Some Bullshit

It was a useless prayer, of course, because you woke up with intense cramps and a need you knew you wouldn’t be able to satisfy on your own. 

Your embarrassment was only starting, though, because eventually Ryland stood in the doorway, his arms crossed and a worried look on his face. “I read your file,” he murmurs, a hand coming up in defense when you whip around to look at him, “I’m sorry, but I didn’t have a choice. I could… smell you.” 

You sigh, biting your lip as another wave of pain rolls through you. “Just lock me in here for a few days,” you manage, “I’ll be fine.” Your body language screams not fine, but that’s neither here nor there as far as you’re concerned. A whisper of your name grabs your attention, makes your skin prickle. “This is serious, how long have you been on suppressants?” His voice is low, betraying how stern he’s about to be. 

You roll to your back, staring up at the ceiling. “At least, I don’t know, six years?” 

“Six years?!” He’s mad, furious, even. “This is your first heat in six years?” His voice drops a little, the low timbre going straight to your core. You groan quietly, arms wrapping around your middle. “Can we crisis manage now and lecture me later?” You throw him a withering look, begging him to close the door and leave you to your misery. 

He lets out a deep breath, hands coming up again, “can I come closer?” A quick nod from you, a quiet moan as his scent wafts over you, “sweetheart, you’re not going to be able to handle this one on your own.” He’s so gentle, like he’s approaching a cornered animal. Apt, you think with a shaky breath. 

“This is the crisis management,” he whispers, kneeling in front of you. “We both know what’s happening, please let me help.” He places a hand on the bed, close but not touching, letting you decide how to proceed, giving you a choice in this. 

You search his face, see the worry swirling around behind his glasses, see how he bites the inside of his cheek like he’s biting back more words that he knows aren’t going to be helpful in this moment. A deep breath doesn’t help, his scent filling your nose and turning your brain to mush. 

Finally, you nod, watching the relief flood over his face as he gives you a small smile, an attempt at comfort. “It’s still early,” you mumble, “it’s going to get worse.” He nods, brows furrowing, “I know. Just tell me what you need, I’ll take care of you.”

The warmth in his words makes you shiver, your eyes closing in an attempt to ground yourself. “Keep Rocky out, please?” Another nod from him, “already taken care of. I’ll get snacks and water, do what you need to.” He brushes soft fingers over your hand, mouth pulling tight when your breath hitches at the contact. 

He disappears for a few minutes, leaving you in the bunk room. It’s immediate, how you miss his scent and feel the need to nest. It overwhelms you, so you pull the patchwork quilt off of his bed, along with his pillows, and cocoon them around your own bed. You grab his sweater, wrapping it over your shoulders and burying yourself in the pile you’ve made. 

When Ryland returns, he stops to take you in. Wrapped in his scent, snuggled into the warm sheets, you looked so soft. Your scent hits him full force, though, and he steels himself for a long week. 

You reach for him, swallowing your pride long enough to ask for help. He drops the supplies he brought on the floor by the bed and crawls in beside you, wrapping his arms around you with a sigh. “Can I ask about it, before it gets bad?” His voice is quiet, it makes you shiver against him. “Yeah,” you whisper, burying your head into his shirt, letting him fill your senses. 

“Why’d you hide it?” He strokes up your back, trying to offer any comfort he can. “Hide that I’m an omega?” You laugh bitterly, feeling how he squeezes you just a little. “Yeah, there’s no shame in it,” he mumbles, “doesn’t change anything, you’re still a brilliant engineer.”

“Stratt said something similar,” you sigh, “we thought she stocked enough suppressants.” He hums, “she wouldn’t have sent you if she didn’t trust you.” It rings true for both of you, Stratt only made the most calculated choices, only took risks that she was sure were worth it.

“Ryland, I’m sorry I’m putting you in this position, it’s not fair to you,” you whisper, pushing down a yawn. A big hand runs through your hair, shifting your head so he can see your face. “I’m here for you, whatever you need,” he cups your cheek, thumb swiping across your skin. “But you should know,” he takes a deep breath, looking wary of his next words, “you might trigger my rut.” 

You nod, knowing that was a possibility, knowing that he hasn’t had one as long as you’ve been awake. “Whatever you need, too, then,” and you pull his hand to your mouth, pressing a kiss to his palm. He leans forward and kisses your forehead, his eyes fluttering shut. “Get some rest, you’re gonna need as much as you can,” he wraps you in his arms and holds you close, waiting until your breathing evens out before he lets himself sleep too.

—------

When you woke a few hours later, you were sweating through your clothes. Ryland was awake, he had thrown the blankets off of you at some point, feeling how warm you’d gotten. He pressed water into your hand immediately, deep voice telling you to drink. 

You can’t help how you twist, needing contact with him but hating how hot everything feels. Like he can sense your struggle, he whispers, “hey, it’s okay, what do you need?” His hold loosens just a little, hands stroking over the worn knit of his sweater hanging off your frame. “‘S too hot,” you whine, “everything’s too hot.”

He sits up, pulling you up with him, and helps you shrug out of the cardigan. When you reach for the hem of your shirt, he turns away, trying to give you a little privacy. You shed your shirt and pants, groaning when the cool air hits your heated skin. Your scent fills the room, Ryland feels it crowding in on every side, smells how wet you are already. 

The cramps are back in full force, you flop against the mattress and muffle a cry into your pillow. He’s there quickly, soothing touches on your arms and shoulders trying to help. When a shiver wracks your body and you choke out his name, he takes your hand. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he whispers, “it’s okay, get what you need.” And he slides your hand down your body, pushing your fingertips under the waistband of your panties. 

You whimper at the first touch against your core, biting back a cry when you circle your clit. Your hips jerk, legs spreading a little more to give you room. Ryland presses sweet kisses to your temple, strokes your hair with tender fingers. 

A pained sigh leaves you when you dip down to swipe through your slick, your body clenching around nothing. You slide back up to your clit, picking up your pace with a cry. Ryland hums next to you, “smell so pretty, baby.” The words make you hot, you close your eyes with a whine. “Be a good omega for me,” he whispers, lips pressing to your cheek, “come.”

Your back arches as your orgasm rolls through you. Quiet moans leave your lips, your legs snapping shut, trapping your hand against your soaked core. He talks you through it, “good, baby, that’s it. Get it all out, I’m right here.” His voice dips lower, breath hitching when you shudder through the last of it. 

“Doing so good, did that help?” He studies your face, seeming satisfied when you nod and look away bashfully. “Hey, none of that,” his hand cups your jaw, tilting your face back towards his, “don’t go getting shy on me. We’re still at the beginning of this, we’ve got a while to go.” He gives you a small smile, reaching for the hand still resting in your panties. He grips your wrist and pulls your hand to his mouth, sucking your fingers between his lips. His eyes roll back with a groan - he licks your skin clean, pressing kisses to your fingertips and palm before he lets you go. 

You eat a snack, drink some more water, and roll over to be close to him again. The fabric of his shirt is rough against your cheek, you let out a small laugh and lean up to look at him. “Since you just watched that, can you at least take off your shirt?” He laughs with you, sitting up and throwing his shirt across the room. “Consider it gone.” And you let him tug you down for another nap.

—------------

The next time you wake up, it’s to an intense pain shooting out from your core, heat rolling through you in waves. Ryland’s asleep under you, face peaceful and chest rising slowly. You hate to wake him, so you roll to your other side and let your hand slide straight into your panties. No time is wasted, you circle your clit, moaning lightly at the contact. 

This time feels different, though, and you can’t quite build your pleasure like you did before. You try your best, pressing two fingers into your waiting center and thrusting quickly. You rub at your clit, the pain setting in full force. A quiet cry of, “please, alpha,” falls from your lips and suddenly Ryland is there. 

He rolls you to your back, his voice washing over you, cooling the fire that threatened to burn you alive. “I’m here, I’ve got you,” and he skims his fingers down your sides, planting kisses to your neck. He leans up to see your eyes, “can I kiss you?” Even now he’s still so worried about you. You nod quickly, hands burying in his hair and pulling him to you.

The kiss is intense, he licks into your mouth with a groan, the sound helping to ground you through the cramps. “Need your knot,” you breathe against him, swallowing down his whine. You beg again, feeling his resolve crack when you roll your hips against his. “Of course, sweet girl,” he whispers, “anything -” for you is how he wants to end that sentence, but he cuts himself off with a groan. 

He pulls the rest of your clothes off, biting his way to your breasts, and sheds his pants easily. He takes a second to look, shoves his nose against your skin and breathes in deeply. It rips a growl from his throat, a needy, “fuck,” slipping out. 

You’re getting desperate, the pain seeping in the longer he has his hands off of you. You squirm under him, legs wrapping around his hips to try to hurry him along. He realizes how long he’s made you wait, whispering his apologies and stroking his thick length quickly. You moan at the size of him, know he’s exactly what you need. 

Ryland shoots you a reassuring smile and lines himself up, pressing in with a whimper and falling forward to kiss you deeply. He feels as thick as he looks, stretching your walls slowly as he works each inch in. He pauses when he’s half way in, kissing along your face and whispering soft praise. “Perfect for me, oh, my omega,” his forehead lands against yours, your breaths mingling in the small space between you. 

You’re whining under him, practically begging for him to keep going, to give you what you so desperately need. “Ryland, please,” you cry, nails digging into his back, scratching red marks on his skin. He nods, panting heavily, and slides the rest of the way in. He bottoms out with a moan, drinking down your sounds as he kisses you again. 

The first thrust punches the air out of you, your legs tightening around him in encouragement. “Oh, baby,” he praises, “needed this so bad, huh?” And then he’s moving. It’s fast, erratic slaps of his hips on yours. Wet squelches echo through the room, your slick dripping onto the sheets below you. “Look,” he commands, hand gripping your jaw and forcing you to look down at where you’re connected. 

He’s huge, pumping into you in a show of strength, your slick coating his cock, his thighs, up to the light trail of hair dusting his lower stomach. You let out a moan, eyes flicking to his, your breath hitching when you find him already staring at you. “Like you were made for me,” he murmurs, biting your lip and watching it spring back. “Tell me whose pussy this is,” he drops his head to your neck, licking and sucking just below your ear. 

In any other scenario, you would roll your eyes at the bravado of an alpha, but in this moment? You feel like your brain is melting. Your walls clench down on him, your eyes rolling back as a moan rips from your throat. You feel him smile against your neck, feel the little laugh he lets out at how affected you are. “It’s yours,” you whimper out, legs starting to shake.

