miss ke 💐

The crazed obsession started on a bleak, icy morning in November of ‘95, the air had grown colder with each passing day in the winter month, forcing Michael to wrap up in a thick coat as he slipped into the back of Bill Bray’s car. Although Bill, his life-long Head of Security and the embodiment of a father figure, had reduced his day-to-day personal contributions to Michael’s bustling life — he was always there to provide Michael a lift like the good old days.

“Hey, son.” Bill spoke first, turning to face the now older man he had helped raise, a calming smile spread across his face, “Lisa’s?”

“Yes, please, Bill.” Michael replied, his voice soft and gentle even in his adulthood.

Bill started the car, the engine rumbling to life as he slotted it into gear and rolled slowly forwards. Silence consumed the car as the radio played familiar, popular songs of the mid-90’s in the background, Michael eyes transfixed on the blurs of the streets as they sped by.

“How are things with you two?” Bill qiestion, his voice tentative as he raised the obvious question on everyone’s lips.

Lisa Marie Presley, daughter of the famous Elvis Presley and now wife to Michael Jackson himself, hadn’t made their marriage easy. Vacations with ex-lovers, fighting at award ceremonies, silent treatment games back and forth — it was becoming a toxic relationship, something Michael wanted no part in. Everyone in Hollywood, and across the globe for that matter, was relentlessly hounding the pair with questions regarding the state of their marriage — and the answer was simple.

Destroyed.

Michael sighed, “I don’t know,” He started, voice quieter, a tone of sadness evident, “Not good, I think.”

Bill laughed despite the sensitive topic, “You think? Son, that definitely can’t be good.”

“Yeah.” Michael breathed a reciprocal laugh, “It’s not.”

Silence consumed the car once more as Michael’s brain flooded with thoughts of his wife. If you’d even class as her one, as she hadn’t been acting as such. Fights, brutal screaming matches, happening every day — like clock work. Whether it was over the phone, in person or even through their own personal management — there were arguments. Ones that grew so volatile that it had Michael shaking in anger. He didn’t want to grow to hate her, to resent his own wife, but his heart was sure going that way. He was getting older, and ready to settle down, not spend his days in a whirlwind of cuss words and shouting.

It was only the sweet voice of a blissful symphony that dragged Michael out of his depressive trance.

The beat was slow and fluid — the type you’d involuntarily sway your hips to. The backtracking beat was low, something you could easily groove to, paired with a high-pitched, yet not unpleasant, ding! that flowed beautifully with the music.

And then your voice sounded out — and Michael’s heart stopped.

You sounded angelic, like the gates of heaven had opened and dropped you straight into a recording studio, opening your pretty lips and blowing everyone away with your utterance. You sang with such incredible delivery and talent that Michael’s breath hitched in his throat as he listened intently to each words that came through the radio.

‘One touch can bring us closer,

Don’t want this to be over,

You know that you complete me,

Your love is what I need,

Don’t rush to say you’re leaving,

Stay with me while I’m sleeping,

‘Cause you know what you do to me,

I’m weak and you know my heart is beating,’

Michael hummed — hands tapping against his clothed thighs as the fluidity of the beat took control of his body, leg bouncing and head nodding in time.

“Want me to turn it up, Mike?” Bill spoke as the music flowed quietly into the car.

“Please do.”

Once the dial of volume control was turned to the right, your voice now a perfect decibel to hit his delighted ears as you reached the chorus — Michael was a goner.

‘One, two, three, kiss, that’s when I know that we,

Four, five, six, kiss, have the right chemistry,

You don’t have to hold back or be shy,

I can tell you want me in your eyes,’

You repeated the catchy chorus once more, unaware to how besotted Michael was becoming with the sound of your voice and your musical talent — now complete submerged in the effortlessness of your sound.

‘Feels so good ‘cause I know that you’re mine,

Boy I got my eyes closed ‘cause you know that I,

Love it when you kiss me,

Love it when our lips meet,

You intoxicate me,

I barely can breathe,

I love when you kiss me.’

Now, he was hooked.

Mumbling a silent curse of blissful disbelief under his breath, a wild smile splayed across his face, lip coming between his teeth as he attempted to suppress the grin — but failed to prevail, teeth shining in the morning light as your beautiful vocals continued to bless his ears.

“Bill,” Michael sounded out as the song finished, only allowing silence for when you were singing, “Find out who that girl is.”

And that he did — Michael was informed you were an up-and-coming, young singer from LA, born and raised. At first, he was let down, assuming you were going to portray yourself like every other Californian singer — but alas, not. He watched every interview and concert you provided to his willing eyes — you were a sweetheart, always appreciative of your parents for bringing you into this world to provide music, and for selflessly paying for your singing lessons and vocal coaches. He was similarly enamoured by the way you would thank God for helping guide you through the hard, starting years where your career didn’t take off, stating his patience and commitment to your success was forever indebted to them. His heart would flutter, like a small boy with a crush, each time your delicate, gentle voice would hit his ears with a girly giggle.

