I swear all houston rap that samples mj is so good I feel like I’ve been listening to I wanna smoke since I was so young i barley realized lady in my life was sampled in dere
summary: the line had already been crossed between you & michael after having sex with him; now living under the same roof becomes harder than ever.
tags: !smut, good amount of fluff, obsession, lust with guilt, mentions of masturbation, oral m! & f! receiving, unprotected sex, fingering, soft!dom michael, submissive!reader,
a/n: so much positive feedback from part 1. I love you guys, enjoy!! I was listening to "my moon my man" by feist the majority of the time while writing this, take that as you will.
The second you opened your eyes from your deep drunken slumber the next day, you felt this unrelenting sense of confusion that started the hammers pounding in your skull. You didn't know whether to feel elated that Michael helped you with your needs, even in the most erotic way possible, or feel disgusted with yourself as a woman.
You swore you never wanted to touch another glass of wine after mulling over what you had done that evening, & all you wanted was to just take back what happened. Alas, you simply couldn't help being attracted to Michael, very attracted. The alcohol was simply a catalyst for what you've always dreamed of doing: fucking his brains out. You knew that it wasn't a true mistake, & you hated yourself for it.
Truthfully, you felt like a slut. You felt easy, & you were terrified Michael would also think the same of you. You knew you weren't at heart, but you'd never even attempted or thought of doing something so lewd & taboo in your life, so you surprised yourself. Not to mention your relationship with him had just started blossoming into something beautiful & trustful, and you started to feel like family instead of a worker. You felt like pulling the hair out of your scalp, knowing you practically threw all that out the window, the relationship you had before, gone.
The thought of Michael potentially hating you for your foolish, lustful acts clouded your mind the same morning. You knew it was his idea to help you, yet you couldn't shake the feeling that if you politely declined his request, he'd respect you more. You two never even shared a friendly embrace anymore.
The tension in the house from then on was unbearable. You've never been so grateful to work in a mansion, being able to avoid him easily. Any room before he entered felt sparse & light. When he did come in, it immediately felt small & cramped, like you wanted to escape from embarrassment. You swore you would catch him looking at you at times. Lingering in doorways, watching you leave a room. But when you'd turn your head properly to look at him, he'd be gone or looking somewhere else. You truly couldn't remember the last time he'd looked you in the eye. Yet somehow, when your back was turned, you'd always feel his gaze. You'd still pass each other by in one of his many hallways as he'd attempt to throw you a feeble smile that wasn't even a smile, but more a downturned frown that you assumed said,
I acknowledge your presence, yet I don't want to be in it.
You absolutely adored Michael's kids like they were your own. Your heart would shatter in your chest when you'd see them catching onto yours & Michael's sudden change towards each other. Yes, he was their father, yet you were like a second mother; it hurts them.
You'd be tucking them into bed, slowly pulling the covers up to their necks with a gentle peck on their forehead. You always tried to leave their rooms as soon as possible, knowing they would try to question you. You didn't make it this time. You'd hear one of their little voices mumble your name as you were just about to crack open the door to leave.
"What's wrong with you & daddy? Do you hate him?"
You felt like crying, you didn't hate him. You hated yourself.
"No, I don't hate him. Nothing is wrong, you guys sleep now. See you in the morning, okay?" you'd whisper, leaning on the door.
You never visited the living room after you put the kids to bed anymore, especially knowing Michael would be there. Old habits die hard.
The dinners were the most painful endurance; having to sit with all of them in one room for an hour felt like centuries. The satisfying sounds of laughter & small talk, now replaced by deafening silence & the clinking of cutlery on china plates. The only thing that made you feel like you could still function was the size of his dining room, large golden chandeliers hanging from the ceilings, & a substantially large cedar table that seperated your distance from him enough to breathe. You'd subconsciously look for escape routes if things got too uncomfortable, pathetic.
The children would compliment the taste of the dinner you prepared while eating, Michael's head never turning your direction, only his children.
"Tastes really yummy, thank you," they'd murmur shyly, feeling the energy shift themselves.
"You're very welcome, make sure to try & eat it all, yeah?"
