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mjwhisperer · 9 months ago

Text

𝚅𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚘 𝙲𝚊𝚕𝚕

2007

Los Angeles/Japan

Word Count: 9.1k

Tags: Fem!Reader, Mature era MJ, Late Night Conversation, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, Intimacy, Married Couple, Phone Sex, Large pp

It was late, the kind of night that settled deep in your bones, the air cool and still in early March. The house was blanketed in silence, the only sounds coming from the low hum of the air conditioning circulating through the vents, and the faint chime of your laptop powering up as you placed it on the bed. Your fingers were slightly shaky from exhaustion as you slipped out of your towel and into a smooth, purple satin nightgown, its fabric cool against your skin. You’d spent the whole day chasing after your two daughters—playing games, watching movies, even making a trip down to the local library. You remembered their excited squeals as they picked out books, eager for their father to quiz them later, a little competition they relished for the promise of toys or treats.

Michael had been gone for a few weeks now, whisked off to Japan for work. The house felt emptier without him, though he’d thought ahead, leaving gifts behind to ease the time apart. A brand-new laptop, gleaming on the bed, and a desktop in your office, all set up by his team. The laptop was for those precious nightly calls, a thread connecting you across the distance. He used it to check in on the girls, his voice filtering through the speakers as they giggled and updated him on their day. But tonight was for just the two of you.

Every other night, you’d Skype him before bed. Sometimes he’d stay on the line as you drifted off, the soft glow of his screen the last thing you’d see before sleep took over, and in the morning, you’d wake to a message, a “good morning” from halfway across the world.

You reached up, tugging the towel loose from your hair, letting the damp strands cascade down your back. You ran a hand through them absentmindedly, hoping they’d dry before you fell asleep. In the bathroom, you hung the towel on the railing, the cool tile beneath your feet grounding you. Suddenly, the sharp, familiar ring of an incoming call echoed from the bedroom. Heart racing slightly, you darted out of the bathroom, a smile already tugging at your lips as you tossed yourself onto the bed. Quickly adjusting yourself in front of the camera, you moved the mouse and clicked the green button.

The screen flickered to life, and there he was—Michael, your husband, looking effortlessly handsome, just as he always did. The soft glow of the hotel suite’s ambient lighting bathed his tanned skin, making it gleam in a way that made your breath catch. His white button-up was carelessly half undone, offering a teasing glimpse of his broad, familiar chest, muscles shifting slightly beneath the fabric. His eyes locked onto yours through the screen, and in that instant, the world outside the room felt distant. The unspoken intimacy between you pulled taut, like a thread drawn through space, bridging the miles that separated you.

“Hi, beautiful,” he murmured, his voice a rich, low rumble that had always felt like a caress against your skin. Though softened by the miles between you, it still held that warmth, that velvety tone that made your heart ache with want.

You smiled softly, the weight of the day easing a little. “Hi, baby. I miss you,” you breathed, pulling the laptop closer, feeling its warmth on your legs as you nestled back against the pillows—his pillows, on his side of the bed. The scent of him lingered faintly, a subtle reminder of his presence even though he was half a world away.

He cleared his throat, a familiar gesture, the kind of small movement you’d cataloged over the years. “How was your day? How are my girls?” His voice was tinged with that quiet yearning, and though it was a simple question, it carried the weight of his absence.

You yawned, exhaustion creeping up on you but still softened by the sound of his voice. “It was good. The girls are great. We had some much-needed mother-daughter time,” you replied, a hint of a smile playing on your lips as you thought back on the day.

Michael chuckled softly, his laugh a low, rolling sound that always sent a shiver through you. He shrugged the shirt off entirely, revealing the sculpted lines of his body beneath, half-dressed but every bit the man who always held your gaze. “That’s good. What did you all do? I’d like to hear about it,” he said, standing and stepping out of view, leaving only the rumpled pillows in sight.

“Well,” you began, watching the empty space, “This morning, they begged me to make French toast. I warned them it wouldn’t be as good as yours, but they insisted. So, I gave in, and honestly, it was a disaster.”

From across the room, Michael’s laugh echoed back, warm and teasing. “I had a feeling,” he said, his voice drifting to you like a memory, one of those quiet moments shared in the kitchen, his hands guiding yours.

You laughed too, the memory making you feel closer. “After that, they helped me clean up, and we blasted some of your music. They wanted to do it your way.”

You absently twisted the hem of your nightgown, the silky fabric soft between your fingertips, a calming motion. Michael hummed in response, that deep, knowing sound, and you could picture his expression even without seeing his face.

He returned to the camera, picking up the laptop with a familiar ease. “You’re coming with me,” he said, his tone playful yet commanding in a way that always made you feel warm inside. You watched as he carried the laptop with him, the camera shaking slightly as he walked into the bathroom. He set it down on the counter, the lighting now bright, reflecting off the mirror as he turned toward it.

You gazed at him through the screen, watching as he began wiping the makeup from his face. There was something vulnerable, yet undeniably captivating about seeing him like this—just him, bare, the years of his beauty laid plain before you. The faint traces of pigment on his skin from his vitiligo, a contrast of dark and light that you had memorized, faded but still so distinctly him. He wiped away the eyeliner, his eyes catching yours in the mirror.

“What else did my beautiful girls get up to?” he asked, his voice softer now, as though you two were the only ones in the world.

You took a deep breath, trying to ground yourself as your mind wandered to other thoughts. “We played a few board games, some chess and checkers, before watching a movie together. Then, we headed down to the library—of course, they want you to quiz them when you get back. They saw a doll they really liked, and you know what that means.”

Michael chuckled, the sound like a soft rumble through the screen. “Which books did they pick out?”

You grinned, a knowing look in your eyes. “Take a guess.”

He paused, his gaze lowering toward the camera, that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. “Don’t tell me…” he drawled.

You tilted your head, teasingly. “Harry Potter, of course. They’re little nerds, just like their daddy.”

Michael rolled his eyes dramatically, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “They get it from their mother, and you know it. Don’t even start with me,” he teased as he wiped the last bit of eyeliner away.

Watching him like this—just Michael, stripped of the layers the world usually saw, his skin soft and bare beneath the hotel lighting—filled you with an aching warmth. The familiarity of him was both comforting and magnetic, the way his face softened without the lines of makeup, the way his presence filled the space even through the distance. For a moment, it felt as though there were no miles between you, just the two of you connected in the intimacy of the night, the quiet hum of his hotel suite and the steady rhythm of your breathing the only sounds.

He broke the silence, his voice low and tender. “What else?” he asked, leaning forward on the counter, his gaze locked on yours through the screen. His eyes, those deep, expressive eyes, pulled you in further, making the distance seem even smaller. “I want to hear everything,” he murmured, his tone laced with gentle insistence, the kind that always made you feel like you were the only person in the world he wanted to listen to.

A soft smile tugged at your lips, the gentleness of his voice wrapping around you like a blanket. “After we got home, we had dinner. The girls were quiet for the rest of the night, didn’t really bother me, except to say goodnight. So, I took a long, hot bubble bath, washed my hair, did a little cleaning… oh, and I rearranged your closet,” you said, your voice trailing off at the end as your fingers absently traced the edge of the laptop, your mind replaying the small moments of the evening.

Michael nodded, his eyes lingering on you, his gaze sharp but soft at the same time, drinking you in. “New nightgown?” he asked, his voice husky as his eyes trailed over the satin draping your body.

You nodded, the faintest flush creeping into your cheeks. “Yeah, got it the other day. Along with a few others—champagne, black, royal blue, pink, and of course… red,” you teased softly, knowing that last color always sparked something in him. “Your favorite.”

His lips parted slightly as his tongue swept across them, the small gesture making your stomach tighten. “It looks beautiful on you,” he said, voice thickening just a touch. “Never realized purple was your color.”

You shrugged, a playful glint in your eye. “Neither did I. Something new, I guess.”

For a moment, his eyes didn’t leave yours, a heat rising between the two of you as he stared at you with that familiar intensity, like he could reach through the screen and touch you. His gaze was heavy, full of something deeper, something simmering just beneath the surface.

“How are you?” you asked softly, breaking the tension just enough, your voice tender and full of care.

He cleared his throat, shifting slightly under your gaze. “I’m doing well… tired, but nothing I’m not used to,” he said, the exhaustion lining his voice in a way that tugged at your heart.

You sighed, a hint of worry slipping into your voice. “You shouldn’t have to be used to that, baby. Why didn’t you get some rest?”

His lips curved into a small, almost bashful smile. “Wanted to call my pretty girl before she went off to sleep. You know I can’t go without hearing your voice,” he said, straightening up, the affection in his voice unmistakable. There was something about the way he said it, the way his words held you, that made your heart race a little faster.

Your eyes, almost without thinking, traced the lines of his body. He was still half-dressed, the lower half of him clad in black slacks with delicate golden elephants embroidered all over them, an eccentric touch that was so distinctly Michael. But your gaze lingered on more than just the intricate details of his pants—your eyes caught on the subtle but unmistakable outline of his arousal pressing against the fabric, and heat flushed through your body. God, he could never stay down.

Michael noticed your wandering gaze, his eyebrow arching in that teasing, knowing way of his. “What are you looking at, doll?” he asked, reaching for a comb and dragging it through his silky, straightened hair with the slow, precise movements that were second nature to him.

You shook your head quickly, feeling the flush rise in your cheeks. “Nothing, baby. Just you, that’s all,” you lied, your voice a little breathless, trying to pull your mind away from the growing tension in your body.

But Michael wasn’t fooled. His eyes bore into you, and you could feel his attention sharpening, feel him leaning into the moment even from across the screen. “Tell me,” he insisted, his voice low and commanding, a tone you knew well—one that made you melt, one you could never quite resist.

You shook your head again, heat flooding your cheeks and a nervous laugh escaping your lips. “It’s nothing, Michael,” you said, but the lie was transparent, and you both knew it.

His gaze dropped for a brief moment, then returned to yours, and the silence stretched between you, heavy with the weight of unspoken desire. You knew he could tell. You knew he’d seen the way your eyes lingered on him, the way your breath caught just slightly when your gaze met his. And just as surely as you’d noticed him, you felt it in yourself too—the subtle quickening of your pulse, the way your body was beginning to respond, the slow rise of heat pooling low in your belly.

Even though the miles separated you, you felt the pull as if he were standing right in front of you, the connection between you undeniable, magnetic, intimate.

The screen’s glow softened his features, but there was nothing soft about the way Michael stared at you. His eyes held yours, dark and intense, and though the silence stretched, it was thick with everything unspoken. You shifted slightly under his gaze, the silk of your nightgown brushing your skin, making you even more aware of the heat pooling in your belly.

“Tell me,” he repeated, his voice lower, more insistent this time, that commanding edge unmistakable.

You bit your lip, hesitating. His stare was piercing, and even though you were miles apart, it felt like he was right there, hovering over you, demanding an answer. “Michael, it’s nothing,” you lied again, but the tension in your voice betrayed you, the way it came out in a soft, breathless rush.

He let out a soft, almost amused chuckle, shaking his head, his long fingers sliding through his hair as he set the comb down. “You’re terrible at lying, you know that, right?” His smile was small but knowing, like he could read every thought running through your mind.

You swallowed, feeling your face grow warm. “I’m not lying,” you whispered, though your voice was barely convincing even to yourself.

Michael’s gaze dropped lower, his eyes trailing down the screen, taking in the way the nightgown clung to your body, the way you fidgeted slightly under his attention. “Uh-huh,” he hummed, leaning back against the counter, his arms folding across his chest. “Then why are you staring at me like that, doll?”

Your breath caught in your throat. “I wasn’t—”

He raised an eyebrow, cutting you off. “Yes, you were.” His voice dipped lower, soft and velvety but with a hard edge. “You’re looking at me like you want something. And you’re not saying what.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, the pull between you two becoming impossible to ignore. His voice, the way he was staring at you, made it hard to think straight. “I… wasn’t trying to,” you stammered, but your voice trailed off.

Michael’s lips curled into a sly smile. “You don’t have to try, baby,” he said, his voice now a murmur that sent shivers through you. “I can feel it from here.”

Your breath hitched, your body betraying you as you shifted again, the silk of the nightgown sliding against your skin, making you even more aware of your own growing arousal.

His gaze followed the movement, and he tilted his head slightly, his eyes darkening with intent. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, hmm?” he asked, his voice low and intimate, like he was pulling the confession out of you. “Tell me.”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your voice. “It’s just… you,” you admitted finally, the words slipping out, soft and barely audible.

Michael’s smile widened, something darker flashing in his eyes. “Just me?”

You nodded, unable to look away from him. “Yeah. Just… you.”

He leaned in closer to the camera, his face filling the screen, his eyes holding yours with a steady, burning intensity. “And what about me, doll? What is it you’re thinking?”

Your mouth went dry, the heat between your legs becoming unbearable as your body reacted to his words, his tone. You could feel the desire curling inside you, sharp and demanding, but you hesitated.

Michael’s gaze flickered downward, catching on the way your chest rose and fell, the way your body subtly shifted on the bed, and he let out a low, quiet breath. “You’re getting worked up, aren’t you?” he said, his voice like silk, sliding over you, pulling you in.

You didn’t answer, but your body spoke for you—the slight tremble in your hand, the way your thighs pressed together beneath the sheets. He could see it all, even from across the screen, and that knowledge made your heart race.

“Say it,” he demanded softly, his voice leaving no room for anything but the truth. “Tell me what you want.”

You bit your lip, your heart pounding as you held his gaze, the tension between you tightening like a coil. You could feel the heat rising inside you, your body screaming for him, even through the screen. “I want you,” you whispered, the confession slipping from your lips like a plea.

Michael’s eyes darkened further, a spark of satisfaction lighting in them as he straightened up, his chest rising and falling as if your words had sent a shiver through him too. “That’s better,” he murmured, his voice low and husky. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Your pulse quickened at his words, your body responding before your mind could catch up. The air between you two was charged, alive with tension that seemed to hum in your veins. Michael stood there, his fingers gripping the counter, the muscles in his forearms flexing slightly as he leaned closer, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your breath catch. The screen between you felt thin, like a veil you could almost tear through if you just reached out far enough.

“And what do you want me to do, doll?” His voice had roughened, deepened with desire. The question lingered in the air, pulling you in, tightening the pull between you.

Your lips parted, a shiver running through your body, your heart pounding in your chest as you barely whispered, “I want you to touch me.” The words slipped out almost involuntarily, soft but loaded with the weight of your need.

Michael’s lips curled into a slow, wicked smile that made your skin flush hot. He leaned back, letting his eyes sweep over you, devouring every inch even through the screen. “Then show me where you want me to touch you,” he said, the command in his voice unmistakable, the anticipation crackling between you.

Your lips trembled at his words, unsure yet utterly captivated by his intensity. “Right now?” you asked, your voice almost shaking with the sudden rush of heat.

He nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. “Right now,” he murmured, his voice velvet and steel. “Is the bedroom door locked?”

You glanced over at the door, your heart racing. “No,” you whispered.

“Go lock it for me,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “Then take off that pretty nightgown. We don’t need it getting messy, do we?”

Your breath hitched, and you felt a spark of anticipation light deep inside you. You nodded, lifting the laptop carefully from your lap and setting it down on the bed. Your feet touched the cool hardwood floor, grounding you as you crossed the room, the click of the lock in the quiet room feeling like the beginning of something inevitable.

As you dimmed the lights, casting the room in a soft, intimate glow, you caught your reflection in the mirror—your flushed cheeks, the way your lips parted slightly in anticipation. Slowly, deliberately, you pulled the nightgown over your head, letting the satin slip down your body before laying it neatly on your side of the bed. You couldn’t help but glance back at the screen, feeling Michael’s eyes on you even from miles away.

When you crawled back onto the bed, bare now, the cool sheets beneath you a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from your body, you felt his gaze lock onto your form. His breath hitched softly through the speakers, his eyes darkening further as he leaned against the bathroom wall.

“Look at you,” Michael whispered, his voice low and reverent, laced with desire. “So sexy.”

You smiled, your heart pounding with the thrill of his words. “Thank you, baby,” you said softly, your voice trembling slightly.

Michael pushed off the wall, his body moving with the kind of grace that always left you breathless. He walked back to the counter, setting the laptop down and adjusting the angle so he could see you more clearly. “Lay back for me, pretty girl,” he murmured, his voice a gentle command that made your stomach twist with anticipation. “Let me see you.”

You did as he asked, leaning back against the pillows, your legs brushing together as you settled in. Your hand slid down your thighs instinctively, and your breath quickened as you felt the heat building between your legs. The distance between you seemed to evaporate, the connection between you two sharper, more tangible.

“God, I miss you,” Michael muttered, his eyes never leaving your body, his voice rough with longing. “Where would you want me to touch you right now, doll? Show Daddy where it aches.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, the sound of his voice alone making your pulse race. You spread your legs slowly, your body trembling with a mix of nerves and need. “Right here,” you murmured in a sultry tone, your fingers trailing down between your thighs. The heat of your core radiated as your fingers slid through the slickness between your folds. “It aches right here.”

Michael’s eyes darkened, his gaze flickering away from the screen for just a moment before he walked out of view. You heard the soft click of the bathroom door closing and locking, the faint sound sending a thrill through you. When he returned, his eyes were sharper, more focused, and there was a tension in his body that made your breath quicken.

“Spread them for me, baby,” Michael murmured, his voice dropping an octave, rough and commanding. “Let me see that pretty clit.”

Your body obeyed before you could think, your legs parting wider as your fingers brushed over your sensitive spot, your body responding to his voice, his gaze, the heat of his desire wrapping around you like a vice. You could feel the intensity of the moment, the way your body yearned for his touch, even though it was miles away.

Your breath became shallow, your chest rising and falling quickly as you held his gaze through the screen. His eyes were locked on yours, dark and full of need, and the sound of his breathing, ragged and low, only fueled your own arousal. You could feel the slickness of your arousal as your fingers moved, and the heat in your body built with each passing second.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice thick with lust. “Just like that. Keep going, baby. Let me hear you.”

Your body trembled, every nerve alive and burning with a need only he could fulfill. The sound of Michael’s voice, the slow, deliberate way he spoke to you, made the space between you disappear, leaving only the raw intensity of the moment. His eyes, dark and full of desire, stayed fixed on you, watching the way your fingers moved inside yourself, the way your lips parted in soft moans that barely scratched the surface of the pleasure surging through your body.

“God, baby, you sound so pretty,” he murmured, his chest rising and falling as his breath grew heavier. His gaze flickered down to where your fingers disappeared inside you, your wetness glistening in the dim light, your body aching with a deep need for him. “Slide them deeper for me, baby. I want to watch you.”

With a slow, deliberate motion, you pushed your fingers deeper, your walls tightening around them as a breathless moan escaped your lips. The feeling of your slick heat enveloping your fingers sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, but it wasn’t enough—it could never be enough without him.

Michael groaned low in his throat, his hand already moving down, slipping beneath his waistband as he palmed his thick, aching length. “You’re making me so damn hard, baby,” he growled, his voice thick with need. His fingers wrapped tightly around his length, gripping it through the rough fabric of his slacks. His arousal was so evident, straining against the material, his body screaming for you as much as yours was for him.

“Michael…” Your voice trembled, barely a whisper, but he heard it. His eyes locked on yours, a smirk playing on his lips, knowing exactly how much you wanted him. “I need you…”

He licked his lips, standing up straighter, his movements slow and deliberate as he unbuckled his belt, the clinking sound sending shivers down your spine. The metal clinked again as he let it fall to the floor, your eyes never leaving the way his hands moved with such confidence, with such need. “I’m not going anywhere, baby,” he murmured, his voice a deep growl that made your whole body tighten with desire.

He slid his slacks down, stepping out of them with a grace that only he possessed. Now in just his white briefs, you could see the outline of him, thick and hard, the fabric struggling to contain him. His bulge pressed tightly against the soft cotton, and you couldn’t help but bite your lip, your fingers faltering for a second as you watched him.

“You want it, don’t you?” Michael asked, his voice teasing as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his briefs, slowly peeling them down. The way his body moved was mesmerizing, every muscle in his slender, toned frame seeming to ripple as he freed himself from the last piece of clothing.

You moaned softly at the sight of him, his length thick and perfect, adorned with the splotches of his vitiligo that made him so uniquely beautiful. His length was an exquisite mix of colors—deep brown, soft pink, and pale white—each mark telling a story, each part of him more beautiful than the last. The thick foreskin rolled back as he stroked himself, exposing the flushed pink tip, glistening with precum. Your core throbbed, your body craving the feeling of him filling you, stretching you, making you his.

“I want you so bad,” you whispered, your breath catching in your throat. “I miss you…”

Michael groaned at your words, his hand gripping his length tighter, his thumb smearing the bead of precum that had formed at the tip. “I miss you more, beautiful. So much…” His voice was low, gravelly, filled with the same longing that echoed in your chest. He spat into his palm, rubbing it over his length, each slow stroke making you ache even more. “You need me, don’t you?”

You whimpered, your hips bucking slightly as you pumped your fingers faster, but it still wasn’t enough. “I need you inside me, baby. Please…” The desperation in your voice was palpable, your body on the edge, ready to tip over into oblivion, but it was him you needed to send you there.

His eyes darkened, filled with lust and something deeper, something raw and primal. “I bet you do,” he murmured, his voice sending a fresh wave of arousal through you. “Your fingers don’t feel the same, do they? Not like me. You like when I stretch you, don’t you? When I fill you so deep, you can’t think of anything else.”

You moaned in response, your fingers moving faster now, matching the rhythm of his strokes. “Yes, baby,” you gasped. “I love it when you stretch me… when you fill me so tight.”

Michael’s voice was thick with need, every word dripping with desire as his hand slowed, gripping his thick length with the kind of patience that made your entire body throb. “God, I wish I was there,” he growled, his voice laced with frustration, the distance between you unbearable. “I need to feel how tight you are… how wet you are for me.” His breath hitched, and you could see the way his length twitched in his hand, the precum glistening at the tip as he twisted his wrist, his strokes slower but more deliberate now.

You watched, mesmerized by the sight of him, the way his large hand moved over his length. His muscles rippled with each slow, controlled motion, the sheer size of him making you ache in a way that made your core pulse even more. His words brought you back to reality, the intensity of his gaze locking you in.

“Match with me, baby,” he murmured, his voice a low groan that reverberated through your body. “I don’t want you to cum yet.”

Your body trembled as you nodded, slowing the movement of your fingers inside yourself, matching the rhythm of his strokes. Your fingers curled just right, brushing that spot deep inside that made your toes curl, but you fought to keep control, not wanting to disobey his command. The slickness of your arousal coated your fingers, and you couldn’t help but moan softly, the sound filling the quiet space around you.

Michael’s eyes darkened, his gaze intense as he watched you, his lips parting in a soft, shaky breath. “You like watching me, don’t you?” he asked, his voice laced with a teasing edge, but there was no doubt that he knew the effect he had on you.

A shiver ran down your spine at his words, and your mind wandered, flashing back to the countless nights you had found him like this—waiting for you, sprawled out on the bed after the kids were finally asleep, his body bare, his hand wrapped around his length just like it was now. He’d always be watching you, his eyes dark with lust, waiting for the moment when you’d walk over and take control, finishing what he started with your own hand. You could almost feel the weight of him in your grip, the warmth of his seed spilling onto your fingers as he let go, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Say it, baby,” Michael groaned, his voice pulling you back to the present. “I know you do. I know you wish you could touch me right now, but I promise you, when I get home, you’re all mine.”

The way he said it made your body tighten, a soft whimper escaping your lips as you slowed your fingers, your breath ragged. “Yes, Michael,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as the desire swelled inside you.

But Michael shook his head, a slow, teasing grin spreading across his face. “Wrong name, doll,” he said with a soft chuckle, his body twitching as his thumb grazed over the slick tip of his length. His voice dropped to a low, guttural growl as he added, “You know better than that.”

Your heart skipped a beat, your body trembling as you corrected yourself, “Yes, daddy…” you moaned, your voice a needy whimper that made his eyes flash with approval.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice thick with praise as his hand moved faster now, pumping his length with slow, deliberate strokes that had you biting your lip in anticipation. “Spread those pretty legs for me. Let me see all of you.”

You obeyed instantly, spreading your legs wider, your skin flushed with arousal as you opened yourself completely for him, giving him the full view he craved. The way he looked at you, the hunger in his eyes as he took in every inch of your exposed body, made you feel powerful, like you were his whole world in that moment.

“Fuck…” Michael groaned deeply, his hand tightening around his length as his eyes roamed over your body. He watched the way your slickness glistened between your thighs, his thumb brushing over the head of his length, spreading the precum that dripped from his swollen tip. “I need you,” he growled, his voice rough with desperation. “I need to be inside you, right now.”

Your breath hitched, your fingers slipping deeper inside yourself as you watched him, your body trembling with the need to feel him, to be filled by him. “I need you too, baby,” you whispered, your voice a soft plea as your fingers moved faster, matching the rhythm of his strokes. “I want to feel you so bad…”

Michael’s eyes darkened, his body tensing as he imagined the feel of you wrapped around him, your tight, wet heat pulling him deeper, the way your body always responded so perfectly to his. “Soon, baby,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a growl. “When I get home… I’m going to fuck you so hard, you won’t be able to walk the next day.”

The promise in his words made your body tremble, your breath coming faster as you felt the edge approaching, but you held back, waiting for him, needing to cum with him, needing to hear his voice as you came apart. “Please, baby,” you moaned, your fingers curling inside you, hitting that perfect spot. “I’m so close…”

The tension between your bodies was electric, every word that spilled from Michael’s lips a molten thread that wrapped tighter around your senses, pulling you closer to the edge. His voice was a husky growl, rich and deep, each syllable dripping with lust. “Just a little longer, baby,” he rasped, his breath ragged, as if he could barely contain the heat rising inside him. “I want to hear more… God, you sound so wet for me. You’re driving me crazy.”

The sound of his voice sent a shiver straight through you, making your breath catch in your throat. You moaned softly, desperate and aching, as your fingers moved faster inside you, the slickness of your arousal coating them. Your hips lifted slightly off the bed, seeking more, needing more, as your body trembled with each slow, deliberate thrust of your fingers. Your other hand roamed up your chest, fingertips grazing your heated skin, until they found your breast, your fingers pinching the sensitive nipple, the sharp sensation shooting a fresh wave of pleasure straight to your core.

Michael’s gaze was locked onto you, burning, his dark eyes hooded with desire as they trailed over every inch of your body. It felt like his touch even though he was miles away—his hunger radiating through the screen, making your skin tingle with the intensity of it. The connection between you felt tangible, heavy, like you could reach through the distance and pull him to you. You watched the way his muscles flexed as he stroked himself, his large hand gripping his thick length, the sound of his slick, rhythmic strokes filling the space, deepening the desire in your belly.

His head fell back against the wall of the hotel bathroom, his body flushed with heat, his legs spread wide, hips rocking forward as he fucked his hand, his need palpable. His other hand gripped the counter for balance, his chest rising and falling heavily, droplets of sweat glistening on his skin. The raw masculinity of him like this—completely lost in the fantasy of you—made your insides quiver with longing. You wanted him there so badly, needed to feel him between your thighs, inside you, his body pressed against yours, hot and slick and hard.

“Fuck, baby,” Michael groaned, his voice deeper now, a low rumble that sent vibrations through your body. “You look so good… I wish I could touch you, feel you right now. I need to be inside you, baby. I need to feel how tight you are for me.”

Your body reacted instantly to his words, your pulse racing as a wave of pleasure washed over you. “Michael…” you whimpered, your voice trembling with need, your fingers pumping faster, hitting that spot deep inside that made your thighs quiver. You were so close, the heat between your legs nearly unbearable, your core tightening as you chased the release that hovered just out of reach. “I need you so much… I need you to fuck me.”

His eyes darkened at your words, his breath hitching as his hand moved faster along his shaft , his thick length glistening with precum. “You’re going to feel so good when I get home,” he groaned, his voice heavy, thick with promise.

The image of him sinking deep inside you, filling you completely, sent you spiraling closer to the edge. You moaned his name again, breathless, your body trembling with need, desperate for him, desperate to come undone for him. “Please… I need to cum, Michael,” you begged, your voice soft, filled with the weight of your desire. “I need you to make me cum.”

His jaw clenched, his eyes locked on you, the intensity of his gaze making you feel like he was right there with you, watching every little movement, every little sound you made. “Not yet, baby,” he groaned, his voice thick with need. “Hold on for me. I want to see you beg for it.”

A soft whimper escaped your lips, your body trembling as you held back, fighting the overwhelming urge to let go. “Please, baby… please,” you whispered, your voice shaky, desperate. “I need it… I need you so bad.”