But, it wasn’t just your lovely, down-to-earth nature or perfect voice that really got him good — it was that face. And by God, that body.

He hated himself for being such a lewd man — but whenever your gorgeous complexion would cloud his vision, he’d physically feel his heart rhythmically fall into tachycardia in his chest. In mind, body and soul, as well as voice and face, you were truly an angel — a truly heavenly being that had swept him off his feet from the moment he fell deep into your orbit. He had grown to love every part of you — the way you talked with such delicacy, the nude lipgloss adorning your plump lips glistening in the bright light of the interview recording he’d been watching, or the way your skin glistened like a glazed baked good begging to be devoured, or the way your slender fingers adorning a fresh manicure moved as you talked, or how your hips moved with experienced precision when you danced to the beat of one of your beautiful songs, hair flailing behind you as you grooved — every part of you had him transfixed, willing to be at your mercy if you so needed him to.

He spent the next few months, his affection for you bleeding into December, completely in love. With his wife, barely. No, he was dangerously in love with you. Something he deep down hated himself for — a thought he’d push to the back of his mind, hiding his guilt behind his fleeting, boyish crush.

He attended a routine interview, one he was bored of the second he arrived, growing increasingly more fatigued as he was grilled about impersonal and inappropriate questions — not once attempting to ask him about his musical career or inspirations, just about his private sexual life and his failing marriage.

It was only when your song, the one he had fallen deeply head-over-heels for, began playing softly in the background of the interview did he perk up — the radio softly crackling as your angelic symphony filled his ears. He hummed, an undeniably wide smile spreading across his face at the sound of your vocal heaven, hand tapping in time along the arm of the chair he was say comfortably in.

The reporter picked up on it — “Do you like this song, Michael?”

Michael really couldn’t hide his grin now, “Hm? Oh, yeah,” He breathed, the mere thought of you in his dazed brain flushing his cheeks burgundy, “I really do love it, yeah. She’s so talented. Truly an amazing, notable artist of this generation.”

“And beautiful too, right?”

Michael knew what the pressing interviewer before him was trying to do — attempting to force him to make a mess of himself on camera after making subtle hints to the decline of marriage, and then admitting he found another woman attractive.

Michael laughed, the answer ‘Oh God, yes’ hitting the forefront of his brain, as he just nodded in agreement, requesting the next question, pushing the thought to the back of his mind, cheeks now scorching hot.

You had heard the interview yourself — wanting nothing more than to watch it over and over again a thousand times as Michael’s words hit your ears. You had squealed so loudly your throat burned — cheeks flushing in admiration at the King of Pop complimenting you wholeheartedly and alluding to your beauty. You were, unbeknownst to Michael, in a similar state of infatuation with the said man — your heart hammering in your chest every time he would appear on your television, or play through the radio, his own beautiful, unlike-no-other voice hitting your ears having a familiar affect on you like you did to him. You had admired him for years — him being one of the main inspirations for starting your music career due to his passion and strong leadership in the artistry — that and he was gorgeous, truly a godly statement of handsome in the industry.

You had responded swiftly at an award ceremony, one that he regretted instantly not attending — talking jovially with a reporter when they asked you about him.

“Oh, yes, I saw that.” You giggled, suddenly shy at the reminder, “He’s so lovely, I’m truly thankful for his kind words. He’s been an idol of mine for many years.” You paused, winking as you spoke your next words, “And I think he’s pretty beautiful too.”

Michael had to practice his breathing after he watched what you said — his heart hammering violently in his chest as you spoke flirtatiously with ease. You had noticed him — yes, he was Michael Jackson, arguably one of the most famous men in the world, but you had acknowledged him, and he was spiralling, unable to wipe the smirk off his face for a good two days afterwards.

But, that smile was soon wiped clean off his face as the latest hot gossip that was revealed to the media.

You had got yourself a boyfriend.

One Michael decided he absolutely despised without even meeting him, let alone even meeting you — he knew he had intense, undeniable feelings for you, growing more so as his marriage declined further, and this idiotic, teenager-looking loser wasn’t about to take you away from. Not that he even had you — you had acknowledged him a few weeks ago, and to him that meant everything, his heart only swelling further, practically begging for you. But, he wanted you, badly — so badly that every chance he got to talk about you, or listen to your new single’s or even the incredible album you released, he did, your name on his lips constantly.

Lisa noticed this — questioning him constantly about your affiliation. He’d reassure her, despite the ache in chest, that he hadn’t even met you in person before — that you were just two artists in the same musical category and had acknowledged one another’s talent. Nothing more, nothing less. Technically, to his dismay, it wasn’t a lie — but, he knew, a thought that constantly plagued his mind, that the way he felt about you wasn’t professional, it was full-blown infatuation.

In January 1996, Lisa-Marie filed for divorce — a bold move that Michael could sense was coming. At first, he was shocked and upset — the end of his first marriage suddenly flooding nostalgia and grief into his heart. But, as a smitten man does, he soon let his soul consume itself with relief — relief that he was finally free of what was holding him back from getting to you, and having you to himself.