“And who am I?” He murmurs right into your ear, biting your lobe. Heat floods your body, your core pulsing and back arching. “My alpha,” you cry, clawing at his back as your whole body convulses. He rewards you with a scratch of his teeth against the curve of your neck, biting lightly. 

The pressure sends you tumbling over the edge. Your eyes screw shut, stars flashing behind your lids. His knot forms quickly, locking him in place as he shakes above you. He growls, grinding against you and drawing out your peak as long as you can take it. Finally he slows, lips seeking yours to feel all of your whimpers on his tongue. 

He pulls away just enough to scan your face, searching for any remnants of pain. When he’s satisfied with your expression, he wraps his arms around you and rolls. His back lands against the wall, so he’s sitting up with you in his lap. You’re draped over his chest, your head cradled against his neck. 

A deep breath tells you what you already knew, his rut has started. Soft hands stroke up your back, gentle lips press to your temple, a quiet voice whispers sweet praise. You think this might be heaven, here in Ryland’s arms, his knot filling you, every sense full of him. 

He huffs out a small laugh, shaking you just a little. “I, uh - this knot might last a while, it’s been a long time for me too.” You laugh, breath hitching when he squeezes your thighs playfully. 

You’re boneless on top of him, quietly answering his questions about the intensity of this heat (it’s high, of course), what you used to do on earth for it, how you convinced Stratt to let you on the mission. 

“That one wasn’t me,” you smile against his shoulder. “She recruited me, told me that if I wanted in, I had it.” He’s quiet for a minute, you can hear the gears turning in his head. “She only wanted the most qualified,” he murmurs. 

You shrug, “I think she’s got good judgement.” You push up to sit, both of you groaning when you shift, his knot pulsing at the friction. He kisses you, both hands holding your face. “I don’t know how long my heat’s gonna last,” you grimace, covering it with a laugh that he sees through instantly. 

“We’ve got it,” he kisses your forehead, “we’re a great team.” When he presses his lips to yours again, you can’t help but smile.

------------------

Lars was twitchy. Maybe it was the unremarkable fact that you were sitting on his bed. Unremarkable for most maybe, but this was even giving you butterflies. You supposed it was the excitement of being closer with him than you’d ever been, and how he seemed to want to rush you home far sooner than you’d expected him to. Or that he’d taken you home at all. And if you felt like this, you couldn’t imagine what it was doing to him.

It had only been a boring work party with people he spent most days around. Nothing out of his comfort zone. It was when you finished your last job for the day and joined in the tame festivities that you noticed Lars becoming uncomfortable. As you chatted to a colleague you could sense you were being watched and turned to see his eyes burning into you, dark and brooding. Another ten minutes, and he had dragged you away to his garage so fast that you’d been quite literally swept off your feet.

So here you found yourself. In the place you’d daydreamed about kissing him endlessly, despite never having been inside. You hoped he wanted to kiss you tonight. Your heart raced at the thought, butterflies exploding in your stomach when he led you to the bed.

Beside you, Lars’s trembling fingers ran through his soft, dirty blond hair as a shaky breath pushed through his lips. That same shaky hand landed abruptly on yours then, and you jumped a little, eyes widening as his handsomely huge hand and long elegant fingers covered yours. His touch was delightfully warm and his skin felt as soft as his hair looked. You bit your lip, wanting to close the gap between you but you managed to restrain yourself. Just.

His fingers threaded through yours quite forcefully and squeezed, and you swallowed hard, finally catching on to why he was so jittery. He really did want to kiss you… or so you hoped.

Then it finally happened.

It started out sweetly enough, his lips brushing softly against yours as you held hands, cautious, heavy breaths mingling as your eyes fluttered shut and you toyed with the idea of deepening the kiss. But you weren’t sure if he’d be ready for that yet, so it was probably better to let him take this at his own pace.

As if he read your mind, Lars forced his tongue into your mouth in a way that seemed so unlike him. You had wondered if Lars had ever even kissed anyone before you (other than Bianca of course). And more than wondering, you highly doubted it; yet here he was taking the lead. And doing incredibly well at it. There had been no fumbling, no nervous laughter, no running in the opposite direction. Just his lips closing over yours and his tongue sliding roughly into your mouth for dominance. You shivered.

You were more surprised, and pleasantly so, when his free hand found its way to your knee and pushed daringly up your thigh.

‘Lars-’ you breathed, muffled by his mouth, an exclamation filled with anticipation and longing.

He pulled back, breathing heavily, eyes wild, alight with a flame you’d never seen in them before.

‘Hey, I… I want to show you something.’

You weren’t sure how the next part happened. His hands were still on you, they never left, but they weren’t touching any more, they weren’t ghosting over your clothed legs in a soft glide, or caressing your palm, they were handling. Grabbing.

Lars was stronger than he looked you realised as you found yourself pinned to the mattress beneath him. You weren’t sure he even realised his own strength. His fingers slid around your wrists to position you how he wanted, sliding up to your shoulders and pushing down, letting you know you weren’t to budge.

There were so many conflicting thoughts swirling around Lars’s head, and suddenly they had all seemed to arrive at the same point. Everything he’d ever heard about sex was at the forefront of his mind and all at once he couldn’t seem to control his appetite for you. He needed you, and more, he needed to make you his. Only his.

You could barely breathe, the questions rushing through your dazed mind too hurried and hazy to translate into anything verbal, but the imagery of him furiously chopping wood flashed through your memory and you somehow managed to link that to how you should have known he could be this commanding. This possessive. You knew now why your core had ached when you’d seen him wielding that axe with furious abandon, why you’d wanted to explore that part of him.

You might have already known somewhere deep down, if it wasn’t for the one small technicality that he simply didn’t seem the type. Far from it. You’d expected Lars to be quiet, nervous, probably to cum before you even really touched him. Not this. Not dominating and forceful and commanding. But then, you supposed, it was always the quiet ones.

Heat rushed to your core and you clenched your thighs together instinctively. Whatever it was he was planning to give you, you needed it now.

Thankfully, he didn’t make you wait, far too caught up in the moment to play games like that. He just wanted you full of him, physically and mentally.

Lars dropped lower, his kiss swollen lips brushing against your ear and his raging erection nestling against your core through the layers of clothes you still wore.

Too many clothes, you mentally cursed.

‘Are you ok with this?’ he whispered, low and seductive, his breath shaking with arousal. ‘I need to know before I- before-’

You nodded desperately, pushing your hips up to grind against him.

‘Need to hear you.’ His whispered voice cracked as pleasure sparked though him at your heat pressing up against him.

‘Yes, Lars, please-’

He practically tore the clothes from your body then, clumsy and desperate, and forced his own trousers down, freeing his cock and immediately sliding it through your slick, using his knees to nudge your legs further apart so he could see you properly.

‘You’re so wet,’ he whined, rolling his hips to drag his length through your silky folds over and over. ‘Feels so- mmh!- so good-’

Fingertips found your hips, kneading roughly into the flesh, no doubt leaving bruises. You hoped they would. So did he.

As he gripped hard, he could feel you trembling each time he rocked back, every time his cock slid against your clit just right and you shuddered, and he grunted as a thick bead of precum leaked from his tip.

He smiled for the briefest of moments then, thrilled to be the one making you feel good, lost in how good it was making him feel — and then his thoughts snapped back to the point of all this.

‘Do you ever think about me?’ he asked plainly. It was a direct question, his voice dark, but somehow laced with a weakness you couldn’t place. ‘You know, in ways you shouldn’t. Like when you feel… too hot and tingly… like this-’

You felt the absence of his needy hands then, and a careful fingertip appeared between your legs instead, tracing your entrance, collecting your juices and gently exploring through your folds before slipping in so tantalisingly slowly that you couldn’t help but push your hips down for more.

He pumped slowly, feeling for the spot inside you that he knew he needed to find to keep this up, not realising he was already brushing against it with every thrust, making you tremble all the more.

‘Do you?’ he repeated the question, gaze so intense on you that you felt you might burn up beneath it.

You nodded. ‘Yes- I- I know I shouldn’t but, oh Lars, I imagine you touching me… just like that… yes! That’s it- oh!’

‘And it’s always me?’

That dark look in his eyes again.

You nodded, whining as his finger sped up. It was a reward for your earlier answer. He didn’t mean it to be, but your words pleased him and filled him with confidence.

‘Oh… uhm… good.’ Lars’s voice was still soft and gentle despite the way he was speaking to you. There was hesitancy now too, as he realised he didn’t really know where to take his line of questioning.

He just knew there was a burning sensation in his gut that had been quenched just a little when you’d admitted your desire for him, and when you’d moaned his name. And he craved more of that feeling. He needed to chase it.

He whisked his hand away and you whined in disappointment at how empty you suddenly felt. His fingers were thick, thicker than your own. And long. You vaguely wondered, going by the size of his hands, whether he’d actually be able to fit if he was going to fuck you.

You didn’t need to wonder for long. He lined himself up at your entrance, taking a steadying but shaky breath before slamming his cock into you, stretching you open with a burn that made your walls clench and your toes curl. The heavenly pleasure-pain made you cry out, grabbing fistfuls of the hair at the nape of his neck in an attempt to stay grounded while you adjusted to his size. You’d never felt so full, or so desperate.

The noise Lars made as he entered you in that one swift, rough thrust was one of utter relief; high pitched, whiny, breathy. Like he’d needed to claim you immediately or he’d simply perish, but once he was buried to the hilt in you, he was safe.

As he blinked open his eyes and slowly moved past the overwhelming and unimaginable sensation of your warmth enveloping him, his hips automatically began to snap hard, fast and unrelenting, and you could just about make out his heavy breathing over the rapid slapping of skin against skin.

The bed began to creak with the force of his thrusts, never having been subjected to such a strain. You were lost in him, filled, as he had wanted you to be, in every way, mind and body enveloped in his touch, his weight, his scent.

Lars needed something more. A burst of confidence had bloomed in his chest and he needed to act while it was present. His hand hovered by your hip, thoughts of rolling your bodies enough to spank you tearing through his overwhelmed mind. How would it feel? How would you sound? — but he wasn’t confident enough, not this time, and his fingers closed in a tight ring around your wrist instead, pinning it to the pillow above your head while his thrusts turned somehow rougher.

‘You’re mine,’ he growled quietly, his low voice vibrating through your body and settling at your twitching, overheated core. He paused his statement only to catch a breath and whine at how frustratingly close he was already before reaffirming, louder, ‘MINE- mmh!- Say it. Say it!’