Michael’s breath was a low, ragged hum, each inhale more strained than the last as he worked his hand over his thick, pulsing length, the pressure of his grip intensifying. His voice, rough and edged with desire, was laced with command as he whispered, “That’s it, baby… Cum for me. Let me hear how good I make you feel.”

His words sent a jolt through your body, your moans growing louder, almost desperate, as your fingers moved faster, slipping and sliding through the slickness of your arousal, the wet sounds filling the room. Your fingers curled deeper, hitting just the right spot that made your thighs quiver and your breath catch in your throat. Your hips bucked uncontrollably, chasing the edge, your body on fire, every nerve tingling with anticipation. The sounds of his heavy breaths and deep groans reverberated through the speakers, blending with your own cries of pleasure, creating an intimate, carnal symphony between you.

Your eyes stayed fixed on Michael, the image of him—head thrown back against the wall, chest heaving, muscles taut with need—etched in your mind. His eyes were locked on the camera, watching you fall apart, feeding off every little moan that escaped your lips. His strokes were fast, hard, the veins on his thick shaft bulging under his tight grip. His toes curled against the cold tile floor as he pushed himself closer to his release.

“I’m so close, baby,” he growled, his voice strained as he watched your fingers pump inside you. His length twitched in his hand, his grip tightening, the muscles in his forearms flexing with every movement. He was on the brink, teetering dangerously close to the edge, his body begging for release.

With one last stroke of your fingers, your body shattered. A breathy moan ripped from your throat as you came, Michael’s name spilling from your lips like a prayer, your hips lifting off the bed as waves of pleasure rolled through you. Your core tightened around your fingers, your body trembling uncontrollably, the heat of your release coursing through every inch of you.

“Fuck…” Michael groaned deeply, his body jerking as his release hit him hard, his hand moving faster, the slick sounds of his strokes filling the room. He growled, low and primal, as thick ropes of his hot seed shot out, splattering onto the floor, dripping from his tip in long, sticky strands. His body trembled with the force of it, his breathing heavy and uneven, his chest rising and falling in rapid bursts.

You watched him through the haze of your own pleasure, your body still trembling, your fingers coated in your slick arousal as you came down from the high. Your moans lingered in the air, soft and breathless, as you laid back against the pillows, your legs weak and aching, your skin flushed and sensitive.

Michael leaned back against the wall, his hand still wrapped around his semi-hard length, now covered in his own release. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, sweat dripping down the side of his neck, tracing the curve of his collarbone. His gaze was half-lidded, his lips parted slightly as he stared at the ceiling, the remnants of pleasure still washing over him.

“I miss you,” he said, his voice still tinged with the rough edge of his desire, but now softer, more tender. It was a confession, raw and vulnerable.

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening with the same longing, your heart aching to have him there beside you. “I miss you more,” you whispered, your voice soft, almost pleading. “Come home soon, baby.”

He nodded, his eyes dropping back to the screen, the intensity in them replaced by something warmer, more affectionate. “I will,” he promised, his voice low but filled with certainty. “Go clean up, I’ll be right here.”

You slipped your fingers out of yourself, your body still sensitive, and slowly climbed off the bed, your legs trembling as you made your way to the bathroom. The light flickered on as you entered, the cool tile beneath your feet a sharp contrast to the warmth still pulsing through your body. You turned the faucet on and lathered your hands with soap, scrubbing away the slick remnants of your release, the water running warm over your skin.

Back in the hotel bathroom, Michael moved with slow, deliberate motions, his body still humming with the aftershocks of his release. He wiped away the thick seed that had spilled onto the floor, his hand pausing for a moment as his mind drifted back to you. Even after his orgasm, the need for you gnawed at him, a dull ache that refused to leave. His length, still semi-hard, swayed slightly as he moved, a testament to just how deeply you affected him, even from miles away. His hand could never quite compare to the way your body felt, the way your warmth clung to him, trembling under his touch, tightening around him in the way only you could.

You turned off the water, drying your hands slowly before flipping the bathroom light off. The cool hardwood floor felt sharp against your bare feet as you padded quietly back to the bed, your body still tingling from the intimacy shared moments before. You slipped on your nightgown, the fabric cool against your flushed skin, before easing back onto the bed. The room was quiet now, the only sound the soft rustle of the sheets as you settled in.

Reaching over to the nightstand, you grabbed the laptop, watching Michael as he finished cleaning himself up. He looked so at ease, the tension from earlier completely gone, his chest rising and falling steadily. It was just him—just Michael—and the sight of him like that, bare and relaxed, made your heart swell with warmth.

He caught you watching him, his lips curving into a soft, genuine smile that made your chest tighten. “Hi, pretty girl,” he murmured, his voice softer now, the rough edge of desire replaced by something more tender. He picked up the laptop and moved back to the bedroom, setting it down on the bed before easing onto it, his body still bare. His length, though beginning to soften, still hung heavy between his legs, the evidence of his earlier need for you lingering.

Michael leaned back against the pillows, running his fingers through his tousled hair, a deep breath escaping his lips as he settled in. “Still need some help?” you teased, your tone playful but your eyes lingering on him, drinking in the sight of his still-recovering body.

He glanced down at himself with a chuckle, scratching the back of his head. “It should go down soon, I think,” he said, his tone light but laced with the remnants of desire. Then, with a smirk, he added, “I wouldn’t have this problem if you had come with me.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Oh, I beg to differ, stallion. You’d still be like this, and we both know it.”

He let out a deep, rumbling laugh, the sound vibrating through the screen. “Maybe,” he admitted, his eyes twinkling with amusement. Then, his expression softened, his tone becoming more casual. “When are you going to sleep, baby?”

You shrugged, pulling the covers up around you as you settled in more comfortably. “Whenever sleep decides to creep up on me. What about you? Got anything later?”

Michael ran a slow hand over his bare chest, his fingers brushing across the ridges of muscle, his skin still warm from earlier. “Just a couple of meetings, nothing serious,” he said with a lazy grin, his eyes locking onto yours. The teasing glint in his gaze sent a familiar flutter through your stomach. “I’ll be free tonight.”

Your eyes twinkled with playful mischief as you leaned closer to the screen. “How free?” you asked, your voice low and suggestive, a hint of heat in your tone. “Because I was thinking… maybe we could do this again later.”

Michael chuckled softly, his smile deepening as he shook his head, wagging a finger at you. “Aht, aht. You know better than that. That’s my time with the girls,” he teased, though his voice was thick with affection. “You’ll have to be patient, baby. But don’t worry, it’ll be worth it when I get home.”

Your gaze flickered down to where his hand rested on his still slightly erect length, his attempts to cover himself proving futile. You could see the outline of him beneath the blanket, and it made you bite your lip, the thought of how he’d feel against you stirring that familiar ache deep inside. “Is that right?” you teased back, rolling your eyes playfully as you snuggled deeper into the covers, pulling them tighter around you. “Guess I’ll just have to wait then.”

Michael’s smile softened as he adjusted under the blanket, the movement revealing a glimpse of his lean stomach before he settled in more comfortably. His voice lowered, his tone taking on a more intimate quality. “I do miss you, though,” he admitted, the weight of his words hanging in the air between you. It wasn’t just about the physical—there was a depth in his confession that spoke of the quiet moments, the small touches, the way your presence filled the empty spaces in his life.

You felt your heart clench at the sincerity in his voice, the longing he never quite managed to hide. “I miss you more,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. “But this… this isn’t as hard as when you were on tour for three years. That was unbearable.” You tried to smile, but the ache of those long months without him still haunted you sometimes.

Michael’s face twisted into a wry smile, half amusement, half regret. He rolled his eyes gently, trying to lighten the mood but knowing how deeply it affected you. “I know… but at least now, I’ve got more time for you and the girls. I always will. That’s never going to change.” His eyes softened as he stared at you through the screen, his expression filled with a kind of love that made the miles between you feel like nothing. “I promise, baby. Always.”

You both fell into a quiet, lingering moment, just staring at each other, soaking in the connection that remained even through the distance. The intimacy of it, the love, filled the space between you, making the world feel small and just for the two of you. You reached for his pillow beside you, hugging it close, the familiar scent of black orchid wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. It was his scent—strong, bold, and uniquely Michael.

“Tired?” he asked softly, watching you with a knowing look, one arm propped behind his head while the other lazily traced patterns over his chest.

You nodded, blinking slowly as exhaustion began to creep up on you. “A little… I shouldn’t have stayed up so late. The girls wanted to go to the park for a picnic, and you know how hard it is to say no to them,” you said with a soft smile, your heart warming at the thought of the little moments you cherished with your children.

Michael bit his lip, his dark eyes softening as he watched you through the screen. He could see the exhaustion settling into your features, but also the contentment that came with the simplicity of normal life—the life you created together, away from the madness of the outside world. He let out a slow breath, his voice dropping to that low, intimate tone that always seemed to wrap around you like a blanket. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourselves. You all deserve that… you deserve so much more,” he murmured, his words laced with a tenderness that only deepened the ache of his absence.

You smiled, though it was weighed down by tiredness, your eyes heavy but still holding that familiar warmth he knew so well. “They miss you,” you said softly, your voice catching just a little as you spoke. “I tell them all the time that you can’t do everything because you’re working… but they don’t really understand yet. And they asked…” You trailed off, your eyes flicking away from the screen for a moment.

Michael’s brow furrowed slightly, curiosity piqued by the hesitance in your voice. He leaned a little closer to the screen, his hand absentmindedly running through his tousled hair. “Asked about what, baby?” he pressed, his voice still gentle but edged with concern.

You took a deep breath, the weight of what you were about to say lingering between you like a tangible thing. When you finally spoke, it was in a soft, careful whisper, as though the word itself might stir something painful. “Neverland,” you said, letting it hang in the air between you, the significance of the place touching every corner of your relationship. You knew what it meant to him—how deeply it was tied to his dreams, and how much it hurt to let it go. “They’re curious, and I try to explain, but… you know how stubborn they can be. Stubborn like their daddy,” you added with a gentle smile, trying to lighten the mood, though the gravity of the conversation was impossible to ignore.

Michael’s face tightened for a moment, his expression darkening with the memories that the name evoked. He sighed deeply, the sound heavy and resigned as his fingers dragged through his hair. His shoulders sagged just a bit, the weight of it all seeming to press down on him as he thought about it. “We’ll find our home, baby. I promise,” he said, his voice steady but thick with determination. “Just tell them daddy’s working on it, alright? It won’t be long. We’ll have something just as special.” The conviction in his words was strong, but there was a flicker of old pain in his eyes, the kind you knew would always be there no matter how much time passed.

Your heart clenched at the sight of him, the vulnerability he rarely showed anyone but you. “Please come home soon,” you whispered, your voice almost breaking under the weight of how much you needed him. “I miss you so much, Michael. I hate it when you’re away… it feels like part of me is missing.”

His face softened at your words, and for a moment, the mask he wore for the world slipped, revealing the deep ache of longing mirrored in his eyes. “I’ll be home soon, baby. I promise.” His voice was thick with emotion, low and soothing, like he was trying to wrap you up in comfort even from a distance. “Don’t get too worked up, okay? I don’t want you stressing out. When I get back, I’ll take care of you, I swear.”

You nodded, unable to find the words as your throat tightened, the overwhelming need for him making it hard to speak. “Okay,” you managed to whisper, your voice barely audible.

He sighed again, the sound full of love and something deeper—an unspoken understanding that the distance between you was unbearable, but only temporary. “I love you, beautiful. Please get some rest for me, alright?” His tone was soft, coaxing, but there was a firmness to it too, the kind that made you want to do anything he asked just to ease the concern in his voice. “It’s only a few more days… and then I’ll be right there next to you.”

You nodded again, your voice catching in your throat as you whispered, “I will.”

Michael’s expression shifted into something warmer, more playful as he smiled at you, his lips curling into that familiar grin that always made your heart skip a beat. “I’ll call you before I head to sleep tonight. I love you.”

You smiled sleepily, your eyelids growing heavier by the second as you fought the pull of exhaustion. “I love you more, doodoo,” you murmured, the nickname slipping from your lips without thought, a habit from years of teasing.

He chuckled deeply, the sound rich and full, like velvet wrapping around you in the quiet of the night. “Goodnight, pretty,” he whispered, his voice a soothing caress just before the screen went dark, the call ending.

You sat there for a moment, staring at the blank screen, the silence of the room settling around you like a heavy cloak. Then, with a sigh, you closed the laptop and pulled his pillow closer to your chest, burying your face in the soft fabric. His scent—bold and rich with notes of black orchid—filled your senses, wrapping you in the comfort of his presence even though he wasn’t there. You snuggled deeper into the blankets, letting the warmth of his pillow soothe you as sleep finally began to claim you.

Soon, he’d be home. Soon, he’d be right there in your arms, where he belonged.

#michael jackson #moonwalker #wattpad #mjf fanfiction #writing #imagine #mjj #mjsdiiana #mature era #endless seduction #mjswhisperer #2007 Michael

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mjwhisperer · 9 months ago

Text

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝙼𝚊𝚒𝚍

1995

Neverland Ranch

Word Count: 13.1k

Tags: Fem!Reader, Dom!Michael, Light BDSM, Wet & Messy, Boss/Employee Relationship, Creampie, Large PP, Vitiligo PP, Rough Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Spanking.

Full story

For seven years, you had been the perfect maid. His perfect maid, at least. Seven long years spent adhering to Mr. Jackson’s strict, almost suffocating rules. Every single member of staff was held to his exacting standards—no exceptions. Speak only when spoken to, never step foot in his room without explicit permission, the library was off-limits unless granted entry, and his private quarters were sacred ground. Mondays? A day of silence. On those days, he wouldn’t speak, and you weren’t to say a word. When you did address him, you were to meet his gaze directly. Appearances, too, had to meet his meticulous approval—flawless and professional at all times.

But something shifted about four years ago. The rules, those ironclad restrictions, began to change—but only for you. It started with a single encounter that redefined everything. That day, it was just the two of you. No staff. No distractions. Just you and the boss, Mr. Jackson.

He had returned from a meeting, tension radiating from him in waves. He was livid, something entirely unlike his composed day-to-day demeanor. You were in the kitchen, methodically cleaning when you felt his eyes on you—burning, intense.

You had always found him attractive—who wouldn’t? His presence commanded attention, and every woman in the house, perhaps even in the world, knew it. But this time, there was something different. His stare was sharper, hungrier. Slowly, he approached, each footstep echoing in the quiet room. His breath was hot against the nape of your neck, ragged with frustration. Then, his hands—those large, capable hands—gripped your waist, the force of his touch pulling you closer to his solid frame. You could feel him, every inch of his body pressing against yours, heat radiating off him like a furnace.

“Lift your dress, doll,” he had whispered, his voice rough with an edge of command.

Without hesitation, you obeyed, the fabric of your dress sliding up, exposing yourself to him. He pressed even harder against you, his erection straining against his trousers, making you breathless. He was so hard it almost seemed impossible.

“Do you want me?” His whisper brushed against your ear like a dark promise.

Those words stayed with you long after that moment. In the kitchen, under the dim lights, he took you. Raw. Every inch of him plunged into you, again and again, relentless in his need to release his pent-up fury. He was rough—nothing like the gentle, composed man the world thought they knew. His hands gripped your hips as he pounded into you, forcing every last drop of stress from his body into yours. When he finally came, his hot seed flooded you, pouring out of you and onto the cold hardwood floor. And just like that, he left. Not a single word as he walked away, leaving you trembling and leaking his warmth behind him.

From that night on, things between you and him were different. Whenever the house was empty, you’d find small, quiet ways to tease him. Sometimes while you were cleaning, you’d lift the hem of your maid’s uniform, revealing the soft bareness beneath, knowing his eyes were on you. Other nights, when you worked late, you’d sneak into his room with his permission. When you were sure he wouldn’t return until late, you’d go to his closet, find one of his thick varsity jackets, and strip down, leaving only your lace panties. You’d slip on the jacket, its warmth enveloping you as you lay in his bed, waiting for his return.

There were nights when you stayed under the guise of “extra work,” but the truth was far more intimate. It was for him. To let him relieve the weight of the day. His body, slick with sweat, would press into yours, his rough hands guiding your hips, his thick shaft stretching you inch by inch. His breath would be hot against your skin, his grunts low and primal. In those moments, you weren’t just the maid. You were his release. His perfect girl.

His perfect maid.

It was a cold December evening, the kind where the chill seeped into your bones and lingered. The sun had already begun its descent, casting a golden hue over the Santa Ynez mountains, leaving long, jagged shadows over Neverland Ranch. The ranch, typically bustling with life, had quieted as staff members trickled out, their shifts coming to an end. You were alone in the living room, methodically cleaning the delicate piano, carefully wiping down the statues and cartoon collectibles that littered the house—a constant reminder of Mr. Jackson’s childlike spirit. It was odd, the juxtaposition between these innocent trinkets and the man himself, a man who could shift from gentle to commanding in the blink of an eye.

Mr. Jackson had spent the entire day locked in his room, resting. None of you questioned it; there were often days where he’d disappear for hours or even days on end. Sometimes, he was at the studio or abroad, and other times he’d remain behind closed doors, dealing with matters only he knew. His presence, though felt, was scarce—a distant but ever-watchful figure.

The large, ornate clock on the wall chimed softly, signaling that it was seven o’clock. The final staff member was meant to leave by now, but you had been anticipating staying longer, as you usually did. Most nights, Mr. Jackson preferred you to linger after everyone else had gone, though today, he hadn’t said a word. It was Monday, after all—his day of silence.

“Hey,” a voice broke the stillness. Mary, one of the other maids, walked up to you, her footsteps echoing in the quiet. “Mind walking me out?”

You placed the duster down on the piano bench, stretching your arms out. “Yeah, I don’t mind.” The two of you walked out of the living room, the sharp click of your heels on the hardwood floor breaking the eerie quiet. As you approached the front door, your eyes darted to the hallway to your left, where those massive double doors to Mr. Jackson’s bedroom stood ominously. For a moment, you hesitated, staring at them, wondering what lay behind them tonight. You quickly looked away before Mary could notice.

“What time do you leave?” she asked casually. “You’re always the last one here.”

You shrugged, pretending nonchalance. “To be honest, I don’t know. Mr. Jackson always lets me know when it’s time to go. Most nights, I don’t leave until nine.” You lied, slipping the words out easily, masking the truth behind the routine.

“Nine?” she repeated, her eyes widening in surprise as she pulled her coat on. “What on earth does he have you doing? Cleaning out the fireplaces?” she teased, but her curiosity was evident.

You shook your head, keeping your expression neutral. “I just do what I can. I need the extra money.” Another lie, but one you had perfected over the years.

Mary chuckled softly, her tone light but laced with something more. “Sure, it’s nothing else? I’ve seen the way Mr. Jackson looks at you, especially on Mondays.”

You shrugged again, feigning indifference. “I don’t know, and I don’t care. I’m just here to work and earn my check, that’s all.” You paused, your voice lowering slightly. “And didn’t he tell us not to gossip about him? You know he hears everything.”

Mary’s eyes widened, and she nodded, suddenly nervous. “You’re right. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow. Be safe getting home,” she said as she hurried out the door.

“You too,” you called after her, watching as she disappeared down the front steps and into the night. Once she was out of sight, you let out a heavy sigh, closing the door behind you with a soft click. The lock turned with a firm snap, the sound echoing in the now-empty house.

You barely had a moment to breathe before you turned and froze. Standing directly in front of you, as if he had materialized from the shadows, was Mr. Jackson. Dressed in all black, from the tailored button up to the perfectly pressed pants, his presence was both startling and magnetic. His curly hair was pulled back into a low bun, framing his face, while his reading glasses sat perched on the bridge of his nose, catching the dim light. But it was his gold chain that caught your eye, glinting softly against his dark attire.

He had moved so silently, you hadn’t heard a single footstep. His eyes, dark and unreadable, locked onto yours, and for a moment, the air between you felt thick, electric. He didn’t speak—of course, it was Monday—but his gaze spoke volumes, a silent command that made your pulse quicken. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you took him in, every inch of his form radiating an intensity that set your nerves alight.

He didn’t need words to communicate what he wanted. You had always known, from the subtle way he moved to the intensity of his gaze. His body spoke a language only you could understand, a language of desire, control, and need.

Slowly, he extended his hand toward you, his large palm a commanding presence. That hand had become your anchor, the connection between you two—physical, emotional, and everything in between. The mere sight of it sent a jolt through your body, a surge of anticipation that left your skin tingling. When your hand slipped into his, you felt the familiar softness of his skin, the velvety texture against your fingertips. His touch was always electric, like a live wire crackling beneath your skin. Over the years, you had watched the pigment of his skin fade with his vitiligo, but it had never changed the way you felt about him. If anything, it made him more beautiful in your eyes—his fragility matched with a quiet strength that captivated you entirely.

In a smooth motion, he reached for the light switch, plunging the room into darkness. The living room and front entrance dissolved into shadows, but the absence of light only heightened your awareness of him—his presence was all-consuming. Together, you moved down the long hallway toward his bedroom, the sound of your heels clicking against the polished hardwood in sync with the soft shuffle of his sleek penny loafers. Every step brought you closer to what you both knew was inevitable, the tension thick between you.

When you reached the door to his bedroom, he pushed it open with deliberate force, pulling you inside as the door clicked shut behind you. The room was warm, illuminated by the soft flicker of flames in the fireplace, casting golden shadows that danced along the walls. His record player spun slowly in the corner, a sensual jazz melody filling the space with its slow, hypnotic rhythm. The music wasn’t loud; it played like a soft whisper, adding to the intimacy of the room.

Michael stood there, watching you—no, devouring you with his eyes. His gaze was sharp, cutting, as though he could see straight through you to the core of who you were. He always looked at you like this, with a focus that made you feel like the only person in the world, like you were the center of his universe. His stare held you captive, your breath catching in your throat. It was a gaze you could never escape, and you didn’t want to. You thrived under his attention, knowing it was yours and yours alone.

“What?” you whispered, your voice soft, sultry, the tone meant only for him. Your lips curled slightly into a teasing smile as you stepped closer, closing the small distance between your bodies. You grabbed his other hand, holding it gently in yours, feeling the strength in his fingers. His silence was deliberate. It was Monday, and he never broke his rule of silence on these days. But you knew the second the clock struck midnight, he’d unleash everything he held back, his words flowing freely as he spoke with a passion that matched his intensity.

Releasing his hands, you reached up, placing your palms on his broad shoulders, feeling the firm muscles beneath the smooth fabric of his black button-up. The material was soft but did nothing to hide the tension in his body, the coiled energy waiting to be released. Your thumbs brushed over the cool metal of his gold chain, a glint of it catching the firelight as your hands slid higher, skimming up the column of his neck. His skin was warm beneath your fingers, the pulse in his throat strong, steady. You felt the slight rasp of stubble beneath your thumb as it grazed his Adam’s apple, and he tilted his head back ever so slightly, surrendering to your touch.

He loved this—loved the way your hands felt against him, the way you touched him with such care and reverence. You could see it in the way his breath hitched, in the way his body leaned into yours, giving in to the sensation. His silence wasn’t cold; it was deliberate, a game of restraint. But even in his quiet, his need for you was undeniable, the weight of it heavy in the air.

His gaze never left yours, those dark eyes smoldering with a quiet hunger that mirrored the fire building inside of you. It was like a pressure rising between you, a tension so thick it felt like it might snap at any moment. He didn’t need words. His body, every subtle movement, every breath, spoke volumes. His desires were laid bare in the way his chest rose and fell a little quicker, the way his hands lingered just a second longer against your skin.

His hand moved with deliberate slowness, sliding to your hips, pulling you closer until your bodies were pressed together, chest to chest. The heat of his skin seeped through his shirt, the firmness of his muscles beneath making your pulse quicken. Why did he always make you feel like this? That sweet, overwhelming sensation, hot and bothered in the most exquisite way. His presence alone was enough to unravel you, and he knew it.

Your hands slid from his neck, fingertips brushing along his throat, tracing the line of his collarbone as you began to undo the buttons of his black shirt. One by one, the fabric parted under your touch, exposing more of him to you. Your eyes never left his as you worked, and in return, his gaze stayed fixed on you, watching every move you made with a kind of silent anticipation. As you undid the buttons, his other hand came up to your face, cradling your cheek with a tenderness that belied the tension in the room. His thumb traced the line of your bottom lip, tugging it down gently, his touch so light it sent a shiver down your spine.

Instinctively, your lips parted, and he slipped his thumb into your mouth. The soft pad of his thumb pressed against your tongue, and you began to suck slowly, your eyes locked on his the whole time. The way he licked his lips as he watched you made your stomach flip, that familiar look of control in his eyes. You already knew what he was thinking. “You love sucking on anything I give you,” he would have said, and he wouldn’t be wrong. There was something so intoxicating about this exchange, the way he gave and you took, the way it bound you to him.

You rolled your tongue slowly around his thumb, savoring the sensation, the warmth of him against your lips. The only sound between you was the soft, wet noise of your mouth working around his finger, teasing him. His thumb grazed against your teeth, and you took more of it in, sucking just a little harder, daring him to respond. But Michael was never one to be undone by teasing. His teasing was designed to push you right to the edge, to make you crumble under the weight of it.

Slowly, he withdrew his thumb from your mouth, the tip glistening as he brushed it over your lips, leaving them wet and parted. You could feel your breath coming quicker now, the anticipation thick between you.

Without a word, you pushed him gently, backing him up against the door. The thud of his body against the wood was soft, but it felt final, like you’d crossed an invisible line. You finished unbuttoning his shirt, exposing the toned planes of his chest, your fingers tracing the patterns of vitiligo that dotted his skin. It was beautiful, the way the light from the fire cast shadows over his bare torso, highlighting every dip and curve, every patch of pale skin that marked him. He shrugged off the shirt and tossed it aside, his chest now fully on display, and your hands moved without thinking, exploring him, touching him.

His hand came up, tilting your chin, forcing you to look up at him. His eyes bored into yours, dark and full of intent. You felt your heart hammering in your chest, the anticipation coiling tighter. “Yes, sir?” you whispered, your voice barely audible, thick with need.

He didn’t answer, at least not with words. Instead, he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that started slow, but quickly became something more—something raw, something desperate. His lips were soft, but his kiss was anything but. It was aggressive, his tongue pushing into your mouth, fighting for dominance. There was nothing gentle in the way he kissed you now, his need overpowering, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you even closer.

His lips tasted sweet, familiar, like they belonged on yours, but the way his tongue moved… God, he knew exactly what he was doing. Every kiss felt deliberate, like a claim. In this moment, he didn’t just have you—he owned you. Your body melted into him, surrendering completely, every nerve electrified by the fire he was fanning inside you. His tongue tangled with yours, each kiss growing sloppy, heated, as both of you gave in to the spiraling desire. You could feel the sharp graze of his teeth against your lower lip, the hot, ragged breath from his lungs mingling with yours, intoxicating you even more. The way he took control—his hands, his mouth, the way his body pressed into yours—it consumed you.

He didn’t waste time as he pushed off the door, each step deliberate, forcing you to move back with him, his hold never loosening. His large hands gripped you tighter, guiding you backward until your body hit the cold wall beside his bed. The contrast between the chilled surface and the heat of him pressing into you made you gasp. His lips didn’t falter, trailing down from your mouth, leaving wet, possessive kisses along your jaw. His teeth scraped against your skin as he sucked harder, pulling a breathless whisper from your lips.

“Harder…” you breathed, barely able to form the word as the need for his rough touch consumed you. You craved the edge of him, the rawness he always gave you, that controlled chaos that left you breathless and aching.

Without hesitation, his hand shot up, wrapping around your throat, his grip firm but not painful. The sensation made you shiver, your pulse pounding beneath his thumb as his other hand held you in place. His lips moved with an animalistic hunger, kissing, sucking, marking you as his. Each kiss sent waves of heat through your body, his lips hot and wet against your jaw and then down to the tender spot behind your ear. His breath was heavy, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he kissed and sucked at your skin, sending sparks down your spine.

“Fuck yes…” you moaned, your head tilting back, giving him full access as his lips latched onto your earlobe, sucking it into his mouth. His thumb pressed just a bit harder against your pulse point, making your heartbeat race beneath his fingers. The feeling of him choking you while sucking on your neck made your knees go weak, your legs trembling as he pressed his body harder into yours.

He didn’t speak a word—of course he wouldn’t. Not tonight. You knew his rule, and no matter how intense things got, he wouldn’t break it for anything, not even for the fiery hunger between you. His silence only heightened everything, making each breath, each moan, louder in the quiet, darkened room.

He pressed himself into you harder, letting you feel all of him, his body hot and ready against yours. The pressure of him, the heat radiating from his skin, made your body ache with need. You knew he could keep this up all night, teasing you with the promise of more but never quite giving it to you. His lips trailed lower, finding your neck, kissing and sucking harder, leaving dark marks in his wake. Every touch sent shivers through you, your body reacting to every move he made.

