The Lady in His Life
Maestro!Michael x Real Estate Agent!Reader
Word count: 4.6k
Summary: The reader meets Michael after being sent to see if he's willing to sell his house. He's not, but the two strike up a friendship that gradually turns into something more.
Some content warnings: Michael calling the reader "pretty girl"; unprotected sex; there's no confirmed breeding kink stuff going on, but Michael does mention wanting the reader to have his babies and she does get turned on by the idea that he could get her pregnant; Michael has a big dick (not really sure that needs a warning since We Know That but I'll say it just in case).
Author's note: This fic is very smut-heavy with a side of fluff. I'm not really sure where that came from, especially since I haven't written a reader insert fic in almost 10 years.
Additionally, while the reader's race, ethnicity, and cultural background are never specified, I am not Black, so if she feels more like someone from another culture or race, that's probably why.
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or...
The first time you’d shown up to the Maestro’s house, it was, admittedly, to see if he’d be willing to sell it. You knew a few wealthy people from out of town who’d seen the property and thought it looked like the perfect old house to flip and resell. Your intentions had been simple: to ask if he’d sell you the house, nothing more.
That was nearly six months ago now.
You still went out to his house every time some wealthy, retired-at-thirty-five couple turned up at the office and asked if anyone could investigate whether the owner was interested in selling, promising to ask him and get back to them. You knew the answer already, but you looked forward to the excuse to get out of the office for the afternoon and go see him.
The Maestro, as the kids in town called him, was actually named Michael, and he loved to play pranks. The first time you’d gone out to his house, he let the door swing open as if on its own, hiding behind it and stepping out when you were least expecting it wearing a long, billowing cape and a skull mask that made you jump back almost three full feet.
“I’m sorry,” he’d said. “I didn’t mean to scare you that bad.”
“That’s okay,” you’d replied, and reluctantly, you followed him into the house to chat after he’d invited you in.
Every meeting after that started this way: Michael would meet you at the door, always wearing a beautiful blouse tucked into slim black trousers or some elaborate costume that looked like it belonged in another time; he’d escort you into the house and back to the dining room or the library, where he’d have tea or coffee with you as you spoke about the latest offer and what the current interested party or parties were like (lately, it had become more like gossipping than a true business conversation); and at some point, he’d pull a prank on you or try to scare you. It was all in good fun, really. Mainly childish jumpscares or sleight-of-hand magic tricks.
On your seventh or eighth visit, though, things changed. He made you think he’d disappeared through a wall, and that he was trapped, and when you finally found the hidden button that opened the secret panel in the wall, you slipped and fell into the closet-sized compartment with him. He caught you so you didn’t fall, the two of you landing chest to chest against the back wall. He laughed, and so did you, but after a moment, his eyes caught on your lips, and when you realized what was about to happen, it felt as if a tension you hadn’t realized was there between you had lifted. He leaned in slowly, tentatively, and you tilted your head up to let him kiss you.
You kissed him back, winding an arm around him and sliding a hand into his hair as he deepened the kiss, and you moaned softly into his mouth. You were considering letting him fuck you right then and there, pressed between his body and the wall of this secret compartment in the library of his creepy old house, but before your hands reached the buttons of his shirt, there came a sudden pounding on the door. You both jumped apart, looking at each other, startled. Outside the secret door, you heard the sound of children laughing and then bounding out of the room into the corridor.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, and hooked his fingers into a handhold and slid the door open again. He slipped out into the main area of the library, one hand covering his mouth and the other pressed to his chest like an old lady clutching her pearls. He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”
“For what?” you asked, stepping out and coming to stand in front of him. You looked up at him, trying to meet his gaze, but he turned his face away from you. “Michael?”
“That was weird, wasn’t it?” he asked. “I…”
“I don’t think it’s weird,” you said. “I liked it.”
“You did?” he asked, his dark eyes wide as they finally met yours.
“Yes. I’m glad you did it,” you said. “I’d like to do it again sometime. Maybe when we’re actually alone, if that’s alright.”
“Oh,” he said. “Oh, yeah. Of course.”
He smiled, then laughed, and so did you.
The next time you came over, you stayed late into the evening, after all the neighborhood kids had all gone home. You had dinner with Michael, and afterward, he took you into the parlor and played you one of his favorite records, an old light jazz album, and invited you to dance after a couple glasses of good wine. You laughed, embarrassed at how poor your dancing skills were compared to his, but he held you tight and led you through a couple easy numbers before you nearly collapsed into each other from laughter.