‘I-I’m yours,’ you breathed weakly, ‘I’m- ah!- I’m all yours!’

Lars groaned, low and drawn out at your words. It was like music to his ears. He was finally satisfied, he thought, but needed you to cum first. He couldn’t do all of this only to finish early and disappoint you. That would do nothing at all to prove his point.

His free hand slipped between your flush bodies, over your belly and lower, to the apex of your thighs, where he fumbled for a moment before finding that sweet spot he’d heard more than enough about from his desk neighbour at work, stroking a finger over it so slowly that the contrast with his rough thrusts was deliciously jarring and you shuddered under him, sparks of pleasure and melting into a coil tightening in your belly. You sighed at how incredible it felt, back arching as you tried to chase the sensation.

Your fingernails scraped along his back, and he hissed. A thrill at your reaction spread through Lars and he dipped forward, lips ghosting against the crook of your neck. But not to kiss you. No. He was there to bite. Hard. Sharp, clean teeth close to piercing the skin. To mark you. To praise you for being so receptive to him. For giving him what he needed. He needed to consume you now. He sucked so hard that you yelped, the pleasure-pain mingling and coursing through your body, pooling at your core once again, and Lars’s cock throbbed inside you.

‘N-no one else c-can do this to you… oouuhhgh- do you- ahh- do you understand?’

‘Yes! N-no one else!’ you cried, strangled and desperate.

The finger massaging your throbbing clit so softly was about to tip you over the edge, but then he pressed it firmly to your nub, rubbing furiously, and you couldn’t hold off a second longer.

Your walls contracted, squeezing tight around him, and his hips stuttered wildly as you cried his name. He spilled inside you as you milked him of every last drop he had to offer.

A roar ripped from his chest as his release shook his entire body, a sensation he now understood was the reason people went nuts for sex. What could compare to this after years of excruciating pain at a simple brush of flesh against his own?

For the first time in his life, he didn’t even worry about the consequences. He just needed to fill you up, the ultimate way to make you his. He felt like a man alright. He felt like a god.

As the last of his release pumped from his tip in a thick, satisfying spurt, he collapsed on top of you, weight soothing yet almost unbearable as you tried desperately to catch your breath beneath him.

‘Lars… wow…’ you wheezed, daring to slide an arm around his back, soothing the scratches you’d left.

He snapped up then, realising that his twitching, softening cock was still buried inside you, and bit his lips together, wincing as he slowly pulled out and hovered above you, eyes wide, darting over every inch of your body.

‘Are you alright? Did I hurt you? Oh, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry- are you-’

‘I’m alright, Lars, really,’ you breathed, cupping his soft cheek in your palm.

His eyes drifted closed at the tender touch; another sensation he’d discovered felt good with the right person at the right time, but he shook his head as he remembered himself.

‘No, I was too rough, I shouldn’t have… oh your neck, I’m so sorry-’ his fingers traced delicately over the purpling bruise on at the side of your throat.

‘No, Lars, that was so hot. I loved what you did,’ you gushed, pushing at him gently, encouraging him to lay beside you and relax.

He settled there, panting wildly, shaking, and suddenly very aware that his trousers were still pushed down around his knees. He scrambled almost comically to pull them up and you couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought that he felt a need to preserve a semblance of decency after what he’d just done.

When he laid back down he slipped the duvet up around your body carefully, pulling you to his chest and stroking your hair with tender fingertips.

‘You’re really ok?’

‘Lars, I promise, I'm more than ok. In fact, if you don’t do that to me again I’d be disappointed. Where did it all come from?’

‘I saw you talking to Tim and… I… I-’

‘Tim?! Lars really, he’s nothing to worry about. It’s alright, though,’ you soothed, ‘I get it.’

‘You do?’

‘As much as we all loved Bianca, I couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of her. Getting to be so close to you all the time, loved by you, cared for. I would have done anything to be in her shoes back in the day.’

Lars’s eyes widened again, glossy this time, as you continued, conflicting emotions swirling in his gut and his mind.

‘Bianca was a very lucky lady. And, sorry to be crude, but she certainly taught you well…’

‘Oh! No! No, we never- no! I only ever kissed her. We didn’t even use tongues!’

You smiled, half relieved, half sad, and a touch happy for him. Had this really been his first time? ‘Well then I’m very lucky.’

You shifted up to face him properly then, extremely aware that you were naked and filled to the brim with his seed beneath his thick duvet while he was still fully dressed, but you supposed with Lars nothing was ever quite conventional.

‘Kiss me again,’ you asked simply. ‘You’re the only one I ever want to kiss, if I didn’t already make that clear, by the way. I am yours.’

Lars’s lips pulled into a warm, broad smile and his cheeks turned crimson.

‘And I, yours,’ he beamed, voice cracking with joy.

When you sunk down onto him, his whole world came to a shuddering stop, but not in the way either of you had anticipated.

It was warm. It was soft. It was kind of wet? It didn’t cause pain… it felt tingly and sort of like he wanted to explode but in equal measures, relief.

He had no words to truly describe it, and even if he had, his mind had been taken over in a haze of pleasure he’d never felt anything like before.

‘You doing ok?’ you smiled down at him, hips still as you waited for him to adjust to these new sensations.

He had the urge to move his hips, but he was too scared. Too worried he’d get it wrong and ruin everything, or that it wouldn’t feel good.

Usually when he had that overwhelmed fear bubbling up, he would run. But he was frozen in place. That is, aside from his fingertips grasping desperately at the sheets beneath him, in an attempt to stay grounded.

‘Lars?’

He looked up into your eyes and nodded in answer to your earlier question.

‘I’m going to move now, alright? If it’s too much we can stop.’

He nodded quickly, silently pleading with you.

Watching his face carefully, you rolled your hips slowly, just once.

You were glad you were in the privacy of Lars’s garage because the noise he made was deafening as his back arched, his eyes snapped shut and his jaw dropped.

His chest heaved as you stilled above him again. His vision had blurred and he'd almost seen stars, but it gradually dissipated back to just you above him, angelic.

‘Did it feel good? It didn't hurt?’

He shook his head, a firm no. ‘Good,’ he whimpered, ‘really good.’

‘Alright, I’ll go a little faster this time… and, Lars?’

‘Mmh?’

‘You feel incredible inside me.’

He sobbed then, a hand coming up to hide his eyes while his cheeks flushed hot at your praise.

You began to rock your hips in a steady rhythm, not too fast yet, but without pause.

Something was already simmering in his gut, building like a coiled spring tightening, but he trusted you to see him through it. He dropped his arm above his head so he could see you.

He looked beautiful like that, laid out for you in just his undershirt, finally relaxing.

You moaned once and within seconds he was writhing beneath you, crying out a string of his own desperate moans and grabbing a fistful of the pillow he was laid on.

He really did feel incredible; the way he stretched and filled you as you rode him had you trembling above him. Each sound he made sent heat rushing to your core. The pleasure contorting his face caused butterflies to soar in your stomach, which tightened each time his thick length massaged that sensitive spot within you.

‘Let go, Lars,’ you whispered, and as your own climax hit, his hands found yours and he emptied himself inside you with a strangled roar, his torso lifting off the bed with the unexpected force of his release.

You wrapped your arms around him and carefully laid him back down as he tried to catch his breath.

His face was wet with tears that just kept coming, and as you climbed off him, he curled into a ball beside you, facing away.

You slid an arm over his ribs to hold him and felt him trembling.

‘Are you alright? Did it hurt when you… you know-’

He shook his head into the pillow.

You kissed his hair and nudged at his shoulder, encouraging him to face you.

He turned, settling into your embrace with his face only inches from yours. Even though you'd just shared the most intimate act he could imagine, he appreciated that you didn't wipe the tears from his face. He didn't want to acknowledge them right now. He wanted you to feel impressed with him.

‘I… I liked it,’ he breathed, mildly horrified, as though he shouldn't enjoy such a thing. He felt kind of dirty, but he’d never felt more alive. Guilty, but more relaxed than he could remember ever feeling and... kind of sleepy?

Not so long ago, he’d asked Gus if it was sex that would make him feel like a man, and whilst he valued all the other things Gus had tried to explain to him, sex had certainly made him feel different.

‘I liked it too,' you smiled, and he beamed at you from under that handsome little moustache.

Family pictures, a great idea in theory, right? I mean what could possibly go wrong while trying to get your two toddlers, your husband, and your heavily pregnant self to take some nice pictures. 

The answer was a lot of things.

A lot of things could go wrong actually.

You honestly don’t know why you thought today would go smoothly. Seriously, trying to get two rowdy toddlers to sit still and smile, why did you think that would be easy. Especially when you were so heavily pregnant at this point, that Michael was the only one able to run after them currently. 

“Prince, get back here!” You hear Michael warn, chasing after the four year old who was running from him. 

“You’re going to put this vest on, mister!” Michael said through gritted teeth.

Bless him, he tried to never yell or be mean to the kids, not ever wanting to be like his own father. Prince tested him though, he was a rowdy and stubborn little thing. You shake your head as you watch Michael continue to chase after him. You bring your attention back down to your three year old daughter, Paris. You section her hair, beginning to braid her pigtails. 

“Mommy?” She asks.

“Yes, baby?” You respond.

“Why is brother running from daddy?” Paris questions curiously.

You sigh softly, “Because he doesn’t want to wear the vest daddy is trying to put on him.”

Paris is quiet for a moment, “Too bad he can’t wear a pretty dress like me and you, mommy.” 

That makes you laugh as you finish off her braids, “I guess that is too bad, honey.” You smile.

Then you hear a thud and crying in the distance, Michael must’ve finally caught him.

Paris doesn’t even seem phased, it’s not abnormal for Michael to have to chase her older brother around these days. 

She pokes at your bump, “Why can’t the baby be in the pictures, mommy?”

You look down at her in your lap, smiling softly as you smooth out her dress, “Well, because your baby brother hasn’t come out to meet us yet.” You explain.

Paris pouts slightly, “Well that’s sad, I want pictures with him.” 

You chuckle softly at your daughter, “When baby brother comes, we’ll get some pictures with him, don’t worry.” 

That makes her grin, “I wish he would come out already”

You bring her to stand up with you, walking over to the full length mirror, “Me too, honey. I’m just as ready to meet him as you are.”

You were probably more than ready for him to come finally. You were getting sick of being exhausted all the time and aching everywhere.