You reached out, your hands blindly gripping at the wall behind you, trying to find something to hold onto, but the way he was working your body made it impossible to focus. Your mind began to drift, memories flooding back of the time in his library, how effortlessly he had taken you. You had been cleaning, completely unaware of him watching you until his hands were on you. He had lifted your skirt like it meant nothing, pulled your panties to the side, and without a word, had slipped inside you. The memory made you shudder.

His hand had been wrapped tight in your hair, pulling your head back, making you arch into him as he pounded into you without mercy. His other hand had clamped over your mouth, silencing your cries because there were others in the house, just a room away. The filthy, vulgar words that had spilled from his lips that day still echoed in your mind.

“You’re my pretty little slut,” he had whispered in your ear, his voice thick with lust, every word dripping with possessiveness. “Taking me so fucking well… You’re perfect.”

His words had burned through you like wildfire, each filthy praise igniting something deep inside, making you feel like you were unraveling under his touch. “Such a good girl, taking all of me… every inch.” The memory echoed in your mind, and it still made your skin flush. He had been relentless—thick, almost too big for someone with his slender frame—and yet, he filled you like he was carved for you alone. The way he stretched you, claimed you, made your legs tremble as if you were on the brink of collapse.

Even now, as his lips trailed down your neck, each kiss a slow, teasing reminder of that day, you could feel the lingering ghost of how perfect it had felt. Too perfect, like he’d broken something inside you and left you craving him in ways you couldn’t understand.

His lips hovered just above your collarbone, his hot breath washing over your skin. He paused, his grip tightening ever so slightly around your throat, sending a sharp thrill through your body. His fingers dug into your pulse, making your heart pound harder as he leaned in close, his mouth brushing your ear. “You thinkin’ about the library?” His voice was low, rough, a taunt that made your stomach coil with need.

You whimpered, barely able to catch your breath. Your nails dug into the wall behind you, scraping against the cool surface, trying to ground yourself. Your hips pressed into him instinctively, seeking more of that intoxicating heat. “How could I not?” you whispered, your voice a trembling confession.

His dark eyes flashed with something primal, the corner of his lips curling into a knowing smirk as he pressed his body harder against yours. You could feel every hard inch of him, throbbing through the thin fabric between you. “I remember it like it was yesterday,” he growled, his lips grazing your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “You looked so good bent over for me. Took me like you were made for it.”

A shudder rippled through you at his words, your body reacting without thought. Heat pooled low in your belly, your knees weakening beneath the weight of his body pressed into yours. “Michael…” you whimpered, barely able to form his name as the room seemed to blur around you.

His grip on your throat tightened just enough to make you dizzy, the pressure sending a rush of blood to your head. He chuckled, a dark sound that vibrated against your skin, and then his lips trailed lower, kissing down to your collarbone. His tongue flicked out, tasting your skin, the heat of it making you gasp. “You love it when I talk dirty to you, don’t you?” he whispered, his voice a low growl that sent shockwaves of arousal coursing through you.

All you could manage was a shaky nod, your breath catching in your throat as his lips continued their assault on your neck. Each kiss, each bite, each flick of his tongue felt like a brand, marking you as his, consuming you until there was nothing left but the burning desire he had stoked inside you.

“Good,” he murmured, his teeth grazing your skin, tugging just enough to make you whimper. His hand loosened around your throat as he pulled back, his eyes locking onto yours, dark and intense. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing, but your heart was pounding in your chest. You met his gaze, your voice barely a whisper as you spoke, “You broke your rule…”

His brow arched slightly, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Rules are meant to be broken.” He shrugged casually, but there was a glint in his eye as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your lips. “Why? Do you prefer me quiet while I’m fucking you? Hmm? Is that what you want, doll?” His grip on your throat tightened once again, just enough to make you gasp.

He moved even closer, his lips brushing against yours but not quite kissing you, teasing. “Or do you want to hear me praise you? Tell you how good you are for me, how tight you are around my dick? Tell you how fucking pretty your moans sound when I’m deep inside you?”

Your lip quivered as you tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. Your eyes locked onto his, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps as the intensity of his gaze held you captive.

“Speak, slut,” he growled, his voice low and commanding as his hand tightened around your neck, choking you just a little harder. The pressure made your head spin, but it was his roughness, his dominance, that made your body tremble with desire. You whimpered softly, trying to hold back the overwhelming wave of arousal that was threatening to drown you, but God, the way he handled you… it was too much, too good.

“What do you want, doll?” he purred, his voice a teasing whisper as his lips hovered just above yours. “Want me to speak? Or do you want me to shut my mouth? Say yes, and I won’t hold back.”

The weight of his words sent a shiver down your spine, and despite the fire in your belly, you barely managed to breathe out, “Yes.”

A slow, wicked smile spread across his face as he leaned in, his lips brushing yours, but you cut him off, your voice trembling. “Don’t talk,” you whispered, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to steady yourself. “Just… don’t talk.”

The command came out soft, but firm, and for a moment, his eyes darkened with something deeper—something more dangerous. He didn’t need words, didn’t need to speak. You loved his voice, the way it could make your pulse quicken with just a few whispered words, but when he was silent, when he let his body do the talking… that’s when he truly unraveled you.

His smirk deepened into something more primal, the hunger in his eyes unmistakable as he leaned in closer. His breath mingled with yours, hot and heavy, making your lips tingle with anticipation. His gaze was intense, those dark eyes speaking volumes without a word, and the weight of his presence pressed against you like a slow, suffocating heat. The way he looked at you—possessive, commanding—made your stomach flip and your knees weak, as though you were already drowning in him before he even touched you.

His hands found your shoulders, firm yet gentle as he guided you downward. Your body obeyed him effortlessly, sinking to your knees before him. You knelt there, your eyes never leaving his, captivated by the piercing look he gave you through his reading glasses, the subtle glint of control lurking beneath them. The sight of him towering over you, his chest rising and falling in slow, deliberate breaths, made your pulse quicken, and the air between you crackled with tension.

Slowly, your gaze dropped, following the lines of his body as you drank in every inch of him. The rough texture of his black jeans beneath your fingertips sent a thrill through you as your hands traveled up his thighs, feeling the firmness of his muscles, sculpted from years of dancing. As your fingers found the waistband, the heat between your legs grew unbearable. You worked with eager hands, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans with a deftness that came from both familiarity and desperation.

He remained silent, his fingers lazily threading through your hair as he watched you, his chest heaving slightly in anticipation. The tension was palpable, the heat in his gaze making you ache even more for him. When you pulled his jeans down, revealing his toned, muscled thighs, you let out a soft, barely audible sigh. His dancer’s legs were strong, defined, and utterly perfect, and you could feel your mouth going dry as you stared at him. I’ll never get tired of this, you thought to yourself, lost in the moment as he stepped out of his loafers and kicked his jeans aside.

Now he stood before you in just his briefs, and your breath caught in your throat. The outline of his arousal strained against the white fabric, impossibly thick and big, so evident that it sent a shudder through you. You bit your lip, unable to hold back the surge of excitement that shot through your body. The sight of him like this, raw and ready, was overwhelming, the desire burning inside you becoming almost unbearable.

Slowly, deliberately, you gripped the waistband of his briefs, pulling them down with agonizing slowness. His length was revealed inch by inch, thick and heavy, his shaft springing free as you lowered the fabric down his legs. He was magnificent, and the sight of him made your core throb with need. His length was adorned with the beautiful patchwork of his vitiligo, the blend of brown, pink, and white skin a testament to his uniqueness, and it only made you want him more.

You couldn’t help but murmur, “Look at that,” your voice dripping with admiration and lust as you stared up at him, your gaze flicking between his face and the sight of his arousal. The heat between your legs grew even more intense, your own need becoming almost painful as you took in the beauty of him.

Your hand reached out, trembling slightly with desire as you gently wrapped it around his shaft. Even with your fingers spread wide, you couldn’t fully wrap your hand around him—he was too thick, and it sent a rush of arousal through you that made you shiver. “So thick,” you whispered in awe, your voice barely audible as you began to stroke him slowly, feeling the weight of him in your hand. His foreskin moved with each stroke, sliding back to reveal the flushed pink tip, glistening with precum, the sight of it making your mouth water in anticipation.

You looked up at him again, meeting his gaze, the intensity in his eyes burning through you. You couldn’t wait to taste him, to feel him inside your mouth, every inch of his thickness filling you. Your lips parted slightly as you leaned in closer, the scent of him invading your senses, and your body ached for him, ready to give in to the hunger that had been building inside you from the moment he touched you.

You took your time, savoring every ridge and vein along his length as you stroked him, feeling the weight and heat of him in your hand. Your touch was slow and teasing, drawing out the tension between you both, letting it simmer just beneath the surface. His body responded to every flick of your wrist, every light squeeze, and the way his breath hitched sent shivers down your spine. You wanted him—every inch of him—and you knew he was more than willing to take you there, to push you past the brink until you were begging for him.

But you were in control, at least for now.

With a slow, deliberate movement, you flicked your tongue out, grazing the head of his length, tasting the salty tang of his precum mixed with a sweetness that made you hum with satisfaction. “Taste so good,” you murmured with a mischievous smile, your lips curving as you looked up at him, watching the way his jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing in that familiar, primal way.

He didn’t respond, not verbally, but his silence only added to the intensity. His gaze was unreadable, but his fingers tightening in your hair told you everything. He was close to losing control, and that excited you even more.

You pressed your lips against his tip again, feeling the sticky wetness of his precum cling to your lips with each kiss, your tongue tracing the line where the head met his shaft, flicking over the sensitive underside with a teasing slowness. His body trembled in response, the muscles in his thighs tightening as you continued to taunt him with each delicate touch.

“You like that, don’t you?” you whispered, your voice sultry and low as you ran your tongue along the underside of his length, letting it glide down to his sack, teasing him there before trailing back up again.

His answer came in the form of a firm hand pushing your head down, guiding you to take him deeper. You didn’t resist, instead relishing the control he exerted as your tongue continued to trace his length, teasing the sensitive spots along his shaft. You felt his whole body shudder when your tongue swept over his sack, and you knew you had him right where you wanted him.

He let out a heavy breath, his chest rising and falling more rapidly as you took the head of his length into your mouth, sucking slowly, teasingly, just enough to drive him wild. His fingers tightened even more in your hair, pulling slightly as you swirled your tongue around his tip, your eyes meeting his. Those dark, intense eyes bore down into yours, and there was nothing innocent about the way you stared back at him, wide-eyed and full of lust.

You began to bob your head, your lips stretched tight around him as you took him in halfway, your tongue pressing against the underside of his shaft. You could feel the way his veins pulsed against your lips, every inch of him filling your mouth as you moved, slow and deliberate, drawing out his pleasure with each stroke. His body tensed, his breathing growing ragged as you worked him, your lips sliding along the slick, spotted skin of his length.

Then, with a swift motion, he backed you up into the wall, his control snapping as he took over. His hips began to thrust, slow at first, his length sliding in and out of your mouth with a smooth rhythm. You could taste him more now, the salty sweetness coating your tongue as his length filled your mouth with each thrust, the sensation overwhelming your senses.

He straightened, his body hovering over you, his mouth slightly open as he let out a low groan, his hand cupping the back of your head. His saliva dripped onto his shaft, slicking it as he thrust deeper, pushing himself further into your mouth. The taste of him, the weight of him, it all sent a fire coursing through your veins, the heat pooling low in your belly as you moaned around his length, the vibrations from your throat driving him wild.

His breathing became heavier, his chest heaving as he watched you, his eyes dark with desire. His hand pressed harder against your forehead, holding you in place as his hips rocked forward, pushing himself deeper into your mouth, each thrust sending a new wave of arousal coursing through you. The slick sounds of your mouth working him filled the room, mixing with his low, guttural groans.

You reached beneath your dress, slipping your hand into your lace panties, your fingers finding your swollen folds. You were soaked, your body responding to every thrust, every sound, every look he gave you. Your fingers brushed over your clit, and you moaned around his length, the vibrations making him groan even louder.

His eyes flicked down, watching as you pleasured yourself, his arousal spiking at the sight. He thrust harder, faster, his hand tightening its grip on your head as he drove himself into your mouth, pushing deeper until his length hit the back of your throat. Your eyes watered, but the sensation only heightened the pleasure, your throat tightening around him as he held you there, his length throbbing against your lips.

He gave you short, fast thrusts, each one sending your head back against the wall as he fucked your mouth with abandon. The wet, slick sounds of your mouth around him, the thick saliva dripping down his shaft and onto the hardwood floor, only seemed to drive him further. He was relentless now, his other hand gripping the back of your head, forcing you to take him deeper, harder, your gag reflex barely holding as you moaned and choked around him.

You couldn’t stop yourself, your fingers working faster between your legs as his pace quickened, your moans and gags mixing with the sound of his thrusts. You were so close, so close to unraveling beneath him as he used your mouth, the roughness of it pushing you closer to the edge. And God, the way he looked at you, his eyes locked on yours, the primal hunger in them making you want to give him everything.

Your fingers pressed harder against your clit, each circle driving you closer to that edge, your body trembling with anticipation. His length still filled your mouth, every inch of him sliding in and out with the raw intensity of his thrusts. You could feel the heat building, an overwhelming pressure growing in your core, ready to explode.

His movements became more primal, each thrust harder, your head thumping against the wall until his hand moved swiftly to cradle your head. A strange tenderness amidst the storm. But there was nothing gentle about the way he moved his hips, his groans growing louder, deep and guttural, as he pounded relentlessly into your mouth. The soft jazz in the background was barely audible now over the wet sounds of your mouth and his deep, ragged breaths.

With each thrust, his base brushed firmly against your lips, the roughness of his stubble teasing the delicate skin of your mouth. His sack, heavy and full, slapped rhythmically against your chin, over and over, wet with your spit, the mixture dripping down, pooling onto his loafers in a mess that neither of you cared about. You could feel him twitch, the hard, pulsing length of him filling every inch of your throat, making you gag slightly. He was close, you could see it in his eyes—darker now, wild with lust, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, biting down hard.

His hand moved to your neck, wrapping around it possessively, and you could feel his length bulging beneath your skin as it slid in and out of your throat. He grunted, his voice deep and raw, throwing his head back in a moment of pure pleasure. His breathing became more labored, each thrust more intense, your tongue sliding along the underside of his shaft, feeling every ridge, every pulse.

The heat in your belly intensified, your fingers working furiously over your clit now, circling faster, slick with your own arousal as you teetered on the brink. You were so close, the pleasure nearly unbearable, your legs shaking, your breath coming in shallow gasps around his length . And then, just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, Michael pulled out, his shaft wet and throbbing, and slapped it hard against your cheek.

The sound echoed through the room, sharp, followed by the sensation of him ramming himself back inside your mouth, thrusting with renewed force, his face contorting as he chased his release. You whimpered around his length, feeling the thick tension in the air as your fingers continued to work your clit, each movement sending you spiraling closer.

Your toes curled in your heels, your brows furrowing as your entire body tightened with the building pleasure. His length twitched again, and you knew he was on the edge, his face a mask of raw need, his hand tightening in your hair as he grunted deeply. And then it happened—he groaned, a long, drawn-out sound, and you felt the first hot spurt of his release, his thick, salty seed filling your mouth.

He kept thrusting, slow now but deep, each pulse sending more of his warmth spilling over your tongue. The sensation pushed you over the edge, and you moaned deeply around him, your own release hitting you hard as your fingers worked your clit in desperate circles. Your entire body trembled as you came, your thighs shaking, your folds swollen and slick with your release.

His seed spilled from your mouth, thick and warm, dripping down your chin and onto your dress, mixing with the mess already made. You swallowed what you could, the rest running down your lips as Michael groaned, his gaze locked on yours. He watched every moment, his eyes dark and hungry, taking in the sight of you—your fingers glistening with your release, your lips swollen and wet, your chest rising and falling in heavy breaths.

Slowly, he pulled out, his length even harder than before, standing tall as he caught his breath. He looked down at you, his chest heaving, his eyes filled with satisfaction, but that primal hunger still lingered. His thick, salty release coated your mouth, your body still buzzing with the aftermath of your orgasm. You swallowed again, your throat sore from the roughness of it, and yet you craved more.

Michael’s seed filled your mouth, warm and thick, coating your throat and tongue. You swallowed what you could, but you knew it wouldn’t be enough to stop the slow trickle that would follow, the evidence of his dominance leaking from your body long after he was done. The mere thought of it had your thighs pressing together, your body trembling with need, craving more even as his taste lingered on your lips.

He looked down at you, still kneeling before him, a wicked gleam in his eyes as his hand reached out and wrapped firmly around your throat. His grip was possessive, fingers digging into your skin with a pressure that made your pulse quicken, your breath hitching. You loved the way he could control you with a single touch, the roughness of his dominance always leaving you on edge, desperate for more. A sly grin spread across his face as he pulled you closer, forcing your lips back to his.

The kiss was punishing, deep and rough, his mouth claiming yours with a force that left you breathless. You could taste the remnants of him on your lips, his seed still warm as it mixed with the wet heat of his tongue. His grip tightened on your throat, cutting off just enough air to make you dizzy, your moans vibrating against his mouth as he devoured you completely. Every kiss was a reminder that you were his, that he could do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. And you loved it. The intensity of his control only made you crave him more.

When he finally pulled away, leaving both of you panting, his eyes locked onto yours. The dark, commanding look in them told you everything you needed to know—he wasn’t finished with you yet. You knew what he expected, what he always wanted. Without a word, you stood up and began to strip out of your dress, your fingers trembling slightly as you pulled the fabric over your head and let it fall in a pool at your feet. You stood there, bare except for your heels, the black lace of your panties and bra the only thing left between his gaze and your skin.

He took a moment to admire the sight before him, his eyes roaming hungrily over every inch of your exposed body. Then, with a sudden, forceful movement, he turned you around and bent you over the edge of his bed, your hands gripping the sheets for balance. The anticipation was almost unbearable as you heard the drawer of the nightstand open, the familiar sound of it sending a shiver down your spine. You knew exactly what he was reaching for.

The wooden paddle, reserved for nights like this when he wanted to make sure you felt everything, was cool as he dragged it slowly down your back, teasing you with the promise of what was to come. He took his time, letting the paddle trace the curves of your ass, down to your thighs, and then back up again, the anticipation building with every second.

And then, without warning, he brought it down hard against your ass, the sharp smack reverberating through the room as your skin instantly stung with the force of the blow. “Fuck,” you gasped, your body jolting forward from the impact, the pain mixing with a surge of pleasure that left you breathless.

His chuckle was low, dark, as he lifted the paddle again, bringing it down even harder this time. The crack of it against your flesh made you moan, your head dropping into the covers as your body responded to his punishment with a heat that spread through your core. “Oh god,” you whimpered, your voice muffled as the sting from the paddle intensified, your ass burning with the delicious pain he was inflicting.

He didn’t stop there, though. His eyes were focused, watching your every reaction, the way your body trembled and arched for him, the way you couldn’t help but push your hips back, silently begging for more. The paddle slid down again, this time over the slick, swollen folds between your legs, teasing your already throbbing clit with its hard surface.

You moaned loudly, unable to control the sounds that escaped you as the wood dragged over your wetness, the sensation almost too much to bear.

He lifted the paddle and brought it down on your folds, the sharp smack sending a jolt of pleasure-pain straight through you, your body arching off the bed as you cried out into the sheets. The sting was intense, but the way it mixed with the throbbing between your legs only made you want him more.

He didn’t say much, but he didn’t need to. His silence spoke volumes, the way he handled you, the way he controlled every inch of your body, leaving no doubt in your mind who was in charge. And you loved it. You loved the way he dominated you, the way he pushed you to the edge over and over again, making you crave his roughness, his intensity.

The paddle came down with brutal precision, the impact sending shockwaves through your trembling body, pleasure and pain mingling into an intoxicating sensation that threatened to undo you. Each smack left your skin ablaze, the sting intensifying as your folds grew wetter, slick with arousal. You moaned, breathless, the sound escaping your lips as a broken, desperate plea.

“Mr. Jackson,” you gasped, your voice muffled by the sheets, barely able to hold back the raw pleasure coursing through you.

He smirked at the sound of his name on your lips, the power it gave him over you. Without a word, he threw the paddle to the floor, the wooden thud echoing in the room. His hand traced up your spine, teasing and possessive, each stroke sending shivers down your body. With a quick, practiced flick, he unclasped your bra, letting it fall away, leaving you exposed to him. His fingers slid through your hair, wrapping it tightly around his hand before pulling you upright, forcing your back into a perfect arch as your body submitted to his control.

Tears of pleasure welled in your eyes, a soft smile playing on your lips despite the intensity of it all. You knew exactly what he wanted, what he always took from you in these moments. Your mouth opened for him, willing, waiting. His other hand came to your face, gripping your jaw with a firm, almost possessive hold as he let a thick drop of saliva fall from his lips into your open mouth. His gaze was dark, intense, as he watched you obediently swallow.

“I love it when you do that,” you murmured, your voice soft yet laced with mischief as you leaned closer, teasing your tongue against his lips. Your breath mingled with his, the air between you charged as his lips parted in response. You took the opportunity to spit playfully into his mouth, the action bold and unapologetic, knowing he loved it just as much. But before you could pull back, he grabbed you by the neck, pulling you into a deep, messy kiss, both of you sharing in the heat, the saliva mixing between your tongues as the kiss grew rougher, more desperate.

Michael was no longer the shy man most knew him to be. Here, in the bedroom, he dropped the pretense, revealing the dominant, demanding lover he truly was. He spat into your mouth again, watching with dark satisfaction as you swallowed, the act primal, a testament to how fully you belonged to him in these moments. When you pulled away, a thick strand of saliva connected your lips to his, a physical reminder of the mess you both loved to make together. You flicked your tongue out, breaking the string with a teasing smirk.

He chuckled, a low, deep sound that sent another wave of heat rushing through you. Without warning, he pushed you back onto the bed, forcing you onto all fours as you quickly positioned yourself. Your eyes flicked to the clock—eleven p.m. Only an hour until he could finally speak, though he had already broken his rule for you tonight.

You felt the sudden tug at your panties, the fabric stretching before tearing completely as he ripped them from your body, leaving you bare except for the heels that still adorned your feet. You glanced back at him, a smirk dancing on your lips. “Someone’s been angry,” you teased, but the playful glint in your eyes quickly faded as his palm came down hard on your ass, the sharp smack making you bite your lip to stifle a moan.

He arched your back with one firm press of his hand against the small of it, his control absolute as he pushed you into the perfect position. He loved you like this—open, vulnerable, completely at his mercy. Even though he knew every inch of your body, knew how tight and wet you would be for him, every time he entered you, it was a struggle for your walls to accommodate his thick length, the way he stretched you inch by inch. His length , spotted with vitiligo, was a beautiful contradiction—soft in appearance yet unforgiving in size, a sight you had never grown tired of after all these years.

With one hand gripping your waist, he guided his length to your entrance, teasing you with the head of it, slicking himself with the wetness already dripping from you. The sensation of him pressing against you, the tip just barely entering, was maddening. Your breath hitched as you pushed back slightly, desperate for more, but he held you in place, not letting you take him fully just yet.

“Michael,” you whimpered, your voice strained with need, every nerve in your body screaming for him to give in, to fuck you the way you craved.

Michael’s smirk deepened as he watched your body struggle to accommodate his thickness, taking a sadistic pleasure in how slow and agonizing it was for you. His length slid in inch by inch, every vein and ridge pressing against your sensitive walls, stretching you to your limit. The tension between pain and pleasure electrified the air, your gasp barely escaping your lips as he bottomed out, hips pressed firmly against your backside. You could feel every throb, every twitch as he filled you completely.

“You’re so deep,” you moaned, voice trembling as you tried to adjust, the fullness almost unbearable. His hips moved with deliberate slowness, drawing back only to thrust forward again with a steady, torturous rhythm. His grip on your hips tightened, fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to leave marks. He watched intently, eyes fixed on the sight of his length disappearing into you, mesmerized by how your body stretched to take him.

With a low, guttural groan, he spat onto his length, adding more slickness as he continued to thrust, his movements becoming more fluid, more demanding. You glanced back at him, catching the glint in his eyes behind his reading glasses—those piercing eyes that made you feel even more powerless beneath him. He smirked as he pushed your head down roughly into the mattress, forcing your back into a deeper arch, making you open wider for him.

Then he shifted, lifting his left leg onto the bed for better leverage, driving himself into you from a new angle. His hands roamed possessively over your sides, squeezing and gripping in all the right places. His length gleamed with your arousal, highlighting the contours of every thick vein and pigment. You could hear the obscene sounds of your slickness with every deep thrust, his pace quickening as he pushed deeper, his growls rumbling from deep within his chest. The sensation of him filling you completely, over and over, was overwhelming, your body shaking with each rough stroke.

Needing more, you instinctively began to push back against him, trying to take control. But Michael wasn’t having it. In an instant, he pulled out and delivered a sharp smack to your ass, the sting so intense that you gasped. Before you could catch your breath, his hand was in your hair, yanking you up. He slapped you lightly across the face, his dark eyes locking onto yours, sending a clear message—you were not in charge here. He was.

“Then fuck me,” you spat defiantly, glancing at him through lust-filled eyes, your gaze momentarily fixating on the glint of his chain.

Without a word, he grabbed you aggressively, flipping you onto your back with ease. His hands were rough as he pinned your legs back against your chest, your toes pointed helplessly as he teased your slick folds with the tip of his length, dragging it slowly, deliberately, along your entrance. The teasing lasted only a second before he slammed into you, hard and fast, knocking the air from your lungs as your body jolted with the force of it.

“Oh god!” you cried out, your voice high and desperate as he began to pound into you with an unrelenting pace. His eyes never left you, watching intently as his length stretched you wide with each brutal thrust, the slick sounds of your arousal filling the room. You could barely breathe, barely think, the overwhelming sensation of him inside you consuming every part of your mind. You looked down, watching in awe as his thick shaft disappeared into your swollen, dripping cunt, stretching you open in a way that left you trembling.

Your moans were loud, desperate, as his thick tip grazed your cervix with every thrust, sending shockwaves through your body. Your legs quivered under his touch, your muscles weakening as the pleasure built to an unbearable intensity.

“Harder…” you whimpered, your voice barely a breath, your body craving more, needing more.

Michael’s eyes darkened, his jaw clenching as he drove into you with even more ferocity. The bed groaned beneath the brutal force of his thrusts, each one harder, more punishing than the last. The slap of your bodies echoed through the room, wet and raw, every stroke sending waves of your arousal splashing across his thighs and base. He didn’t slow down. If anything, the sound of your sobbing moans only spurred him on, the ruthless rhythm pushing you to the brink of breaking.

His length was coated in your arousal, thick and creamy, the evidence of your pleasure smeared across his length as it drove deeper, stretching you to your limits. You could feel every inch of him, the veins pulsing against your walls, the fullness so overwhelming that it sent shudders through your body. Your fingers found your clit, rubbing desperately as he fucked you harder, his hips slamming into you with a relentless force that had your back arching and your breath coming in ragged gasps.

The bed creaked beneath the weight of his thrusts, your vision blurring as he pounded into you. “Fuck, don’t stop,” you moaned, your voice hoarse, barely recognizable as you begged for more. The sight of his length disappearing inside you again and again, glistening with your slick, drove you wild. Each thrust was rougher, deeper, like he wanted to own every inch of you.

Your fingers became slick and sticky from the creamy arousal coating them, every touch sending electric jolts through your body. But it wasn’t enough—you needed more. And Michael, with his dark, silent fury, was giving it to you. He shifted slightly, changing his angle just enough to find that perfect spot inside you. The second he hit it, your body jolted, your walls clamping down hard around him.

“Right there, oh fuck, right there,” you blurted out, head falling back as the pleasure hit like a wave crashing over you. Your body shook, every nerve screaming as he hammered into the sweet spot with ruthless precision. His length twitched inside of you, every pulse sending you closer to the edge. The burn of the stretch only heightened the intensity, making your toes curl as you clung to the bed for dear life.

Without warning, Michael’s hand shot out, releasing your ankle and gripping your throat in one swift motion. His fingers tightened, squeezing hard, cutting off your air as he thrust harder, rougher, more brutal than before. The pressure on your neck blurred your vision, stars dancing across your eyes as your head spun. But through the haze, you smiled, loving every second of it.

His hand on your throat told you everything. He didn’t need words. The way he choked you, the way his length slammed into you without mercy, said more than any words ever could. He was releasing everything, pouring his anger, his lust, his possessiveness into every brutal thrust. And you welcomed it, loving the roughness, craving the way he lost control with you.

