough without giving you what you wanted most - it made patience nearly impossible.

Then he moved even closer to your panties. His nose hovered just above the soaked fabric, his breath warm against you.

Still not touching. Not yet.

Your hips shifted forward instinctively, desperate for more. A slow smile spread across his lips against your skin. He knew exactly what he was doing. He knew exactly what he was making you feel.

"So impatient," he murmured, his smile widening as his fingers tightened slightly against your hips. "You really need my touch that badly?"

"I need you so bad, Michael. Please." The desperation in your voice made something dark flicker in his expression.

Without another word, his lips caught the thin fabric between his teeth, slowly tugging your panties down while keeping eye contact with you. The motion was deliberate, torturously slow, as though he wanted to savor every second of your anticipation.

When the fabric finally slipped away, his eyes lingered to the wet mess of a pussy. The hunger in his gaze made heat rush through your entire body. "Look at you," he said softly almost in awe, "so pretty and wet for me."

Then he leaned in, kissing your clit. The first kiss was featherlight, barely there, just enough to make your breath hitch. Then another. And another. Each one lingered longer than the last, his mouth teasing you with maddening precision. You trembled beneath him.

He glanced up, watching your face carefully, studying every reaction - the way your lips parted, the way your chest rose and fell faster, the way your body instinctively tried to move closer.

Satisfied, he let his tongue drag slowly upward, the warmth of it sending a sharp shiver through you. A helpless moan escaped your lips. Michael's eyes darkened. He repeated the motion, slower this time, deliberate enough to make every nerve ending light up.

Then his attention narrowed to only your clit, his focus sharpening as he became more precise, more intentional, every movement designed to draw another sound from you. Your fingers tangled in his hair near the nape of his neck. Your hips rolled forward instinctively.

A quiet chuckle vibrated against your skin. "Go on," he murmured. "If you need it that badly, take what you want."

He held still, his tongue waiting, forcing you to move against him. The desperation burning through you made your body obey before your mind could think. You moved your hips against his tongue carefully at first, then faster, chasing the friction, the pressure, the relief he was letting you earn.

Michael watched with dark satisfaction, his grip tightening. Seeing you so undone, so willing, pushed him past restraint. A low groan escaped him.

Before you could adjust, his hands locked firmly against your hips, holding you still. "Enough."

And then he took control again. The sudden intensity stole the breath from your lungs. His mouth moved with renewed purpose, no longer teasing, no longer patient.

The pressure built rapidly, wave after wave crashing through you until your body was trembling uncontrollably. He puts his fingers inside you again, the added sensation making your entire body tense. You were so close. "Michael-" your voice broke. "Please... can I-" His only answer was a low murmur against your skin. "No." The single word sent a shudder through you. "Hold it for me."

His voice was soft, almost affectionate, but his grip made it clear he expected obedience. And somehow, that only made the ache burning inside you even worse.

You clenched hard, every muscle straining to obey, while Michael looked up at you with quiet amusement. "That's it," he whispered. "Show me how good you can be."

This went on for another moment, until you couldn't take it anymore. Only one movement away from your release, your fingers tightened in his hair.

That was his signal to stop. "Not yet, sweetheart."

He pressed a few more soft kisses against your skin before lifting his head and turning toward you. Then he shifted, his crotch now close to your face.

"Come here," he murmured. "I want to show you what you do to me." Slowly, he unbuckled his belt and pushed his pants down. Even through the fabric of his underwear, the outline of his erection was impossible to miss.

Huge. Your breath caught. He hooked his fingers into the waistband and pulled it down, revealing his hard, throbbing dick springing free right in front of you.

"See that?" Your eyes lingered on him, filled with hunger. "That's all you, baby." His hand moved to your chin, tilting your face up slightly. "Open that mouth for me." The tip brushed softly against your lips. "C'mon," he said, his voice low and coaxing. "Taste it."

You obeyed immediately, parting your lips and taking him into your mouth. Slowly at first. His breathing hitched. "Look up at me." You lifted your eyes to his, and the moment your gaze locked with his, a dark smile spread across his face. "Good girl."