Paris takes a good look at both your reflections in the mirror, “We look pretty, mommy.” She smiles, looking up at you.

You nod, smoothing down her hair, “Very pretty.” You confirm. She was in a red babydoll dress that had a white collar, with white frilly socks to match. Your own dress was coordinating with hers.

“Prince, you have to wear this vest. If you don’t stop crying I’m going to grind you up into a hamburger.” You hear Michael sternly tell your son.

Dear god, last time Michael threatened Prince with that, he wouldn’t eat hamburgers for 2 months. “Michael, don’t tell him that!” You yell.

Your husband comes walking back into the large living room, this time with Prince in hand, who is now sobbing with his vest on. You frown slightly at seeing him so upset, even though you know it’s just a silly toddler tantrum. You squat down to his level, as best as you can at least for being 8 months pregnant.

“Baby, why are you crying?” You ask gently, cupping your son’s cheek.

Prince sniffles, “I don’t like this vest.” He pouts even more, crossing his arms.

“I think you look handsome, honey. Just like daddy.” You assure, fixing the collar of his dress shirt.

Prince just shakes his head in response, still sniffling. “Look, I just need you to wear it for an hour, just so we can get some good pictures. Can’t you do that for me and daddy?” You ask, pausing for a moment. “I’ll tell you what, afterwards I’ll make your favorite for dinner, spaghetti.”

That gets him to dry it up, nodding with a little smile now. You wipe some stray tears from his cheeks. “Thank you, baby.” You smile at him, kissing his cheek and wrapping him up in a hug.

Michael watches you with a lovesick smile on his face, god he loves watching you be a mom. In his eyes you were the best mom that your children could ever need. He helps you up after Prince walks off to go watch cartoons with his sister on the couch.

His hands find your hips immediately, “You’re the best mama, honey.”

You chuckle softly, he loves that sound so much, “I try.”

Michael brings you in for a quick kiss, he takes in your appearance. You were wearing a red dress with white detailing, matching with Paris. It was tight around your torso, showing the swell of your large bump, where your soon to be third child was safely tucked away. He loved your bump, he was absolutely infatuated with it, he was with every pregnancy you’ve had. His large hand comes to gently caress the bump. 

“You are so beautiful, mama.” He whispers, “Can’t wait for this little one to come meet us.”

You smile, looking down at your bump, “I know…” Your eyes flick back up to meet his own, “But until then, are you ready to get these kids to sit still and smile for the camera for an hour?” You ask.

Michael huffs out a laugh, “No, not really.” He answers honestly.

You chuckle softly at him, “But we’re gonna do it anyway?” 

He grins, nodding, “Yeah, we’re gonna do it anyways.”

no seriously just look at him. these kids kept my man TIREDD

and honestly, forgive him again because he knows you’re camera shy, but it never stops him from recording the most precious thing between your legs. and michael will never say it out loud but this is the main reason for this camera.

it’s just something about just watching you be pleasured by him and seeing you so up close and personal, he can’t get enough. mainly his hands make an appearance in the video, other times it’s a toy he got you.

and even his boot he let you ride after you begged so nicely but that’s a story for another day..

and then it gets real cinematic when his dick enters the video. michael goes all out, setting the camera up on a tripod so it could get the side angle he loves because let’s face it, these videos are only for his eyes. like yes, you’re included and he always makes two copies, in case you want to watch them but these are michael’s private videos.

cw - religion mentioned, just the tip!, sweetie pie mike & reader, dry (wet) humping, i mean read the req, thats whats abt to happen wink

also ignore the pink theme, i know i reserve that for perv mike but in my defense i waassss gonna make this apart of that, but it didnt make sense in the long run

god, please give him strength.

"but mikey," you say, luringly, hands smoothing over his half undone button up. "we love each other, how is it sin?" you mumble pitifully, adjusting your sit on his lap slightly.

his eyes drift over your pouty lips, still puffy from his prior attack. you look edible, gluttony lingers around his gentle grip on your hips, he fights it with every coercive word you say.

"i do love you, but we need to be married, baby." he tries to sound assured, but the slight waver doesnt miss you.

your head tilts, he looks at you sharply, knowing youre on to something hes unsure he'll be able to say no to.

you cant help the small smile streching your features, "we dont have to go all the way, what if we just..." you pause, figuring hes more likely to say no if you say it, so you just do it.

your hips lift up half way, before easing back down in a slide on his crotch. electricity zaps up your spine at the movement, your boldness taking both of you by surprise.

his lips trap his bottom lip instantly, hardly holding the grunt that threatened release.

his grip tightens.

"y/n..." he draws with warning, but making no effort to stop you.

you tentatively rise again, but instead of grinding back down, you stay up, waiting for him to move you off...but he doesnt.

shyness creeps up his skin, as he looks away. his vice grip on you tightens impossibly, as he wordlessly brings you down, directly on his hardening crotch.

you gasp slightly, but you grind quickly again, as to not lose the moment.

this unfamiliar indulgence of lust blinds michael, as he grinds up on you, hes never felt this warm. your soft whimpers cascade gently through the room, as your humps quicken.

hes practically gasping with every quick, sophomoric grind. one of his hands detatch, unsteadily exploring the clothed expanse of your body, whilst the other stays planted—half guiding your movements, half tethering himself to you—to reality; that this was, infact, happening.

your hands are finding themselves under the button up, michael groans at your firey touch.

"please—off!" you whine, tugging at the bottom of the shirt, his stomach flexes at your words. he pauses hesitantly, you notice, youre quick to bring your lips to his cheek, drifting down by his ear "i need you mikey, please..." you whine, lips connecting to his neck.

he shudders.

"barely seen you! jus' wanna look." you mumble between the litter of kisses.

he huffs, is this jehovah himself testing his resolve? cause this is purely cruel.

he nods.

you grin, planting a final kiss on his lips, before leaning back to reach for the hem, michael lifts slightly to assist in getting the article off. which is quick to the floor.

his cheeks burn, as he watches your curious gaze.

youre hands trace down his sternum, causing his breath to catch.

he swallows, scratching the back of his neck quietly. "your turn?" he whispers meekly.

you giggle softly, nodding.

god, you look so adorable with your flushed cheeks, he watches your small hands lift your sweater off. he nearly flinches as your bra catches the light. plush breasts cradled by lacy purple—is it silly that he feels jealous over a bra?

he shakes his head of the ridiculous juvenile thought.

his eyes scan slowly over you, from your shy gaze locked on the headbored behind him, to the dip of your collar bone, his eyes haze slightly at the alluring swell of your tits, rising and falling shakily from your uneven breaths. he begrudgingly drops his eyesight, to the dropping curve of your waist meeting your hips. his finger lifts, absentmindedly drawing along said dip. your brows crook upwards at the teasing touch, goosebumps rise in the wake of.

his finger moves north, finding the strap of your bra. he stares with a look you cant quite read, before abruptly breaking the heated silence. "its not a sin to look...its...its natural." he says with a clear of his throat, flicking the flimsy strap gently back to your warm skin.

you nearly ask him to repeat himself, unbelieving michael; the most timid man youve ever met, is asking you to take your bra off.

you blink, before nodding, hands reaching to unclasp the garment.

your eyes drop. frankly, scared to see michaels reaction.

the brisk air hardens your nipples, michael watches silently.

"youre...youre beautiful." he mutters.

you swallow thickly.

you feel him shift under you, sitting up, soon his hand on your back, breath on your neck. he pulls you closer to him, lips latching on your pulse as you whine.

finding his shoulders, you arch into his touch, causing a small groan to your neck.

as hes working his lips on you, you press your hips down on his once again.

in a slur of grasping hands, and desperation. you both ended up bare. michael truly didnt mean for it to come this far, but how could he reject the innate need for connection? lust? yes—sinful, but if you don't go all the way, it's technically not a sin.

for being a sinner, he sure does feel heavenly with you on top of him, cute wide eyes locked on his large, hard cock.

he watches through hooded eyes, as you bite your lip, your inexperienced fingers trace down his abdomen. before you can even land where you so desperately wanted to, michaels quick to catch your wrist in his hand.

his breath hitches at the lingering;teasing feel of you, as he looks up. you give him a deliciously curious gaze, he smiles, bringing your wrist to his lips, your perfuming whirring through his senses, before he presses a soft kiss.

"dont want you doin' all the work." he mumbles his flimsy excuse.

you buzz slightly at his words, nodding.

he uses his vantage on your arm to gently pull you down to meet his lips.

"i want you—all of you—i swear i do, but we oughta do it properly." his sigh fans across your pouty lips.

you nod again, deciding this wasnt a battle you wanted to fight at the moment, already content with how far youd managed to come.

he smiled softly at your easy acceptance. a long pause settles between you two, before michaels qauiet words redirect your attention.

"we could still...grind on each other. if youd like?" he says mousily. you light up instantly, nodding.

his hips raise tentatively, before youre quick to meet him, you slide his long length through your weeping folds in a swift motion.

michael gasps, hands quick to your waist.

a sharp whimper falls from both of your lips, as the burgundy tip catches on your entrance.

instinctively michael pulls your hips down slightly, nearly breaching your entrance, before the cloud of lust dissipates enough for him to move back an inch, opting to grind your pearl along him.

your mouth drops open at that, poor little hole clenching around nothing.

you brace yourself with your hands on his broad shoulders as you lift with his moves.

grinding back down, he moans out, head falling back slightly.

his leaky cock is blanketed in a sheen of your essence, he could weep watching your eager movements along him.

everything is warm, every move driven purely by adoration and adrenaline. he can already feel his release building up.

"please mikey...i want to feel you. i love you." you say abruptly, causing michael to whine.

"o—okay, jus'," his breath falters as you buck your hips quicker—you are a siren of desire, luring him into the depths of desire. "just the tip...its not full way...its not bad" he mutters, more so to convince himself, than you.

he raises from his laxed position on his elbows, to his palms, as you strainfully raise your hips over his cock.

he clutchs the bedsheets below him, as he lets you take him into your small grasp, aligning him up to your weeping hole.

the pearly white gates of heaven flash brightly through his mind, as he enters you. he can damn near hear the trumpets, over your shaky whimper.

this is what he was made for.

he lifts an arm to hug you to him, your tits pressing against him is the least of the overwhelming flood of you.