Your walls clenched around him, throbbing as he pounded you with relentless force, your body shaking beneath him as the intensity built higher and higher. Every thrust hit deeper, stretching you further, the burning pleasure twisting into something almost unbearable. His grip on your neck tightened, and you could feel the bruising already forming, but it only drove you closer to the brink.

Your vision swam in and out of focus, each rough thrust sending shockwaves through your body. The room around you seemed to blur into nothing, the only thing you could focus on was the relentless force of Michael’s body against yours, his hands gripping you with such intensity that you could feel his frustration radiating through every inch of him. His chain, cool and biting against your heated skin, contrasted with the searing heat between you, the weight of his chest pressing down on you as he held you under him, completely at his mercy. Your hand rested on his stomach, feeling the taut muscles rippling beneath your palm as he moved inside you, the power behind every thrust sending you spiraling into oblivion.

He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was just as punishing, his lips devouring yours with a force that took your breath away, literally. His grip around your throat tightened, cutting off your air just enough to make you gasp, the thrill of it coursing through you like fire. His groans rumbled deep in his chest, vibrating against your lips as his tongue teased yours, every movement calculated, deliberate. You whimpered softly, your breaths shallow, your body trembling as he plunged in and out of you with unyielding precision.

The clock struck midnight, the sound barely audible over the wet, slapping sounds of your bodies colliding and the jazz music playing softly in the background. Michael’s lips twisted into a dark smirk as he pulled back, his eyes locked on yours, filled with a dangerous intensity. “Want me to talk now, hmm?” His voice was a low growl, dripping with smug satisfaction as he drove deeper into you, your walls stretching around his length.

You could only nod, your voice caught in your throat as he continued to pound into you, your body jerking with each powerful thrust. He loosened his grip on your throat just enough for you to suck in a desperate breath, but his hand stayed firmly in place, a constant reminder of who was in control. “Look at you,” he murmured, his voice dripping with dominance. “Look how good you’re taking me, pretty girl. So wet, so creamy.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your body reacting to his praise, your moans turning into soft, desperate pleas. “Michael, please…”

“Please what?” he mocked, his thrusts growing more brutal, each one slamming into you so hard that it left you breathless. “You want it harder?”

Without waiting for an answer, he gave it to you, his hips snapping against yours with a force that knocked the air out of your lungs. Each thrust was deeper, rougher, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the room, the bed creaking under the violent rhythm. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, desperate to feel more of him, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his body claiming yours completely.

“Take it, baby. Take all of me,” he whispered harshly, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot and ragged as he drove into you with renewed intensity.

You moaned helplessly, your nails digging into the flesh of his shoulders, holding onto him like a lifeline as the pleasure built to a fever pitch. His lips found your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin, biting down hard enough to leave marks, each one a reminder of his dominance over you. “Why do you fuck me like this?” you gasped, your head falling back, exposing more of your neck to his hungry mouth.

He growled, flicking his tongue along the side of your neck before trailing it up to your ear. “Because you’re my pretty little slut,” he murmured darkly, his voice sending a jolt straight to your core.

Your walls clenched around him, the tightness driving him even deeper, and you could feel yourself teetering on the edge, your body trembling with the need to release. But he wasn’t finished. His hand tightened around your throat once more, choking you harder as he rammed into you with brutal, unrelenting force. Each thrust shifted the bed, the headboard slamming against the wall as his pace grew more violent, driven by some unspoken fury that had him fucking you like he never had before.

The darkness in Michael’s gaze was unlike anything you had ever seen before, an almost feral edge that made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. His thrusts were savage, each one tearing a guttural moan from your throat, the force of his body slamming into yours leaving you gasping for breath. The intensity of his movements left no room for tenderness—this was raw, unfiltered need, anger poured into every powerful stroke. He wasn’t holding back, and you could feel it in the way his hips snapped forward, the thick length of him filling you with a ruthless determination that made your entire body tremble.

Sweat dripped from his forehead, sliding down his chest and mingling with yours as he leaned over you, his breath hot and uneven against your ear. “You want them all to see, don’t you?” he growled, his voice rough, edged with a dangerous kind of heat. His eyes flicked downward, watching the way his length moved in and out of you with a slick, obscene sound. “See how good I fuck you? See how you take me like you were made for it? Look at how you’re squeezing me, so damn tight.”

You could barely respond, your head spinning as the pressure coiled tighter inside you. His words made your core clench around him, the tension building to an unbearable peak. You tried to speak, to form a coherent thought, but all that escaped was a broken moan, your lips trembling as your body shook beneath him. Words weren’t possible; the overwhelming sensations, the heat, the pressure, his brutal pace—it was all too much.

Michael’s hand shot out, cupping your face roughly, forcing your eyes to lock onto his. The intensity in his dark eyes was like a physical force, pinning you in place. He was still wearing his reading glasses, the thin frames sliding down the bridge of his nose, but the fury in his gaze never faltered. His chain dangled from his neck, swinging back and forth in time with his thrusts, brushing lightly against your skin. Every movement sent a shockwave through your body, the tension in your belly burning hotter with each passing second.

“You’re drunk on this, aren’t you?” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke. His hips didn’t slow, didn’t waver—each thrust was hard, precise, pushing you closer to the edge. “So drunk on the way I fuck you, on the way I own you. You like that, don’t you?”

You whimpered, your body arching against his, the heat in your belly threatening to consume you. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you fought to hold on, the slick sound of your bodies colliding filling the air. You glanced down, unable to stop yourself from watching where you were joined, mesmerized by the sight of his length sliding in and out of you, the thickness of him stretching you, filling you completely.

“I can feel how close you are,” he groaned, his voice thick with lust. His hips never faltered, his pace relentless as he drove himself into you again and again, hitting that spot deep inside that made your vision blur. “I know you want to cum. Just let it go, baby girl. Let it all out for me.”

You were trembling now, your thighs quivering with the effort to hold on, your body teetering on the edge of oblivion. You couldn’t stop it, couldn’t hold back the wave of pleasure that was crashing through you. “Michael, I… I can’t—” Your voice broke off, your body seizing as your orgasm tore through you, violent and all-consuming.

He watched you intently, his gaze never leaving your face as you came undone beneath him, your walls clenching and pulsing around him like a vice. The room seemed to spin around you, the sound of your moans echoing in your ears as wave after wave of pleasure rippled through your body, leaving you breathless and shaking.

“Fuck,” Michael growled, his own control slipping as he felt your cunt tighten around him. His teeth gritted together, his jaw clenched as he pounded into you harder, chasing his own release. “God, you feel so damn good. So tight, so perfect.”

His thrusts grew erratic, the muscles in his arms and chest straining as he buried himself deep inside you. You could feel him swelling, twitching, his length throbbing as he neared his breaking point. A guttural groan escaped his lips as he slammed into you one final time, his entire body tensing as he spilled his hot, thick seed deep inside you.

“Shit!” he snarled, his body shaking as his orgasm hit him like a freight train. His grip on your hips tightened, holding you in place as he emptied himself into you, his release filling you, warm and thick. He didn’t move for a moment, just stayed there, buried deep inside you as his length twitched and pulsed, his breathing ragged and uneven.

Your body was spent, trembling from the intensity of the moment, but even as your legs shook and your muscles screamed in exhaustion, there was a deep, primal satisfaction in the way he filled you. The wet, sticky mess of your combined release seeped out of you, trickling down your thighs and staining the sheets beneath you. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and sex, and you could feel the steady thrum of your own heartbeat in your ears, drowning out everything else.

Michael slowly withdrew from you, his length slipping out of your slick heat with a wet sound that made you whimper. You felt empty without him, your body aching from the loss of him, but the sharp sting of your sensitivity kept you grounded. He glanced down at the mess between your legs, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he watched his seed spill from you.

Without breaking eye contact, Michael slipped out of bed, leaving you sprawled across the sheets, trembling in the aftermath of his touch. You could hear the soft sound of running water from the bathroom, the low hum of the shower creating a soothing background. The ache between your thighs served as a reminder of his power over you—of the way he’d pushed you to your limits, leaving you breathless and wanting, yet utterly satisfied.

Moments later, he returned, a damp washcloth in his hand. His expression was unreadable, his eyes dark and intent as he approached the bed. Kneeling beside you, he parted your legs, his movements slow and deliberate. The cool touch of the cloth against your heated skin made you flinch, a shiver running down your spine. Despite the tenderness of his actions, there was an unmistakable dominance in the way he took care of you—an unspoken declaration that you were his.

“Stay still, sweetheart,” he ordered, his voice low and commanding. “I need to clean you up. Don’t move.”

You swallowed, trying to steady the trembling in your limbs. “Yes, sir,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out.

His eyes held yours as his hands moved with a precision that was both gentle and possessive. He wiped away the traces of your shared pleasure, his fingers brushing over your oversensitive folds. You whimpered, your body jerking involuntarily at the contact, still so raw from the intensity of the night.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice a deep, velvety growl. “All soft and vulnerable. Just the way I like you. So fragile after I’ve had my way with you.” He paused, his lips curving into a smirk as he watched you. “But you took it all, didn’t you? My good girl.”

“Yes, sir,” you breathed, your heart pounding at his words.

His gaze darkened, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his features. He set the washcloth aside and reached for your chin, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. “Who do you belong to?” he asked, his tone firm, leaving no room for doubt.

“To you, sir,” you answered, the words slipping out without hesitation.

“That’s right.” His voice was a soft growl, possessive and undeniably sensual. He leaned down, his lips brushing against yours—a kiss that was slow and deliberate, meant to remind you exactly who was in control. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, demanding entrance, and you parted them for him willingly. The kiss deepened, his hand moving to cradle the back of your head, holding you in place as he tasted you, dominated you.

When he finally pulled away, his lips hovered just above yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You taste like surrender,” he whispered, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “My perfect girl.”

He stood, his arms slipping around you as he pulled you to your feet. Your legs felt like jelly, and he held you close, supporting your weight as he guided you toward the bathroom. The steam enveloped you as you stepped inside, the warmth of the shower wrapping around you like a blanket. Michael sat down on the shower bench, pulling you onto his lap. His arms encircled your waist, holding you against him, his chest firm against your back.

“You did well tonight,” he whispered in your ear, his voice low and intimate. “Took everything I gave you. But you know I’m not done with you, don’t you?”

A weak smile tugged at your lips as you rested back against him, your head nestled into the crook of his neck. “What set you off tonight, sir?” you asked, your voice soft, a hint of teasing there despite your exhaustion.

He sighed, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice darkening. “Lisa. She’s done. Out of my life.” His hand moved, cupping your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple. “But you need to understand something, sweetheart—what we have is not just about my anger. It’s about you and me. You belong to me. Every inch of you.”

A shiver coursed through you at his words, your breath hitching as his fingers teased your sensitive skin. “Yes, sir,” you whispered, your voice quivering with a mix of fear and excitement.

“She doesn’t know about us,” he continued, his tone dripping with possessiveness. “But it doesn’t matter. You’re mine, regardless of who knows. No one else will touch you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. Only you,” you breathed, the weight of his claim sinking into your very being.

A satisfied sound rumbled deep in his chest, his mouth trailing along the side of your neck, his lips hot against your skin. “That’s my girl. You’ve been teasing me all week, haven’t you? Trying to provoke me?” His voice was dark, dangerous, filled with a promise that made your heart pound.

You felt a sly smile tug at your lips, despite the blush creeping across your cheeks. “I wanted your attention, sir.”

Michael let out a low, dangerous chuckle. “Well, you got it,” he murmured, his fingers moving down between your legs, brushing against your core. You gasped, your body arching into him, even as the ache from earlier still lingered. “But teasing me comes at a price, sweetheart. You know that.”

“Yes, sir,” you whimpered, feeling your body responding to his touch, the heat building again despite your exhaustion.

“You’re mine,” he whispered against your ear, his voice sending shivers down your spine. “Every inch of you belongs to me, and I’m going to remind you of that every chance I get.”

“Yes, sir. I belong to you,” you whispered, your voice shaky, your heart pounding as his fingers teased you, keeping you right at the edge without letting you fall over.

He turned your face toward the warm spray of the shower, his lips brushing a kiss to your temple. “Let the heat relax you. I need you ready for me, whenever I decide it’s time again.”

You let yourself melt into his touch, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing against your back, the water cascading down, soothing the soreness in your body. His hands moved up to your hair, undoing the knots, each touch a reminder of his claim over you.

“Who knew having an affair with your boss would lead to this,” you murmured, a wry smile playing on your lips, your eyes fluttering closed.

Michael’s hand moved to grip your jaw, tilting your head back so you met his eyes. His gaze was dark, filled with a fire that made your breath catch in your throat. “This is not just an affair,” he growled, his voice filled with raw, unfiltered dominance. “You are mine. Completely. Body, mind, and soul.”

His lips claimed yours in a kiss that was searing, possessive—one that left you breathless, a reminder of his control over you.

When he pulled back, his voice was a low rumble, each word laced with intent. “I won’t let you forget that. Not now, not ever. You’re mine, and I’ll make sure you remember that every time I touch you.”

Your eyes closed as his words sank in, the weight of them wrapping around you like a blanket. “I won’t forget, sir. I promise.”

He let out a satisfied hum, his fingers trailing down your throat, resting just above your collarbone. “That’s my girl. Always so obedient. Now hush and relax. Tonight, you’re going to rest, and when you wake up, you’ll remember exactly who you belong to.”

His lips brushed against your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “And next time, sweetheart, when I decide to take you again, I’ll remind you just how much you need me. Just how much you crave every touch, every command. You’ll beg for it, won’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation and submission.

“That’s right,” he growled softly, his lips pressing against your neck, marking you with gentle kisses that promised both pleasure and possession. “You’re my good girl. And I take care of what’s mine.”

You nodded, resting against him as the warmth of the water washed over you, feeling his arms around you—a shelter, a cage, and a sanctuary, all at once. And as his fingers traced lazy patterns along your skin, you knew there was nowhere else you’d rather be.

#michael jackson #moonwalker #wattpad #mjf fanfiction #writing #imagine #mjj #mjsdiiana #history era #mjswhisperer #endless seduction #bdsmplay #dom michael

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mjwhisperer · 9 months ago

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I really like your stories. 🩷 keep up the good work!!! It’s rare to see any Michael content these days. 😔

Thank you, That means so much to me, and it is rare! So it’s good I’ve seen more writers coming out the woodworks and putting more work out there in his name, but thank you I appreciate it so much ❤️.

#michael jackson #moonwalker #mjsdiiana #anon ask

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mjwhisperer · 9 months ago

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❀ If you all are on Wattpad & Twitter make sure to follow me and check out my work and sneak peeks for future imagines and full stories! ❀

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#michael jackson #moonwalker #mjf fanfiction #writing #mjsdiiana #mjswhisperer #wattpad #twitter #follow

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mjwhisperer · 9 months ago

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𝙳𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚢´𝚜 𝙶𝚒𝚛𝚕𝚜

1999

New York City

Word Count: 6.4k

It was a late night in New York City, and the bustling energy of the streets below seemed miles away from the peaceful cocoon you had created in the suite. The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the television screen. The buttery, warm smell of freshly popped popcorn hung in the air, mixing with the sweet scent of your daughters' shampoo as they nestled into you. Their giggles, innocent and light, filled the space as you lay together in the large hotel bed, sharing a bowl of popcorn. The three of you were watching Ghosts, a short film Michael had worked on when the girls were still just babies.

Though it was well past their bedtime, neither of them had been able to fall asleep, especially with their father still out for the evening. Michael had a late-night interview, and though he had wanted you to come along, you knew the girls had too much pent-up energy to sit quietly through it. Instead, you had decided to make it a cozy movie night, indulging them with one of their father's works, even though Michael had always been hesitant to show them his scarier films.

As the film played, you felt the weight of your daughters pressed against your sides. Their little bodies fit so perfectly into the curves of yours, and the sound of their breathing, interspersed with soft giggles, filled you with warmth. Your six-year-old daughter pointed at the screen, her voice filled with wonder and amusement as she said, "Mommy, Daddy's goofy!"

You chuckled softly, your fingers absentmindedly running through her thick curls as you responded, "Yes, Daddy is very goofy, isn't he?"

On the screen, Michael was hamming it up, pulling exaggerated faces as he tried to scare the townspeople. The girls erupted into more fits of laughter as they watched him stretch his face in impossible ways, his eyes bulging comically. But as the scene intensified, both of them suddenly shrieked in surprise and buried their faces against your sides, trembling with half-laughter, half-fright.

You burst out laughing, hugging them both tightly against you. "It's okay, it's okay! It's not real," you assured them, your voice gentle and soothing as you kissed the tops of their heads.

Your youngest, only four years old, looked up at you with wide, teary eyes, her tiny voice trembling. "It's not real?"

You shook your head, smiling softly as you wiped a stray tear from her cheek. "No, sweetheart, it's not real. It's just special effects. Daddy can't really do that," you promised, stroking her soft cheek with your thumb.

She sniffled softly, the last of her tears drying up as she curled back into your side, her tiny arms wrapped around your waist. Her sister, already past the brief scare, had her eyes glued to the screen again, her hand automatically dipping into the popcorn bowl on your lap as if nothing had happened. You watched them, the flickering light from the TV casting soft shadows across their little faces. In moments like these, the overwhelming love you had for them felt almost tangible, a tender warmth spreading through your chest that made your heart swell.

You could see how their perception of their father was still forming, still innocent and pure, based on the joy and laughter he brought to them. They didn't yet understand the complexity of the man they called Daddy—the artist, the entertainer, the legend to the rest of the world. To them, he was the goofy, loving father who never failed to make them laugh. And yet, even now, you could see how his magic was touching their hearts, seeping in as they watched him in his element.

Onscreen, Michael transitioned into one of his songs, and your youngest, always the more spontaneous one, leaped up from the bed. She began twirling in circles, her tiny body moving to the rhythm with a childlike abandon that made you smile. Her curly hair, so much like Michael's, bounced wildly as she tried to mimic his dance moves, though her coordination was more like a bundle of enthusiasm than precision.

You chuckled softly, leaning over to your oldest and whispering, "Your sister's as silly as Daddy, isn't she?"

Without taking her eyes off the screen, she nodded, a quiet grin spreading across her face. But soon enough, she couldn't resist the infectious energy of her sister and slid off the bed to join her. The two of them began bouncing and twirling around in front of the TV, giggling uncontrollably as they tried to keep up with the rhythm of the music.

"Look, Mommy!" your oldest shouted, throwing her arms in the air as she spun in circles. "I'm dancing like Daddy!"

You watched them with a full heart, the joy radiating from their little bodies filling the room with a warmth that could rival the summer sun. Their laughter rang out like music, so pure and unburdened, it made you forget the hour. You glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was nearing midnight—Michael should be back soon.

With a contented sigh, you pushed the blankets off and stood, placing the half-empty popcorn bowl on the side table. "Alright, girls," you said, smoothing your hands over their heads as you walked by, "Mommy's going to take a shower. Stay here, okay?"

They barely glanced your way, too engrossed in their impromptu dance party to give much more than a quick nod and a distracted "Okay, Mommy." You smiled, shaking your head as you walked toward the bathroom. You grabbed your robe from the back of the door and entered the bathroom, flicking the light on. The soft hum of the fan kicked in as you left the door slightly ajar, just enough to hear their laughter from the other room.

The moment you stepped out of your clothes and undergarments, tossing them into the hamper, you felt a wave of relief wash over you. The warm, humid air already filling the bathroom was soothing. You opened the glass shower door and turned on the water, adjusting the temperature until it was just right—hot enough to wash away the day but not so hot that it scalded your skin. Steam began to rise quickly, swirling around the room, and even spilling out through the cracked door, blurring the edges of the mirror.

As the water hit your skin, you exhaled deeply, allowing yourself to relax fully for the first time today. You grabbed the washcloth, working the soap into a thick lather, and began to wash your body, methodically scrubbing away the tension that had built up. The steady rhythm of the water against the tiles and the soft hum of the bathroom became a calming backdrop, a brief moment of solitude and peace.

In the bedroom, the girls had settled back onto the floor, sitting cross-legged with the popcorn bowl nestled between them. Michael's dancing on the screen had captivated them once again, their wide eyes fixed on their father as he moved with his signature grace and charisma. To them, it was more than just entertainment—it was a glimpse into who he was, beyond the bedtime stories and playful tickle fights.

"Daddy's the best dancer," your youngest whispered, her voice full of awe.

"Yeah," her sister agreed, nodding solemnly, her hand absentmindedly reaching for another handful of popcorn. "But he's still just Daddy."

They exchanged a knowing glance, their eyes sparkling with the kind of mischief only children possess, and then, in perfect unison, erupted into a fit of giggles that filled the room. It was a sound so pure and full of life that it seemed to echo off the walls, warm and infectious. Their world, their understanding, was simple: Michael might have been the Michael to everyone else, a larger-than-life figure adored by millions, but to them, he was simply Daddy. The man who tucked them in at night, who pulled funny faces to make them laugh, and who loved them more than anything in the world. To them, the world outside—the fame, the accolades—didn't matter. They were Daddy's girls, through and through.

While you were in the shower, unaware of what was happening just beyond the misty glass, Michael had returned to the hotel. The soft carpeting muffled his footsteps as he moved down the hallway towards the suite, his tall frame casting faint shadows in the dimly lit corridor. His boots, heavy yet familiar, made muted thuds with each step. In one hand, he held the room key, the other cradled two stuffed animals—a plush elephant and an equally soft giraffe—each carefully selected to match the girls' favorite creatures. Nestled between the two stuffed toys was a bouquet of velvety red roses, their petals freshly bloomed and vibrant, still carrying the faintest hint of dew. They were for you, his beloved, a quiet symbol of love after a long night apart.

When he reached the door to the suite, he slid the key into the lock with practiced ease, twisting it to the left. The soft click of the door unlocking echoed in the quiet hallway, barely audible beneath the distant hum of the city. As he gently pushed the door open, he was greeted by the familiar, buttery scent of popcorn lingering in the air, mingling with the sweet, homely warmth of the suite. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with care so as not to disturb the peaceful atmosphere within.

With a quick glance, he noticed your black heels lined up neatly by the door, their sleek shine catching the faint light from the hallway. Beside them were the girls' tiny Mary Jane shoes, still slightly askew from their earlier excitement. Smiling to himself, Michael bent down and slipped off his boots, placing them beside the others. It was a small, intimate gesture, a reminder of the family he cherished more than anything.

Moving further into the suite, he made his way down the hallway, the soft padding of his socks barely audible on the thick carpet. He passed by the door to the girls' room and paused, his hand on the knob as he pushed it open. The room was empty, the beds untouched, the faint scent of lavender from their pillows hanging in the air. He chuckled softly, shaking his head. Of course, they were with you.

"Figures," he murmured under his breath with a quiet laugh, knowing exactly where he'd find them.

Continuing down the hall, he approached the master bedroom. Even from outside the door, he could hear the soft murmur of the TV mixed with the sound of their giggles. Their high-pitched laughter was music to his ears, so familiar and beloved. Behind that, he could make out the sound of the shower running, the gentle hiss of water against tile.

He reached for the door knob, twisting it with the kind of practiced stealth that comes from years of sneaking up on playful children. The door opened without a sound, and Michael slipped inside, his tall frame casting a shadow across the room. The girls sat on the floor, their eyes glued to the television, completely absorbed in watching their father on screen. Popcorn was scattered between them, some pieces balanced precariously on the edge of the bowl. They didn't notice him at first, too caught up in the magic of the film, the sight of their daddy dancing and entertaining, larger than life in a way they rarely saw.

Michael moved with silent precision, closing the door behind him with a soft click before crossing the room. He knelt beside the youngest, watching them with a tender smile. They still hadn't noticed him, and for a moment, he simply sat there, his eyes flicking between the screen and his daughters, the love in his gaze unmistakable. There he was, on screen, full of energy and charisma, performing with the ease of a man who was born for it, and here he was in the quiet of this hotel room, just a father watching his children laugh at the character he had created.

Finally, the youngest turned, her eyes widening in surprise when she saw him. "Daddy!" she squealed, her little voice high with excitement.

Her sister turned, and they both launched themselves at him, their small arms wrapping around his neck as he gathered them up in a warm embrace. He held them close, the stuffed animals squished between them, their familiar scent mixing with the lingering sweetness of roses. His heart swelled with love as he pressed kisses to the tops of their heads, their giggles vibrating against his chest as they clung to him like he was their world.

"Shh," Michael whispered again, glancing toward the bathroom door where the rhythmic sound of water still flowed, muffled slightly by the thick steam gathering behind it. "We don't want to disturb Mommy, do we?" His voice was soft, gentle, filled with the kind of tenderness that seemed to envelop every moment he spent with his daughters.

The girls giggled, quieter this time, pressing their tiny hands to their mouths to stifle their laughter. Their faces were glowing, eyes sparkling with a mixture of awe and joy as they looked up at him. It was moments like these, filled with small gestures and unspoken love, that made Michael's heart swell. He could feel the weight of it, the deep, unshakable connection he had with these two little souls who looked at him like he was the center of their universe.

With a wide smile, Michael knelt down and handed each of them their stuffed animals—the elephant to the youngest, who clutched it immediately against her chest, and the giraffe to the oldest, who kissed his cheek in gratitude. "Thank you, Daddy," she whispered, before returning her focus to the movie.

Michael stood slowly, his movements careful and fluid, his gaze lingering on them as they nestled back into the makeshift cocoon of blankets and pillows they'd built. He crossed the room, his feet making no sound on the plush carpet, and approached your side of the bed. There, with a touch that was both loving and deliberate, he placed the bouquet of roses atop your pillow, the crimson petals vibrant against the soft cream of the sheets. They smelled faintly of the florist's shop, fresh and fragrant, a quiet gesture that spoke volumes.

He cast one last look at the girls, who were still mesmerized by the movie, their small bodies leaning forward with wide-eyed fascination as the scene unfolded. Michael smiled to himself. "Daddy will be right back," he whispered, more to himself than to them, before slipping out of the room as quietly as he'd come.

Meanwhile, in the bathroom, the warm water had finally ceased, and you stood there, enveloped in a thick cloud of steam that filled the space. Your skin was flushed from the heat, droplets still clinging to your shoulders as you stepped out of the shower, reaching for the soft towel hanging on the rack. You wrapped it around yourself, the plush fabric warm against your body, and began to dry off, moving with the deliberate ease of someone savoring the few moments of peace and quiet.

The bathroom was thick with condensation, the mirror fogged over completely, leaving only faint outlines of where the steam hadn't yet reached. As you finished drying yourself, you couldn't help but pause for a moment, listening to the near silence outside. The girls were quiet now, no doubt engrossed in the film. Curious, you peeked through the cracked door, spotting them sitting contentedly on the floor with their stuffed animals, watching the screen as if nothing in the world existed beyond it.

Satisfied, you grabbed your black satin robe from the hook. It was a gift from Michael, custom-made just for you, his initials—MJ—embroidered in intricate gold stitching along the cuff. It was luxurious, the fabric cool against your skin, a tactile reminder of how fiercely he adored you. You smiled to yourself, slipping it on and tying the sash tightly at your waist before heading to the sink. You turned on the faucet, watching the water rush out, cold and clear, and squeezed a dollop of toothpaste onto your toothbrush. As you brushed your teeth, the sound of giggling from the bedroom filtered in again, a sweet melody that made your heart swell with affection.

You thought about the girls and how much they resembled Michael in more ways than just appearance. They had his playful spirit, his kindness, that soft-spoken gentleness that made them seem wise beyond their years. And yet, when they were together, they were inseparable, their bond unbreakable. Ever since the youngest was born, her older sister had taken on a quiet, protective role, always by her side. You and Michael often marveled at it, finding their closeness both heartwarming and utterly adorable.

Spitting out the toothpaste and rinsing your mouth, you flicked off the bathroom light and stepped back into the bedroom. The sight of the roses on the bed immediately caught your eye, and a smile spread across your face. He's back.

You crossed the room and sank down onto the floor beside the girls, adjusting the robe to cover yourself a little more as you settled in. On the screen, the emotional climax of Michael's film was playing—the part that always tugged at your heartstrings. The townspeople had turned against him, and his character, Maestro, was sinking to his knees in despair. The scene was heavy, laden with emotion, and even the girls could feel it.

"No!" your youngest cried out, her voice cracking with distress. Her eyes were wide, brimming with unshed tears as she watched the screen intently.

Maestro slammed himself to the ground once more, and both girls instinctively scooted closer to you, dropping their stuffed animals and clutching at your robe, their little faces burying themselves into your side. You could feel their tears dampening the fabric, their quiet sobs pulling at your heart. You wrapped an arm around each of them, holding them close.

As Michael re-entered the room, his presence seemed to shift the very atmosphere. The low light of the suite cast a warm, soft glow over his features as he balanced the two small bowls of vanilla ice cream in one hand and a glass of orange juice in the other. He paused at the doorway, his gaze immediately locking onto the scene in front of him—his two daughters clinging to you, their tear-filled eyes wide with distress. His heart sank, his brow furrowing as he followed their gazes to the screen, instantly realizing which moment in the film had unsettled them.