His hand moved to your hair, gently patting your head before threading his fingers through it. Encouraged by his praise, you pushed yourself further, taking him deeper and using your throat. A moan escaped him. "Fuck..."

His grip tightened slightly. "You’re doing so well, angel." His hand stayed resting on your head, guiding your movements as you bobbed slowly. Each time his tip brushed the back of your throat, his entire body reacted - the sharp intake of breath, the tension in his muscles, the way his eyes fluttered for a second. You loved watching him lose control. "That's it, my love," he breathed shakily. "Just a little more."

You took him deeper again, and this time his restraint slipped. His hand pressed more firmly against the back of your head, holding you there for a moment. A rough moan tore from his throat. "Such a good girl," he groaned, his voice uneven. "Taking me so well." Then, just as your lungs began to burn, he released his hold and let you pull back.

“Breathe,” he murmured, his thumb brushing gently across your cheek as he watched you catch your breath.

He tapped your cheek lightly with his palm, a smirk playing on his lips. "So slutty for me."

Then he positioned himself between your legs, his heavy length resting against your pussy. A shaky breath escaped your lips. "You want this?" he asked, his eyes locked onto yours.

"Yes," you breathed. "Please. I need it inside me." His own breath caught sharply at your words.

"What am I supposed to do with you?" he murmured, lightly dragging himself against you before giving a teasing slap against your pussy.

"I'll make you come around my cock until you can't take it anymore."

The promise was whispered right against your ear, his voice low and dangerous as he slowly teased your entrance with the tip.

And then, finally, he pushed inside.

His eyes never left your face as he eased himself in, watching every reaction.

A loud moan escaped you. "That's right, baby," he murmured. "Let it out. Let me hear you."

He kept going until he was fully seated inside you, filling you completely.

The stretch made your entire body tense.

He was so big, forcing you to adjust to every inch, leaving you breathless as he buried himself deep inside. Your hips shifted instinctively as you tried to get used to the feeling. "God, Michael-" you moaned.

He started to move slowly, drawing back before thrusting deep again.

Each movement sent a shiver through your body. He felt incredible inside you, every thrust finding exactly the right places, filling you in a way that made your mind go blank.

His breathing grew heavier above you.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned, his voice rough and uneven. "You're so tight."

He pulled back again, slower this time, making sure you felt every inch before pushing all the way in once more.

The motion made your body shake beneath him.

"Just remember this moment the next time you see him, alright?" he said, his voice low and firm, making sure you wouldn’t forget exactly who you belonged to.

"Michael…" you moaned, breathless. At the sound of his name, Michael slowed his movements, his dark eyes locking onto yours.

"Say that again." The demand in his voice sent a shiver through your entire body.

"M-Michael-"

The second his name fell from your lips, he snapped his hips forward harder, faster, forcing a broken cry from your throat.

Your moans spilled uncontrollably into the air. Michael leaned down and kissed you. It was messy and desperate, your lips crashing together as both of your moans melted into the kiss. His mouth swallowed every sound you made, his breathing rough against your skin. Then he pulled back just enough for his lips to brush your ear.

"Say it again," he whispered, his voice possessive and dark. "Whose woman are you? Who do you belong to?" His thrusts stayed relentless, each one driving the words deeper into you.

"I belong to you, Michael," you gasped. He groaned softly, his grip tightening against your hips. "Michael who?" he demanded, his voice rougher now. "Jackson," you moaned, barely able to form the words through your shaking breaths. "Michael Jackson."

A satisfied sound escaped him. "That's right." He kissed the side of your neck, his lips lingering there before he spoke again. "You're mine. Every single bit of you." His voice dropped lower, sending heat through your entire body. "Don't ever forget that." The intensity of his words, combined with the way he moved inside you, sent another wave of pleasure crashing through you.

Your body tightened helplessly around him. You were dangerously close again.

"Michael," you whimpered, your voice trembling. "I’m gonna come if you don’t stop-" He cut you off immediately.

"That’s okay, honey." One of his hands slid down to press firmly against your lower stomach, intensifying every thrust. "You can come on my cock." His lips brushed your forehead, impossibly tender compared to the rough pace he was setting.