Sure, he hadn’t finalised it yet — but when did that ever stop an emotionally detached man from loving another woman who wasn’t his wife?

And it wasn’t until he finally met you did his heart truly skip a real beat.

It was Elizabeth Taylor’s 64th birthday — now February 1996, and a party was now bustling at her large, elegant home. And Michael was antsy at the prospect that you were attending. He had wiped his sweat-stricken hands on his slacks around eighty times before Elizabeth picked up on his unusual behaviour.

“Honey, what is up with you?” She questioned with a giggle, pulling him to the side of the loud room, filled with music, chatted and laughter, “Everything okay? Did something happen with you-know-who?”

Elizabeth, one of Michael’s life-long friends and idols, always respected his sensitivity to certain things — especially now so he was going through a very public divorce, whilst also worried his shy self was overstimulated in the frenzied room.

“No, no,” He reassured, “That’s still being finalised. I’m just..” He paused, “I’m just nervous.”

Something he’d only ever reveal to the older lady stood before him as he swallowed thickly, eyes falling to his shoe as he mindlessly scuffed the floor.

Elizabeth smiled at his timidity, “Nervous about what, sweetie?”

Michael, now forming an obvious blush on his face, attempting miserably to suppress the bashful smile that crept into his face, turning his expression away from her to hide it.

“Is this about a lady? Oh, please, tell me it is! Is she here? Do I know her?” Elizabeth rambled, eyes flashing hopefully as she grabbed a hold of his arm, practically shaking the answer out of him.

“Yes, yes, it is, but please don’t tell anyone.” He whispered, his eyes finally meeting her own, “She’s supposed to be here, but I can’t see her anywhere. ‘S makin’ me nervous thinkin’ about when she’s gonna arrive.”

Elizabeth giggled excitedly beside him as Michael shot her a playful roll of his eyes, he knew she’d always disliked Lisa, so any new romantic interest of his, she already liked.

“Look, honey, I’m sure it’ll be fine and she’ll be here soon.” She reassured, sending him a warm smile, “You’ll have to introduce me when you talk to her, okay? I don’t even know half of these people and it’s my own party.”

Michael chuckled, “Bold of you to assume I’m gonna talk to her. I’m sweatin’ all over, probably make a fool of myself.”

“You will talk to her. It’s my birthday, you have to.”

“That’s an awful excuse, ‘Liz.”

“Hey! Don’t say tha—Oh, sweetie! Hey, come here!” Elizabeth’s excitable voice cut herself off, her eyes lighting up as they met the gaze of another guest who had just entered, her hands beckoning the mysterious person over.

Michael followed Elizabeth’s eyeline — and his eyes shot open.

There you were.

In all your enchanting glory, a beautiful smile spread across your face as you strode towards the older woman — wrapping her in a hug as she welcomed you to the party. You looked absolutely breath-taking, your outfit physically giving Michael a violent, visceral reaction as his jaw fell slack at the sight of you. Your dress was an eye-catching display of the finest jewels only a dedicated miner could obtain, shining diamonds glistening in the light, adorned with white, delicate feathers rimming the bottom hem of the dress — while also dangerously low-cut, the swell of your breasts visible to pretty much every one that was now staring at you as you walked further into the room.

If Michael thought he was sweating before — he was mistaken. The second his glinting eyes landed on your gorgeous frame, his body shuddered, a cold bead of sweat trickling down his temple, one he wiped swiftly with the back of his hand to save himself some dignity, as he let out a shaken breath he didn’t know he was holding. You were a thousand times more beautiful in person — your face dolled up to a T, hair cascading elegantly down your back, nails manicured white to match your captivating outfit as well as your stilettos that clicked against the marble flooring, and the dangerous dress hugging your curves in every way a man could dream of.

“You must meet Michael. He’s just over here.”

Elizabeth’s words hit his ears before he could even compose himself — eyes widening even further as anxiety flooded his system at the idea that he was about to finally meet you in person.

They both approached him, giggling at one another’s jokes, attention on themselves — unaware of the nervousness that consumed his whole body as you grew closer.

“Michael, this is one of the loveliest ladies I’ve ever met.” Elizabeth stated, telling him your name before continuing, “Her Mother and I were good friends back in the day. And, lovely lady, this is Michael.”

When you met his eyes, Michael swore he died and went to heaven — you locked gazes with a genuine smile tugging at your lips that his breath hitching in his throat as you extended your hand.

“Hi, Michael.” You started, in-person voice just as sweet as it had been through the television, “Finally, huh?”

“Y-Yeah,” Michael finally breathed, cursing himself as he stumbled over his words, voice cracking as he attached your hands, a jolt of unmissable electricity igniting through his body at the contact, “Been wanting to meet you for a while.”

“Likewise,” Your voice was as smooth as silk as you shook his head gently, eyes never leaving his own, your fiercely intense gaze sending exhilaration coursing through his veins, “I’m sorry to hear about you and Lisa-Marie.”