"please—oh god!" he cries out, his grip on you nearly bruising as he fights every single voice begging him to sink you fully down, in one quick succession. he wants oh so bad to burry himself in your tight gummy walls, and lewdly paint them white as you sigh seductively above him.

but he could never forgive himself—god would never.

but oh fuck you feel so good.

he moves you up, then down ever so slightly. his mushroom tip fully immersed in you.

his eyes squeeze shut, before blinking open. he focuses on your withering figure against him. gaze dropping to your neglected bead, his other hand finds it. rubbing small quick circles.

you fall apart, the dam in your core combusts, washing over your exposed skin. lapping at the heightened nerves of your release, as you clench tightly around michaels tip.

he watches your wanton face, as it morphs through the fazes of pure ecstasy. hes never seen anything more beautiful.

he wants more, more of your love, of your touch, of your release. but he cant even adress those thoughts before his own finish line is crashed through.

he moves out of you—in a blink, he has your back to the matress, as his cum squirts along the expance of your stomach. he cries out, as he paints your soft skin milky white.

the devil has won.

a/n - ok u can totally tell this was written at 3am, please exuse the horrid writting; if you just dont read super in depth then all will be good!!!!

not proofread i am SO sorry lmao i can not for a life of me reread this nightmare, also sorry again if this is choppy i miggggggght be as high as the empire state, speazking of which trump made the knicks lose AUUGGGHHH. its ok tho mamdani will fix it mashallah knicks in 5

also sorry for my inactivity BUT IM DIALED IN ON ASKS!! when i wake up i promise ill pump out actually coherent pieces!!

The next morning, I wake up alone. It's early, like crack of dawn early, and I don't even hear the shower going.

Where's Michael?

Confused, I sit up, hair a mess, glancing around the room until I see a note on the vanity by the window, beside a red rose. A smile stretches over my lips and I slip out of bed and pad over to pick it up. I sniff the flower, stomach lifting with delight, and then start reading Michael's note.

'I'm sorry, Daphne,' he starts, and my smile drops. 'I need time to think. please don't hate me. I'll call you.'

I stare at the note for a long time. Perhaps a few minutes, then turn it over. There's nothing else. I toss my hair out of my face, and look back to the room. His stuff is gone. All of it. Suitcase, shoes, shirts. Gone.

"Oh," I say quietly. I don't really know what to think, or even how to react right now. He just left?

I stand there for another few minutes, so confused that I don't really know what to do with myself, until it hits me. Something I'd mumbled half asleep. Something I'd said out loud. Something neither of us were ready to acknowledge yet.

What the hell was I thinking?

I crouch, and put head in my hands, absolutely mortified. "idiot!" I hiss, so humiliated I want to cry, but I fight the urge off and stand back up. I scrunch up the note and throw it on the bed, leaving the rose on the vanity.

I get ready, hair and make up done, dress simply in a matching juicy couture lounge set, pack up my stuff, and head down to the reception to call a car to take me to the airport.

The room is already paid for, so I check out five hours before I need to and leave, bolting for Los Angeles.

I'm stone faced all the way to the airport, even as the driver tries to make conversation, I'm monotone, hiding behind my sunglasses and a baseball hat. The next flight to Los Angeles I'm on it, tucked away in first class, blanket round my shoulders, phone off. This feels surreal, like a really awkward bad dream.

'I need some time to think. please don't hate me.'

Had he left right after I'd said it? An hour later? Had he even slept beside me last night? Was the reality of me loving him really that awful?

It hits me all at once, and I hiccup, tears blurring my vision in a matter of seconds before spilling over. I'm rushing for a tissue out of my purse whilst trying desperately to be quiet despite this section of the plane hardly close to full.

How could he just leave a note? A fucking note? Was I worth nothing more than that?

A flight attendant appears in my peripheral vision as I repeatedly wipe tears off my cheeks, unable to stop the constant stream of them. "Are you okay?" she whispers, crouching beside my private little cubby. I don't think she recognises me, she's in her late forties maybe, and I don't anyone over thirty knows who I am. And why would they, the most I'd done is present a few shows on MTV and party with other celebrities.

"Fine," I whisper, but my voice cracks and more tears descend.

"Oh, sweetheart. Let me get you some more tissues and some tea, okay? Hold on." She wanders away, calm and casual. Her kindness only makes me cry into my blanket harder, but I calm down by the time she comes back a minute or so later. "What happened?"

"Oh, you know," I laugh, sniffing hard, wiping under my eyes with the back of my hand. "Men."

"Oh, god," she laughs, tipping her head back. "You poor sweet thing," she pats my hand. "You'll be fine, you're young and pretty. I'm sure you got a line of them waiting for you on the other side."

That line lands like a sucker punch, and I grin through the tears even as they spill over my cheeks again, because none of those men will be Michael fucking Jackson. She pets my head and murmurs that she hopes I feel better, then pads away to tend to someone else. I keep dabbing under my eyes, breathing carefully until the tears finally stop some minutes later. I pull myself together like I've done many times, then sip the unsweetened herbal tea.

It's been about five minutes when I sense eyes on me. I suspect it's the flight attendant glancing over to check in on me, so I put on a lighter expression and look up, except, she has her back turned. Slowly, I look around searching for whoever might be looking at me when I find them, sitting behind me, a few rows back.

Blood drains from my face and I whip back around. My heart rate immediately kicks up, and I wrap the blanket around myself, literally hiding in plain sight, and grab the book I'd bought a few days ago and bury my face in it.

The plane bell chimes and the flight attendant slips past me, heading further back. When I hear her voice, I know I couldn't have been wrong.

Lisa is on my flight. Literally three rows behind me.

She requests a drink, then murmurs something else, and within a few minutes, a glass of champagne is handed to me. "From the woman a few seats back," the attendant smiles, "we're all in this together, hm?" she chuckles, patting my shoulder before turning away.

I gulp, staring at the champagne before I slowly look over my shoulder. Lisa lifts her glass and smiles at me, "to the man, huh?" she asks, tilting her head. She must've heard me talk to the flight attendant. I cringe inwardly, and only nod, slightly lifting my glass before I turn back around.

What the fuck am I supposed to do here? Move seats? Jump out of the god damn plane?

Someone moves into my peripheral vision and I briefly close my eyes, preparing myself. "Rough weekend?" Lisa asks by means of greeting, easing into a free cubby and giving me a tight smile. I still can't believe I've been put into this situation, out of all the things I could've been presented with on this exact day...

I'm going to fucking cry again.

"Something like that," I mumble, unable to look at her straight away. I gather myself, not willing to look weak in front of this one specific woman. When I look at her, I hope I don't look like a deer in headlights, seconds away from death.

"Lisa," she says, sticking out her hand, flicking her short light hair back away from her face with a head toss. "Presley-Jackson." she adds a half second later. My eye threatens to twitch, but I shake her hand politely. I may be spoiled rotten, but I do have some manners.

"Daphne Jones."

"I know who you are," she smiles. I take my hand back and put the champagne glass down. "I have to say," she carries on after taking a sip of her drink, "I must give it to you. That photo really kicked up a storm, definitely ruined my weekend," she laughs sarcastically, tilting her head and looking at me straight.

I glance away, but the only other person in first class seems to be asleep. So it's not like I can ask him to save me.

"I'm not really sure what to say here," I confess, looking back to Michael's ex, or current? wife?

Lisa inhales, smoothing a hand over her pin straight hair. She could only be, what, seven-ish years older than me? And yet, it seems like more. Decades, and decades. And decades.

"Look. Daphne, sweetie, I don't know what happened between you and Michael this weekend, what possessed either of you to put that photo out, but you egging Michael on with this behaviour is only going to damage him in the long run, okay? And look, he's already hurt you. This is what he does. He acts out. He's petty. He runs off, then he comes crawling back."

I sit there, completely silent. Lisa waits, giving me this sneering, patronising smile as if I'm meant to insert a thank you into the conversation and tell her she's right, but I just... keep sitting here, silently. Staring at her.

"You're young," she carries on with a smile, reaching across the aisle to put her hand on my knee. "You'll understand eventually why sometimes things don't work out how you want them to. I'm sure life is already teaching you that. Being involved with an older man might seem exciting, but... in the end, they're still just men, and the dogs always come home at the end of the day after playing out in the street."

My expression blanks, and I freeze.

She's kidding me right?

Within half a second I snap out of it and my manners disappear. I grin and lean close to her, over the arm of my cubby's seat and whisper in a light voice, "We've been fucking raw for two months. I could be pregnant right now." I wasn't, but the bitch in me had come right out, "I hope this news ruins your whole fucking year." I giggle as her expression drops. "Now get away from me before I tell the flight attendant you're hitting on me and make everyone really uncomfortable, okay?" I chirrup then lean back in my seat, twisting away from her as my bright expression immediately drops.

"You have no idea who I am," Lisa hisses at me, standing up.

"I do, and I don't give a flying fuck," I whisper-shout back at her. "Don't piss me the fuck off," I mutter under my breath, folding my arms. The next five hours of this flight drag like nothing I'd ever experienced. I don't even leave my seat, I just sit there, furious, until we land. I snap up my stuff, shoving it into bags and then flounce off the plane.

I'm out airport quickly, sliding into a cab to take me home. I'm so angry I could cry, and I hold it until I get home, and hold it as I grin my way through the paparazzi still camping outside my place, and hold it more as I stamp my way into my house, hurry up the stairs and into my bedroom, shut the door, and then burst into tears again.

I cry until I'm tired then I sleep all the way through until the evening. I pad around my house, eating ice cream out of a tub, muttering to myself as I relieve the last twelve hours.

'Night. I love you.'

how could I say that?! If he'd just asked me about it I could've laughed it off. I could've told him I didn't mean it or something.

'I need some time to think.'

That was just humiliating.

'you have no idea who I am.'

What does that even mean?!

I'm in bed, tv on as I watch some of my shows, too amped up on emotion to even think about sleeping again, when my cell phone rings. Without looking at the caller ID I reach for it and pick up, "yeah?"

"Daphne," Michael's voice startles me. "I'm sorry," he immediately says. I sit bolt up right, breaths hitching. "I wanted to--"

"Why the fuck are you calling me?" I snap, tears flooding my eyes. Suddenly, I'm not feeling anger anymore, just pure unfiltered hurt. There's a pause.

"I said I would, in the note I left you this morning."

I look at the clock on my nightstand, seeing the time just passing ten thirty at night. I have about ten thousand things I want to say suddenly that I can't say any of them at all. They all flood to my mouth, rendering me speechless. I just stare at the time.

"Daphne?"