You'd continue cutting your food with your head down, your posture straight on your chair.
"Tastes good, well done." Michael would say barely above a whisper as he nodded to himself.
You'd shoot your head up in his direction from sheer surprise, both of you exchanging a 2 second glance before resuming the silent treatment.
When the time came for you to wind down in your bed, you were left to drown in your thoughts with nowhere to go. You'd look at the baby pink paint on your walls, the fresh white coving & that pretty little vanity he got installed for you with a clear vase and roses situated in it. Your room was always a reminder of how kind-spirited Michael was to you, how pure your relationship was. Now you don't know how to feel when you look at your room. It's like everything is a reminder of what will never be. Your eyes fall on your sundress hung up in your closet, memories just rushing back like a tidal wave.
Sure, you feel regret & disgust with yourself. But there will always be a part of you that didn't regret it. The way he made you feel that night, emotionally & physically. You've felt from no other. You've never had someone arouse you so much to the point it feels like constraint. So much so you'd masturbate to the thought of him every consecutive night, while smelling one of his t-shirts you took from the laundry hamper.
You couldn't help it, you'd wait till Michael went to sleep too, making sure he wouldn't be able to hear your little whimpers & moans as you fingered yourself, the t-shirt propped on the pillow next to you as your head buried into it. You'd imagine the way his cock felt as it dragged in & out of your walls, the way he smelt, the way he felt in your grasp. Every attempt you'd ever had at masturbating in the past has failed; nothing was able to make you finish.
Michael was the only one who could make you cum, whether it was him giving it to you himself, or the thought of him in your own privacy. He was the only one.
You'd bite your bottom lip till you tasted blood as you grew wetter & wetter towards your orgasm, all the while trying to hide the sounds of your slickness under the duvet.
"Michael," you'd whimper breathlessly into his t-shirt, his familiar musk filling your nose just right.
You knew you were obsessed with him, you hated yourself for it, but you'd always had an innocent little crush on him since the day you were hired. One last muffled squeal into your pillow & you'd cum, hard. Your fingers suffocated by the sudden tightening of your pussy. You'd still be feeling surprised you're actually able to do that. You always wonder to yourself if he ever does the same to you, still thinks of you like that. You've had the assumption that he doesn't, so you'd try to stop doing it yourself. Yet, you'd always be betrayed by the hyper-realistic sex dreams you'd have of him nearly every night. You didn't know whether you felt trapped or horny, perhaps both.
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It was another predictable & tedious evening in Michael's kitchen, you were preparing a lasagne you learned from one of your favourite recipe books. You used it for half of the dishes you prepared for his family, & every single one came out perfect. You smile to yourself as you smell that satisfying scent of fresh herbs in the air, proud of your craft. Your hair was tied up loosely in a chic French twist, your regular polka-dot apron tied firmly around your taut waist. Soft interludes of gentle lounge music play on the radio on the windowsill as you hum along, grabbing some fresh tomatoes from the fridge as you start unwrapping them. As traditional as it sounds, the kitchen is where you felt the most peaceful after what happened. It cleared your mind, like white noise in your brain.
You placed three tomatoes on the cutting board & pulled out your knife. You could say confidence got the best of you, you diced one of them furiously, trying out a new technique. You hiss through your teeth sharply as you shake your hand, cutting yourself suddenly. You look at your trembling finger, blood rolling down to your palm.
“Shit.”
You make sure to not let any drip on the food, yet some reaches the floor. You quickly turn around & grabbing a tea towel from the oven handle, wrapping it tight around your finger. Sure, you were panicking because you just damn near sliced off your finger, but you also didn’t want Michael to see. He was too kind-hearted. Even in the current state of affairs between you two, if he saw you right now, you knew he’d try to help you & intervene. You didn’t want that.
You practically fled the kitchen, attempting to get into the bathroom before accidentally bumping into Michael, knowing he was already occupied in the front room, which was dangerously close to the bathroom. You manage to make your way in, immediately locking the door behind you & turning the tap on, placing your open-wounded finger underneath. You let out a sigh of relief as you watch the red water simmer down the drain, the pain starting to die down. Though, the relief doesn't last for long.