Michael smiled appreciatively as your hands dropped, the loss of connection finally allowing his heart rate to decrease slightly, “Thank you, I appreciate that. It’s been hard, but it was expected.”

“I bet you understand that a little bit, huh, honey? You and what’s-his-name just broke up, didn’t you?” Elizabeth questioned, facing you with a pointed finger as she revealed the words that sent Michael ablaze.

Fireworks of delight exploded in Michael’s chest at Elizabeth’s admission — you and that idiotic boyfriend were done. His mind instantly ran away with itself — you were both, on a technicality, single, finally free of your dead-weight partners.

“Yeah, we did.” You smiled despite your saddened news, “Much needed, though, he was a real sleaze-bag. Total bum. Literally jumped for joy the day we split up.”

“Sounds like Michael over here.” Elizabeth laughed, “I was so happy when they filed, god, she is a vulture that woman.”

“Is that so?” The way you smirked, contrasting your angelic persona with a devilish tug of your lips, looking happy that he disliked his ex-wife, had Michael flushing in heat once more — the way you were looking at him, like you were planning something evil and calculated, like a predator who just stumbled across its prey.

Michael was certain his cock had never been harder.

“Wasn’t the greatest marriage.” Michael admitted, voice soft and low, to avoid prying ears, “‘S over now.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

He wasn’t sure whether you meant for his benefit or yours, but, he didn’t care — shooting you a sly smile as his wondering eyes raked over your frame.

“I’ll leave you to get acquainted. Thanks for coming, sweetie.” Elizabeth spoke pleasantly, squeezing your shoulder before turning on her heel and busying herself in the growing crowd beside you.

“So,” You started, a smile that could kill still plastered on your face as you peered up at him, “Am I as beautiful in person?”

Michael, almost choking on his own spit at your boldness, let his mouth fall open ever so slightly — you were so sweet and delicate for professional interviews and in front of your fans, but right now? A formidable flirt — teasing him with every word.

“Yes.” Michael spoke, all too quickly for a man trying to hide his intentions, “Really beautiful.”

You hummed, satisfied with his response, “I’m going out for a cigarette, care to join me?”

“I don’t smoke.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t keep me company, Mr Jackson.”

The way his name fell from your lips, in a sultry, provocative tone that he didn’t miss, had him swallowing slowly, nodding, watching as your smile deepened. You took his hand in your own and turned on your heel, leading him through the crowd, not a care in the world for who staring at the pair of you — the King of Pop with America’s new popstar-sweetheart.

You lead him through the backyard, walking straight past the odd small group of people he didn’t recognise nearer to the patio doors, and towards the end of the long garden. The cold air of February whipped around you, engulfing your half-naked frame, hair swaying softly in the wind, as your hand remained a warm testament in his own — guiding him into the dark of night.

You finally stopped, reaching a large, oak bench decorating the farthest end of the backyard, near the edge of a cliff — staring out onto the gorgeous view that adorned the back of Elizabeth’s grand home. You took a seat, letting go of his trembling hand, and got comfortable. Michael, awkward as always, stood by the arm of the bench, awaiting your next move as you rustled into your purse, digging out a pack of Molboro Red’s and a baby-pink lighter. You slid one out of the packet, placing it neatly next to you, before slipping it between the plump of your lips — your lipgloss staining the white paper.

You turned your head to look at his bashful stance, eyeing him up and down as he stood oddly, looking like a kicked puppy, “Are you gonna sit?”

He obeyed as you flicked the lighter, the fluorescent burn of the orange flame lighting your face in a dim glow as you singed the end of the cigarette. Soon smoke flooded his nostrils as you took a deep inhale, holding the cigarette between your two fingers, your elbow resting on your bare thigh as you exhaled with a sigh, eyes fixated on the captivating view in front of you.

“You know smoking is really bad for the vocal cords.” Michael spoke quietly, watching as your face tugged up into a smile.

“Don’t want me to ruin my pretty voice, do’ya?”

Michael blushed for the millionth time that night — turning his face the other way as he grinned, words failing him as he hid from you.

“It’s a bad habit I haven’t been able to kick for a long time.” You admitted, “But, what celebrity doesn’t smoke these days?”

“Me.” He replied, sheepishly, smile deepening as you laughed loudly.

“Well, you are one of a kind,” You revealed, eyes finally meeting his own as you took another drag, letting silence fill the gap in the air before you questioned him, “What does Michael Jackson like to do when he’s not being the King of Pop?”

The question hit him full force — a sensation filling his body that he wasn’t sure of. He didn’t think anyone had ever asked him a question so personal, in the sincerest way, before. And not the improper, raunchy personal like the reporters did — the kind of personal where it seemed like you actually cared.

“I don’t know,” Michael breathed, his breath shaking as he exhaled, eyes fixated on the way you took a particularly long drag, and let the smoke trickle from your mouth like water as it uplifted into the dark sky, “I’m not really sure what I like these days.” He admitted wholeheartedly, the question stumping him, “Ever since me and Lisa.” He paused again, “I feel like I’ve lost myself a little bit.”