"I met your wife on the plane today," I say, blinking, tears slipping down my cheeks. "imagine that. Right after you leave me a stupid fucking note and don't even say goodbye."

the phone rustles on Michael's end. "Ex wife," he corrects quietly, and my temper flares. "What did she say?"

"Does it matter?"

"If it does to you."

"Are you trying to piss me off?"

"No," he replies simply. "I'm trying to talk to you, Daphne."

"Michael," I say, voice cracking the moment I don't want it to. "How could you do that?" I ask. "To not even wake me, like I'm some whore you picked up off the street the night before." I hiccup, then cover my mouth. This is so stupid. How could I let myself fall this far?

"No. No, you know you're not that to me."

I don't say anything and wipe at my face with the back of my hand. Michael doesn't speak for a few seconds, and I consider hanging up, but then he speaks again. "You told me you loved me, Daphne. That's... not a small thing."

"Neither is begging me to have your child during sex, but hey, at least I didn't run!"

I hang up then, throwing my phone away from me. It clatters onto the floor, battery popping out, and slides across the hardwood until its across the room. I lie down, leaving the TV murmuring in the background.

My main cell phone stays disconnected for four days, right where I left it on the floor of my bedroom, battery still out. I carry on with my life as normal, and even return to work, as my agent got me a gig to model for some lingerie brand, then an audition to host an awards show later in the year.

Ever since that photo of Michael and I kissing had been published, it had been all over the tabloids since last weekend. The paparazzi had not left me alone. I was literally followed, day in, day out. From the moment I left my house, to the moment I came home.

I was consistently hearing the sound of those camera shutters clicking as I got coffee, went to my yoga class, out for dinner, or even just went shopping. Inside, perhaps I was decent enough of a woman to find it annoying, on the outside no one would've had a clue.

I grinned and waved, answered as many questions as I could, I blushed, I giggled, I basked in the attention like it was my job. I stayed cagey about anything to do with Michael considering I was ignoring him, but answered everything else freely.

Including, if I was single.

"Still single," I laugh, waving them goodbye as I walk away in my crop top and low rise jeans, hips swinging. I wave the paparazzi goodbye as I head to my convertible, hair bouncy and held back by shades. I ignore the onslaught of questions about Michael and slide into my car, turning on the engine and getting the fuck out of there.

'GOLDEN GIRL ON THE RISE' a talk show had named me just two days ago, and I intended to make the most of it.

I arrive home, forcing another bright grin on my face and wave as camera shutters click rapidly. I automatically block out any questions and drive through my gate, speeding a touch too fast down my driveway to get round the back of the house so they couldn't see me anymore.

Once I'm inside, I exhale, massaging my cheeks as I kick off my heels and drop six inches. "Miss Jones?" Lauren, my housekeeper, calls. She appears from the kitchen, "A delivery arrived for you today," she nods to the open plan living area, where on at least five surfaces are large bouquets of exotic flowers.

I know who they're from immediately, but my face remains blank, even as I take it all in greedily.

I told him I loved him, and he sends flowers? The man is sick. I have half a mind to throw them all out.

"And there's this," Lauren adds. Her eyes are a little wide eyed, like she's eager to know what's going on as she hands me a small brown parcel. I squint at her then take it, opening it with a little knife from the kitchen.

I frown, pulling out a CD. It's a demo called break of dawn, with a sticky note on the front saying; 'For you, Daphne. play me.'

I'm still frowning when I walk over to my stereo and slide the disk into the compartment. I wander away to sit on the arm of my couch, facing it. A melodic tune starts, with whimsical flutes and a slow R&B beat. My stomach lifts the moment Michael starts singing, cheeks flushing as his voice fills my living room.

I side glance my housekeeper who's standing a few feet away, eyebrows raised as the suggestive lyrics envelope us.

I'm immediately irritated. Because why did he send me a song about sex when that wasn't even what we are fighting about? I sigh hard, arms folding, despite a massive part of me already loving how the song makes me feel.

That is, until the lyrics say:

"girl, you got to understand -- it's the way that I love you, let me show you that I'm your man,"

I huff, biting the inside of my cheek, but I'm unable to fight the bright beaming smile that splits my face in two. I'm giddy and giggling before it even finishes, then I'm replaying it, the flutes becoming my favourite part, then the chorus. I'm thinking of all the ways I can praise him because this song is a masterpiece, until I remember I'm meant to be mad.

I pause the song and scuttle upstairs, retrieving my phone from where it's been lying dead on the hardwood floor for nearly a week, and put the battery back in.

The moment it switches on, missed calls come through. He's tried calling multiple times, sent texts asking me to call him back. Voice messages apologising in my missed call inbox.

Perhaps I've been stubborn.

And yet, even as I call him, and even as he answers, I remember that hurt and find myself saying: "is you sending me a song about sex an apology?"

Michael clears his throat. "uh... hold on a second." I hear a door close in the background, a long pause, then another. "It's not a song about sex, it's... emotional intimacy."

"Right," I say slowly, hiding my smile with a lip bite, "you don't want the sun to shine, you want to make love, is about... emotional intimacy."

Michael clears his throat. "That's right."

"Seems pretty literal to me."

"Did you like it?" He asks.

I consider teasing him more but the song is too good. "Yes," I reply softly, "it's amazing."

"I thought of you the whole time."

I hesitate, eyes closing on a pre-wince as I ask, "Did you... did write it for me?"

"It's about you, Daph," he chuckles, but he's being gentle. I smile, but I don't know what to say now. I'm sitting on my bedroom floor, legs crossed, picking at a groove, blushing like crazy. "Still there?"

"Yes," I say quietly.

"Where are you?" he asks.

"Home," I reply. Downstairs, I hear the song start again. I fight a giggle, picturing Lauren turning it back on.

"I'm flying in tonight, late," Michael says, "Can I come see you?"

If I was a stronger woman...

"Sure," I agree. "I'll let Lauren know to expect you."

I'm too nervous to sleep, or even pretend to when I hear the gate buzzer go downstairs. I get out of bed, turn the tv down, and hurry to the spare room to look out over my drive. I expect to see the florists van again or some outrageous disguise, but Michael's pulled up in the back of a town car, windows clear, so that the paparazzi outside can see him arriving here.

The flashes are still going in the street, like they can't believe it either, and I run back to my room, stomach doing somersaults. I climb into bed, counting the seconds until I hear his footsteps approaching my door.

I'm sitting up, waiting in a pink nightgown, both nightstand lights on. The door clicks open, and Michael peers in. "Hey," he says softly. I exhale a quiet shaky breath and smile. He walks in, dressed down in a checkered shirt, black pants. Shades on. "I left my security guys downstairs, just in case you want to throw me out in a second."

I laugh a little, but it fades quickly as he nears. I smell his cologne and have to do all I can to not let it effect me.

He sits on the edge of the bed, close to me. "I know I hurt you," he murmurs, taking off his sunglasses. "I understand if you don't want to continue this between us anymore, but I just... I want you to know that I feel the same way about you as you do me."

I blink at him.

"I didn't leave that note because I don't care about you, Daphne, I left it because hearing you say it frightened me. We've moved very fast, and I know that's not a bad thing, but you're twenty five, and I'm forty and divorced." He grimaces, rubs his brows. "I care how this affects you. I care that the minute I involve you in my life, yours changes permanently. I care that if I do everything I want to do, that I'm not being respectful to your experience. I know what I want, but... I'm... " he hesitates, rubs the back of his neck. I tilt my head, waiting for him to go on. "What if in a year you don't feel the same?"

"Do you think I didn't mean it?"

"No."

"So what is it, then?" I ask gently.

"Daph, the minute you give me permission to do so, I'll act out because of that word."

My face heats.

"Hear me when I say, I know what I want. I just want you to know what it is that you want," he murmurs, reaching over to take my hand out of my lap and hold it. "I love you, I do. But I'm a grown man that doesn't like to waste a lot of time. I needed time to think about how to handle this with you."

"Oh," I squeak. He said it. He said it.

"Why else do you think I beg you to have my babies during sex?"

My eyelashes flutter. I'm still processing that he said he loved me. It feels so soon, and yet right on time, too. I'm just staring at him, heart pulsing.

"You understand what I'm saying?" he asks, ducking his head to follow my eye-line as I look down.

"I think so."

And then I'm reaching for him, bringing him close to me. Our mouths lock together and we're kissing, soft, wet noises escaping our lips as they connect and separate, over and over. Michael holds my jaw, diving his fingers into my hair, holding me to him.

I break the kiss and shift back, pulling him with me. I'm lying back within a second, thighs parting, and Michael's leaning over me, pressing in close before our lips connect again. My arms wrap around his neck.

We kiss like this for a while before I break it again, needing to breathe and also calm down. Michael nuzzles his face into my neck, kissing my skin, murmuring about how soft I am and how nice I smell. I giggle, so relieved that he's here with me, and I want nothing more than to have him bury himself inside me, but... the relief has exhausted me.

I'm about to voice this when another voice from the TV catches my attention seconds before it catches Michael's.

"--and in other news, an uncomfortable situation unfolds at an Elvis Presley tribute event earlier this evening in Los Angeles, when, after perhaps a few too many drinks, Lisa Marie Presley forgot she was in the public eye."

The camera switches to grainy footage of Lisa, filmed as if someone wanted to be discreet. The camera is angled sideways, and I can just about see her face as it comes in and out of the camera. "And the worst part is? She's a nobody," Lisa continues, "I mean, I'd at least be threatened if she had some backing to her, but to talk in the way that she did? I don't know who the stupid slut think she is." There's a round of laughter. "And if she thinks she'll get somewhere in this industry after that, she's got another thing coming. She's lucky I didn't get her shot."

______________________________________

End notes:

first of all I'd like to issue a formal apology for not including any smut in this chapter, BUT it low key didn't feel appropriate because I've locked in on developing the plot a little more. ALSO I'm exhausted and it's almost 1am when I'm writing this... I promise I'll make the next chapter super super freaky.

thanks so much for reading everyoneeeeeeeeeeeeee, for all of you that guest break of dawn, OF COURSE YOU DID. That song literally inspired this whole fic lmfao, I'm predictable.

anyways, let me know what you thought and I will see you in part nine!

Golden dawn leaks in through the cream curtains of my bedroom, soft rays filling the room with pale light. It's early, just gone six in the morning maybe, though Michael and I have been up for a minute.

He rolls me onto my back, tucking his face into my throat as I hold him to me, soft moans wafting from my lips as he slides back inside me, being so gentle, and passionate with me. Like he has been all weekend.