You hear 2 knocks at the door, making you jump out your skin, water droplets spraying your face.
You don't know why, but you have this horrible feeling it's Michael. If it were his kids, they would call out. You know they would. The silence that follows is deafening; your mouth falls agape, trying to think of something to say. No words come out; you turn back to the sink, deciding not to reply. You hear another knock.
"Can you open the door?"
Michael. His voice was soft & gentle with a hint of concern, the sound making your stomach drop. You haven't heard him speak to you directly in what feels like forever.
You close your eyes, of course he'd make this harder. You shut off the tap, keeping your hand over the sink. The bathroom even more silent than before.
"Im fine." You semi-shout, trying to sound as normal & uninjured as possible, your eyebrows pressed taught from the raging sting in your finger.
"There's blood on the kitchen floor, open the door."
"I'll clean it."
"It's not the floor im concerned about, please just open the door, let me help."
You let out a deep sigh, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear with your uninjured hand. You don't know why you're trembling. A few weeks ago, standing close to Michael or talking to him hadn't frightened you. Now the simple, pathetic act of opening a door felt impossible. You straightened your back, swallowing your pride hard & painfully. You moved to the door with caution as you placed your free hand on the lock, hesitating. Before you would let any useless thoughts invade your brain, you turned the lock quickly. Your adrenaline had you practically swinging open the door.
Michael stood in the doorframe, the sleeves of his usual white linen shirt rolled up, dark blue jeans sitting loosely on his waist. And of course, concern written plainly across his face. Surprisingly, he looked a little relieved the second he saw your face.
For a second neither of you spoke, just basking in each other's long-lost presence. Your little heart was pounding in your chest, how he didn't hear it bemuses you. You hated how badly you still wanted him deep down. Your gaze drops to your finger, blood resurfacing itself again.
"Let me see," he whispers.
You hated how gentle he sounded.
"It's really not that bad Michael-"
"Please. That's not what I asked." He snaps. A hint of intensity on his face.
The second you assume you're irritating him, you hold out your hand reluctantly. He takes it with no hesitation, making your breath catch in your throat. It'd been weeks since he touched you, weeks since he'd looked at you properly, weeks since he performed those nasty acts on you. The simple touch of his hand sends you right back, making your cunt jump in your panties a little; you tried not to think about it.
He sucks in his teeth at the sight of your knawed finger. Stroking the blood around the wound softly. Your heart pounds even faster.
"& you said that's fine?" He scoffs.
He grabs the tea towel hanging off the sink, wrapping it back around your finger.
"Keep pressure on it, I'll grab some wipes & bandages okay? Don't go anywhere."
You nod, taking a seat on the toilet as you keep the pressure around your finger, just like he said. You watch him leave the room, listening to drawers being rumaged in a nearby room, you're not sure which one.
He comes back with bandages in one hand & antiseptic wipes in the other. He kneels down in front of you, taking your hand.
"How did you even manage to do this?" He mutters, looking up at you.
You look down at him, your plump lips fallen open. You try to find the words, a sudden conversation with him is not what you expected this evening.
"I didn't mean to, I was just cutting tomatoes. Too fast" You say, watching him unwrap the wipe sachet.
Michael looks visibly stiff, yet he still manages to let out a laugh at your clumsiness.
"Silly girl." He tuts.
Once he gets the sachet opened, he hesitates before swiping it across the wound, looking at you for approval, knowing it's gonna hurt like hell. A little smile creeps up around your lips, you nod.
"Should be fine if it's quick, right?" You say.
Without warning, he presses the wipe to your wound, the burn penetrating through your nerves as you hiss. Michael strokes your knee gently, cooing to himself.
"I know, I know, you're doing great."
A few more seconds pass while he cleans your wound. Your eyes fixated on him the entire time, reverting back to the floor if he looked at you again. The collarbones peaking through his half-open shirt nearly made you consider making the same mistake again; you can't help yourself.
He throws the wipe in the nearby trashcan, keeping one hand on your knee, stroking with his thumb, making your cunt pulsate in your jeans. After what seems like ages of him over-analysing your wound, he finally pulls out the bandages & starts unravelling them.