As you sat together on the couch, you looked at him, admiring the way the light of the fire danced in his big, deep brown eyes. During a lull in the conversation, he leaned in and kissed you again, softer and slower than he had in the secret compartment a few days before. You were already wet, and getting wetter by the moment, your clit throbbing as his hands caressed your face, your neck, your arms, your chest. You wanted to take one of them in yours and guide it down between your legs, but you also didn’t want to seem too desperate or easy. You didn’t know where he thought this was going, and you wanted to wait to see where he tried to take this first.
To your surprise, that was as far as it went that night. You were pleased to find out he was a gentleman who didn’t want to get in your pants right away, but it was also a bit frustrating because you were so horny from spending the whole afternoon and evening with this man. The wine and the music and the firelight only made it worse, as did the kissing and the above-the-waist petting.
At the end of the night, when he walked you back out to your car, you stole another kiss from him, and smiled against his lips as he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you to him, kissing you one final time.
“When am I gonna see you again?” he asked.
“Next time somebody asks to buy your house?” you teased, as if those were the only times you visited after all the time you’d spent together.
“Guess I’m gonna have to send one of my brothers to your work then pretending to be a prospective buyer,” he said.
“You have brothers?” you asked.
“Mhm. Six of them,” he said. “And three sisters.”
“Wow,” you said, licking your lips as you looked at his once more before forcing your eyes upward to meet his. “Big family.”
“Yeah,” he said with a laugh. “What about you?”
You told him.
“Oh, okay.”
“I definitely don’t know what it’s like to grow up with ten kids in a house,” you said.
“No, I guess not,” he said, and kissed you again. “How would you feel about raising that many?”
Your eyebrows went up. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” He grinned.
“Ten might be a bit much,” you giggled. “Anyway, we’ve only just kissed. What are you asking me about babies for?”
“I really like you,” he said. “We’ve known each other a while now.”
“We’ve kissed twice now and you want to knock me up? Just like a man,” you teased.
“Well, I’d marry you first,” he said.
Something fluttered in your stomach. Butterflies. He was so sweet, and you were sweet on him, no denying. You imagined it, being married to him, living in this house. Giving him babies. It sounded nice.
“Do we have to get married before you make love to me?” you asked.
His eyes darkened, and you saw a light blush creep into his cheeks. “I don’t know if I can wait that long,” he admitted.
You kissed him again, and he kissed you back, his hands returning to your waist, holding you close. Part of you wished he’d ask you to come back inside with him, that he’d take you up to his bedroom and lay you down on that big four-poster bed you’d seen when he gave you a tour of his house and make love to you there. You ached to feel him inside you. You’d seen him rehearsing some of his dance routines, and you knew how those hips of his could move. Still, you knew tonight probably wasn’t the best time. When he broke the kiss again a few moments later, you accepted it.
“You have work tomorrow,” he said, as if you could have forgotten.
“I do,” you said. “I’ll see you later?”
“Of course,” he said.
“Can I come back tomorrow night?”
He took in a deep breath. “If you like.”
“Cool,” you said, smiling as you opened your car door and slipped inside.
You came over every night for the next two weeks, and every single night, you hoped it would be the night he took you to bed. But it wasn’t. Most nights, you had dinner, listened to music or watched a movie, danced, talked, kissed. It felt like a teenage courtship more so than two adults dating, or whatever this could be called.
Not that you were complaining. You loved spending time with him, having long ago fallen in love with this sweet, lonely man in his big, empty old house.
Then, suddenly, one mid-afternoon in the third week, you found yourself alone with him on one of your days off, watching him rehearsing in the ballroom, when he took off the white poet shirt he’d been wearing, revealing a white t-shirt underneath. It was the first time you’d seen so much of his skin exposed. His long black hair was pulled back, and you could see the shape of his neck, his collarbones, his toned arms unobstructed. The shirt was tight and parts of it were soaked through with sweat, leaving it partly sheer and leaving very little of the shape of his body to the imagination.
He paused in between numbers, breathing hard as the music faded from a lively number into something slower, gentler, and he relaxed his shoulders. He looked at you, and you looked at him, and you knew that would be the day.