You hummed, listening intently as silence consumed you once more, as eyes flickered towards the skyline in front of you both, the bustling high-way and skyscrapers glistening brightly, a sight so beautiful it had have stunned the average person — but Michael couldn’t care less for it, his vision still full of your gorgeous frame, slightly hunched over as you smoked, making the toxic habit look gracious as the end of the cigarette ignited in glinting red and orange colours each time you took a drag.

“I get that,” You finally spoke, leaning back to meet his gaze, “That’s why I plan on not gettin’ married.”

Michael laughed, “Ever?”

“Well,” You breathed with a chuckle, “If I meet the man of my dreams, then maybe I’ll consider it.”

Michael watched you deeply — locked on the way you would smile as you talked, clearly amused by your own words.

“I’m sure that won’t be hard for you.”

You giggled, “Oh, now that was smooth. Whoever said you were shy was lyin’.”

“I am shy.” He protested, failing to his conflicting smile miserably.

“Sure, honey, the second you aired that you thought I was beautiful on live television while being married, I knew you were a smooth-talking flirt underneath.” You teased, sending him a wink.

“Oh, God, that looked real bad, didn’t it?”

“If it wasn’t me you were talkin’ about, I’d say yes. But, since the Michael Jackson thinks I’m hot shit, I’d say it was the best day of my life.”

Your unison laughter filled the space between you, shaking torsos and flashy smiles co-ordinating between you as you shared a humorous moment.

“You’re real interesting, y’know?” Michael’s voice dropped a decibel, suddenly feeling high on adrenaline at your continuing interaction, “I really didn’t expect you to be like this.”

“Good or bad?” You pressed, wetting your plump lips as you slot your long, bare leg other the other.

“Good. Definitely good,” Michael replied, “You intrigue me.”

You smile deeper, titling your head to study him — eyes dancing over the way he sat, comfortable yet awkward at the same time, like he was trying to convince you he was confident, even as his hands rested shyly on his legs, rubbing the material of his black slacks. His hair looked gorgeous as you studied him, not like his usual curls, now sleek, long black locks that rest upon his shoulders — suiting him well.

“How so?” You pressed, bringing the torched stick between your lips once more.

Michael sighed, eyes flickering away from you nervously as he searched for the words, “I don’t know, ever since I heard you singing, something just clicked inside me, I guess,” He started, “You truly have the voice of an angel, which is why I think you should put that thing out.” You laughed loudly, ignoring his request as you exhaled the smoke, “Your voice just—I don’t know, it takes a hold over me. In the strongest grasp I’ve ever felt, like you’re literally there in front of me and squeezing me like a python around its prey.” He carried on, “And now meeting you, you’ve got this intense aura around you like a divine being. You’re so carefree and confident, like this lifestyle is a walk in the park for you. I find it refreshing and therefore intriguing.” He paused before speaking his next words, “That and your beauty is other-worldly. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone with such natural femininity before. And it makes me want to figure everything out about you in one fell swoop.”

Michael, transfixed on the sight before him, distracting him from the love-sickness of his words, missed the way you stared at him in shock — mouth agape as the cigarette sizzled shorter in your hand, utterly gobsmacked at his admission of his infatuation.

He soon picked up on your silence — turning his head innocently to meet your eyes, that twinkled with desire and longing, smiling softly.

“Michael.” You breathed, voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh. I’m sorry, that sounded weird, didn’t it? I didn’t mean it that way, I just—“ “Kiss me.”

“What?”

“Kiss me, please.”

Your words took a few seconds to register in his mind, before any sense of screaming doubt in his mind was quickly evacuated as he rushed to you as you flicked the cigarette to the floor, your hands cupping one another’s face as your lips met.

Michael felt exactly like the song you had sung, the one that sent him into a besotted frenzy, as you kissed. Your lips locking in a frantic, panting connection that had you both heaving and humming into one another’s open mouths as he worked against your rosebuds.

You wasted no time — the kiss deepening as you climbed upon his lap, legs tightening around the thickness of his clothed thigh, a low groan leaving his mouth into your own at the sudden connection. His lips parted from your own frantically, his hand cupping one side of your jaw as his mouth peppered kisses sloppily against the other — hips twitching at the sound of your mewls.

“Michael, please.”

Your plea had him groaning louder than before into your skin, hips bucking up involuntarily at the sound of your quiet begging — your head thrown back to allow him access, your back arching into his touch as his free hand slipped down to cup your waist.

“Patience, baby,” He panted, “I’ve wanted to have you for so long — gonna take my sweet time with you.”

You whined — desperate for the pleasure you had been needing him from the moment you heard him nod in agreement at your beauty. Your own hips moved, beginning the hump the obvious bulge that protruded through his trousers, a lewd gasp leaving your spit covered lips as the head of his cock nudged against your clit. He moaned into the flesh of your neck as he sucked dark marks into it, hands now travelling down the small of your waist to cup your plump behind in his large palm — kneading the plushness of your ass, the feathers of your dress tickling the skin of his hand.