"Oh no," he murmured to himself, his voice soft with understanding as he crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps. He set the bowls of ice cream and the juice gently on the nightstand, careful not to make a sound that might break the moment. Almost as if they sensed his presence without needing to see him, the girls let go of you and ran to him, their little arms wrapping around his legs in a way that spoke of both trust and fear. Their tears, once held back, now flowed freely as they clung to him like a lifeline.

"Don't leave, Daddy!" your oldest whimpered, her voice thick with emotion, her face pressed against the worn leather of his jacket.

Michael, ever patient, knelt down to their level, his knees sinking into the plush carpet. He reached out, his fingers brushing their tear-streaked faces, wiping away the dampness with the kind of care that only a father can possess. "I'm not leaving, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice a tender balm against their distress.

He glanced back at the TV and sighed, instantly recognizing the scene—the one that always pulled at the heartstrings, especially young ones. He knew how hard it was for them to separate their larger-than-life daddy from the characters he played. With a knowing sigh, he lifted both girls easily into his arms, balancing their small frames against his hips. Their tearful faces looked up at him, wide-eyed and still full of worry, and he pressed a soft kiss to the top of each head, his lips lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

"Look at Daddy," he said softly, his voice as soothing as a lullaby. "Daddy's not going anywhere, okay? It's just a movie. I promise, it's not real."

The girls sniffled, their faces still damp but their fears starting to ease at the sound of his reassuring tone. "Daddy wouldn't leave you two or Mommy, alright?" he added, squeezing them just a little tighter, as if to prove his words.

They nodded in unison, still clinging to him as though letting go might cause him to vanish into thin air. Their tiny hands gripped his shirt, their fingers twisting into the fabric with a desperation that made Michael's heart ache and swell all at once.

"But you know what's cool?" he asked, a mischievous sparkle returning to his eyes as he shifted his tone to something lighter, more playful.

"What?" they asked together, the remnants of their tears still clinging to their cheeks but already forgotten in the face of his playful demeanor.

"Daddy's a werecat," he teased, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper as if sharing the world's best-kept secret.

Their eyes widened in awe, their lips parting in wonder. "Really?" your oldest asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and excitement.

Michael nodded solemnly, his lips twitching into a grin. "Yeah. Daddy can show you when we get back ho—"

Before he could finish, you stood up from the floor, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I think they've been scared enough for one night," you said gently, crossing the room to scoop the youngest from his arms. "You two don't want to see that."

Michael's chuckle was deep and warm, his eyes twinkling as they met yours. "Why not?" he teased, feigning innocence as he cradled the other daughter in his arms. "It's fun."

You shook your head, laughing softly as you recalled a long-buried memory. "You scared the life out of me when we were dating with that thing," you said, the fondness in your voice unmistakable. The memory of those early days flickered between the two of you, a secret shared in the warmth of a past filled with young love and endless possibility.

Michael's laughter filled the room, rich and full of life. "You almost peed yourself," he teased, earning a playful swat from you as the girls, now giggling once again, looked between the two of you with wide, curious eyes.

Your oldest tugged at Michael's leather jacket, her small fingers curling into the material. "Daddy," she said, her voice filled with a seriousness that belied her age.

Michael raised an eyebrow, looking down at her with curiosity. "Yes, princess?"

She glanced at you, then back at him, her eyes searching his face. "Is Mommy one too?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, as though she was afraid of the answer.

You couldn't help but snort, covering your mouth with your hand to stifle your laughter as you sat down on the bed, cradling your youngest in your lap. The little girl clung to you, her arms wrapped around your waist, her head resting against your chest.

Michael bit his lip, trying to hold back his own laughter. "Yes, Mommy is a werecat," he said with a playful glint in his eyes. "I turned her into one when we got married."

Your oldest's eyes widened with a sparkle of amazement. "Really? Are we one too?" she asked, her voice filled with hope and wonder.

You shook your head, grinning as you played along. "Baby, no. Daddy's just messing with you. We're not werecats," you said, then added with a teasing smile, "But Daddy... he's a panther."

Michael raised an eyebrow at you, his expression caught between amusement and mock offense. The girls, however, were completely enthralled, your oldest pointing at his cheek with wide, curious eyes. "I knew you were a cat, Daddy," she said, her voice full of conviction.

Michael chuckled, the sound warm and full of affection. "Daddy isn't a cat, or a werecat, or what you saw in the film," he said with a grin. "And definitely not a zombie—"

Both girls gasped, their eyes widening in unison. "A zombie?" they asked, their voices tinged with awe and fear.

Michael's mouth dropped open, and he glanced at you with mock horror. "Did you all not watch it?" he asked, incredulous.

You shook your head, laughing softly. "I didn't want to give them nightmares, especially not the ending."

Michael nodded, understanding in his eyes. "Well, I guess when we get back home, I'll have to show you both," he said, glancing down at the girls. "But only if Mommy says it's okay."

You smiled, nodding your approval. "But not before bedtime," you said firmly.

Michael gave an exaggerated nod of agreement before gently setting the oldest down on the bed. He walked to the foot of the bed, gathering the girls' stuffed animals from the floor and handing them back with a playful grin. "Now, if Mommy is okay with it, how about we stay up a little longer and watch something less scary?" he suggested, raising an eyebrow at you.

You narrowed your eyes playfully. "And what's that?" you asked, knowing exactly where this was going.

Michael moved closer, his voice dropping to a soft, nostalgic tone. "The Wiz," he said, and immediately your mind drifted back to the days on set, to the long hours spent watching him bring magic to life on screen, to the memories that now felt like precious gems from a time that would never fade.

A soft smile spread across your face. "I'm fine with that," you agreed, placing your youngest beside her sister, both of them now happily playing with their stuffed animals, their earlier tears forgotten.

Michael's eyes lingered on you for a moment, his gaze soft, filled with love. But tonight wasn't about stolen moments of intimacy; it was about family. He turned, picking up the two bowls of ice cream and handing them to the girls. "I know Daddy doesn't usually let you have sweets this late," he said with a playful smirk, "but I'll make an exception tonight."

The girls' faces lit up with joy. "Thank you, Daddy!" they chorused, their small hands eagerly reaching for the bowls.

Michael leaned down, pressing a kiss to each of their foreheads. Then, with a quiet chuckle, he took your hand in his, the warmth of his touch sending a familiar spark through you. "Me and Mommy will be right back," he said softly, his voice filled with promise. "I have to go grab the movie."

The door closed softly behind you both, leaving the gentle murmur of the girls' laughter and the clink of their spoons behind. The instant you stepped into the dim hallway, Michael's arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his warmth with a firm, undeniable need. His embrace was all-encompassing, like he was trying to remind you of every moment he had missed while you were apart. You could feel the steady beat of his heart against your chest, the rhythm syncing with yours as though you were made to fit right there.

His lips found the curve of your cheek almost immediately, soft and insistent as they peppered delicate kisses across your skin. The warmth of his breath trailed behind each kiss, sending a shiver down your spine as he worked his way up to your ear. His breath fanned across your neck, teasing the sensitive skin just beneath your earlobe, making your breath hitch in your throat. His scent—earthy and familiar, with that distinct hint of leather and musk—wrapped around you, grounding you in the intimacy of the moment.

"Michael," you whispered, a soft laugh escaping your lips as you feigned protest. Your hands gently pressed against his chest, but there was no real strength behind the action. It was more of a playful push, as though you were telling him to stop, but at the same time, pleading for him to continue.

He only smiled against your skin, his lips brushing a final, lingering kiss to your cheek. "I missed you," he murmured, his voice low and husky, like a confession meant only for your ears. His lips stayed there for a moment longer, just resting against your cheek as though he couldn't bear to break the contact, even for a second.

"I missed you too," you replied softly, your voice barely above a breath as your fingers found their way to his face. You trailed your fingertips along the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the rough stubble beneath them, the coarse texture a welcome contrast to the softness of his lips. Your touch was slow, deliberate, as if you were memorizing the feel of him all over again.

He leaned into your hand, his dark eyes locking onto yours, full of warmth and something deeper—something that made the space between you feel smaller, as though the air had thickened with the weight of your shared history. His gaze roamed your face, taking in every detail, before finally settling on your lips, a flicker of something unspoken passing between you.

"Were they good for you?" he asked, his voice gentle as he searched your face, the quiet intimacy of the question pulling you deeper into the moment. His thumb rubbed slow circles against your lower back, grounding you further in his touch.

You nodded, a soft smile playing on your lips as you looked up at him. "Always. You know I never have a problem with our babies," you replied, your voice warm with the affection you felt not only for him but for the little family you'd built together.

Michael's lips curled into a small, almost reverent smile, and he lifted your hand to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. The simple act sent a jolt of warmth through you, your skin tingling where his lips had touched. His kisses, as always, held a kind of magic—something gentle yet commanding, like he was speaking to you in a language only the two of you understood.

"I know," he said, his voice soft against your skin, his lips lingering a second longer before pulling away. "It just never hurts to ask," he added with a playful glint in his eyes.

You leaned in, resting your head against his chest, breathing in the scent of him as his arms tightened around you. The steady rise and fall of his breath was soothing, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to simply exist in that quiet space, feeling his heart beating strong and sure beneath your cheek. It was in moments like these that the rest of the world seemed to melt away, leaving only the two of you.

As you nestled into him, Michael shifted slightly, reaching over your shoulder to rummage through the entertainment cabinet. His other hand remained anchored around your waist, holding you against him as if he couldn't bear to let you go.

"You smell amazing," you murmured, your voice barely a whisper as you wrapped your arms around him from behind, pressing your body flush against his back. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in deeply. There was a mix of leather, the subtle hint of his cologne, and beneath it all, the unmistakable scent that was purely him—something you could never quite describe but knew intimately.

Michael chuckled, the low sound rumbling through his chest. "I smell like New York," he teased, his voice light, though his grip on you tightened just a little.

You shook your head, your lips brushing lightly against his skin. "No," you whispered, your fingers tracing the line of his spine, feeling the heat of him through his shirt. "You smell like you."

He froze for a moment, his fingers hovering over the tapes as if your words had suddenly grounded him. Slowly, deliberately, he turned around to face you, closing the cabinet with a soft thud. His hands slipped to your waist, unwrapping your arms from around him, but only so he could cup your face, tilting your chin up so your eyes met his.

The way he looked at you made your breath catch. His dark eyes were filled with a quiet intensity, searching yours with an almost reverent focus, as if you were the only thing in the world that mattered. His thumb gently stroked your jawline, the light touch sending a ripple of warmth through you.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice so low and soft that it almost felt like a secret meant only for you.

You could feel the sincerity in his words, the weight behind them. Your breath hitched as you reached up, your hands sliding over the stubble on his face. The rough texture was a contrast to the softness in his eyes. "I love you too," you whispered back, your voice just as soft, your heart swelling with the depth of the moment.

Your eyes drifted down to his lips, the temptation to kiss him becoming nearly unbearable. You leaned in, brushing your lips against the corner of his mouth, teasing him with a barely-there touch. "And don't shave," you murmured, your fingers caressing the stubble along his jaw. "I like this look on you."

Michael's lips quirked into a crooked smile, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Oh, you do, huh?" His tone was playful, but there was something deeper beneath it, something that made your stomach flutter.

"Mmhmm," you hummed, tracing his lips with the tip of your finger. "It makes you look... rugged. Like you've been away too long and missed me just as much as I missed you."

His grin widened, but his eyes darkened just a touch, the playful glint giving way to something heavier, more intense. "You have no idea how much I missed you," he whispered, his voice dropping lower, almost husky.

His hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. He leaned down, his lips hovering just inches from yours, the space between you charged with anticipation. For a moment, he didn't move, just let his breath mingle with yours, letting the tension build until every nerve in your body felt like it was on fire.

Then, with deliberate slowness, he closed the gap, capturing your lips in a kiss that was soft but filled with an undeniable intensity. It wasn't rushed; it was a slow, deliberate exploration, the kind of kiss that spoke of a love built over time, one that was deep, unwavering, and entirely yours.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your lips. "I missed this," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion.

You smiled against his lips, your hands still resting on his face, your thumbs brushing over the stubble. "I missed this too," you murmured, your voice barely audible. "But I also love when we have family time together. Especially now that you're not as busy."

Michael's hand slid down to your hip, pulling you even closer. "Family time is good," he said softly, his lips grazing the edge of your ear. "But you know..." His voice dropped, the teasing note returning. "If the girls weren't in there, I would've joined you in the shower."

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curving into a smirk. "Oh, would you now?"

He nodded, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Yeah, but... it can wait for another night. Tonight, I'd rather spend it with my girls."

You bit your lip, your heart swelling at his words. "Daddy's girls," you whispered, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

"That's right," he said, his voice deep and affectionate as he leaned in, pressing another kiss to your lips, this one quicker, but no less sweet.

With a reluctant sigh, he opened the cabinet again and grabbed the VHS tape of The Wiz, shutting it with a quiet click. He took your hand, lacing his fingers through yours as the two of you walked back down the hallway toward the bedroom.

When you opened the door, you found the girls jumping on the bed, their giggles filling the room as they bounced with their stuffed animals in hand.

"Alright, you two," you said, laughing as you walked over to the bed. "Daddy found the movie, so lay down."

The girls squealed in delight and scrambled to lay down, snuggling next to each other with their stuffed animals clutched tightly to their chests.

Michael changed out the tapes, the familiar sounds of the VCR whirring as he slid The Wiz into the player. He shrugged off his leather jacket and tossed it onto the chair before walking over to the bed. He climbed in next to you, settling into the middle of the bed as he lifted you slightly so your head rested against his chest. His arm wrapped protectively around you while his other arm stretched across, wrapping gently around the girls.

The room felt warm, safe, as the opening scenes of the movie played on the screen. Michael's heartbeat was a steady rhythm beneath your ear, his hand occasionally stroking your arm in absent-minded affection.

As the night wore on and the movie continued to play, you found yourself drifting off, exhaustion from the day finally catching up with you. Michael must have noticed because his lips pressed softly to your forehead, lingering there for a moment. He held you tighter, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your arm as you fell deeper into sleep, comforted by the warmth and love that surrounded you.

With his girls tucked close to him, Michael stayed awake, watching over you and the kids as the movie played on. This was his world—his family, his girls. And nothing could make him happier.

He kissed your forehead again, whispering, "I love you, baby." he said with a smile and turned his attention to the movie, his arms still wrapped protectively around you and the girls—his girls. Daddy's girls.

Full Story: Daddy’s Girl

#michael jackson #moonwalker #wattpad #mjf fanfiction #writing #imagine #mjj #1999 michael #Michael being a great daddy #ghostmj #thewiz #daddy’s girls #family #fluff #endless seduction #mjswhisperer #mjsdiiana

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mjwhisperer · 9 months ago

Text

𝙸𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚈𝚘𝚞

1983

New York City

Word Count: 11.7k

Tags: Fem!Reader, Writing, Smut, Wet & Messy, creampie, Michael’s big pp, rough seggs, Nipple licking, nipple play, Dirty talk, Finger Sucking, Vaginal Fingering, p in v, oral seggs, married couple, face slapping

The stillness of the suite wrapped itself around you like a comforting shroud, broken only by the faint flicker of a candle across the room. Its soft flame danced on the polished table, casting a warm glow over the rich, dark tones of the space. You lay stretched out on the velvet sofa, your body adorned in a champagne satin nightgown that clung delicately to your curves, the smooth fabric cool against your skin. The scent of cocoa butter and vanilla lingered in the air, a subtle reminder of your evening ritual. Moonlight spilled through the open balcony doors, bathing the room in a pale, ethereal light as it kissed your skin, making the satin shimmer with every subtle movement.

Your journal rested on your thighs, pencil poised between your fingers as you poured your thoughts onto the page, losing yourself in the fantasy of words. “His gaze flickered with a deeper intensity, something raw and unspoken. He sat up slightly, the heat of his body still pressed against yours, hands traveling to the hem of your shirt. With a fluid, practiced motion, he lifted it over your head, the fabric gliding against your skin before it fluttered to the floor. The room’s cool air touched your bare skin, but it lasted only a moment before his hands replaced the chill, warm and possessive, cupping your breasts with deliberate tenderness.” You wrote, the scene in your mind so vivid, so tantalizingly real that it sent a shiver down your spine.

You often wrote in these quiet moments of solitude, documenting your life and desires through another lens, another version of yourself. Michael had no idea you penned these kinds of stories—journals filled with lustful, uninhibited fantasies that captured the intimacy you craved, yet hadn’t fully explored. The pages brimmed with moments you yearned to experience firsthand. Your mind, always a step ahead of reality, danced with ideas too wild to remain unspoken, so you committed them to paper, where they could live freely.

A sigh escaped your lips as you paused, fingers tracing the edge of the journal. Something about tonight’s writing wasn’t sitting right, the words not flowing the way you had imagined. Frustration tugged at the edges of your thoughts. Closing the journal softly, you leaned forward, the cool satin slipping against the cushions as you stretched to blow out the candle. Darkness reclaimed the room for a brief moment before you padded across the suite, fingertips brushing along the wall as you flicked on the lights. The sudden brightness felt harsh after the warmth of the candlelight.

The clock on the wall read midnight, and still, Michael hadn’t returned. He had left early that morning, spending the day with his family, preparing for the tour announcement. He’d stopped by the suite briefly between meetings, giving you a quick kiss and promising to return late. You didn’t mind his absence; in fact, you relished these moments alone. They allowed you to retreat into your own world, a world of words and fantasy—an escape from the whirlwind of fame and expectations that had swept you up after your marriage to Michael.

But even in this quiet, there was a subtle ache, a longing for him to walk through the door, for the stories you wrote to come to life. You glanced down at your journal once more, the pages filled with desires that you wished to share, yet kept secret.

You walked slowly, deliberately, each step bringing you closer to the bedroom you and Michael shared. The air was different here, charged with his presence. His intoxicating cologne still clung to the air, subtle yet unmistakable. It wrapped around you, a phantom touch, making you pause in the doorway to breathe him in deeply, letting the familiar scent fill your senses. You ached for him, more intensely now that you stood in the space where his absence was most profound. But fatigue began to settle in, exhaustion creeping over you like a heavy fog, dragging at your limbs.

With a soft click, you closed the bedroom door behind you, plunging the room into a peaceful, moonlit glow. The silver light spilled through the curtains, casting soft shadows on the walls and floor, bathing the room in an ethereal stillness. Slowly, you made your way to your side of the bed, setting your journal and pencil down on the nightstand. The thick, white covers felt cool beneath your fingers as you pulled them back, slipping under their weight. The contrast of the crisp linen against the warmth of your skin sent a shiver through you, the sensation drawing you deeper into the arms of sleep. Your eyelids grew heavier, fluttering shut as the last traces of consciousness slipped away.

Even as you drifted into sleep, your mind wandered, drawn back to the stories you had written. You could feel his touch in your dreams, so vivid it sent your pulse racing. His hands ghosted over your skin, the soft press of his lips igniting sparks of heat in your chest. His whispers, low and full of need, echoed in your ears, pulling you deeper into the dream, deeper into the scenes you had created. Each kiss, each caress, felt more real than the last. This was your inspiration, the fuel for those lustful scenes that seemed so distant while awake but came alive in the sanctuary of your mind.

Outside the suite, Michael moved silently down the hotel hallway, his steps muted against the plush carpet. His body was tired, worn from the demands of the day, but his mind was still buzzing, his thoughts on you. He pulled his keycard from his pocket, sliding it into the door with a practiced motion. The door clicked open, and he stepped inside, the quiet of the room greeting him like a familiar embrace. He shut the door gently, locking it behind him with a soft click before calling out into the empty suite.

“Baby?” His voice was low, filled with the weight of the day, but there was a tenderness in it as he looked around, noticing your absence. He kicked off his loafers, sliding them next to your heels, the sight of your shoes sparking a smile. His fingers deftly unbuttoned his sleek Monroe jacket as he crossed the room, heading for the closet. With careful movements, he hung up his jacket, smoothing out the fabric before closing the closet door with a quiet sigh.

“Baby, where are you?” he called again, this time louder, though he already sensed the answer. Silence greeted him, the stillness of the suite confirming what he had suspected—you were asleep.

He flicked off the light in the main room, casting the suite into near darkness, save for the soft light of the moon. As he walked down the hallway toward the bedroom, he unbuttoned his flannel shirt, his fingers moving automatically as he thought of you. Reaching the bedroom door, he paused for a moment, his hand resting on the knob. He twisted it open, stepping inside to find you already asleep, curled under the covers, your breathing soft and even.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath, guilt prickling at him for staying out so late. He crossed the room quietly, his eyes softening as he watched you sleep, the peaceful rise and fall of your chest a soothing sight after the chaos of the day. He knelt down beside the bed, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his fingers trailing lightly over your cheek. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice low and full of remorse. His touch lingered for a moment before his gaze drifted to the nightstand.

There it was—your journal, lying innocently on the nightstand, its soft leather cover worn from your fingers grazing it over and over. Michael’s brow furrowed, curiosity igniting within him like a spark catching fire. You had always been private, guarding your thoughts like hidden treasures, sharing only what you chose, leaving the rest locked away. That journal… it had intrigued him for months. The way you clutched it so tightly, as if its contents were too precious to be seen, only fueled his desire to know what was inside. What secrets did it hold? What dreams, what desires had you poured into its pages?

His fingers hovered just above the smooth leather, the temptation gnawing at him. He knew he shouldn’t. But he couldn’t resist. Slowly, he picked it up, the weight of it feeling heavier in his hands than he anticipated. The quiet crackle of the binding filled the room as he carefully opened it, the faint scent of ink and paper wafting up. Thousands of words greeted him—tiny, intricate letters sprawled across the pages, some flowing gracefully, others rushed and jagged, as though written in a fevered state. His eyes roamed over the pages, catching glimpses of dates scattered here and there, some adorned with delicate little hearts—marking nights he recognized, nights filled with passion.

He couldn’t help but smirk, a rush of pride swelling within him as he read the first few lines. The words were vivid, so descriptive they painted entire scenes in his mind. You had never shared this side of yourself with him—your ability to capture emotion and sensation so deeply, so beautifully. It was as though he were discovering a new part of you, one he had never known existed. The detail in your writing stunned him. Each paragraph held him captive, some recounting moments of tender intimacy, others written with a raw, sensual edge that left his breath shallow.

He flipped through the journal, his eyes darting over the passages, heart racing. There were stories that transported him to the nights you had shared together—moments he remembered vividly. Some were soft and romantic, full of slow kisses and whispered words. Others were rough, intense, wild with the kind of passion that left both of you breathless and trembling. He found one that made him pause, a story of your honeymoon. His heart skipped as he read about the balcony—how he had taken you there under the stars, the way you had described the heat of his hands on your skin, the thrill of being outside, exposed to the night.

He could practically feel the cool breeze, smell the salt of the ocean air, and hear the soft crash of waves as he read, transported back to that night. You had captured every detail so perfectly, so vividly, that it was like living it all over again. His pulse quickened as he reached the final few pages, only to find that the last entry was unfinished. Barely a few lines were written. His brow furrowed again, wondering what had stopped you. Had you lost inspiration? Or had sleep claimed you before you could complete the thought?

Michael closed the journal slowly, his thumb tracing the edge of the cover one last time before setting it back down on the nightstand with a soft thud. He glanced over at you, lying peacefully under the covers, your chest rising and falling with the rhythm of sleep. The sight of you—so serene, so beautiful—pulled him in. Leaning down, he pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek, his lips lingering for a moment, breathing you in.

“I’m back,” he whispered, his voice low and soft, just for you.

You stirred at the sound of his voice, your eyelids fluttering open as you blinked into the dim light of the room. The sight that greeted you was the one you had longed for—the warmth of his presence, the familiar silhouette of his frame leaning over you, and those deep brown eyes that always seemed to draw you in, no matter how tired you were.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he murmured, his voice tender, a slow smile spreading across his face.

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you whispered back, “Hi,” your voice barely above a breath, still heavy with sleep. You shifted slightly under the covers, feeling the warmth of his closeness. “When did you get back?” you asked, blinking the drowsiness from your eyes.

“Not too long ago,” Michael said, his gaze soft, watching you closely. He straightened up slightly, undoing the last few buttons of his flannel shirt, revealing the toned lines of his bare chest beneath. You glanced down, your eyes tracing the familiar curves and muscles of his body, the way the soft light played over his skin. But before your gaze could linger too long, you quickly lifted your eyes back to his, heat creeping up your cheeks.

Michael’s smile grew wider, his eyes twinkling with a familiar mischief that always seemed to surface when he caught you off guard. He had seen the way your gaze had drifted over his chest, and even though you quickly looked away, the effect it had on him was instant. There was something intoxicating about the way you responded to him, even in your sleepy state. That subtle flicker of desire in your eyes, though fleeting, stirred something deep within him. The warmth that surged through his veins was undeniable, and his voice, though soft, was laced with something deeper when he spoke again.

“I missed you,” he murmured, his words carrying the weight of the long day apart, but also a deeper, more primal need. His hand moved almost instinctively, reaching down to gently brush a loose strand of hair from your face. His fingers, rough yet tender, grazed your skin, and the contact sent an involuntary shiver down your spine, the sensation rippling through you like a spark.

Your eyes fluttered closed briefly at his touch, the exhaustion of the day momentarily forgotten. “I missed you more,” you whispered, your voice soft, barely audible in the quiet intimacy of the room. But it was enough. The way your words reached him, full of longing, made Michael’s heart swell with something warm, something electric.

He licked his lips, his gaze flickering briefly from your face to the journal still resting on the nightstand. There was a glimmer of something in his eyes—curiosity, playfulness, and something else you couldn’t quite place. “Need some help?” he asked, his tone teasing yet somehow serious, his voice dipping into that low, husky register that always made you weak.

You furrowed your brow, confused. “What do you mean?” you asked, your voice soft but wary. The way he looked at you, his gaze dipping briefly to the journal, set off a ripple of unease in your chest. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but something about his tone had shifted.

“Do you need help?” he repeated, his eyes locked onto yours, his voice steady, though there was an edge of amusement beneath the surface.

The confusion deepened in your expression, your brow knitting together as you sat up a little, pulling the covers away from your body. “Michael, what are you talking about?” you asked, your voice firmer now, laced with frustration. You shifted, sitting up completely, the cool air of the room brushing against your skin as you moved.

Michael’s eyes flicked back to the journal, and then back to you. His gaze lingered there for a moment too long, and that’s when it hit you. Your breath caught in your throat, panic flashing in your eyes as you followed his gaze, realization dawning on you. “Did you go through it?” you asked, your voice rising in disbelief, your heart pounding in your chest.

Michael shrugged, a casual, almost guilty smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You know I can’t help myself, doll,” he said, his voice laced with a hint of mischief. “Besides, you’ve got, what? Twenty journals? Maybe more? And I’ve never seen a single word from any of them. So, I gotta ask again… do you need help?” His voice lowered slightly, the question carrying a weight that made your pulse quicken.

You let out a deep sigh, frustration mixed with something else—something you didn’t quite want to admit. Reaching over, you grabbed the journal from the nightstand, your fingers brushing over its familiar leather cover as you flipped through the pages. “I do,” you admitted reluctantly, glancing up at him through your lashes. “I’m stuck on this one part, and I—Michael!”

Before you could finish your sentence, he reached out, snatching the journal from your hands with a quickness that took you by surprise. The leather-bound book slipped from your fingers, and Michael closed it with a soft thud, placing it back on the nightstand. His movements were fluid, confident, almost too confident, as though he knew exactly what he was doing.

“You’ve already got the writing part down,” he said, his voice low and teasing as he leaned closer to you, the weight of his presence filling the room. “Do you need my help with the rest?”

Your brow shot up in surprise, confusion flickering across your features once more. “I don’t get what you’re saying, Michael,” you murmured, your voice tinged with curiosity and something else—something that sent a strange thrill down your spine. “I’m confused.”

Michael’s smile deepened, that playful glint in his eyes turning darker, more intense. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “You’re writing about us, aren’t you?” His lips barely grazed the shell of your ear, sending a shiver coursing down your spine. His hand slid gently up your arm, his fingers trailing along your skin, igniting every nerve they touched. “Every scene, every detail…” His voice was a low, seductive rumble now, and you could feel the heat radiating off him, pulling you in.

Your heart raced, your breath catching in your throat as his words sank in. Of course, he knew. How could he not? You had written those stories for him, even if you had never planned to show him. Every intimate moment, every fantasy, every desire—crafted with him in mind. The way he looked at you now, with that mix of hunger and understanding, made your stomach twist in knots.