After lunch, he took you for a walk through the gardens, ending at a gazebo that had flowering vines snaking up its trellised sides. There, he kissed you, and whispered that he was ready if you were, that he didn't want to wait anymore.
His bedroom looked like something out of a period drama, complete with a four-poster bed with gauzy white curtains and crisp linen sheets. He kissed you, and you kissed him back, carefully untucking his shirt before unbuttoning it. Before you even got it halfway unbuttoned, he drew back and pulled it off over his head, letting it fall to the floor between the two of you. He kissed you again, only breaking away briefly as needed as you both fumbled your way out of the rest of your clothes. Eventually, you ended up on the bed with him, lying side by side, facing each other as you kissed and ran your hands over each other's bodies.
“God, you’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his eyes trailing over your body, slowly taking in the sight of you. “Can’t believe you’re sharing all this with me.”
His hand stopped at your waist and then snaked around your back, holding your body close to his as he kissed you again. His skin was warm and his touch was surprisingly gentle, even as he coaxed you onto your back and positioned himself on top of you, his hips slotting between your open thighs. The heat of his body enveloped you, and the sweet scent of the soaps and perfumes he’d used when he left you so he could clean up after his dance rehearsal.
You moaned softly, arching your back slightly, and you felt him then, hard against your lower belly. Surprised by how big he felt, you broke the kiss to look up into his eyes, as if for confirmation of what you were feeling, but neither of you spoke until finally, you kissed him again and murmured, “Can’t believe you’re sharing all this with me,” echoing his previous statement back at him.
He smiled and closed his eyes, turning his face away as if he was embarrassed.
But you drew him back in gently, kissing his cheek, his jaw, the side of his neck, until he couldn’t take it anymore and resumed kissing you. You rolled your hips, hoping to urge him on, desperate to feel him inside you already.
“Please, baby,” you said. “I want you.”
“You sure?” he asked.
“Mhmm,” you intoned, sliding a hand down his body, but before you could reach what you were after, he caught your wrist, stopping you.
“Tell me, pretty girl,” he said, his eyes boring into yours. “What do you want?”
“I want you inside me,” you said. “Please, Mike.”
“Anything else?”
You swallowed. Your pussy was already soaked. You wondered if he’d felt it by now on the thigh that was pressed against your core. You were so ready for him. All you could think about was how bad you wanted him to slide his cock into you.
“I wanna watch it go in,” you said before you could even think about the words leaving your mouth.
“Oh,” he said, and nodded, the corners of his mouth curled slightly downward as if to say, Well, alright then.
He pushed himself up on his knees and hooked his hands behind your knees, drawing your legs up onto his lap. Grabbing one of the extra pillows from the head of the bed, he slipped it under your hips for some extra support.
From this new position, you could see everything—his long hair that hung loose around his shoulders, his toned limbs, his flat stomach, and his swollen cock, so hard it stood straight up against his belly. It was as big as it had seemed pressed against your stomach only a few moments before. You were so distracted by the sight of him you didn’t even notice him looking up at first, nodding his head in the direction of the ceiling, until he cleared his throat. Following his gaze, you looked up and saw a huge mirror the size of the bed or bigger hanging from the ceiling above you.
It hadn’t been there a few moments before. You were certain of it. You would have seen it on your way in, wouldn’t you? You thought back, but through the haze of your arousal, you weren’t quite certain that you just hadn’t missed it. You’re sure you would have seen it on one of your previous tours through the mansion, though, and you hadn’t. You wondered briefly if there wasn’t more to his tricks than simple speed and sleight of hand.
You didn’t have long to think of it though before his hands slid up your thighs, caressing them, then your hips, then your mound, before he dipped one between your legs, sliding two fingers between your folds. He moaned softly, deep in his throat, when he felt how wet you were.
“Oh, honey, you really do want this, don’t you?” he mused.
“Yes,” you said, and gasped when he slid one finger, then another, inside you, curling them against that one delicious spot, getting you even wetter. “Oh, fuck, yes.”
You rolled your hips as he continued teasing you with his fingers, and let out a moan when he pressed the heel of his hand against your aching clit.
“Oh, look at you, baby,” he said. “So good for me. Look.”
You opened your eyes then, understanding what he was asking you to do, and looked up into the mirror, catching sight of what he was seeing, his hand between your legs, the way you were writhing for him. He looked up, too, then, and smiled into the mirror for you.