My eyes flutter closed as my back arches, pushing my breasts into him. I hook my leg over his hip, basking in the pleasure that courses through my veins as he holds my thigh, easing himself deeper.

It had been almost two days since Michael had arrived up in Vermont. Two days of this serene kind of peace. No paparazzi. No drama. Just us, taking hikes through the woods in big coats and boots in the afternoon, or visiting bookstores in town, drinking coffee in a cafe with no one disturbing us. But I think it was because it was too frightening to come up to Michael, not because no one knew who he was. Still, I had been enjoying myself. Being with him, just as his girl. No chaos.

When we're done, we sneak off to shower together, then head downstairs, play acting innocent as if we hadn't been doing what we'd been doing since the early hours. This was still my parents house, and although we were all adults, there was something sinister about my parents knowing about my sex life, or even getting a hint at it.

The chef murmurs her good mornings, and quickly explains what there is to eat. I bring Michael his coffee, and he watches me with this soft look that has me flushing and grinning before I perch next to him.

We'd dropped a bombshell on the world, or at least that's what it felt like in my mind, before disappearing for the weekend. All phones off. No TV. Nothing.

Dad had sent the photo he'd taken of us through a few secret channels, then covered his tracks, and within twelve hours it was all over the news with one of the headlines reading: "LOVERS IN VERMONT."

I'd seen the photo before he'd send it, obviously I'd had to pick the best one, but they'd all had a certain charm about them. Mainly because I didn't realise I looked at Michael the way I did.

Dad had captured, god, like, a good two dozen. And in the earlier ones, when we'd been leaving the cafe, talking outside... I looked at him like he was the only man in the world. In the ones where we were kissing, just a peck, no tongue or anything like that, it looked real. Which it was, of course, but with every set up photo sometimes there's a hint of production. Whether it's too perfect hair, great lighting, or a product placed front and central too obviously.

But the kissing photos? I don't know, maybe I was biased. We just looked like two people in love.

I take a long sip of my coffee, dressed in a matching soft pink lounge set. The top cropped, and the pants sitting low on my hips, the hems tucked into some ugg boots. I fold one leg over the other. I glance at Michael as he looks out the window, watching the world outside wake up. Birds fluttering about, the sun rising further.

It's still early, but we have a flight to catch in a few hours.

We hadn't spoken about the photos or the media, mainly to give ourselves a break before we jumped right back in, and also perhaps because it just felt like a big conversation. One I wasn't ready to have yet. Like I said, we hadn't been dating for that long.

We sit quietly, enjoying the silence as the chef brings in our breakfast, putting the plates down just as my parents come down to eat, too. "Good morning," Mother chirps, dressed up, hair and make up done. I smirk at her, since I don't think she's fully relaxed since Michael's been here.

Michael greets my parents politely, and I'm just smiling at them all, loving how well they're getting along. He puts his hand on my thigh under the table as dad chats away, and just so happens to bring up Motown. I hide a laugh behind my hand and cough, knowing he's been waiting all weekend to ask Mike about it, but I've been chasing him away with hard stares.

After breakfast Michael obliges my parents in signing a few records, then offers to take pictures with them. My dad is over the moon, and I've never seen my mother grin like she does in her picture.

Then comes our time to leave. We pack, I say goodbye to my parents, then we're off to New York on a chartered private jet.

Michael settles into his seat casually, big shades on as the flight staff give us a quick low down of the journey. It's not a long flight, just under two hours, which is much better than the five hour drive I took to get up here after my flight to JFK.

"This is very fancy," I comment, sitting opposite him, taking a sip of the complimentary champagne I was just given. It feels strange to fly when there's hardly anyone else around, even if first class is usually quiet. Michael smiles warmly at me, but then looks back down to scribble things into the notebook he's been writing in all weekend.

I leave him alone and settle in, grabbing a book from my bag and curling my legs up under myself. The flight takes off, and within ten minutes of being in the air, the flight staff are back, offering snacks and more champagne.

I could get used this. In fact, I already have.

I'm about to ask for another drink when Michael clears his throat. He watches me over his shades, and I smirk and put the empty champagne flute down. "Sorry," I whisper, fighting a giggle. I wonder what my friends would think if they know being scolded like this by him is actually a turn on for me.

Michael goes back to writing, concentrating intently. I watch him for a few seconds, finding it so attractive just how focussed he is. I try to go back to my book, but now I feel restless.

I slide out of my seat and stand up, turning my back on my man and heading towards where the flight staff are behind a curtain.

"Where are you going?"

"Just to look around," I say softly, smiling coyly at him over my shoulder. "unlike you, I don't travel privately very often. I'm curious," I say lightly. Michael sighs, unimpressed and looks back to his notebook.

I pluck the curtain to one side, making the flight attendant jump. "Oh, I'm so sorry, was there something you needed?" she asks, wide eyed.

"Yes," I whisper, closing the curtain behind me. "How long do we have until we land?"

"Um..." she checks her watch, "about an hour and a half."

"Amazing, could you not disturb us until we're about to land?" I ask sweetly, then quickly add, "please?" I grin at her, gently bite my bottom lip as I do so. "Mikey's had a long weekend, just needs his rest."

"Sure," she replies in a high voice, nodding quickly. "of course."

"Thank you so much."

I slip back behind the curtain, putting the buttons back in place. Michael glances up, but I sidle past him and check out what's in the back of the plane. A private room, a nice modern bathroom. Really fancy. You could even kid yourself that this was some miniature hotel.

Then I'm walking back down the aisle, trailing my finger over the spare seats. I feel Michael's eyes on me again, but I ignore him, turn my back to him, and bend over to look out the window. He clears his throat again, but it's not directed at me like a correction. This one is softer.

I glance at him, then smile. Acting so oblivious to catching him checking out my ass. "Are you busy?" I ask lightly. He meets my eyes, licks his lips and shakes his head. I step over to him and sit sideways on his lap, smiling even more since he moved his stuff out the way before I even sat down. "What are you writing?"

"Just..." he begins quietly, "thoughts." He puts his arm over my legs, brings me closer to him. My cheeks warm.

"Like journaling?" I wonder. I don't look at the notebook despite it being just behind me, still open.

"No... It's more setting intentions, of things that I want. Stuff like that. I've always done it."

I hum and nod, then reach up and take off his big dark shades. "I want to see your eyes."

"Sorry," he chuckles, "habit."

My gaze softens as does my smile. I think back to the picture dad took of us from afar, and wonder if I have that look on my face now. "Will I be able to hear some of your project?"

"You want to?"

"If you don't mind," I murmur. I trace a finger along his cheek, touch his hair gently. I tilt my head and look over him, admiring him.

"Okay," he agrees, then laughs, showing off that handsome grin as he sits further back against the plush leather seat, so amused by something.

"What?" I ask, frowning.

"Nothing," he smirks, "you're adorable." He rubs my thigh affectionately.

"No one's called me that before."

"No?"

"Hot, yes, sexy, yes. Most beautiful girl in the world, of course. But adorable? That's new." I nod slowly, "And I don't like it."

Michael laughs, and I grin, feeling pleased with myself.

"I won't say it again, then," he murmurs.

"Thank you," I purr, then lean in to kiss him gently. I pull back after a few seconds, then snuggle into him, content just to wait out the rest of the flight right here. "Do you think we made the right choice?" I then ask.

"With what?"

"The picture," I wonder.

Michael hums, "I wouldn't know," he say quietly, "I've never set out to do something like that."

"You've never had to?" I sit up to look at him properly again.

"No," he replies, glancing from my eyes to my lips. "When you've been working as long as I have, there's no point. People follow your every move anyway."

"Oh," I say lightly, "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Making them follow this move, too."

Michael tilts his head, and really looks at me then. "Don't apologise," he rubs my thigh again, "It made me think."

"In what way?"

"Perhaps certain things in my life would've gone better if I didn't let the media walk all over me, say whatever they want, and make up stories because they couldn't get anything out of me. Perhaps if I'd given them something to publish..." he trails off, then tips his head, shrugging. "You know."

I hum and nod. I understand what he meant. "My mother was the one that taught me to give people something to talk about. They'll all run their mouths anyway, might as well control it."

"Your mother is a smart woman," he murmurs, glancing away from me as he nods slowly, hand still gently rubbing my thigh, like he's suddenly thinking very deeply about something.

"She is," I agree, then snuggle into him again, leaning my cheek against his shoulder. "So, can we agree on a label, just in case anyone asks?" I ask lightly, playing with a button on his shirt.

"A label?"

"mhm," I hum playfully, "Like... are you my boyfriend, or should I say that we're just friends, when people ask?"

"Who's going to be asking you?" He asks, frowning hard.

"The press, baby. Who d'ya think?"

"Of course," he mutters, then rubs his brow, "Well, what would you like me to be?"

"A husband."

He looks at me suddenly, and I laugh loudly, "You should see your face," I snort, "My god. I think boyfriend is cute, but whatever you want to call me is up to you."

He hums, long and low.

"Or you can avoid answering to keep things consistent..." I offer, "If confessing you have a twenty five year old girlfriend at forty is a bit much for you."

His long side glance makes me laugh again,

"Sorry," I grin. "Last time I mention it, I promise."

He hums again, sounding slightly more irritated now. "I don't know what you see in me, anyway," he mutters, sitting up slightly and reaching for a bottle of water on the little table beside him. I giggle, thinking he's joking, but when he avoids looking at me and continues taking a long sip of water, I realise he isn't.

"You want to know what I see?" I say, playing with his shirt, smoothing the lapels down. The plane engines hum in the background, filling the air with a constant sound. "I see a kind man, a generous man. A man I respect because how hard working he is." he glances at me, meets my gaze, "I see an adventurous and brave man, someone who isn't afraid to take what they want, or take a chance. I see a man with an unending amount of patience, that's rare," I murmur, still touching him softly, "I see... a handsome man," I continue, looking into each of his doe eyes, one after the other, "a very handsome man. A man who I'm very attracted to, in a lot of ways."

"Yeah?"

I nod, "I'm very attracted to you," I whisper, glancing over him, then inhale deeply as my whole body heats, trying to calm down, "I don't really care about your age, you know," I say honestly, "I care about who you are, what you say, what you act like, and so far... you've done everything right."

I hold his gaze, both of us breathing a little harder as we stare at each other. "You can't really fake physical attraction, can you?" I ask very quietly, "you've felt how my body reacts to you."