Michael’s gaze was piercing, darkened with a hunger that sent a tremor through you. His voice, a low whisper that seemed to wrap itself around your senses, was barely audible, but the intent behind it was unmistakable. “Let me help you finish it,” he murmured, his breath ghosting over your lips as his fingers gently tilted your chin upward. The subtle pressure of his touch made your pulse quicken, his thumb brushing against your skin in the lightest of caresses. “Let me show you exactly what you’ve been writing about…” His words hung in the air, thick with promise.

Your eyes searched his for a moment, feeling the pull of his presence as the world around you seemed to blur and fade. Everything was him—the heat radiating off his body, the intensity of his gaze, the magnetic force that drew you closer, inch by inch. Your eyes flickered down to his lips as they hovered near yours, and you felt the irresistible pull of him moving in, slowly, deliberately. His other hand found your waist, the warmth of his palm seeping through the thin fabric of your nightgown, and the contact sent a spark of anticipation racing down your spine.

“Let me inspire you,” he whispered, his voice low and intimate, the words curling around your thoughts like a seductive whisper in the dark. His hand gently lifted your chin a fraction more, and before you could respond, his lips brushed against yours in the faintest, most tantalizing touch.

Then he kissed you—slowly at first, but with a growing intensity that left no room for doubt. His lips, warm and smooth, moved against yours, soft yet commanding, drawing you deeper into the moment with every passing second. The taste of him was intoxicating, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours as the kiss deepened. Your body responded instinctively, your lips moving in sync with his, matching his rhythm, as the kiss grew hotter, more urgent.

His hand slid from your waist, traveling slowly up the curve of your body, tracing the familiar lines with a possessive touch that made your skin tingle. The strength in his grip was unmistakable—large, powerful hands that knew every inch of you, knew exactly where to touch to make you arch beneath him. His fingers squeezed you in all the right places, eliciting a soft gasp from your lips as he lowered you back onto the bed, your body sinking into the softness of the sheets. The sensation of his touch was electric, his hands firm yet gentle, each caress deliberate, teasing, as if he was savoring the feel of you beneath his fingertips.

The kiss deepened further, the heat between you intensifying as his tongue slid against yours, teasing, exploring. The wet sound of your lips moving together filled the room, mingling with the soft rustling of the sheets as you shifted beneath him. Every brush of his lips, every stroke of his tongue, sent a surge of heat pooling low in your belly, making your breath hitch as the moment stretched on.

Michael’s hands moved lower, trailing down to your thighs, gripping them firmly as he positioned himself between your legs. His touch was possessive, his fingers tightening around your skin as he slowly pushed your nightgown higher, the fabric bunching up around your hips, revealing the soft curve of your bare skin beneath. The cool air hit your exposed flesh, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from his body, and you felt your pulse quicken, anticipation coiling tight in your chest.

His lips broke away from yours, only to trail down to your jaw, placing slow, deliberate kisses along your skin. The sensation was almost torturous—the softness of his lips, the heat of his breath, the way his tongue flicked out to taste you, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. He kissed his way down your neck, his lips moving with a languid, teasing rhythm, lingering in all the right places. When his mouth found the sensitive spot at the base of your throat, he sucked lightly, his teeth grazing your skin, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through your body.

“Michael…” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper as you tilted your head to the side, giving him full access. The sound of your voice, soft and filled with need, seemed to spur him on. His lips moved lower, placing wet, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, his tongue flicking out to trace the delicate line of your bone, each touch sending shivers racing down your spine.

His hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed as he pressed himself against you, his body a solid weight that anchored you in place. The rough denim of his jeans brushed against your sensitive skin, the pressure of his growing arousal evident as he pressed harder, the heat of him seeping through the fabric. The friction sent a jolt of pleasure straight through you, making you gasp as your body instinctively arched toward him, craving more.

Michael’s lips hovered near your ear, his warm breath grazing your skin, each word laced with thick desire. “I want to feel all of you,” he whispered, his voice low and rough, igniting something deep inside you. His hands roamed your body with a slow, deliberate pace, every touch sending sparks of heat rippling through your skin, lighting every nerve aflame. You could feel the weight of his presence pressing against you, a heavy, intoxicating heat that had you teetering on the edge of something that felt both inevitable and all-consuming.

Unable to resist, you ground your hips against him, the friction delicious as you pressed more firmly into his body. Michael’s hands trailed down to your waist, his grip firm and possessive as he reached for the hem of your nightgown. With one smooth motion, he pulled the fabric up and over your head, the cool air rushing over your now-bare skin as his gaze drank you in. His eyes darkened with admiration, his voice barely a whisper as he murmured, “So beautiful…”

His lips descended on the middle of your chest, pressing warm, tender kisses along your skin. His hands followed the curve of your body, gliding up your stomach until they reached your breasts, cupping them in both hands. His thumbs moved in slow circles, teasing your nipples, coaxing soft gasps from your lips. You watched him, mesmerized by the way his hands seemed to worship every inch of your body. His kisses continued, traveling lower down your stomach, his tongue flicking out to leave a wet, heated trail that made your skin tingle with anticipation.

When his mouth finally found your breast, you sucked in a breath, your body arching slightly as his warm tongue replaced his thumb. He circled your nipple with slow, deliberate licks, his tongue teasing the sensitive bud before taking it into his mouth. The warmth of his mouth, coupled with the gentle tug of his lips, sent a shudder of pleasure through you. He sucked lightly, then harder, his tongue flicking back and forth in a steady rhythm that made your head spin.

You watched him through half-lidded eyes, unable to look away from the way his lips moved against you. His tongue swirled around your nipple, then flicked it back and forth, the sensation so intense you could feel every wet stroke of his tongue. His teeth grazed the sensitive flesh, nibbling just enough to send jolts of pleasure shooting through your core.

“Oh, God, Michael,” you moaned softly, your voice shaky with need.

He hummed in response, the vibration against your skin adding another layer of sensation. His hand squeezed your breast more firmly as he continued to flick his tongue slowly, sensually, drawing out your pleasure until you felt like you might burst from the tension building inside you. You met his gaze, watching the way his lips wrapped around your nipple, the way his tongue teased and tasted, each flick and nibble driving you further into a haze of desire.

He moved to your other breast, giving it the same attention, his lips warm and wet as he sucked the nipple into his mouth. His tongue flicked over the sensitive bud, each stroke steady and deliberate, his saliva coating your skin as he lavished it with the same slow, torturous care. The pleasure was almost overwhelming, his touch both teasing and satisfying, his pace slow enough to make you ache for more.

Your pulse quickened, each beat of your heart in sync with the heat building between your thighs. Every movement of Michael’s hands and mouth sent waves of desire coursing through you, his kisses lingering on your skin, his touch deliberate, as though he knew exactly how to keep you teetering on the edge of pleasure. His lips, warm and wet, left a trail of heated bliss across your chest, your stomach, down your body. Each flick of his tongue, every gentle nibble and graze, was a deliberate tease, designed to make you crave more. And it was working.

Your breath was coming in shallow, uneven gasps, your chest rising and falling rapidly with the anticipation, the tension building to a fever pitch inside you. It was as though your entire body was attuned to him, each nerve alight and buzzing with the promise of release. Michael’s mouth trailed lower, the heat of his breath skimming over your skin until he reached your core. His eyes darkened at the sight of how wet you were, his gaze locked on your arousal, as if savoring the evidence of your need.

He grabbed your legs and gently pinned them back, folding you into yourself as he positioned your knees against your chest. His voice was low, intimate as he murmured, “Think you can hold them?”

You nodded, your hands sliding to the back of your knees, gripping them tightly, your pulse thrumming in your ears.

Michael ran his fingers down the slick heat of your slit, his touch feather-light, but enough to make you shudder. “So wet…” he whispered, his voice filled with awe as he spread your folds, his thumb finding your clit with precise ease. His thumb circled it slowly, teasingly, drawing out the tension building inside you as he watched your reaction with dark, hungry eyes. Your brows furrowed as pleasure coursed through you, your hips twitching in response to his touch.

He raised his hand to his mouth, his eyes never leaving yours as he licked each finger clean, tasting you with a slow, deliberate flick of his tongue. The sight of him savoring you sent a fresh wave of arousal surging through you, your body trembling in anticipation.

Michael coated his fingers with saliva before sliding them back between your folds, his movements teasingly slow. He eased his middle and ring finger into your entrance, the sudden stretch making you gasp, your walls immediately clenching around him. His free hand pressed down on your thigh, holding you in place as his fingers began to move inside you with a slow, deliberate rhythm, each stroke designed to drive you wild.

Your arousal slicked his fingers, dripping down into the palm of his hand as he pumped them in and out of you. He watched your face intently, his gaze unwavering as your lips parted in breathless whispers of his name. The sight of you coming undone beneath him, your body writhing in pleasure, only fueled his desire.

His fingers curled just right, finding that sweet spot deep inside you that made your vision blur, your breath catch. Your head fell back against the pillow, a moan slipping from your lips as he hit that perfect angle over and over again. “You like that, baby?” he asked, his voice rough with desire.

“Yes,” you gasped, your legs shaking as you struggled to hold them steady.

Michael’s lips curved into a wicked smile as he lowered his head, his mouth finding your folds. His tongue flicked out, teasing your clit with quick, light strokes, the sensation sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. You moaned, louder this time, unable to contain the surge of heat that shot through you.

His tongue danced over your clit, his fingers still working you relentlessly, each thrust perfectly timed with the flick of his tongue. He hummed against you, the vibration adding to the intense pleasure already building in your core. He sucked on your folds, pulling your lips into his mouth, the wet sound echoing in the quiet room, so obscene and delicious.

Michael pulled back for a moment, his eyes roaming over your swollen, red folds before he spread them open again, exposing your clit. Without hesitation, he sucked it into his mouth, his lips wrapping around the sensitive nub as he flicked his tongue over it at a maddening pace. His fingers continued their relentless rhythm, the wet sounds of your arousal only spurring him on.

You could feel that familiar, tight burn building in your belly, the tension coiling tighter and tighter as Michael pushed you closer to the edge. Your walls clenched around his fingers, slick with arousal, so tight that you felt like you could snap at any moment. His tongue worked faster, his fingers curling deeper, hitting that spot again and again until your body trembled uncontrollably.

You bit down on your bottom lip, your breath coming in ragged gasps as your release teetered on the brink. Michael looked up at you, his dark, seductive eyes locking with yours, his gaze pulling you in, drowning you in the intensity of the moment. “Michael, I’m going to—” you started, your voice faltering as the pleasure became too much.

Before you could finish, the orgasm crashed over you, your moans filling the room as your body convulsed beneath him. Your release flooded his hand, a milky sheen coating his fingers as you called out his name, your back arching off the bed. The pleasure was overwhelming, every nerve in your body alight, your senses overloaded by the intensity of it all.

Michael didn’t stop. His tongue continued its relentless assault on your sensitive clit, flicking over it in maddening circles. Each stroke sent another surge of pleasure through your already trembling body, your legs feeling as if they might give out from the intensity. Every nerve was alive, every part of you burning with the overwhelming sensation he was drawing out from deep within. You gasped his name, the sound raw and breathless, as you surrendered completely to the bliss.

Slowly, his fingers slipped from inside you, leaving behind an aching emptiness that only heightened the throbbing between your thighs. But he didn’t stop, his mouth still working you with an almost torturous precision, sucking and flicking at your swollen clit, his lips glistening with the evidence of your arousal. As he moved, his hand, drenched in your juices, slid up your body, fingers brushing against your lips. Without hesitation, you opened your mouth, taking them in, tasting yourself on him. The salty sweetness of your arousal mixed with the faint taste of him, sending a fresh wave of desire through you.

God, he was so filthy, so unashamedly nasty in the way he claimed every part of you. And you loved it.

His mouth released your clit with a final, slow suck, the soft pop of his lips leaving a trail of wetness dripping down his chin, his eyes locked on yours with a dark, hungry satisfaction. You moaned softly, still coming down from the high, your body feeling like liquid, every muscle relaxed in the aftermath of the orgasm he had so expertly drawn out of you.

With a gentle tug, he removed your hands from the back of your knees, lowering your legs from their pinned position. They hung loosely over the edge of the bed, trembling slightly as you caught your breath. Michael watched you with a quiet intensity, letting you have that moment to come down, to feel the lingering pleasure still humming through your veins.

Once your breathing steadied, Michael extended a hand, pulling you effortlessly to your feet. His grip was firm yet gentle as he led you, step by step, backward until he sat down in the leather armchair across the room. The smooth leather creaked under his weight, and you stood there for a moment, gazing down at him, the room filled with the heavy scent of sex.

His arousal was undeniable, straining beneath the fabric of his jeans, the heat of it palpable even before you touched him. With a slow, deliberate movement, you sank down onto your knees, the soft rug cushioning your legs as you knelt before him. Your hands slid up the length of his thighs, feeling the hard muscle beneath the denim, your fingers brushing over the bulge that begged for release. He twitched under your touch, his breath hitching as you moved your hands to his belt.

The sound of the buckle being undone echoed in the room, metallic and sharp in contrast to the otherwise silent atmosphere filled only with your shared heavy breathing. You pulled the belt free, tossing it aside without care, your focus entirely on the task ahead. Slowly, you unbuttoned his jeans, each pop of the buttons adding to the growing tension between you. His fingers slid through your hair, brushing against your scalp as he watched you, his dark eyes half-lidded, burning with desire.

The sound of the zipper coming undone was loud in the otherwise quiet room, and your fingers trembled with anticipation as you pulled his jeans down over his hips, revealing the hard, toned lines of his legs. You tugged them down further, finally freeing him from the confines of the fabric, tossing them aside where they landed in a crumpled heap.

Your eyes were drawn back to the straining bulge in his briefs, the white linen barely containing his hardened length. With a teasing smile, you hooked your fingers into the waistband and slowly pulled them down, watching as his thick, dark shaft began to emerge, the skin taut and smooth, the tip glistening with anticipation. His cock sprang free, resting heavily against his stomach, the weight of it making your mouth water with desire.

You pulled the briefs all the way off, adding them to the pile of discarded clothes scattered across the room. Michael spread his legs wider, inviting you to settle between them. Your eyes roamed over his shaft, thick and veiny, the dark skin stretched tight over the hardness beneath, the tip flushed a deep, tempting pink. His shaft was perfect, heavy, and uncut, the curve of it something you adored, something that always made you shiver with anticipation.

Michael watched you, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as you admired him. He knew the effect he had on you, knew how much you loved the sight of him like this—so ready, so hard for you. He held out his hand, palm open, and without a word, you leaned forward, spitting into his hand, watching as he wrapped his fingers around his length, stroking himself slowly. The slick sound of his hand moving over his shaft was intoxicating, his veins pulsing beneath his grip as he exposed the swollen head, the tip peeking out, a bead of pre-cum glistening in the dim light.

“You want it?” he asked, his voice low and teasing, as he waved his length back and forth, the thick shaft brushing against your lips. Your eyes followed the motion, unable to tear your gaze away, your breath catching in your throat.

“Yes, Michael,” you whimpered, your voice barely more than a plea.

He moved closer to the edge of the chair, his length inches from your face, the heat of it radiating toward you. “Take what you need, baby,” he murmured, his tone soft but commanding. “Inspire yourself.”

With a soft smile tugging at your lips, you bit down gently, your teeth grazing the tender flesh as your hand reached up to wrap around the base of his thick length. Your fingers stretched, barely managing to encircle him, the girth of him too much for your small hands. But that only fueled your desire, the ache of wanting to take all of him coursing through you as your gaze locked on his. Slowly, you leaned forward, parting your lips to press a soft, teasing kiss against the tip of his swollen shaft. The salty sweetness of his pre-cum tingled on your tongue, igniting your senses, making your body tremble with anticipation as you prepared to take him deeper.

“Go ahead, baby,” Michael whispered, his voice low and husky. His hand moved through his hair, pushing the dark curls away from his face, his eyes never leaving yours. The heat of his gaze made your skin burn, and you stroked him slowly, your hand sliding over the slick, hot skin, exposing the swollen tip even more.

You flicked your tongue out, rolling it lightly against his sensitive tip, and a heavy gasp fell from his lips, his chest rising and falling as he watched you intently. His reaction spurred you on, each swirl of your tongue drawing a deeper moan from him. You teased him with slow, deliberate licks, circling the tip, savoring the musky taste of him mixed with the salty precum that lingered on your tongue.

Slowly, you took more of him into your mouth, inch by inch, the stretch of your lips around his thickness almost too much to handle. His length filled you completely, and as you descended, your lips slid over every ridge, every pulsing vein, particularly that thick vein running along the underside of his shaft, pressing firmly against your tongue.

Michael’s eyes darkened with lust as he watched you go deeper, his breaths coming faster, his chest rising and falling with each one. The small, delicate gags that escaped your throat were music to his ears as you reached the base of him, your lips stretched impossibly wide to accommodate his size. You paused there for a moment, savoring the fullness, the way he felt in your mouth before pulling back up, your lips trailing up his length as you sucked softly, just halfway. You bobbed your head in slow, steady motions, letting your tongue slide against his shaft with every descent.

Your eyes never left his, not for a second. His gaze was locked on you, burning with raw desire as he watched the way you worked him. He looked so damn fine like this, sitting back in the chair, his jaw clenched, his brow furrowed from the pleasure you were giving him. He was helpless under your touch, completely at your mercy, and you loved every second of it.

As you continued to suck him, letting your saliva coat every inch of his shaft, you could feel the wetness dripping down to your hand, pooling at the base of his cock and slipping down to the leather chair beneath him. Your hand moved with your mouth, stroking his base, the slickness of your saliva making the glide effortless.

Michael never tore his eyes away from you, his brow furrowed even deeper as his pleasure built, the sensations overwhelming him. His breathing grew heavier, his lips parting with soft groans, his thick length twitching in your mouth as the veins beneath his skin pulsed rhythmically against your lips.

You took him all the way back down to the base again, the pressure against your throat making you gag lightly, but you held him there, savoring the fullness, the weight of him pressing against your tongue. His hand rested gently on your head, fingers brushing through your hair, but he didn’t push. He didn’t force you to move, didn’t thrust himself deeper. He wanted you to take your time, to inspire yourself, to work him in your own way.

“God…” Michael breathed, his voice ragged, filled with need. His eyes stayed on you, even though his body trembled, every muscle tense with restraint. You could feel how badly he wanted to take control, but he was giving you the reins, letting you lead him to the edge.

You moved back up to his tip, letting your saliva build up even more, coating his shaft in a glistening layer that dripped down onto the leather seat beneath him. With your other hand, you wrapped around his base, still unable to fully hold him in both hands, but the pressure of your grip and the slickness of your spit made the slide easier. You bobbed your head in a steady rhythm, sucking him deeply, your moans vibrating against his length, each sound sending shivers through his body.

Michael started to thrust gently into your mouth, just enough to match your rhythm, but not enough to overwhelm you. His hips rolled in a slow, measured motion, and his voice dropped to a low growl. “Just like that, baby… God, you look so pretty with me in your mouth.” His voice was thick with pleasure, each word dripping with lust. “Those pretty lips, stretching around me… mhm, look at that.”

A hiss slipped from his lips as you squeezed him a little tighter, your hand twisting slightly as you stroked him, and the veins along his shaft pulsed harder against your touch. “Fuck…” he breathed, throwing his head back, his hair falling in loose curls over his forehead as he surrendered to the pleasure.

You smiled against him, knowing just how responsive his body was, how easily he could fall apart under your touch. His muscles tensed, and his thighs quivered slightly as you kept working him, your hands and mouth moving in perfect harmony. You knew exactly how to drive him to the brink, to tease him with just enough restraint before letting him spill over into release.

God, he was so close. You could feel it in every twitch of his body, every ragged breath that escaped his lips. He was so responsive, every nerve in his body attuned to your touch. Watching him like this—completely undone beneath you, his control slipping with every stroke—sent a rush of power through you. He was yours, utterly and entirely, just waiting for that final push to send him over the edge.

Your hand continued its steady, deliberate rhythm along his slick, throbbing length. Each stroke was met with a soft gasp, his hips jerking slightly, unable to keep still. Your lips wrapped around his sensitive tip, sucking gently, knowing just how vulnerable he was there, how that spot could unravel him in an instant. You could taste how close he was—the salty essence of him leaking onto your tongue, a promise of what was about to spill out. You could feel his desperation, the way he strained beneath you, his body teetering on the edge of release.

“Shit, baby, I’m close,” Michael ground out through clenched teeth, his jaw tight, the muscles in his neck straining as he fought to hold on.

You picked up the pace, your strokes becoming faster, more insistent. Your tongue still moved slowly around his tip, teasing him, feeling it throb against your lips as his length twitched in your hand. His grip on your hair tightened, his fingers tangling in the strands as he struggled to keep control. But it was slipping, and you knew it. He was right there, right on the brink.

“Fuck, I’m about to—” His words cut off in a strangled groan as his body tensed all at once.

With a deep, guttural moan, Michael’s body convulsed, his thick, warm seed spurting into your mouth in hot, powerful waves. It hit the back of your throat, filling your mouth instantly, the sheer force of it making you gag lightly. He groaned loudly, his hand pushing your head down, forcing you to take more, to swallow him whole as he came undone. His cum filled your mouth so completely that it began to spill out, dripping from the corners of your lips and sliding down his shaft, thick and warm.

Even as you pulled away, you kept stroking him, your hands slick with his release, your fingers gliding easily over his still-hard length. His seed coated your hands, dripping down in thick, sticky ropes. You giggled softly at the sight, your lips curving into a teasing smile as you bit down on your bottom lip, unable to resist the playful urge. “Look at that,” you murmured, your voice soft, almost a purr.

One last drop leaked from his tip, landing squarely on your cheek, warm and wet. Michael sat back in the chair, completely spent, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. His body was spent, muscles trembling, but the hunger in his eyes said otherwise. Both of you knew this wasn’t over. Not yet.

You licked your hands, tasting his warm seed on your tongue, savoring the salty sweetness. Your tongue slid along his shaft, licking up the remnants of his release, not wanting to waste a single drop. Even now, his cock remained hard, twitching lightly with each flick of your tongue.

His body jerked slightly as you licked up every last drop, the overstimulation sending shivers through him. His abs tensed beneath your touch as you ran your hand up his stomach, feeling the hard ridges of muscle beneath your fingers. His breathing was still heavy and ragged, each breath coming out in short bursts.

“Want to give me more?” you asked teasingly, your lips brushing against his skin as you spoke, your voice dripping with playful seduction.

Michael chuckled softly, though his voice was still thick with desire. “You know I can go all night, don’t start,” he warned, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

You stood up, a teasing smirk on your face as you turned to walk away, but before you could take more than a step, Michael’s hand shot out, grabbing you by the waist. In one swift motion, he pulled you onto his lap, his arm wrapping around your waist to hold you in place. His still-hard shaft pressed against you, hot and insistent beneath the thin fabric between you.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he growled, his voice low and possessive. “We’re not finished here… you still have a couple more paragraphs to finish.”

His hand slid up your body, fingers tracing the curve of your waist before coming to rest around your neck, his grip firm but gentle as he pulled you closer. His lips hovered just inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin, making you shiver with anticipation.

You looked back at him, your eyes locking onto his, the tension between you crackling in the air like static. Your gaze flickered down to his lips, so close, so tempting. His hand tightened slightly around your neck, pulling you closer still until your lips brushed against his in the softest, most tantalizing of kisses.

You leaned in, closing the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a deep, hungry kiss. The moment your lips touched, the world fell away, leaving only the heat between you. The kiss was slow at first, but it quickly turned desperate, both of you lost in the sensation, moaning softly into each other’s mouths. You could taste him—his release still lingering on your tongue, mixed with the heat of the kiss. Michael didn’t mind. He never did.

The kiss deepened, turning sloppier with every passing second, your lips swollen and slick from the shared hunger between you. His tongue slid against yours, tangling in a way that sent jolts of pleasure sparking through your body. The heat radiating off both of you was unbearable, suffocating in the best way as your bodies pressed closer. His grip on your neck tightened slightly, the pressure not painful but enough to make your heart race wildly. You could feel the pulse pounding beneath your skin, an intoxicating sensation as you surrendered completely to him, lost in the moment, craving more.

The ache between you both was growing, a desperate need building with every second that passed. Michael pulled away from the kiss, your lips parting with a wet, breathless sound, a thin string of saliva still connecting your mouths. His dark eyes flickered with lust as he glanced down at you, the corner of his mouth curling into a smirk. Without a word, he raised his hand and brought it lightly across your face, the sting so slight but enough to make your body shudder. Your eyes fluttered closed for a brief second, the rush of submission filling your veins as a slutty smile appeared on your lips.

“You want to sit on it, baby?” Michael’s voice was a low, rough growl, the words dripping with desire.

Your teeth sank into your bottom lip as you nodded eagerly, a soft moan escaping you. You could barely wait, the throbbing between your thighs growing unbearable. Michael’s hands left your neck, moving down to grip your hips with a firm hold as he effortlessly lifted you. His touch was possessive, commanding, making you feel completely at his mercy. You turned your head back, your eyes lingering on him as you reached between your bodies, your fingers wrapping around his thick, pulsing shaft.

You brushed the swollen head of his length against your slick folds, teasing him by dragging it back and forth along your entrance. The sensation made your breath hitch, the pressure of him against your clit sending a wave of pleasure shooting through your core. “Fuck…” you murmured under your breath, your voice a soft moan as you continued the slow, torturous teasing.

Michael groaned in response, his hand running up and down your back, the muscles in his arms tense with restraint. “Go ahead, baby,” he whispered, his voice husky as his breath ghosted over your skin. “Take it.”

Your body trembled with anticipation as you positioned him at your entrance, the thick head of his shaft pressing against your opening. Slowly, you began to ease down, each inch stretching you more, filling you so completely it felt like you could barely handle it. Your breath came out in a shaky gasp as your tight walls gripped him, the sensation overwhelming.

“Oh God…” you moaned, your voice quivering as you felt him sink deeper into you, inch by inch. The stretch was intense, your body struggling to adjust to his size, but the pleasure was unlike anything else. Each movement sent sparks of electricity up your spine, making your toes curl.

Michael leaned forward, bending you slightly as his eyes locked onto the sight of you taking him in. His hands gripped your hips tighter, his fingers digging into your skin as he watched intently. “Go deeper, baby,” he urged, his voice low and rough with desire. “I know you can take it.”

You whimpered in response, your brow furrowing as the fullness made your body quiver. “It’s so thick…” you whispered breathlessly, your voice barely more than a soft whine as you tried to adjust to the overwhelming sensation.

Michael chuckled softly, a deep, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “I know, baby,” he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction as he watched you. “You can take it… take it all if you want to.”

With a strained moan, you finally sank all the way down, feeling his entire length buried deep inside of you. It was almost too much, the way he filled you so completely, but it was perfect in its intensity. Every nerve in your body was alight with pleasure, your breath coming out in shallow pants as you struggled to hold onto the sensation.

Michael’s grip on your hips tightened even more as he slowly began to guide your movements, lifting you up and then pulling you back down onto him. The slow, steady rhythm was torturous in its intensity, every inch of him dragging against your walls as your slick heat enveloped him. Your hands reached back, gripping onto his thighs for support as your body trembled from the pleasure.

“Mhm, Michael,” you moaned, your voice strained as your brows knitted together. He was so big, so thick, and every thrust felt like it was driving you closer to the edge, your body unable to take much more.

“Put your feet in the seat, baby,” Michael instructed, his voice low and commanding as he adjusted you.

Carefully, you shifted, placing your feet on the seat beneath you, your body hovering just above him as you adjusted to the new angle. He was still buried deep inside of you, the change in position causing you to let out a sharp gasp as the sensation intensified. Your hands moved to the armrests of the chair, your body now positioned so close to his chest, yet you held yourself up, trembling with every subtle movement.

Michael pressed his head against your shoulder, his breath hot against your neck as he whispered in your ear. “Look at that…” he murmured, his voice thick with admiration as he watched himself slide in and out of you, his shaft glistening with your arousal.

The slow, deliberate thrusts were agonizingly perfect, each one sending a fresh wave of pleasure through your body as his length coated itself in your slick heat. “You take me so good, baby,” he breathed, his voice a low, approving whisper that made your heart race. “Such a good girl…”

His grip tightened, firm and commanding, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips as he took full control of your movements. His possessiveness radiated through every touch, each motion deliberate as he guided you to ride him exactly how he wanted. Your bodies met with perfect rhythm, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through your core, tightening the coil of pressure that built with every second. The slick, wet sounds of your connection filled the room, amplifying the heat and intensity between you as your arousal dripped down his length, pooling beneath you in a messy sheen.

“It feels so good, Michael,” you whimpered softly, your voice barely audible between the desperate moans escaping your lips. Your eyebrows knitted together in a mix of pleasure and strain as you struggled to keep yourself grounded while he unraveled you completely.