“Wanted you for so long too,” You suddenly admitted, panting, as his lips met the curve of your right breast, peering down at him latching onto your tits, “Loved you for too long—God, way too fucking long.”

Michael whined, a deep, guttural noise from deep within his chest at your words — an admission of your mutual yearning, his hips bucking up languidly to meet every roll of your own, drinking up every erotic noise that fell past your lips, any sense of patience now far gone.

“Take me out.” He ordered, unable to hold back anymore after the words fell from your whimpering mouth, as he pushed your dress up your body, now bunched around your waist.

Your hands moved quicker than your mind could process — fumbling with the buckle of his trousers, fingers trembling as you finally managed to get it open, lip tucked between your teeth as you shoved the tight item of clothing, along with his boxers, down his legs.

Michael huffed as his cock sprang free, the cold February air enveloping around the warmth of his manhood — but soon sighing in relief, head falling back, as the small of your hand, slicked in spit, wrapped around him.

“God, baby, just like that.” He whined, eyes squeezed shut as you pumped him fluidly, tightening each time you would enclose around the tip, his pre-cum drooling over your digits.

He was big — bigger than you had ever had, large in both length and girth, a fact that had you writhing on top of him, anticipation of the fullness he would bring to you sending shivers down your spine.

Michael, regaining some composure, lifted his head, still groaning lowly at the feeling of your tight fist around him, and pulled your panties to the side — eyebrows knitting into his forehead at the sight of your lacy G-string moulding into the shape of your drooling pussy lips.

“Fuck, you been this wet the whole time, baby?”

“Since the moment I laid eyes on you, Michael.”

Michael moaned, your hand never letting up as you jerked him, at the sound of your admission — swallowing thickly. Your hands moved with calculated precision — guiding him between your legs where you needed him most, gasping loudly at his cockend nudged against your clit.

“Tell me how badly you’ve wanted it.” You breathed, teasing him, and yourself for that matter, as you coated him with your seeping arousal, sliding him between your folds.

“God, baby—fuck, needed you since the very first time I heard your beautiful voice,” He panted, chest rising and falling quickly as his eyes locked on his dick slipping between your glistening pussy lips, “Thought about you everyday, fuck, even with her,” He couldn’t even say his ex-wife’s name as you rocked him over your throbbing clit, “You were the only woman I wanted.”

You moaned loudly at his words, his eyes a needy form of begging as they met your own — finally deciding to put an end to his pained misery, edging him towards your clenching entrance, and sinking down. Cries of relieving pleasure left both of your mouths, filling the air around you as Michael bottomed out instantly — tip kissing the sweet spot inside you from the get go, whining as your cunt struggled to stretch around him.

Michael, not wanting to let any more time spent without being inside you slip away, took a firm hold on your hips and slammed up inside you with one brutal thrust. You whimpered and writhed into his touch as the position, allowing him to claim you as deep as possible, forced his cock to kiss your cervix — leaving your back arched and lips agape as he resumed his nibbles against your neck, hips now bucking up into you at a swift pace.

The noises that left your lips were arguably more melodically breath-taking than any song you’d ever sang — his name falling from your mouth like a prayer, eyes rolled to the back of your head and clinging to his shoulders was truly a sight to see, forcing his cock to twitch violently inside you.

“Oh, fuck, Michael.” You whined, nails digging into the skin of his back, as a harsh thrust had you seeing stars, “God, you feel so good—so big.”

Michael’s ego inflated at your whimpered admission, huffing out a large breath as he continued his brutal assault on your pussy, revelling in the way your cunt, now forming a milky-white, frothy ring around his base, spasmed aggressively around him — low groans of his own muffled against your skin.

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted, baby,” Michael revealed, his breath warm against the shell of your ear, his grip on your hips tightening as his pace never faltered, “I’m so in love with you.”

Some may say it was love-bombing and wrong the way he confessed his love to you after only meeting you in person a mere few hours ago — but the way you tightened around him and cried out so loudly that Michael had to muffled your screams with his mouth, the enticing taste of cigarette’s still on your tongue, put any of those thoughts to shame.

It was exhilarating.

Knowing the feelings that were nestled deep inside your body for so long, your ferocious, undeniable love for him, were reciprocated was enough to have you on the brink of orgasming from just his words.

“Deeper—oh, fuck, baby, I love you too—need y’deeper, please!” You cried, mumbling against his lips, drowning in the noises he fed you.

You gasped as he stood abruptly, holding you tightly underneath the plush of your ass, and placing you swiftly, albeit gently, atop of the bench — the cold of the wood in the winter’s air pressing flush against your bare back.