You give him your hand to take as he starts gently wrapping it around your finger.
"Do you regret it?"
His voice was hoarse all of a sudden, still looking down at your finger while he wrapped it. You shoot your head up, locking eyes with him momentarily. The same pair of eyes you saw on top of you a few weeks ago. Your body practically freezes as you think of the right thing to say, already subconsciously trying to please him. You decide to just be yourself, say what you really feel.
"I do & I don't, if that makes sense." You say, watching his face intently for any sign of emotion shift. You swallow,
"& you? do you regret it?" You continue.
You expect him to reply instantly, seeing that he was the one who asked the question first. Yet, surprisingly, he doesn't. He just keeps wrapping tediously, eyes focused a little too hard on your hand as if there's something very interesting about it. The silence stretches further than you'd like, & you wish it didn't hurt as much as it did.
Michael smooths the edges of the bandages before letting go of your hand.
"That should be fine now." He says, standing up.
Your chest sinks as you stay on the toilet, feeling even more embarrassed than ever before. You couldn't give yourself a definite answer to whether or not he disliked you. He still cares for you, still touches you, yet he's blocked off certain areas.
"Try to keep it clean for a few days."
Before you can find the courage to press on with the conversation, he's already heading out of the bathroom. Your head falls into your hands; dinner is going to be hell.
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Dinner was as usual, silent clinking of cutlery & deafening silence. This time feels a little lighter than before, knowing you & Michael broke the ice a little. You'd give each other little glances & smiles across the table at times, & you'd notice he wouldn't just be looking at his children, this time he'd look at you too. You felt light, you hadn't felt this much relief in a long time. Even finding your designer purse you left on a park bench after forgetting it was less relieving than this. You knew he didn't hate you. You saw a longing in his eyes, some sort of want that you also knew he saw in yours. It was a mutual feeling, & you both felt it.
"Despite your finger, you did great." Michael compliments you, chewing on the lasagne, a little tantalising smirk plastered on his face followed by a wink.
The wink awakens a feeling that'd been lying dormant in your belly, butterflies. You wave your bandaged finger in the air, giggling a little.
"Couldn't have done it without you."
The children smile, seeing their two favourite people communicating again must feel warm. The whole atmosphere of the dinner started to pick up towards the end, small talk wavering its way in. & this time, you swear Michael placed his seat closer to yours.
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You spent the rest of the evening trying not to think about what happened in the bathroom. You zoned out as you washed the dishes The same memory of how everything started between you two giving you deja vu. Being distracted from Michael should've been easy. The children kept you busy with their demanding requests, dinner came & went, rooms needed to be cleaned, lunches needed to be packed. Yet every time you glanced down at your bandage, Michael on his knees in front of you flashed into your mind. The way he gently touched you, gently spoke to you like you were this little delicate entity, & the way he completely ignored your question.
By the time you tucked the children into bed & the house had fallen silent, your thoughts were once again unbearable. Just like before. You sat on the edge of your bed, absentmindedly brushing your hair after just finishing your nighttime routine at your vanity. The room was dimly lit by your bedside lamp, casting an amber glow over the walls. Despite your raging thoughts, things felt peaceful tonight. It was the first night in a while you felt a little lighter, you couldn't stop thinking of him. His smell was addicting; it took up that entire bathroom while he was in it. Intense vanilla & sandalwood.
Your brush slowed as your mind wandered back to the bathroom.
"& you? do you regret it?"
Your words replay in your mind like a mantra,you genuinely wish you'd never asked. You promised yourself you wouldn't let your pride be a factor when it comes to Michael, but you couldn't help it. You wanted to take it back. That silence he gave you afterwards made you want to scream. Apart from all the guilt & disgust you felt initially, you were scared that your feelings & wanting for Michael were unrequited, that he didn't want you the way you still want him. Part of you knew you could be wrong, you'd see the way he used to gawk at your body, your legs, your tits. You hated how it turned you on. You placed your brush down on your bedside table with a little sigh, your hair blowing. You quickly slip out of your silk pyjama pants, leaving you in your usual pink camisole & your panties. You slip under the covers, staring out the window.