Michael leaned in, his lips brushing against your cheek, soft but heated. “I know, baby,” he murmured against your skin, his breath hot in your ear. “What else do you want to put in those naughty stories of yours?” His voice was a low, teasing growl, the words wrapped in wicked intent.

A shiver ran down your spine, and all you could manage was a helpless moan in response, your mind too fogged with bliss to form a coherent answer. But both of you knew — this moment, this raw passion, would be written into your journal later, like every other fantasy that you and Michael had brought to life. It was just another story in the collection you could never keep secret, not with him.

With a swift movement, Michael’s strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you up against his chest in one smooth motion. His length stayed buried deep inside of you, the connection unbroken as he stood to his feet, lifting you effortlessly. Your back pressed against the hard planes of his chest, his heartbeat pounding through your skin as he turned both of you around. His lips brushed against your neck, but there was no pause in his motions — he set you down on the chair on all fours, your body arched perfectly, just the way he liked it.

The angle opened you up to him completely, making you gasp as you felt the fullness of his length slide back into you with agonizing precision. You whined, your body trembling beneath him, each thrust sending shocks of pleasure straight through you. Michael’s pace was steady but relentless, his hips snapping forward as your body smacked back against him. The sharp recoil of your skin meeting his echoed in the room, adding to the erotic symphony of wet, desperate sounds.

Michael’s eyes locked onto where your bodies met, watching the way your arousal coated him, the slickness of it making each thrust glide smoother. He needed more. Despite how wet you were, his greed for more of you drove him further. His mouth parted, and with a low groan, he let a drop of his saliva fall down onto his shaft, watching it drip and mix with your wetness, working into you with each thrust, making it even more intense.

“Michael, don’t stop,” you moaned, your voice shaky and breathless, your body trembling as the pleasure overwhelmed you.

He growled low in his throat, his hand reaching up to grab a fistful of your hair, wrapping the strands tightly around his fingers. He yanked your head back, the pull making your body arch even more, forcing you to open up further for him. “I won’t stop,” he whispered darkly into your ear, his breath ragged. “Not until you get a full story, baby.”

A loud, helpless moan ripped from your throat as his words sent another wave of desire crashing through you. You tried to push back against him, to match his pace, but Michael wasn’t having it. His grip tightened, and his pace changed, faster, more intense. The sound of your skin slapping together filled the room, his hips snapping against your ass with such force that it made your entire body shudder.

The thrusts came harder, deeper, each one knocking the breath from your lungs. You pressed your face into the seat, muffling your moans as you tried to hold on, but it was impossible. Michael’s pace was relentless, the sensation of him driving into you was too much, and you could feel yourself unraveling with every thrust.

“Fuck,” Michael gritted through his teeth, his voice thick with strain, every syllable drenched in the raw intensity of the moment. His eyes locked onto the sight before him, mesmerized by how your body responded to him, your arousal gleaming on his length with every deep thrust. The creamy sheen coated him entirely, heightening each movement as he drove into you. You were so tight, so wet—every inch of you pulling him deeper, making it impossible for him to slow down, not that he wanted to. He couldn’t get enough.

Your hand reached back in a desperate attempt to steady yourself, but Michael wasn’t having it. Without a word, he released your hair, his grip shifting to your arm, grabbing it firmly and twisting it behind your back. In one swift motion, he pinned it against the small of your spine, arching you deeper into the seat. The new angle made your stomach press flat against the chair, your chin sinking into the cushion as his thrusts grew harder. He slammed into you with a rhythm that was relentless, each movement sending heavy groans from his lips and loud, breathless moans from yours.

The pressure in your belly was building, that familiar burn growing tighter and tighter with every thrust. The ache in your core was so close to release, yet still so maddeningly far. Michael knew it too. He could feel your body tightening, your walls clenching around him, pulsing with need as you teetered on the edge. With every stroke, he was bringing you closer, pushing you toward that inevitable climax that had been creeping up on you from the start.

“Michael, I’m so close,” you moaned, your voice hoarse and desperate, barely able to hold back the sob of pleasure rising in your throat. Your body trembled beneath him, and your toes curled so tightly you thought they might cramp.

“Me too, baby,” he groaned, his voice strained as he pushed harder into you, sweat dripping down his forehead, falling in rivulets across his face. His grip on your waist tightened, fingers digging into your skin as he worked his body faster, more determined, his cock brushing that spot deep inside you with precision, the one spot that drove you absolutely insane. Each time he hit it, your body convulsed, and you could feel yourself unraveling at his mercy.

You bit down on your lip, trying to muffle the scream threatening to escape, but it was no use. The tension in your belly coiled tighter until it snapped, and with a final thrust, Michael sent you over the edge. Your body convulsed, trembling violently as wave after wave of your release crashed through you. Your walls clenched and spasmed around him, squeezing his cock as your arousal gushed over him, coating him in slick warmth. You could feel everything—the way your body held him inside, the way your orgasm pulsed through every inch of your skin.

Michael wasn’t far behind. The sensation of your release gripping him so tightly, combined with the sounds of your pleasure, pushed him past his breaking point. His grip on your arm and waist tightened, his fingers pressing into you with bruising force as his hips bucked uncontrollably.

With a deep, guttural groan, he buried himself inside you one final time, releasing deep into your core. His body twitched as his cum spilled out in thick, hot spurts, filling you completely. His moans were desperate, your name falling from his lips in a low, ragged whisper as his cock throbbed within you, his seed seeping out and dripping onto the leather chair beneath with a wet thud.

Michael collapsed on top of you, his body spent and heavy, his breath hot against your neck as he tried to catch it. Your limbs trembled beneath him, the aftershocks of your orgasm still making you shudder as you both lay there, tangled and exhausted. His arms wrapped loosely around your waist, holding you close even as his weight pressed into you.

Both of you were too drained to move, limbs heavy with the weight of exhaustion, but the quiet that settled over the room felt intimate, almost sacred. The aftermath of your shared pleasure clung to the air, thick and heady, and you lay there, basking in it. It was clear as day—a new story had just been written, etched into your mind with every kiss, every breathless moan, every sensation that still lingered. You knew it wouldn’t be the last, and neither did Michael.

As the silence wrapped around you both, Michael finally sat up, his broad chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. His skin glistened with sweat, tiny droplets rolling down his neck, his breathing heavy and labored, but his eyes remained on you. Slowly, he eased himself out of you, the soft, wet sound of his withdrawal making you whimper. His gaze darkened, a mixture of pride and desire swirling in his eyes as he watched your shared release seep out, coating your thighs and dripping onto the leather seat.

“Fuck… look at you,” Michael murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction as he cupped your cheek gently, leaning down to press a soft kiss against your lips. “You’re so perfect. Every damn time.”

You whimpered at the emptiness, your body trembling slightly as the cool air hit your overheated skin. Michael’s lips brushed against your jaw, his breath warm and ragged. “I’ll be right back, baby,” he whispered softly, the kiss lingering a moment longer before he stood.

His length was still semi-hard, glistening with the evidence of your union as he crossed the room, every step deliberate, his muscles taut beneath his skin. He disappeared into the bathroom, the faint sound of running water filling the air, grounding you in the silence that had settled between you.

When he returned, the washcloth was warm and damp in his hand. He knelt down beside you, his touch gentle and deliberate as he began to clean you. The soft fabric glided between your sensitive folds, wiping away the thick remnants of his release. His fingers lingered for just a second longer than necessary, tracing your skin with reverence.

“You always make such a mess, baby,” he teased softly, his voice low, filled with tenderness. “But I love it. I love seeing you like this.”

You let out a small breathless laugh, your body too spent to respond fully. He lifted you gently, propping you up just enough to make sure you were comfortable. “You’re not falling asleep in that chair,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear, the heat of his breath sending shivers down your spine.

Your legs trembled as you attempted to stand, the strength drained from them. Michael’s eyes softened, and without hesitation, he scooped you up effortlessly, cradling you against his chest. His lips found your temple, pressing a soft kiss there as he carried you to the bed. He laid you down gently, your body sinking into the softness of the sheets, your head lolling to the side.

Just as your eyes fluttered shut, you reached out, your hand brushing against his still-hard length. A playful smirk curled your lips as you stroked him lightly, teasing him with lazy, languid movements.

Michael let out a deep growl, his eyes narrowing in playful warning. “Keep playing, and we’ll be up all night,” he said, his voice rough with desire, though a grin tugged at the corner of his lips.

You smiled sleepily, pulling the covers over yourself as you settled in, the warmth enveloping you. Michael turned and walked back into the bathroom, rinsing out the cloth and tossing it in the trash before returning to the bedroom.

When he came back, he paused in the doorway, his eyes locking onto the sight of you with your journal open on your lap, pencil in hand, scribbling furiously despite the exhaustion pulling at your body. He chuckled softly, shaking his head.

“You couldn’t wait, could you?” he asked, his voice filled with amusement as he stepped closer to the bed, his eyes gleaming with affection.

You shook your head, looking up at him with tired but determined eyes, a mischievous glint still dancing in them. “You inspired me,” you whispered, your voice soft, filled with warmth.

Michael slid into the bed beside you, his body still radiating heat as he nestled against your side. He rested his head on your shoulder, watching you write. “So, what are you putting in this time?” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear as he spoke. His voice was low, a seductive rumble that made your heart race.

You glanced at him, your fingers pausing for a moment on the page. “Everything,” you whispered back, your lips curving into a playful smile. “Every touch, every sound… every inch of you.”

Michael let out a low, approving hum, his hand slipping beneath the covers to rest on your thigh, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin. “Every inch, huh?” he teased, his voice dripping with seduction. “You better not leave anything out, baby. I want all of it.”

You shivered under his touch, your body still sensitive, but you couldn’t help but smile as you continued writing. “Oh, I won’t. I’ll make sure it’s just as… vivid as tonight was.”

His lips pressed against your shoulder, soft yet possessive. “Good,” he murmured against your skin, his breath warm and tantalizing. “I want to relive this every time I read it.”

Both of you stayed up for the next hour, wrapped in each other’s presence, going over every detail that played out tonight. Michael’s voice was soft in your ear, offering playful commentary, whispering bits of inspiration that made your heart race. Every now and then, he would press a kiss to your shoulder, his hand sliding up and down your thigh in slow, sensual movements, reminding you of exactly what you were writing about.

And when you finally closed the journal, both of you spent and satisfied, you knew that this wouldn’t be the last story you’d write together.

#michael jackson #moonwalker #wattpad #mjf fanfiction #writing #imagine #thriller #smut #rough smut #endless seduction #mjsdiiana #ao3 writer

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mjwhisperer · 9 months ago

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Here’s My AO3! Just posted ‘Bringing Me Joy’

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mjwhisperer · 9 months ago

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𝙱𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙼𝚎 𝙹𝚘𝚢

1991

Neverland Ranch

Word Count: 10.6k

The air was thick with a comforting silence, the kind that wraps around you like a warm embrace, coaxing you into a sense of peace. The faint scent of baby powder lingered in the room, mingling with the sweet, delicate fragrance of your two-month-old baby nestled against your chest. You cradled her gently as she nursed, her tiny fingers occasionally brushing your skin, her soft breaths steady and rhythmic. Her deep brown eyes, the same shade as her father's, fought to stay open, curious and eager to explore more of the world, though the late hour weighed heavy on her eyelids. The red glow of the alarm clock blinked quietly from the dresser beside you, marking the time—midnight.

It had been a long, solitary day. The spacious house felt even larger when it was just you and your baby girl, the quiet occasionally broken by her soft coos and tiny cries. Michael had been away in the studio again, working late into the night, though he always made time for you and your daughter, even if it was in the small hours. His love was never in question, his presence felt even in his absence.

You sat in the old rocking chair, the gentle creak as you swayed back and forth blending with the stillness of the room. The window framed the night sky, where a crescent moon hung low, casting a silvery glow across your face and your daughter's. Her dark lashes fluttered, catching the moonlight as she slowly succumbed to sleep. You exhaled softly, letting yourself relax fully, the weariness of the day fading. The remnants of your earlier bath clung to your skin—the rich scent of cocoa butter soothing you, a small indulgence you rarely afforded yourself these days. The black satin of your nightgown felt luxurious, smooth against your skin, the fabric cool yet comforting. Your hair was still damp, but the slight chill didn't bother you.

Motherhood had changed you—deepened you, softened you in ways you hadn't expected. It had changed Michael, too. You saw it in the way he looked at your daughter, a new tenderness that you recognized from the way he had always doted on his nieces and nephews. But this was different. This was his own flesh and blood, and the love he had for her was palpable, even when he was away.

Your daughter stirred slightly, her lips unlatching from you, and you glanced down to see her eyes closed now, her breathing steady. Her skin, smooth as velvet, was as precious to you as any treasure. Carefully, you rose from the rocking chair, each step deliberate and quiet as you moved across the nursery. The crib stood waiting, the soft bedding already warm from the night's embrace. You leaned down gently, placing her into it with the utmost care. Her mouth made the little clicking sound you had come to adore from day one, her tiny lips forming a faint smile as sleep carried her off.

"Goodnight, princess," you whispered, pressing a kiss to your fingers and then to her cheek, the gesture as much a promise as a farewell for the night.

As you stood in the doorway, you cast one more glance at her peaceful form, illuminated by the soft nightlight in the corner. The door closed with a faint click, left ajar just enough to hear her if she stirred, though the baby monitor gave you peace of mind.

Descending the stairs, you heard it—the soft, familiar notes of a piano drifting through the house. Michael. Your heart swelled. His music always had a way of filling the empty spaces, his melodies woven from instinct and emotion. He played not from sheet music, but from the heart, each chord a reflection of his feelings.

When you reached the bottom step, the wooden floorboards creaked slightly underfoot, the sound almost a companion to the music. The soft glow of candlelight flickered in the living room, two small flames casting shadows at the end of the piano where he sat. His fingers moved effortlessly across the keys, his brow slightly furrowed in concentration but relaxed, the music soothing the quiet of the night.

You stood in the doorway for a moment longer, watching him as the soft glow of candlelight flickered against the walls, casting gentle shadows across the room. The warmth from the fireplace seeped into the air, mingling with the tender chords of the piano and the love that flowed effortlessly between you both. In that moment, the house no longer felt cavernous or empty—it felt alive, like the very walls breathed with the memories you had begun building here. This was home, a sanctuary you had both created together, and even in the quietest moments, its warmth enveloped you.

Slowly, you approached him, your bare feet barely making a sound on the hardwood floor. Standing behind him, you gently ran your hands over his broad shoulders, feeling the tightness in his muscles. He had been working for hours, and the strain was clear in the way he sat hunched over the keys. But as soon as your fingers touched him, he relaxed. The tension melted away, replaced by the familiar comfort of your touch. His scent, fresh from his shower, lingered—a mix of soap and something distinctly him, an intoxicating blend that always made your heart flutter.

You squeezed his shoulders softly before moving to the side of the piano, meeting his gaze. His deep brown eyes, so full of warmth and love, met yours. His damp curls framed his face, falling in just the right way to make him look effortlessly handsome. You couldn't help but smile. "Coming to bed?" you asked, your voice soft, inviting.

Michael nodded, though his fingers still hovered over the keys, not quite pressing them. "Soon," he replied. "I've got this melody stuck in my head. I told Teddy about it at the studio earlier, but for some reason, I just couldn't get it out." His fingers moved lightly over the piano, as though coaxing the music from it without sound, like he was trying to feel the notes before they emerged.

You smiled, running your fingers along the polished surface of the grand piano, the cool wood smooth beneath your fingertips. "Need me to stay up with you?" you asked, knowing how much these moments mattered to him, how the music was often his way of unwinding, of finding peace after a long day.

He shrugged lightly but with a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I could use some company," he admitted. "Plus, I missed my wife. It was hard enough being away from you and our baby girl all day."

He scooted over on the piano bench, patting the space beside him. You walked over and settled next to him, the warmth of his body immediately comforting as you rested your head on his shoulder. His arm wrapped around you instinctively, pulling you closer as you both sat in the quiet. The flicker of the candles, the soft hum of the night, and the gentle weight of his presence made everything feel right.

"I missed you too," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "I was so happy to see you when you came home." Your fingers found his hand, still resting lightly on the keys, and you traced the back of it, feeling the familiar texture of his skin.

He took your hand in his, his thumb brushing softly over your knuckles in that tender way he always did, a silent expression of affection. "The way your eyes lit up when I walked in," he said, turning his head slightly to meet your gaze. "You looked so happy."

You tilted your head up to look at him, a playful smile dancing on your lips. "Of course I was happy. I missed you, silly. What else?"

He chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I know, baby," he said, his voice warm and teasing. "I'm just messing with you."

Before you could respond, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering as if savoring the moment, the closeness, the feeling of you against him. You closed your eyes, breathing him in—his familiar scent, fresh yet comforting, and the warmth of his body radiating through you. It was like time stopped for a brief moment, and all that existed was the shared silence between you, the stillness filled with love and understanding. You felt exactly where you were meant to be, safe in his presence, surrounded by his quiet strength and tenderness.

With a gentle exhale, he placed his hand back on the piano keys, his fingers poised delicately over them as he took a deep breath. Then, without hesitation, he began to play again, letting the same chords flow out as naturally as a heartbeat. Though Michael wasn't classically trained, there was something about the way his fingers danced across the keys that made it seem effortless. He played from somewhere deep within, letting the music find its way through him, a reflection of his emotions.

You leaned into his shoulder, the warmth of him grounding you as you listened. The chords filled the room, soft yet rich, each note a thread that wove through your heart, warming you from the inside out. It was as if every sound he produced carried with it a piece of his love, the music wrapping around you both in an invisible embrace. The joy, the happiness, the simple peace of being together in this moment—it was all there in the way he played.

Quietly, he began to hum to himself, the low sound barely audible but enough to send a shiver through you. His voice, unfiltered and raw, was one of your favorite things. You loved the way he sounded when it was just the two of you, no pressure, no performance—just him, vulnerable and real. It was moments like these that made you fall even deeper in love with him, the intimacy of hearing him like this, unguarded.

But suddenly, he stopped playing. The music cut off, leaving a stillness that felt jarring in contrast to the warmth it had brought. You opened your eyes, lifting your head from his shoulder to look up at him, concern flickering across your face. His expression had changed—his eyes were distant, as if lost in thought, his brow furrowed slightly.

"What's wrong?" you asked, your voice soft but laced with worry.

Michael shook his head gently, as if pulling himself out of whatever thought had distracted him. "Nothing," he murmured, but there was a weight to his voice that said otherwise. He turned his head to look at you, his deep brown eyes searching yours. "What did you feel when I played that?" he asked, his voice low, almost as if he wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer.

You thought for a moment, letting the warmth of the music replay in your mind. "I felt... warm. Happy. Joy," you said softly, the words slipping out naturally. It was the truth, after all. His music had always had that effect on you, making you feel enveloped in a love so deep it was almost tangible.

Michael stared at you, his gaze lingering before he looked away again, his fingers brushing over the keys absentmindedly. "Joy," he repeated quietly, as if tasting the word on his tongue, rolling it around in his mind. Then he looked back down at you, a slow smile spreading across his face, lighting up his features. "I love you," he said, his voice filled with a sincerity that made your heart skip a beat.

"I love you too," you replied softly, your voice just as full of meaning.

He shook his head slightly, the smile still lingering. "No, seriously," he said, his tone deepening. "I know I say it all the time, but I really mean it. And when you said that—'joy'—it just... clicked. I think I'll call it Joy," he said, his smile widening. "You're really helpful at times, you know?" he teased, his eyes sparkling with playful affection.

You couldn't help but nudge him in the arm, a grin pulling at your lips. "Shut up," you muttered, pretending to be annoyed, though you knew he could see right through you.

"What?" he laughed softly, his voice smooth and warm. "I'm telling the truth, baby. When you're around me, you inspire me. You... you bring me joy. When I thought of this melody, I thought of you." His voice softened at the end, his words laced with affection so deep it made your chest ache in the best way.

You sat up slowly, turning to meet his eyes fully. "I love when I inspire you," you said, your voice barely a whisper, but the weight of your words hung in the air between you.

Michael's eyes darkened with emotion as he leaned in closer, his lips barely brushing against yours, his breath warm on your skin. "You always inspire me," he whispered, his voice deep, full of love. "Everything I do, everything that comes to mind, is because of you—because of how much I love you."

The quiet stretched out between you, the only sound the faint crackling of the fireplace and the soft flicker of the candles burning low. The room felt alive with the energy of your love, a warmth that wasn't just physical but emotional, deep, and ever-present.

You leaned in, closing the small distance between you, pressing your lips to his in a soft, lingering kiss. The outside world blurred into nothing, leaving only the warmth of his body, the scent of him, the way his lips moved against yours with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. It felt like the universe had shrunk down to this one perfect moment—the soft glow of the candles, the faint crackling of the fireplace, and the palpable love that filled the space between you. When you finally pulled away, your foreheads pressed gently together, the closeness still electric. Your eyes locked, and it was as though you could see every unspoken word, every emotion flickering through his gaze like the warm candlelight around you.

"Ready for bed?" you asked, your voice soft, almost as if you didn't want to break the moment.

Michael shook his head slowly, a slight smile playing on his lips as his fingers brushed against the piano keys again, coaxing out a soft, dreamy melody. "No," he murmured, his voice low and relaxed. "I'm still wide awake."

You stood up from the seat beside him, your black satin nightgown falling effortlessly over your body as you adjusted it. The smooth fabric skimmed your skin, a gentle reminder of how comfortable and at ease you felt here with him. You were about to walk away, your bare feet making the faintest sound against the floor, when you felt his hand reach out, fingers curling gently around yours, stopping you in your tracks.

"Where are you going?" he asked, his voice tender, yet with a hint of playful curiosity, his grip on your hand firm but warm.

"I'm just getting a drink," you replied, your lips curling into a soft smile. "You want one?"

Michael shook his head, but instead of letting go, he pulled you back toward him with a gentle yet insistent tug, guiding you back to the piano. His eyes met yours, and there was something different there now, something deeper, more intense. "I just want you right here," he said, his voice husky, filled with desire as his hands found your hips.

He reached behind you, his fingers moving deftly to close the top of the piano, silencing the keys with a soft thud. His grip on your waist tightened, and in one smooth motion, he lifted you onto the glossy surface of the piano. The cool wood met the bare skin of your legs, sending a shiver through you, but it was quickly replaced by the heat of his body as he stepped between your legs, his presence overpowering in the best possible way.

You looked up at him, your breath catching in your throat as his eyes locked onto yours, dark with longing. "What?" you whispered, your voice barely audible, your fingers already finding their way into his damp curls. You combed through them gently, feeling the softness of his hair between your fingers, the wet strands clinging slightly to your skin. He didn't answer right away, but the look in his eyes said everything. He wanted you, here and now, with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

Without a word, Michael leaned in, his hand slipping beneath your chin, tilting your face up toward his. His lips found yours again, but this time the kiss was different—deeper, more urgent. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that sent a wave of heat rushing through you, his breath warm against your skin. You kissed him back, first with light, teasing pecks that quickly turned into something more, something deeper. The kiss became slow, sensual, each movement deliberate, as if you had all the time in the world.

His hand remained under your chin, his thumb brushing softly along the edge of your jawline, the simple touch enough to make your skin tingle. His other hand moved to your waist, the heat of his palm seeping through the fabric of your nightgown as his fingers gripped you gently but firmly, pulling you closer, leaving no space between you. You could feel the rhythm of his heartbeat through his chest, matching the rapid fluttering of your own.

The kiss deepened, his lips pressing harder against yours, and you let out a soft sigh as you melted into him, the sensation of his hands, his mouth, his body so close to yours overwhelming in the most beautiful way. His thumb continued to caress your skin as he tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss even more, his mouth moving over yours with a slow, deliberate sensuality that left you breathless. It was as though nothing else mattered in the world but this moment, the connection between you, the desire that simmered just beneath the surface, ready to ignite.

You could feel the tension in his body as his hand slid from your waist, moving slowly up your back, his fingers tracing the length of your spine through the satin fabric. Each touch sent a spark through you, your body responding instinctively, leaning into him, wanting more. You broke the kiss for a brief moment, just long enough to catch your breath, your forehead resting against his as you both lingered in the silence, the air around you thick with unspoken words and shared desire.

His eyes never left yours, their deep brown depths filled with love, desire, and an unmistakable need. His lips, still slightly parted, seemed to hover just above your skin, as though he were breathing in every inch of you, committing this moment to memory. When he kissed you again, it was different. His mouth was soft, yes, but insistent, each kiss filled with a silent plea, each touch telling you more than words ever could.

His hands slid down your sides, fingers tracing the smooth silk of your satin nightgown before dipping underneath it. He gripped your thighs, the fabric bunching in his hands as he pushed it upward, the cool air meeting your skin where his warm palms had been. His lips broke away from yours, trailing down your jawline, leaving a line of gentle kisses in their wake. You could feel his breath on your neck as his lips pressed against the delicate skin, sucking lightly, leaving a warmth that seemed to bloom beneath his touch.

"Michael..." you whispered, your voice barely audible, more breath than sound. You tilted your head, offering him more access, feeling the heat of his mouth as it worked its way down the curve of your neck. His hands continued their journey, rubbing slow circles into your thighs, squeezing firmly, grounding you in this moment.

As his lips moved further, down the center of your throat and towards your chest, you felt the way his body leaned into yours, each kiss deeper, hungrier. His lips brushed over the pendant that rested just above your heart, a soft, reverent kiss that made your breath catch in your throat. You opened your eyes briefly, meeting his gaze, and the intensity in his eyes made your heart pound. He was watching you, his every movement deliberate, as if memorizing your reactions.

Your eyelids fluttered closed again as you gave yourself over to the sensations—the feel of his lips pressing gently, but with a purpose, against your chest, his hands sliding higher up your thighs until they rested at the soft curve where they met your hips. His kisses were tender, yet filled with a passion that made your skin tingle, your body yearning for more. Every touch felt like it was designed to remind you of how deeply he loved you, how much he cherished these quiet, intimate moments.

"I love you," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin, the words sending a shiver through you. His hands slid up your arms now, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake as they reached the straps of your nightgown. Slowly, almost agonizingly, he pulled them down, the delicate fabric sliding off your shoulders and pooling at your waist. You were bare before him, exposed to his gaze, and yet, in his eyes, all you could see was love.

His lips found your breast, brushing softly across the skin before he kissed it, gentle at first, then with more intent. His large hand cupped your left breast, his thumb grazing your nipple as his mouth left a trail of kisses. His lips hovered there for a moment, his eyes lifting to meet yours. He waited, as though asking for permission, and you gave it to him with the softest of nods.

When his lips brushed over your nipple, the sensation sent a shockwave through your body. You gasped at the sudden warmth, the way his tongue flicked out, teasing you with soft, deliberate strokes. He flicked it again, slower this time, drawing out the moment, savoring your reactions. Your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging gently, urging him on as the warmth of his mouth enveloped you.

A low hum of satisfaction vibrated through him as he closed his lips around your nipple, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud as he began to suck gently. The sensation was overwhelming, the warmth of his mouth, the gentle suction, and the way his tongue moved with such precision. He tasted your milk, and a soft sound of appreciation escaped his lips as he continued, his eyes closing in contentment.

You watched him, your breath coming in soft, shallow waves, your body responding to his touch with a kind of need you hadn't realized was so intense. The nightgown had slipped further, the fabric now pooled completely around your waist, leaving your bare skin exposed to the cool night air. But you hardly noticed, too focused on the feeling of his mouth on you, the way his hands gripped your hips, keeping you close as he leaned you back slightly against the cool, polished wood of the piano.

The only sounds in the room were the soft crackling of the fire and the quiet hums of pleasure that escaped his lips as he continued to suck gently at your breast. His movements were slow, deliberate, as though he wanted to savor every moment, every taste. The candles flickered around you, casting soft shadows across the room, the golden light reflecting off the surface of the piano, creating an intimate glow that seemed to wrap around you both.

You arched your back slightly, pushing yourself closer to him, lost in the warmth of his touch, the feel of his mouth on your skin. Every stroke of his tongue, every soft pull of his lips sent waves of pleasure through you, your body responding to him with a quiet urgency. Your fingers curled in his hair, holding him there as he continued, his breath hot against your skin, his hands still firmly gripping your hips.

"Michael," you breathed again, your voice trembling with the depth of your longing and love. His name barely passed your lips before he captured you once more in that gaze, his eyes a perfect storm of desire and tenderness. You could see it all — how much he adored you, the reverence in his touch, the devotion he showed with every movement. He didn't need to speak; his actions said everything.