Michael, forcing your legs to your chest in a brutal mating press, slammed back into you with all the strength he had to give — cock now driving the deepest it had been all night as he draped your hovering legs over his shoulders. Your tits, now spilling from your dress, were latched into his mouth — tongue swirling around your erect nipple, as his free hand trailed between your body, toying with your swollen clit, eliciting the neediest, most eager whines from your mouth at the dual stimulation.

“Gonna cum, Mikey!”

Your high-pitched warning hit his ears as he groaned against your nipples, the vibration only furthering your overwhelming pleasure as your orgasm smacked into you — your back arched into a beautiful curve, Michael’s hand, mouth and cock never stopping their attack on your body, fucking you through your release as you squirmed beneath him. The blinding arousal that seeped through your body like blood pumping through your veins had you seeing stars — whining like a bitch in heat whilst your cunt clenched tightly around him.

“God, y’gonna make me cum so quick, baby.” Michael panted, his stuttering as he neared his own release.

Just as you came down from your high — Michael pulled out suddenly. Your eyebrows forced themselves into the crease of your forehead as you studied his actions as his hand wrapped around his length. He moved to straddle either side of your shoulders, cock now inches from your face as he jerked himself in front of your face, chest heaving.

“Open your mouth, pretty.” He ordered, lip coming between his teeth as he watched you loll your tongue out, awaiting his pleasured essence.

Michael leant down, slotting his cock into your mouth, whining as your pretty lips wrapped around his length, suckling the tip, hand moving to grip at the meat of his thighs.

Michael came, not with a groan, but with words that had your cunt, stricken with your post-orgasm slick, clenching around nothing,

“Yeah, ‘m gonna fill this angelic throat,” He started, panting as the first spurt of his seed landed on your eager tongue, “Want those pretty vocal chords coated with my cum so you can only sing so heavenly knowing I painted your beautiful voice box white. So you can bless the world with that voice knowing it belongs to me.”

You moaned loudly around him as he finally let out a delighted groan — head thrown back as his cum flooded the throat he had just claimed, the bittersweet taste of his arousal settling on your tastebuds as you lapped at the underside of his cock, tracing the vein that throbbed underneath, with your tongue.

Michael, crouched over you, one hand wrapped around the base of his cock, while the other gripped the back of the bench so hard his knuckles had flushed white — finally let his hips stutter for the last time before slipping his softening cock from your mouth.

You sat up as he lurched back against the arm of the bench, panting heavily, attempting to catch his breath, his flaccid cock laying gently against his thigh. You too, heaved, eyes fixated on his furrowed eyebrows, completely transfixed on his post-orgasm beauty.

Michael, finally opening his eyes that were squeezed shut, met your intense gaze for that countless time that night — a dazed smile creeping up on his face to mirror your own before you spoke flirtatiously, just as you had the whole night,

“Think my vocal cords are still ruined now?”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

He was under the impression that you were recording a snack review video for your followers. Technically, that wasn't a lie. You really had bought a bunch of weird snacks to try. It just wasn't the whole truth. "Okay baby, just sit there and look cute. Remember, this is for PR," you said while adjusting your phone one last time and making sure both of you were in frame.

Jermajesty nodded from the couch, his eyes following you as you moved around the living room. "I know how to review food, angel," he replied dramatically. "I've been on your little videos enough times."

He reached out and tapped your waist, silently telling you to sit closer. You immediately shot him a warning look. "Behave."

"I'm literally sitting here."

"Yeah, and I know you."

A smirk pulled at his lips but he raised his hands in surrender.

You settled onto your knees on the carpet while he lounged behind you on the couch. His arm stretched across the back cushion, looking way too comfortable for somebody who was about to get played.

You flashed your camera ready smile.

"Heyyyy my lovely followers!" you greeted. "Today we're gonna be reviewing..." You paused dramatically before grabbing the first snack bag.

"These little fruit things dipped in yogurt. At least that's what the picture says because its not in english." You held the bag up close enough for the camera to see.

Behind you, Jermajesty looked over your shoulder. "That already look nasty."

"You haven't even tried it."

"I can tell."

"You cannot."

"I absolutely can." You rolled your eyes. Your followers loved when he appeared in videos because the two of you argued like a married couple.

"Oh!" you said suddenly. "And today I have a guest." You reached over and pulled the camera slightly so Jermajesty was fully visible.

"A very recurring guest, might I add."

"Because I'm everybody's favorite."

"Debatable."

"It's facts."

You ignored him calling him a stupid ass. "My current boyfriend!" The words left your mouth casually, but your eyes immediately dropped to the screen so you could watch his reaction. Jermajesty blinked.

For a second he genuinely looked confused, like his brain had completely stopped processing. You assumed he knew already you were pranking him as you did it so often. Then his tongue slid across his bottom lip and his eyes slowly shifted toward you.

The confusion disappeared. Now he just looked annoyed.

"Say that shit again," he muttered jaw clenched so tightly you swore you could see veins popping in his head. You almost laughed. "What?"

His stare narrowed. "What'd you just call me?" You tilted your head innocently.

"I was introducing you."

"Nah, run that back." You pressed your lips together to stop yourself from smiling. "My current boyfriend?"