There are so many moments I could be referring to from just the last twelve hours. He just had to look at me and my body would be ready, even just that morning. He'd barely opened his eyes and uttered good morning before I'd pounced on him like a feral cat.

That doesn't just happen for me. I didn't even like morning sex before him.

I undo one of his shirt buttons and touch his chest, grazing my knuckle up and down softly. He's takes a deep breath, and looks down. I tilt my head, hair flopping to one side. "You okay, baby?" I ask gently. Maybe I said too much. My mind will run away from me unless I ask. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No," he says, "opposite."

"Oh," I reply quietly. I understand a little then, I think. I'm coming at this relationship with a clean slate, no relationship baggage. As much as I'm sure he might want to ignore it, he has some. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I'm... not sure I should."

I swallow. "What... what does that mean?"

Michael doesn't reply for a few seconds. I start getting nervous, wondering what he's going to say. I almost get up and move back to my seat, but then he starts talking. "I just think that I should care more."

"About... me?" I lean back, away from him.

"No," he replies quickly, reaches to bring me back closer, "No, baby. I meant..." he trails off, not wanting to say her name. "It's been two months since we agreed to get divorced, and throughout most of that time all I've thought of is you. You're all I think about, Daphne."

My stomach lifts, and I don't really know what to do. I smile, then giggle a little, suddenly feeling flustered. My heart starts beating really fast, and I'm all lightheaded. I squirm on Michael's lap, tucking my hair behind my ears. If anyone thought I was lying about the effect this man has on me, all they'd have to do is look at me right now to see proof.

"What are you saying?" I ask.

"I think you know," he murmurs, but neither of us elaborate. He's smiling, bashfully glancing away despite linking our fingers over my legs, and I can't stop myself from giggling like I've got exactly two braincells.

There's a loud clearing of throat, so purposeful that both Michael and I snap a look towards the curtain, our expressions blanking. "UM-- Mr Jackson we are landing soon!" the flight attendant calls without moving the curtain. I burst out laughing at the nerves in her voice, and Michael hushes me.

"Thank you," he replies, then grins as I laugh behind my hand.

Within half an hour we're landing and disembarking. I blow a kiss towards the private jet to say goodbye, feigning misery, and Michael drags me away. Getting out of the airport had been easy, people caught glimpses of us, and the chaos only really started happening right at the end, just as we were leaving and people began calling out to Michael, yelling for autographs or pictures, trying to push past his security.

We're on our way before the frenzy really begins though, and I lean my head on Michael's shoulder in the back of this large sprinter van, and doze off until we reach the hotel.

It's mid afternoon by the time we get into the suite. The hotel room is very nice, modern, with a lot of dark colours. Amber, deep brown, stuff like that. It has a big lounge area with a view over part of New York, a nice big bathroom, and a bed that's at least two double's pressed together. "I've got a meeting in--" he begins, but I'm already crawling over him. He grins, leaning up on his elbows just as I reach him, pressing my mouth to his.

We make out for a few minutes until he groans and rolls me over, pinning me to the mattress. I get all excited, but then he's sitting up, pulling away. "I gotta go," he murmurs.

"No," I pout.

"Yes," he replies, pushing up off the bed, "my album won't make itself."

"Can I come?"

"Tomorrow," he says softly, "I want to finish a little bit first before I show it to you. And you distract me."

I smile, deciding not to guilt trip him for the hell of it and let him leave peacefully. I lounge around the hotel room, then decide to head out and take myself for a walk... and for a walk I mean a shop. Michael leaves one of his security details with me, and I yap to him about anything I can think of as we walk down the street towards the high end stores.

We end up in a lingerie store, and the poor man is so uncomfortable I can't help but find joy in it. "Do you know Michael's favorite color?" I ask him, standing in front of a row of skimpy thongs and bras in all shades.

"No, ma'am."

"That's very unhelpful."

"I apologise, ma'am." He's angled his head down, staring at his shoes as I hold up different colors against my skin. I end up picking red, white, pink and black and wander to the next store, still trailed by the security. If I'm recognised, no one approaches, and I'm kind of glad that all I notice is someone holding up a little camera cell phone and taking a picture of me as I walk into another clothing store.

By the time the late evening comes I'm back in the hotel, bathed, smelling like vanilla and honey, and in bed watching TV in a new skimpy silk nightgown. At some point I doze off, I wake to the bedroom door opening. The TV's still murmuring, nightstand light still on.

The bed dips, and I smell his cologne before he cuddles in close behind me. I turn immediately, nuzzling his nose. He chuckles, "I woke you, I'm sorry," he mumbles.

"What time is it?"

"One."

"Oh my gosh," I murmur, feeling a little dazed. No wonder, I've been asleep for a while already, I think. "Studio go okay?"

"I finished the song," he says softly. I coo in excitement, giddy that I'm being welcomed into this legendary inner world.

"I can't wait to hear it," I whisper, only moments before he kisses me. I lean into it immediately, moaning as Michael rolls me onto my back. I wrap my arms around his neck, body heating. Seconds is all it takes before my sex starts pulsing, needy and eager.

"Been thinking about this all day," Michael murmurs against my lips, then kisses me hard again.

"You had me this morning," I say breathlessly, teasing him.

"not enough," he says through a kiss.

I'm shuffling out of the sheets as he tugs them away. I'm panting, reaching for his shirt as he pauses to take in my new nightgown. "New?"

"Went shopping." I'm unbuttoning his shirt quickly. "Traumatised your security guy, I'm sorry," I add, pulling his shirt open and sliding it off his shoulders. He grins, chuckling softly, but then my hands are at his pants and his smile fades. He kisses me again, and our mouthes move together, so in tune with the other.

My heart races as Michael palms my breast, then is pulling my nightgown up, revealing my panties. They're off in a matter of seconds, and he's sliding his fingers through my soaking slit, checking to see if I'm ready for him. He doesn't even need to say it, I see it all over his face, that approval, the pride.

I bite my lip, parting my thighs, I press my breasts together and bask in his attention as he takes a second to look me over. "So beautiful," he murmurs, smiling as my feet find his pants and start pushing them down. He shifts, helping, then he's leaning down to kiss me again, sliding his tongue into my mouth and dizzying me.

When he presses his tip into my entrance I whimper, then moan loudly as he slides fully inside me. He groans, shuddering with need, then starts moving, thrusting his hips. I gasp his name, holding onto his shoulders, digging my nails into his skin.

He slides a large hand under my right up and holds me up to him, thrusting inside harder, and deeper. I'm seeing stars as he starts to hit that spot, the same one that makes my toes curl and my teeth latch so hard onto my bottom lip I almost draw blood. He moans those deep husky moans into my throat, murmuring my name, how good I feel right against my skin.

It does not take me long to hit that peak. I cry out, whole body trembling as my sex pulses around him hard, squeezing him repeatedly. His thrusts quicken, and he's pressing my legs back into the mattress, then holding himself up on his forearms as he pounds into me.

My back arches, head tipping back, I've barely recovered from my orgasm and already the pleasure is swarming back, completely taking over my body. "That's it, baby," Michael purrs, that low voice driving me higher, "cum for me again,"

I can barely breathe as I force my eyes open to look at him. We hold eye contact as he keeps thrusting hard, hitting that spot, over and over--

I squeak as my whole body spasms on another climax, this one striking me hard and fast. Moisture slips out of my eyes, slides down my cheeks, but I'm giggling, so giddy over how easy it is for him to make me feel this way.

I push against Michael's chest, needing that good three second break as I turn over and push my face into a pillow. He chuckles, lifting my ass up by my hips for me, and eases back inside. I shiver, gripping the sheets, only to melt as Michael leans over me and kisses my spine.

"I love that," I mumble. "I love it when you do that."

He hums, rubbing my hips.

His next thrusts are slow and deep. Carefully easing in, carefully easing out. I moan, squirming, loving the change of pace, loving how romantic this feels. He grips my right hip, still kissing my spine, whilst his left hand gently spreads my thighs a little more. "You okay baby?" he asks quietly, that rasp on his voice making me push my ass against him.

"Good," is all I manage to say, "So good."

"You take me so well baby," he praises softly, and my eyes practically roll back as I'm tingling all over. "you're perfect for me."

he kisses my spine again and I'm biting my lip so hard I think I taste blood.

"you want my baby?" he asks, lips brushing against my skin. My body electrifies in response. I nod, pushing back against him again, wanting him deeper. He eases out, taunting me. "tell me," he murmurs, "say it."

"I want your baby," I whine, "please, please, please."

He slides back inside and I whimper loudly, thighs shaking. "You want it? How bad?"

"So bad," I plead, so needy I can barely breathe. I don't know what's come over me, or how these words manage to have the effect on me they do, but my body threatens me with another orgasm, one that's crawling up from my toes, slow and dangerous. "Please, baby," I plead again, breathless.

"Fuck," Michael hisses, hands caressing my skin as his thrusts speed up. Just as my third washes over me, filing my vision with stars, he's cumming, holding me flush against him. I can feel him throbbing practically in time with my sex.

We're both panting for a few seconds in silence, then Mike's easing out of me carefully, "That was amazing," he murmurs, "Just stay still," he then gently instructs. So I do, except I'm full body trembling, high on post-orgasm cloud nine, eyes closed and smiling.

Then there's a cool cloth gently wiping me clean. "You're so nice to me," I say quietly, so sleepy now.

"Of course I'm nice to you," Michael chuckles, he's somewhere else in the room. I flop onto my front, slipping further into delicious sleepy darkness. "Drink water, Daphne," he says nearby.

"Yeah, in a second."

I hear the glass gently thump on the nightstand, then the sheets cover me. I already know what I look like, hair splayed all over the pillow, faced smushed into it too.

"Goodnight baby," Michael says softly, amusement in his tone. He kisses my cheek, and I smile, already 98% asleep. My mind is already dreaming, and I just about feel him move in close behind me, holding me to him.

"night, I love you."

And I pass out.

_____________________________________________

End Notes:

*high pitched screaming* she did really say that, but can you blame her she was three orgasms down and also he's Michael Jackson in his goth dad era. I would've confessed day one, minute one. But!! this only adds to the drama I have planned so STAY TUUUUNED!!!!!!!!

AND can you guess which song Michael finished and wants to show her in the morning? I'm literally cheesing rn because its a song off invincible and it suits them so bad iM SICKKKKKK

anyway, let me know what you thought!! you know I love those commentssss and see you guys in the next part! <3