His mouth stayed latched onto your breast, drawing softly from you, the warmth of your milk dripping slowly down his chin. His eyes were heavy-lidded with desire, his gaze never leaving yours. He looked at you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat, as if drinking in more than just your milk — as if he were taking in every piece of you, body and soul. You whimpered softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "Michael... please," you begged, not even sure what you were pleading for, but knowing that you needed him, all of him.

You caressed his face, your fingers running along his jaw, feeling the wetness there as he continued to suck gently, savoring every drop of your milk like it was the most precious thing in the world. His tongue flicked out one last time, teasing your sensitive nipple before he finally pulled away, the remnants of your milk glistening on his lips, trailing down his chin and collecting in the cleft.

He stood before you, his breathing ragged, eyes half-lidded, staring at you as if you were the only thing in the world that mattered. You slowly slid off the piano, your nightgown slipping off your body and pooling silently at your feet, leaving you standing bare before him. His eyes drank you in, moving over every inch of your exposed skin with an intensity that made your body flush under his gaze.

"You taste good," he murmured, his voice low and rough, thick with desire.

You smirked slightly, reaching up to wipe the milk from his chin with your thumb. "And you made a mess," you teased softly, your voice laced with affection.

Michael chuckled, the sound deep and rich as it reverberated in his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush against him, his hands exploring your body, roaming over the softness of your skin. His fingers found your breasts again, squeezing gently. A soft squirt of milk escaped from your left breast, making him laugh lightly, the sound vibrating between your bodies.

"That's hot," he murmured, his eyes gleaming as he looked at you.

You blushed, feeling the heat between you intensify, but you wanted more — needed more. You reached up, taking his hands from your breasts and placing them back around your waist, grounding yourself in the warmth of his embrace. "I want you," you whispered, your voice carrying all the weight of your desire.

His breath caught at your words, and he leaned in, his voice a mere whisper against your lips. "I want you too," he echoed, his words thick with meaning.

Your hands moved slowly down his chest, feeling the smooth fabric of his shirt beneath your fingertips. You tugged at the hem, pulling it upward, and Michael raised his arms, helping you remove it. His gold chain slid down his chest as he stood before you, his body now as bare as your own. His skin glowed in the soft candlelight, the muscles of his chest and abdomen taut and defined, his beauty leaving you breathless for a moment.

You ran your hands up his torso, feeling the heat of his skin, the strength of his body beneath your fingers. His chest rose and fell with each ragged breath as you touched him, savoring the connection between you. "Take me," you whispered, your voice filled with both need and adoration.

Michael paused for a moment, staring at you with a gaze so intense that it sent a shiver down your spine. Slowly, he pulled back, guiding you gently down onto the piano bench. His hands were steady but soft, as though he were handling something fragile and precious. He kneeled before you, his large hands moving up your legs, spreading them open with a tenderness that made your breath hitch.

"Lay back, baby," he whispered, his voice low and soothing as he positioned you. You laid back against the cool wood of the piano, the sensation of the polished surface a stark contrast to the warmth of his touch.

His hands explored your legs, his thumbs grazing your inner thighs, leaving trails of warmth in their wake. You gasped softly, the anticipation building as his hands worked their way up, brushing over your folds with a featherlight touch that sent a jolt of pleasure through you.

He didn't rush. His lips pressed to the inside of your thighs, kissing his way slowly upward, cherishing every inch of you. Each kiss lingered, as if he were savoring every moment, every taste of your skin. His breath was hot against you, making your body quiver in anticipation.

His lips traveled up your torso, over the soft curve of your belly and the swell of your breasts, kissing each spot with a reverence that made your heart swell with love. He kissed up your neck, finally meeting your lips in a slow, deep kiss. His mouth was wet, his kisses tender but passionate, his tongue flicking out to tease yours, pulling soft moans from your lips.

But just as you were getting lost in the heat of his kiss, he pulled away, his lips leaving a trail of warmth down your body. You gasped softly as his mouth moved lower, trailing kisses down your belly, and finally, his tongue flicked out to tease you, barely brushing over your folds. The sensation was electric, making you arch against the piano, your body trembling under his touch.

His hands gripped your hips firmly, holding you in place as his mouth worked its magic, his tongue moving with slow, deliberate strokes. Every flick of his tongue, every kiss against your most sensitive spot sent waves of pleasure crashing over you, building into something almost unbearable.

"Michael..." you moaned, your voice breathy and soft as your fingers tangled deeper into his curls. Your body surrendered completely to him, every nerve attuned to the sensations he was creating, the warmth of his tongue sending electric pulses through you. The intensity of it made your breath hitch, your hips arching instinctively toward him, aching for more of his touch.

His tongue moved expertly, flicking over your sensitive nub with precision, tasting your sweet arousal as it coated his lips and tongue. The heat between your bodies intensified as he adjusted his position, lifting your left leg to spread you wider, opening you up completely to him. Every flick of his tongue, every stroke, was deliberate, designed to drive you wild. He didn't take his eyes off you, watching the way your body moved, the way your chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, how your hands gripped the polished wood of the piano, your knuckles white with tension.

He teased you, his tongue dipping down to your entrance, flicking in and out, tasting you deeply before moving back up to your clit, licking with agonizing slowness. The intensity built higher, each touch more torturous than the last, your body trembling beneath him.

With a slow, deliberate movement, he replaced his tongue with his fingers, easing his middle and ring finger inside you. The intrusion was perfect, filling you completely as his fingers curled inside, pressing against that sweet, tender spot deep within you. His lips found your clit again, wrapping around it, sucking with gentle precision, drawing more moans from you that you could no longer contain.

"Baby... please," you whimpered, your voice trembling with need as your free hand gripped your breast, squeezing as the pleasure rolled through your body. Your eyes closed tightly, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you tried, unsuccessfully, to hold back the sounds of your pleasure.

But Michael wouldn't have it. He paused, just for a moment, murmuring against your folds, his voice deep and commanding. "Let me hear you."

The low growl of his voice was enough to unravel you. Your moans spilled freely from your lips, his name escaping in breathless, staccato gasps. The way he moved, the way his fingers worked inside you, was enough to make your vision blur with pleasure.

Your arousal slicked his lips and chin, dripping down onto his neck and soaking into the fabric of the piano bench beneath you. It didn't matter. The world outside was forgotten, lost in the haze of heat and need that enveloped you both. All you could feel was him — his mouth, his hands, the way he made love to you with every kiss, every touch.

His fingers curled inside you, finding that spot again, pressing against it with just the right amount of pressure. A sharp whimper escaped your throat, your body reacting immediately, your hips lifting off the bench as the pleasure tore through you. Michael's eyes gleamed as he noticed your reaction, a knowing smile tugging at his lips before he pressed his fingers harder, repeating the motion that had your body shaking.

This time, the moan that escaped your lips was louder, uncontrollable. Your hand flew to the closed top of the piano, gripping it for dear life as your nails dug into the wood, the cool surface grounding you as Michael continued his assault on your senses. The wet, obscene sounds of your arousal filled the room, mixing with the soft crackle of the fire and the flickering candlelight, heightening the intensity of the moment.

Michael groaned softly against you, clearly aroused by the sight of you coming undone under his touch, the way you responded to him. He took pleasure in your pleasure, knowing how well he pleased you, how perfectly he knew your body. He could feel your muscles tightening, your core clenching around his fingers as you edged closer to the precipice of release.

Your body burned with the intensity of it, the heat pooling low in your belly, building to a crescendo that had you trembling beneath him. Your breathing grew ragged, each gasp sharper than the last as your core ached for release, the tight coil inside you ready to snap.

"Michael..." you gasped, your voice shaking as the pleasure became too much to bear, your body quivering with anticipation. You were so close, the pressure building, every nerve on fire. Your back arched off the bench, the tension ready to break, your release teetering on the edge, desperate to come undone.

And with one final flick of his tongue, one more expert curl of his fingers inside you, the tension in your body snapped. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, violent and all-consuming, pulling you under its powerful currents. The moan that ripped from your throat was involuntary, primal, your body convulsing with pleasure as he held you in place, not letting you escape the intensity of the moment.

Michael didn't stop. He knew you loved that extra push, the way he prolonged your release, letting it wash over you again and again. His lips glistened with your arousal, dripping down his face, but his fingers kept their steady rhythm inside you. They pumped in and out, curling deeper, pressing hard against that sweet spot, sending shockwaves through your body as another wave built up faster than you could anticipate.

"Michael... please," you whimpered, your voice breaking. Your hand came off the piano, desperate for an anchor, and he reached for you without hesitation, holding your hand tightly in his. His thumb brushed soothing circles over your knuckles, a tender contrast to the intensity of what his other hand was doing.

"You want to cum again, baby?" His voice was low, laced with need, yet soft enough to ground you in this whirlwind of sensation.

"Yes..." you breathed, the word barely leaving your lips as your body trembled in his grasp. Your core tightened again, burning with the need for another release, your muscles clenching around his fingers as your body prepared to unravel once more.

"Look at me, beautiful," Michael said, his voice coaxing, guiding.

You forced your eyes open, your gaze meeting his, your brows furrowing as you fought the overwhelming pleasure. He let go of your hand for just a moment, gently cradling the back of your head, holding you steady, forcing you to maintain eye contact. The intensity in his eyes was palpable, dark and burning with desire, but there was something else — love, devotion, the way he looked at you as if you were the only thing that existed in his world.

"I'm close," you moaned, your voice a broken whisper, your body trembling uncontrollably.

His eyes never left yours, his gaze locked onto you, watching every tremble, every moan, every twitch of your body. His fingers moved faster, harder, relentless in their pursuit of your pleasure. "Let go," he murmured, his voice commanding yet full of affection.

You bit down on your bottom lip, trying to stifle the moans threatening to escape, but the look he gave you, that smoldering, possessive look, made you stop. You let go of your lip, and with one last thrust of his fingers, your body exploded. Your release hit harder than before, your muscles tightening, your back arching as a loud moan spilled from your lips. The force of your orgasm rocked through you, leaving you breathless, your legs trembling violently, toes curling as the pleasure took over every inch of your being.

"Michael... I can't—" you gasped, your legs shaking uncontrollably, your body exhausted from the intensity.

Slowly, he eased the pace of his fingers, gently sliding them out of you. They were soaked, his fingertips wrinkled from your wetness. Without breaking eye contact, he brought them to his lips, sucking off the evidence of your pleasure, savoring it as if it were the sweetest nectar.

Your breathing was heavy, ragged, as you watched him, that simple act sending another ripple of arousal through you. The way his tongue ran over his fingers, the way his eyes remained locked on yours, made you want him all over again.

"What?" Michael asked softly, pulling his fingers from his mouth with a soft pop, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

You shook your head, still struggling to catch your breath. "Nothing, baby... it's nothing."

He chuckled, the deep sound vibrating through his chest, sending a fresh wave of heat through you. "I love you, beautiful."

You let out a deep breath, your heart still racing. "I love you too... but can we take this to the room?" you asked, your voice soft, a smile playing on your lips.

Michael chuckled again, shaking his head with amusement. "No, I'm finishing what I started right here." He extended his hand to you, that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes.

You took his hand, and he gently helped you sit up, your legs weak and unsteady beneath you. Carefully, he pulled you to your feet, his arms wrapping around you protectively, holding you close as he sensed how fragile you felt in the moment.

Michael's eyes flicked over to the piano, that mischievous smirk returning to his face. "I have an idea," he murmured, his voice playful. Without waiting for a response, he placed his hands on your waist and lifted you effortlessly, walking you to the edge of the piano, seating you on top of it with ease.

"Michael..." you said softly, raising a brow as you watched him with curiosity.

He glanced up at you, his hands already moving to pull down his pajama pants. "Yes?" he asked, a teasing lilt in his voice.

"What if we break it?" you asked, half-serious but unable to hide the amusement in your voice.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head as he leaned in closer, his warm hand cupping your cheek. The way his thumb tenderly stroked your skin sent shivers down your spine, but his voice was soothing, steadying you in the moment. "We won't, and even if we did, I'd never let you get hurt," he murmured, his tone a promise, filled with such warmth and care that it was impossible not to melt into him. His eyes, dark and full of love, gazed down at you with that familiar tenderness that had always made you feel safe.

"I promise," he added softly, brushing his lips against your forehead.

You gave him a small, trusting nod, your heart swelling with both love and desire. His words, that gentle assurance, was all you needed. "I trust you," you whispered, and it wasn't just the words. It was the truth. You trusted him with everything—your heart, your body, your soul.

His lips curled into a soft, knowing smile as he leaned in to kiss you, sealing the promise between the two of you. The kiss was slow, deliberate, his lips warm and soft as they molded against yours. Each press of his mouth conveyed what words couldn't—the depth of his love, the passion that simmered just beneath the surface, and the way you were his, completely, just as he was yours.

When you pulled back from the kiss, your eyes wandered down his body. The firelight cast shadows across his skin, highlighting the fine sheen of sweat that glistened across his bare chest. And there, through the loose fabric of his pajama pants, his arousal was unmistakable. Your breath hitched slightly at the sight, the way it tented the soft cotton, leaving no room for imagination.

You watched, your gaze hungry, as his hands moved with a deliberate slowness to tug down the waistband of his pajama pants. The fabric slipped over his hips, and with a soft movement, his hardened length was freed. It stood proud, thick, heavy, pulsing with every beat of his heart. Your eyes widened slightly at the sight of him—he was big, the thick skin covering his tip, his veins prominent and pulsing beneath the smooth surface.

Michael stroked himself slowly, his large hand wrapping around his girthy shaft. The sight was mesmerizing, your eyes locked on the way his fingers moved, peeling back the skin with each slow, deliberate stroke, revealing the blushing tip that matched the color of his lips. Your gaze lingered on the soft patches of his vitiligo, adorning his shaft like a masterpiece etched onto his skin. It was beautiful, every inch of him.

Without breaking his gaze from you, he leaned in slightly, his free hand reaching out to tilt your chin up, forcing your eyes back to his. His thumb gently pulled down your bottom lip, brushing over it in a way that made your breath catch. "My beautiful girl," he whispered, his voice thick with affection and desire.

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, a blush spreading across your face at his words. Your heart fluttered in your chest, skipping a beat as you gazed into his eyes. He had this effect on you—making you feel cherished, loved, desired, all at once.

He moved even closer, his body slotting perfectly between your legs. You let out a soft breath as he grabbed your thighs, lifting them gently to rest over his broad shoulders. His thick length brushed teasingly against your inner thighs, the heat of him palpable, sending waves of anticipation rippling through your body.

"Comfortable?" he asked, his voice soft yet filled with that teasing edge.

You nodded, your heart racing in your chest as you felt the heat of him so close, the tension between you building, crackling like the fire that flickered behind you.

Michael leaned in even further, his lips brushing feather-light kisses across your mouth. His teasing kisses made you ache for more, the way he hovered just out of reach each time you tried to kiss him, pulling away with that infuriatingly playful smile.

"Michael, please," you whimpered, your voice needy, desperate for the connection only he could give.

A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest as he finally gave in, his lips crashing into yours, kissing you slowly, deeply, with all the intensity you craved. His tongue slipped into your mouth, exploring, claiming you in a way that made your toes curl. His kiss was demanding yet tender, pushing you further into the haze of desire that clouded your mind.

As he kissed you, his other hand held his length, guiding it toward your slick folds. The tip brushed teasingly over your entrance, sending jolts of pleasure through your body as he dragged it back and forth, coating himself with your arousal. Your whimpers were muffled against his lips, your body trembling with anticipation.

Slowly, he pressed the tip against your entrance, slipping inside with deliberate slowness. Your breath hitched at the feeling, a moan slipping from your lips as he eased in, inch by inch, filling you completely. The stretch of him was overwhelming, the way his thick length stretched you out making you gasp for breath.

Your hands gripped the edge of the piano, fingers digging into the polished wood as you held on, your body trembling with the fullness of him. Inch by inch, he slid deeper, his shaft disappearing inside of you until he was buried to the hilt, his body pressed firmly against yours.

He stilled for a moment, his forehead gently resting against yours as both of you panted in unison, your breaths mingling in the charged air between you. His breath was hot against your lips, and the rhythm of his chest matched the frantic beat of your own heart, as if your bodies had found a single rhythm, a single pulse. You could feel the heavy thud of his heart as it echoed against your skin, the weight of him pressing down, grounding you in the intensity of the moment.

For a heartbeat, everything stilled—the world beyond the two of you faded, leaving only this connection, this intimate joining. The warmth of the fire crackled softly in the background, its orange glow casting long shadows across your bodies, but it was his warmth that you clung to, his presence that filled the space around you.

His hands gripped your waist with gentle but firm possession, his fingers digging slightly into your flesh as he began to move. Slowly, torturously, he pulled out just enough, the drag of his length leaving you gasping, only to thrust back into you with a slow, deliberate stroke. His eyes, dark and intense, never left yours, even as he rested his forehead against yours. The weight of his gaze was too much and yet not enough—those eyes held you, pinned you in place, as his body moved, as you moved with him.

Your gazes dipped down at the same time, watching the way his length slid in and out of you, glistening with a slick sheen of your arousal. Each movement was deliberate, precise, every inch of him claiming you, marking this moment with the slow, sensual rhythm of his thrusts. His thickness stretched you, filled you completely, and the sight of your bodies connected only made you feel more intoxicated, more lost in him.

Michael's eyes traveled back up, locking onto your face, taking in the way your mouth hung open in a silent gasp, your eyes still drawn to the connection between you. His gaze softened with something deeper than lust, something that felt like a promise—a devotion that made your chest swell. With a slow, deliberate motion, he wrapped one large hand gently around your neck, his thumb brushing over your pulse, feeling the rapid beat beneath his fingers. He tilted his head, leaning down to press his lips to the sensitive spot just behind your ear, his hot breath fanning across your skin. His lips were soft but insistent, kissing, licking at that spot that made you tremble every time.

"Michael..." you moaned softly, your voice barely more than a whisper, a plea tangled in the need that pulsed through you.

His breath hitched against your ear, ragged and uneven as he whispered back, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "I love you," he breathed, the words a gentle exhale of air but filled with so much emotion that they settled into your bones. His hips thrust deeper with the words, his length burying itself fully inside of you, a whimper slipping from your lips at the overwhelming fullness, the way he reached depths that made your entire body shudder.

Your hands flew to the edge of the piano, gripping it tightly as if you could hold onto something tangible amidst the flood of sensations. Your knuckles turned white from the force of your grip, the polished wood cool beneath your fingers as you clung to it. His thrusts were slow, achingly slow, but so deep, you could feel every inch of him, every deliberate movement as he pressed deeper and deeper inside of you. God, it felt like he was in your stomach, his thickness stretching you almost too much, yet it wasn't enough. The way he rolled his hips, grinding into you with each thrust, his body pressing against yours, was driving you wild, and yet you loved every second of it.

His tongue flicked out, tracing the curve of your earlobe, sucking it lightly, sending a shiver of pleasure straight through your core. Every touch from him made you tremble, your body responding instinctively to his every movement. He had you unraveling in his hands, his touch both tender and possessive, a contradiction that made you weak.

You closed your eyes, letting the sensations wash over you—the slow drag of his length as he moved in and out of you, the wet sounds of your bodies meeting filling the room, the warmth of his breath in your ear, and the way his lips whispered love against your skin. Every movement, every kiss, every whisper made you feel cherished, made you feel desired in a way only Michael could make you feel.

As the tension built, he sped up, his thrusts becoming slightly faster, more insistent, and the wet sounds of your arousal mixed with the crackling of the fire, creating a symphony of pleasure. His breathing grew heavier, more ragged, and you could feel the way his body trembled slightly as he fought to hold back. Inside of you, he pulsed, twitched, his length jumping with each clench of your walls around him.

Neither of you wanted to stop. The moment felt too perfect, too intimate to break, a memory etched in both your hearts forever.

"Oh god..." you moaned, the words torn from your throat as he hit that sweet spot deep inside of you. The angle of his hips was perfect, the way he thrust into you with precision making your vision blur with pleasure. He took his hand off your neck, replacing it with his lips, kissing a trail down your throat, marking you with love. His tongue flicked out to taste your skin, as if you were something sweet, something he had craved for too long.

His lips moved lower, sucking at the tender flesh of your neck, leaving small marks in his wake as he claimed you. The fire beside you crackled softly, but the real heat was between you, the way he moved, the way his body fit so perfectly against yours. It was almost too much, the pleasure building inside of you like a wave ready to crash, but you wanted more, needed more.

"Michael... I..." Your words dissolved into breathless gasps, unable to complete the thought as his thrusts intensified, each one a jolt of pleasure that sent your body spiraling. Every movement was deliberate, every inch of him filling you completely, stretching you in a way that left you trembling and helpless beneath him. Your senses were overwhelmed, consumed by the heat of his body, the steady rhythm of his hips, and the possessive way he claimed every part of you.

He didn't stop, didn't relent. His body pressed firmly against yours, grounding you with the weight of him, the heat of him, and the relentless drive of his movements. Each thrust was deep, purposeful, designed to take you apart piece by piece. His lips, never straying far from your skin, trailed back up to your ear, his breath warm and ragged as it fanned across your flushed face.

"You feel so good, baby, so damn good," he whispered, his voice low and strained, thick with need. The praise hit you hard, sending a shiver down your spine as his words wrapped around you like a velvet caress.

A desperate whimper escaped your lips, your body acting on instinct as your hand shot out from its grip on the piano, clutching at his waist. Your fingers slid down, gripping onto the firm curve of his behind, feeling the way his muscles tensed and flexed with every powerful thrust. You held onto him like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth. "Don't stop, Michael, please," you begged, your voice trembling with desperation.

"I won't stop," he promised, his voice rough and breathless in your ear, every word laced with raw desire. "Not until you cum for me." His voice was dark, commanding, yet filled with a tenderness that made your heart swell even as your body burned with need. He was close too, you could feel it in the way his thrusts became more erratic, more urgent, but he wasn't ready to give in yet. He wanted to savor every second, to draw it out as long as he could.

Your entire body trembled beneath him, your mind lost in the sensation of being utterly consumed by him. Every nerve in your body felt like it was on fire, your core tightening with every deep stroke, with every breathy grunt that escaped him as he moved within you.

Your grip on his behind tightened, fingers digging into the taut muscles as you pulled him closer, deeper, needing him more than you could put into words. "You like the way I make you feel, baby?" he murmured against your neck, his voice soft but laced with a primal edge, the vibrations of his words sending shudders through your entire body.

"Yes, Michael," you cried out, your voice breaking as his thrusts became harder, deeper. Each one hit you like a wave, crashing over you, pulling you under, leaving you gasping for air. You could feel him everywhere—inside you, around you—his presence overwhelming, intoxicating. He was in control, and you loved it.

He shifted, his hands sliding beneath you to grip your behind in both hands, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pulled you even closer to the edge of the piano, positioning you just right. His thrusts grew even heavier, each one slamming into you with a force that left you breathless, your body arching into him, desperate for more. The sensation was almost too much, the stretch of him, the heat, the pressure—it was everything.

Then, with a devilish smirk, he changed his pace, slowing down, teasing you with deep, languid strokes that left you gasping. He was edging you, holding you right on the precipice of pleasure, bringing you to the brink but not letting you fall. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense, filled with a hunger that matched your own.

"Michael..." you whimpered, your voice broken and desperate, your body trembling with need as he continued his slow, torturous pace. The pleasure built higher and higher, the pressure inside you coiling tighter with every teasing stroke. You were right there, on the edge, ready to shatter, but he held you back, drawing it out, making you beg for it.

He leaned in close, his lips brushing against the pulse point in your neck, sucking lightly on the tender skin, his breath hot and ragged against your ear. "I love watching you fall apart for me," he whispered, his voice low and gravelly, each word sending a fresh wave of heat straight to your core. He thrust deep, hitting that sweet spot inside you that made your vision blur and your body jerk beneath him.

Your nails dug into his skin, your head falling back as a cry of pure pleasure tore from your throat. You were so close, so painfully close, your entire body burning with the need to let go, to fall over that edge into bliss.

Michael could sense it, a shift in the way your body clung to him, your muscles tightening with an urgency that matched his own rising need. He grunted softly, his fingers digging into your hips as he held you closer, pressing his lips to the tender skin of your neck. His breath was hot against your ear as his thrusts deepened, each one harder, more deliberate. The slick sounds of your bodies meeting filled the air, mixing with the soft crackle of the fire, though that was nothing compared to the symphony of your combined moans, gasps, and whispered names.

Your breath hitched, fingers clutching at his back as you arched into him, the intensity of his movements nearly overwhelming. "Oh, yes," you cried out, your voice breathless, needy. Your nails bit into his skin as you clung to him, each thrust bringing you closer to the edge. "Just like that, Michael, please," you begged, your voice rising with every word, every sensation.

He growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating through his chest and into you, his rhythm relentless now. His breath came in short, heated bursts against your neck, his lips brushing your skin. "Let go, baby," he whispered in your ear, his voice rough with need. "I can feel how close you are."

Your whole body trembled, the fire within you burning hotter and brighter, tightening in your core. You wanted to hold back, to savor the moment, but the way he filled you, the way he moved—it was too much. Your toes curled over his shoulders, your heels pressing into his back, and your nails dug into his skin as your climax built like a wave, unstoppable.

With one final, deep thrust, you shattered. Your body convulsed around him, your release crashing over you with an intensity that left you breathless. "Michael!" you cried out, but his hand swiftly covered your mouth, muffling your cries as your body spasmed against his.

He groaned as he felt you come undone around him, his eyes dropping to where your bodies met, watching as you coated him in a slick, milky sheen. His movements became jerky, less controlled, as he drove into you one last time, his body stiffening as he buried himself deep inside. With a guttural moan, he released, filling you with thick, hot spurts that poured out of you, dripping onto the polished piano beneath you.

The sensation of his warmth inside you, filling you completely, sent aftershocks rippling through your body. You moaned into his hand, your body twitching as you felt the remnants of his release spilling out, mingling with yours. His head dropped into the crook of your neck, his breathing ragged, his body spent but still trembling with the aftermath of your shared pleasure.

Slowly, he eased you down, laying your body flat against the cool surface of the piano. He removed his hand from your mouth, replacing it with his lips in a soft, lingering kiss, his thumb brushing tenderly over your cheek.

Your heart pounded against his chest as he rested his head on your breasts, both of you breathing heavily, your bodies still humming with the remnants of ecstasy. You stared at the ceiling, your vision hazy, as your fingers lazily trailed through his hair, your body trying to calm down from the intensity of it all.

Michael lifted his head, his dark eyes locking onto yours, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He brushed a stray strand of hair from your face and placed a kiss on your cheek, his lips warm and gentle. "There's my pretty girl," he whispered, his voice thick with adoration. "How do you feel?"

You let out a long, shaky breath, a small smile spreading across your lips. "So good," you whispered, still catching your breath.

He chuckled, the sound low and intimate. "I bet you do," he murmured as he slowly pulled away, his hands gripping your waist gently. As he slipped out of you, a soft whimper escaped your lips, the sudden emptiness making you shudder.

The mixture of your releases spilled out from you, a thick, creamy mess pooling on the piano. Michael watched with darkened eyes, muttering a low, "Damn..." under his breath as he shook his head, knowing the mess was something they'd have to deal with—again.

"Stay here," he said softly, disappearing briefly before returning with his discarded shirt. He carefully wiped the sweat from your brow, then spread your legs further, cleaning the sticky mess between your thighs and wiping down the piano with tender care.

After helping you sit up, your body still heavy with exhaustion, he smiled at the dazed look on your face. "Think you can stand?" he asked, his tone light, though there was a knowing glint in his eyes.

You nodded, but as soon as your feet hit the floor, your legs buckled. Michael was there instantly, catching you in his arms, his laughter a warm rumble in your chest. "I knew you couldn't," he teased, earning a light slap to his bare chest as you giggled.

"Shut up," you mumbled playfully, leaning your head against his shoulder.

He kissed your forehead gently, then scooped you up into his arms, cradling you close to his chest. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he carried you through the dimly lit house, past the flickering fire, down the quiet hallway toward your shared bedroom.

Sleep began to pull at you, the warmth of his embrace and the steady beat of his heart lulling you into a peaceful haze. Michael glanced down at you, his expression soft, filled with love and devotion. He laid you gently on the bed, pulling the covers over you before pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead.

"I'll be back," he whispered, knowing you always had trouble falling asleep without him.

As he returned to the living room to tidy up, putting out the fire and blowing out the candles, the room fell into darkness, the soft glow of the moon casting silver light across the room. When he returned to your side, slipping beneath the covers, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against him. The warmth of his skin against yours was a comfort like no other, and as he nuzzled into your neck, he whispered, "Thank you... for being my joy."

Though you were half asleep, you smiled softly, feeling his love in every word, every touch. And with that, you both drifted off, wrapped in each other's warmth, the moment forever etched in your memories.

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