A knock at your door makes your entire body tense; you know who it is. Your heart instinctively starts pounding.
“Who is it?” Just to be sure.
“It’s me.”
You pull the covers up a little higher.
“Come in.”
You hear the door creak open as Michael steps in, shutting the door behind him, making you frown in confusion. He’s changed into his usual grey sweatpants & a plain white T-shirt. His hair is a little more dishevelled than when you last saw it, he also has his glasses on this time. The ones you love.
Michael sees you laid up in bed with your hair down, your tanned shoulders peaking through the covers. You see him swallow & re-adjust himself.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Is this a bad time?”
You sit up, shaking your head. The thought of knowing Michael is in the same room as you while you’re practically half naked under the covers makes you feel exposed.
“No, I wasn’t sleeping anyway.”
Michael hums as he takes a seat at the end of your bed, fiddling with his fingers.
“I just wanted to talk. I feel like it’s been weeks since we’ve spoken properly.”
You nod along, agreeing with him. it has been weeks, & it’s been killing you.
“You’re right, but you never actually answered my question earlier,” you say, raising a brow.
He takes his glasses off, letting them hang on his shirt. His head falls into his palm momentarily, looking a bit hesitant.
“No, I don’t regret it.” He says, looking in your direction.
Your body feels even lighter than before. You stare at him, hoping for an elaboration.
“I know I’ve never admitted it because it feels wrong, but I can’t help my attraction towards you. & I know you work for me, but I didn’t care at the time. I wanted to help you feel things. What’s wrong about that?” He questions.
You can’t help the smile that threatens to invade your face, your thighs tense under the sheets. You place a gentle hand on your chest, trying to steady your heartbeat.
“Nothing's wrong, I feel the same way.”
“I know you do.”
“What?” You furrow your brows.
“I’ve heard you.”
Your heart stops beating, your stomach feels like a washing machine as you feel your mouth becoming dry. Your lashes flutter as you blink rapidly, trying to talk. You’re terrified to ask what he’s referring to, hoping it’s not about you playing with your pussy to him every night. You go for it.
“Heard what?” You stutter, trying to appear stoic.
“I’ve heard you touching yourself, I heard my name. I know how you feel about me, so don’t feel ashamed.”
You don’t know whether to accept it or try to deny it. Either way, what difference would it make? You’ve already fucked the man. Though what Michael wasn’t telling you is that he’d do the exact same.
Michael had been masturbating to the thought of you ever since he fucked you. You were like human superglue on his mind, he couldn’t get you out even if he tried. He’d imagine the way your tits bounced beneath him, the way your teary eyes looked up at him for guidance, & how damn tight your pussy was. He’d be gripping his cock tight, brows pressed together as he grits his teeth, stroking desperately. He’d wait till everyone was asleep, not wanting to be bothered. That’s how he heard you, he’d sneak by your room to check for any noise, any sign you were awake. His cock would twitch at the sound of your desperate little whimpers & the wetness of your pussy, spurring him on even more. His heart dropping when he heard his name. You could’ve been thinking about anyone, but hearing his name in your mouth felt right.
“You still want me?” He says, his eyes piercing your soul. You have nowhere to go, nowhere to run. It’s like he’s cornered you on purpose. All you can do is swallow the lump in your throat & lick your dried-up lips.
"I've been trying hard not to, but I'm sorry I did that, I’m sorry I touched myself.”
Michael's face softens, inching a little closer to you, placing a hand on your leg under the duvet.
"Why didn't you say anything? Had me suffering for weeks, thinking I did something terrible. If only you told me this earlier." He says.
You exhale a breathe, he has no idea.
"I didn't tell you because I thought you hated me or something. I thought you regretted it & looked down on me, like I was..."
He tilts his head, eyebrows tight. "Like you were what?"
"A slut."
"Oh baby," he mewls, now stroking your covered leg. The sensation travelling right up to your core, you feel yourself getting a little slick down there.
The pet name sends you into shock. The last time he called you that was during the act. Safe to say he sent you right back.
"I don't think you're a slut for wanting to feel good. I simply provided a service, & I don't regret it. I'll say it again."