“You’re so pretty like this,” he said. “I almost want to just stay like this for a while.”
“No, Michael, please,” you said. You hooked a leg around his hips and tried to pull him closer. “I want you. I want it inside me. Please.”
“Okay,” he said softly, and slowly withdrew his hand.
You watched in desperation as he stroked himself, coating his length in your arousal, his face contorting in pleasure, his eyes shut, his jaw falling slack. He moaned, barely audible, as his hand reached the swollen head of his cock, mixing your fluids with his over the most sensitive part of him. He spit into his hand then, adding that to the mix as he stroked himself once, twice more before lining himself up with your dripping entrance. He was breathing hard again, his face flushed and his eyes half lidded as they met yours.
“You’re sure?” he asked one more time, and you almost sobbed from the anticipation.
“Yes,” you said. “Please, baby, I want it so bad.”
He pressed his hips forward, and even just the tip was enough to make you gasp, your eyes squeezing shut and your hands grasping at handfuls of the bedding beneath you as you braced yourself for the rest of him.
“Ah-ah-ah. Eyes open, pretty girl,” he said, caressing your sides, your hips. “You said you wanted to watch it go in. Watch, then.”
You opened your eyes to see him looking down at you, his lower lip between his teeth. He smiled mischievously, and you wanted to close your eyes again, to cover your face and laugh at how silly this all felt. You were ridiculously turned on right now, and here he was, pulling faces that only turned you on more, his cock just barely inside you.
“Look up,” he whispered, and you did, looking at the shape of his body between your thighs, the way your pussy stretched to accommodate his thick cock.
You watched as his hands slid slowly but greedily over your body, and your pussy throbbed around him, making him hiss slightly, then moan. His eyes closed again, and you found yourself looking at the way his brows knit together at the feeling, and how pretty his dark, thick eyelashes looked against his skin. He licked his lips, and one of his hands slid toward your lower belly, pressing down slightly as his thumb rubbed lazily at your clit.
“Fuck,” you groaned, still watching as your pussy contracted and you felt yourself grow somehow even wetter around him. “Please, I want to feel more of you.”
He spit in his hand, stroking his shaft again, the head of his cock still buried in your cunt, and you whimpered, wondering how long he was going to tease you like this. Would he be cruel enough just to jerk off into you without letting you feel the stretch of his cock sliding all the way into you? His thumb on your clit felt so good, but you wanted him inside you with a desperation you’d never felt before for any other man.
“Michael, please,” you panted, reaching for his hips to draw him closer and force him to go deeper, but he stopped you somehow without even touching your hands. You felt a pressure on your wrists, and found yourself unable to move your hands to where you wanted them. But you weren’t afraid. You knew he was different. This must have just been part of his magic. Still, it was a bit annoying. “Now you’re just being mean,” you pouted.
Immediately, the pressure left your wrists, and you found yourself able to move your hands. Instead of reaching for his hips, you placed them on his forearms, stroking them gently. He softened, and leaned over you to kiss your lips once more, his lips soft and gentle against yours.
“Tell me one more time, baby, and I’ll do it,” he murmured, his lips never leaving yours. He kissed you again. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want you inside me,” you said. “I want you to fuck me.”
He kissed your lips one last time before pushing himself up once again, and you watched as he drew your legs higher up on his hips before he pressed forward again, this time sliding all the way inside you, inch by inch. You shuddered, letting out a long, shaky breath, your thighs trembling on either side of his hips as he bottomed out.
“I’m not even doing anything yet,” he said with a soft laugh, but you could see the same immeasurable pleasure in his eyes, his pupils blown so wide you could barely tell where they ended and his irises began.
“I’m really turned on right now,” you said. “And you feel so fucking good, Mike.”
“So do you, baby,” he said, running a hand over your body, up toward your breasts, letting his palms graze over them in a way that made you shudder all over again. “Mm… God, I love it. You’re so pretty, and your pussy feels so perfect stretched around me like this.”
He drew his hips back and pressed them forward again, rolling them lazily as he did, searching for the right angle until finally, he found one that made both of you let out long, gorgeous, unrestrained moans.
“Right there,” you whimpered, and silently thanked God that he kept going just like that. “Yes.”