The room got quiet. Jermajesty sat forward on the couch. "Current?" You shrugged. "Yeah. My current boyfriend."

"Current."

"Mhm."

"Like there's gonna be another one after me?" You fought to keep a straight face. "I didn't say all that." His eyebrows shot up. "You definitely implied all that."

"I literally introduced you."

"You introduced me like I'm a placeholder." The camera shook slightly from how hard you were trying not to laugh.

Jermajesty pointed at himself.

"Current boyfriend is crazy. Like what happened to 'love of my life'? What happened to 'my man'? What happened to all that energy?"

"Oh my God."

"Nah, don't 'oh my God' me. Current boyfriend sounds like you got applications lined up."

"You are so dramatic."

"I'm dramatic?" He sat up straighter. "You're on the internet talking about some current boyfriend. Current means replaceable." The smile finally escaped.

Jermajesty immediately pointed at you. "See. There it is. You laughing. You playing in my face."

"Babe, it is not that serious."

"It sound serious."

"It was a joke."

"To who?"

"To me."

"Well I ain't laughing."

His expression stayed completely straight he was deadass. "Anyway," you said, grabbing the snack bag. "Let's get back to the review."

Jermajesty folded his arms. "Nah. Before we continue, I just wanna let the viewers know that apparently I'm on a ninety-day trial period."

You doubled over, wheezing so hard your stomach cramped. The snack review was toast. You wiped a real tear from your cheek, still gasping. "Okay, cut that. Sorry about him. He's unemployed and bitter, swear."

 Jermajesty’s head whipped toward you, his eyes narrowing with a predatory kind of amusement. "That's not what you said yesterday."

 Your smile locked in place. You froze mid-unwrapping the bag, turned your head to stare at him with the widest eyes ever. "...What, The unemployed part? Because I did say that last week." You knew damn well he wasn’t talking about that but you tried to salvage, your heart was genuinely beating out your chest.

 He leaned back, arms crossed over his chest, looking smug as hell. "Don’t act stupid. Deadass. You were moaning a whole different script twenty-four hours ago. Talking 'bout" He cleared his throat, pausing for dramatic effect like he was about to drop some straight bullshit. "'Jermajesty, don't stop.'"

 Your mouth dropped open. In a panic, you snatched your phone off the table, the screen still recording. "I'm close, baby. Don't stop."

 The silence that followed was embarrassing. The air in the room thickened. You whisper-shouted, your voice cracking in a way that betrayed how flustered you actually were, "Oh my God, are you serious right now? I should kick your ass."

 He shrugged. "Dead serious, angel."

 You smacked your teeth, the sound sharp in the quiet room. "On everybody's soul, he's lying, like I’d NEVER say something that corny." It was crazy how you were calling him a liar while you were actively lying to the camera.

 His grin stretched wider, revealing a glimpse of teeth. That was never a good sign, that was the look he got right before he did something that made you beat him up. "Nah, I saved it. Got the receipts in 4K."

 He waved his phone like proof in a trial. You felt your soul physically exit your body because you knew his dumb ass definitely had proof on there in fact you didn’t doubt it. 

 "Oh my God, this is exactly why I never invite you to record!" You stabbed the stop button with a vengeance. The red light died, but the damage was already done. "It was just a prank, babe. You did the most. You're actually doing too much."

 You rolled your eyes so hard they almost locked in the back of your head. Jermajesty stayed planted, watching you with that same lazy, heavy-lidded smirk. You couldn't tell if he was suprised or knew since the beginning.

 "You look sexy when you pout, baby," he said, his voice dropping an octave, turning into a low rumble. "Shouldn't roll your eyes though. They might get stuck." He flicked your forehead with his finger. 

 Before you could clap back, he scooted. He didn't move fast, but he moved with purpose, his face suddenly filling your entire vision. One hand shot out, catching your chin in a grip that was firm possessive, but not rough. His thumb dragged slowly across your bottom lip, pulling the skin down to reveal the wet pink of your inner lip.

 His eyes flicked down to your mouth, lingering on the smudge of gloss, then snapped back up to yours. "Much better."

You slapped his hand away, the contact sending a jolt of warmth through you, and shot to your feet. "Absolutely not. Get away from me."

 You jabbed a finger in his face, trying to play the role of the victim. Which you were, no one could tell you otherwise.  "Sit on this couch and think about your actions," you commanded, though it sounded more like a plea.

 Jermajesty hummed low in his throat, hands up in a fake gesture of surrender. He sank deeper into the cushions, legs spreading wide in a blatant display of dominance. He looked way too relaxed for someone who had just been scolded; his eyes dragged over your curves, tracing the line of your hips like he was already mapping out exactly how he was going to take you for round two.

 "Love you, baby," he called after you, his voice dripping with confidence as you turned to walk away. You huffed, refusing to look back. "Yeah, right." Then, barely a breath, a secret just for the room: "Love you too."

 He heard it. You knew he heard it.