"Come for me, pretty girl." That was all it took. Your body gave in completely. The orgasm tore through you all at once, powerful and overwhelming, making your back arch as your walls clenched and pulsed around him. A broken cry escaped your lips as wave after wave rushed through your body.

Michael groaned deeply at the feeling, his head dropping to your shoulder. "Fuck…" His hand stayed on your stomach, rubbing slow circles as your body shook beneath him, only intensifying the pleasure.

He could feel every pulse around him, every involuntary tremor, the way your body gripped him so tightly it made his own breathing turn ragged.

"That’s it, baby," he groaned against your skin. "You’re coming so well on my cock."

And before your body had the chance to recover, before the trembling had even fully stopped, he started moving again. Slow at first. Making sure you felt every inch. As if he fully intended to make you fall apart all over again.

This time, he lowered his face to your neck, kissing it again as he continued thrusting into you.

"Michael, wait, I-" you gasped, every sensation hitting you intensely, your body still oversensitive from your last orgasm.

"Shh," he murmured against your skin.

"Just take it for me, okay?"

His lips moved slowly along your neck, leaving more marks behind. Each kiss only intensified the pleasure. And his pace never slowed.

Your nails dug into his back as he drove into you, hard and relentless, his mouth still working against your skin.

The overwhelming intensity built quickly. Too quickly. You could feel yourself getting close again.

Before you could even warn him, your body gave out. Pleasure crashed through you all at once. Another orgasm tore through you, stealing the breath from your lungs and leaving your mind completely blank.

You were left dazed beneath him, trembling from the aftershocks. A light tap against your cheek pulled you back. Your eyes fluttered open to find Michael watching you.

"You okay, angel?" he asked softly, his hand brushing over your lower stomach.

"Yes," you managed to breathe out. "I'm okay-"

A light slap landed right above your pussy, making you jolt.

"So dirty," he murmured, his voice low and amused. "Coming so much from my cock."

Then his hand moved to your hair, brushing it gently back from your face. He leaned down to kiss you. The kiss was softer this time, almost reassuring. When he pulled back, his forehead rested briefly against yours.

"You can hold out more for me, right, baby?" His voice was quiet, coaxing. And as he spoke, his hips began to move again, slowly. Making sure you felt every inch.

Both your breath and moans were shaky now. Each thrust sending you into a different dimension as he speeds up a bit. Your legs now both trembling from the intense pleasure.

"How does my cock make you feel, hm? Tell me." His voice was low and teasing as every thrust hit exactly where it made your body tremble.

"I-it feels so good," you moaned breathlessly.

A slow smile spread across Michael’s face. He bit lightly at his lower lip, his head tilting as he looked down at you with dark, hungry eyes.

"You’re so dirty right now," he murmured. "Drooling everywhere, can't even talk properly."

His thumb brushed softly across your cheek. "Just a whining mess for me."

Then he kissed you. Hard. His thrusts grew deeper, harder, making your body jolt beneath him.

The overwhelming pleasure brought tears to your eyes. Michael noticed immediately. "Shh, angel, it's okay."

He broke the kiss just long enough to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

"I know," he murmured gently. "I know, baby."

His hand brushed through your cheeky, wiping your tears, his touch impossibly tender compared to the relentless pace of his hips.

"You're taking it so well for me." Another orgasm was building fast, tightening through your body. Michael noticed the way your breathing hitched, the way your body clenched around him.

"Just hold on a little longer, my love."

His own release was approaching too.

You could feel it in the way his thrusts became needier, less controlled, his grip tightening against your skin.

"C'mon," he breathed, his voice rough now. "Come for me again."

That was all it took. Pleasure crashed through you all at once. Your body arched beneath him as another powerful wave overtook you, stealing every coherent thought from your mind.

And almost instantly, Michael followed.

A deep groan escaped him as the tension finally snapped.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

The pleasure was euphoric. It left you both breathless, trembling, completely undone. Michael stayed close, his forehead resting against yours as he struggled to steady his breathing.

His hand slid gently through your hair again, his touch soft now.

"That's it," he murmured quietly, pressing one last lingering kiss to your lips.

"Good girl."