Unable to speak any longer, you simply laid back, eyes shut as you enjoyed the way his movements sent waves of pleasure rolling over you, lighting your nerves up so that every little touch felt like heaven. After a few minutes, you opened your eyes again and looked up into the mirror to see the steady movement of his cock in and out of your dripping hole, his thick shaft shiny with your arousal. Your pussy felt like it had its own pulse at this point, and you knew he had to feel it too from the look on his face, completely blissed out, his eyes shut and his mouth open, his head lolling back slightly. He had one hand on your hip and the other on his chest once again, as if he were touching a pearl necklace.
You took his hand off your hip and moved it to where it had been, his fingers on your lower belly as his thumb stroked your clit. You contracted around him in response, and he lurched forward, his chin falling to his chest, and he whimpered. The movement of his hips faltered, then continued, increasing in urgency, fucking you a little harder, a little faster.
“Mm, you’re gonna make me come,” he said.
“Good,” you said, and abruptly, his eyes opened, meeting yours with a new hunger and intensity.
“Really?” he asked.
“Mhm. I want to make you come.”
“Not before you.”
Unexpectedly, he pulled out, and before you even knew what was happening, his tongue was on you, sliding through your folds on its way to your clit, flicking over it before taking it between his lips and lapping at it as he sucked. He moaned softly against that little bundle of nerves, and you found yourself shaking all over again as he dragged you over the edge, your orgasm crashing over you. Your body arched, and you fought the urge to grind against him, opting instead to run your hand through his sweat-dampened hair as he slowed his efforts down to a series of lazy kitten licks, as if he was cleaning the mess you’d made with his tongue. And maybe he was. Or maybe he just liked the taste of you and didn’t want to stop. You didn’t quite want him to stop, either, by the end of it, disappointed when he finally did but appeased by a kiss on the lips from him as he slotted himself back between your legs, grinding his still-hard dick against your sensitive pussy. You moaned, and pressed your hips up to meet his.
“You ready for more, pretty girl?” he asked.
“Mhm,” you hummed, closing your eyes and relaxing under him once again as he kissed your neck.
“You’re so good for me,” he whispered against your skin. “So perfect. I could stay here with you forever.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you said with a giggle.
He laughed with you, and kissed your lips playfully as he pushed himself up again just enough to line himself up with your entrance and sink back into you. He moaned into your mouth, kissing you again, more tenderly this time. You felt his tongue graze your bottom lip, and you parted your lips for him, letting him deepen the kiss as he started to move once more.
He got back up to pace quickly, fucking you like he had been before too long, then going harder, faster. You could hear the sound of skin on skin, his body smacking against yours, an intoxicatingly filthy sound that might have embarrassed you if you weren’t so turned on. You could feel a second orgasm building fast, and you could tell he was close, too, by the sounds he was making, and the way his cock twitched inside you. You thought about wrapping your legs around him, forcing him to come inside you, but you knew it was a bad idea. You had your job, and anyway, he probably didn’t really want to marry you like he’d said. There was no sense in risking it, especially not the first time you had sex with him, was there?
“I’m gonna come,” he said, his words slightly slurred. “Where should I…”
“I don’t care,” you said, deciding to leave it up to him.
For a moment, he kept going, and you thought he was going to do it—that he was going to come inside you and risk putting a baby in you. Then, abruptly, he stopped, pulling out just in time for you to feel his come spatter over your stomach and chest as he stroked himself to completion. Your fingers found your clit, and you rubbed it in steady circles until you came, too, your second orgasm washing over you as he leaned down to kiss you and caress your hair.
“Shit,” you giggled, breathless.
Smiling, he kissed you again, and he relaxed atop you, his body pressed to yours, the result of your coupling sticky between your bodies, though you cared little about that now.
“What time do you have to be back at the office?” he asked.
“I’m off today,” you told him. “I don’t have to be back until Monday morning.”
“You think you’d want to spend the night, then?” he asked, looking down into your eyes expectantly. “Or forever?”
You closed your eyes, laughing. “You want to keep me here after one round?”
“I want to keep you here after six months of falling in love with you,” he said. “And, sure, after one round, too.”
He rolled his eyes teasingly, and you pulled him down into another kiss.
“How about we start with the weekend and see where we go from there?” you asked.
“Sounds like we’ve got a deal,” he said.
“Finally,” you said, and you both fell into a fit of laughter, him resting his forehead on your shoulder.
“This was all just an elaborate plot to get the house after all, wasn’t it?” he asked.
“Aw, man. You got me.”
“I sure did,” he said fondly.