You nod, thanking him for reassuring you. You realised how stupid you were those past few weeks. He never thought you were a slut, never looked down on you. Hell, he wanted you just as bad.
Michael shifts on the bed, his hand leaving your leg to place on the mattress, assuming the conversation is coming to an end.
"Thank you for telling me that, Michael." You say sweetly.
He doesn't respond, his attention caught onto something tucked beneath your pillow. You feel like you're going to end up having a heart attack the way it keeps fluctuating in speed. Your fingers fist the sheets beneath you a little, your body tense. You know exactly what he's looking at, his t-shirt.
Before you can react, he reaches over & pulls at the corner of the exposed fabric. His familiar grey t-shirt slides free, he just holds it in front of him, his lips falling agape. For a second, neither of you says a word, you feel your face burn hot immediately, feeling like you want to vomit.
"What's this? Is this mine?" he whispers, almost to himself.
He doesn't sound mad, more surprised or impressed. His eyes flick from the shirt back to you, & the classic look on your face seems to answer the question for him.
You lunge forward instinctively, attempting to get it back. He gently turns away, still looking at it like he can't believe it's real or something.
"I know it's mine because I've been looking for it."
"Michael, don't be mad, please."
He chuckles, "I'm not an angry person, & you know that," he says, gently placing the shirt on the bed.
He shifts closer to you, closer than before. He notices your chest rising & falling rapidly. He places a hand on it, stroking a little with his thumb.
"Hey, breathe. Im not mad." He says, leaning down a little to get on your eye-level.
"God, I'm sorry." You mutter, your voice starting to crack.
You feel yourself becoming teary from the searing humiliation, it felt like someone broadcasted all your secrets worldwide at once. Your bottom lip starts to quiver, your eyes looking wet as you drop your head, feeling shameful. The second Michael saw your face crumple, something inside him seemed to break.
"Baby, don't cry." he says softly.
You look away instantly, not wanting to look him in the eye. He didn't give you a chance to shy away, he gently took your wrist & pulled you towards him. He made sure the movement was slow enough for you to stop him or pull away. The moment his arms wrapped around your frame, you buried your head onto his shoulder, small little sobs ripping from your throat.
"It's okay, don't feel ashamed. It's okay, I'm not mad." His voice high pitched & gentle.
One of his hands settles against the back of your head, his fingers slowly playing & moving through your glossy hair, smoothing it back from your face as he juts your chin up to face him. The gesture was so familiar. You look up at him through your thick n' wet lashes, your lips puffy & all cried out.
Michael's thumb brushed beneath your eye, catching another tear before rolls down your rosy cheeks. You hated how easily he seemed to unravel you. He kept his eyes on your face, admiring your beauty, as if he hadn’t been doing that anyway. You could see him studying every detail as if he was trying to memorise it for later. You could hear your heartbeat slowing in your ears.
"You know what the worst part of all this is?" He mutters.
You blink, "What?"
A slight smirk tugs at the side of his lips, bringing his face closer to yours. So much so you could smell the mint on his breath.
"You've spent all this time thinking I hated you, when really, I've been trying not to walk into this room every night."
His words sat heavily and soppily between the two of you. Those doubts you had weeks before feel even more dumb.
"You have no idea how hard you've made this for me. I've wanted you so damn bad." he continues, stroking your cheek with the knuckle of his index finger.
A strange yet unrelenting sense of confidence rushes over you. Perhaps it was the relief, or the way he was looking at you like you were sweet candy. You felt tired of holding back your desires. You realised that for those few weeks, you'd convinced yourself that wanting him was something to be ashamed of, looked down upon. For once in your life, you didn't give a damn.
Your eyes flicker down to his parted lips before looking back up at him. You feel your mouth start to salivate, like you're ready to eat. Your heart hammers in your chest against his.
"Then show me." You say just above a whisper, keeping those eyes on his. You know he loves that.
Michael smiles with all his teeth, grinning at your sudden confidence. He strokes a hand through your hair again, leaning in closer. You don’t move an inch, just stare at him.
Before you know it, his hands are cupping both sides of your jaw so gently you can barely feel it. One hand travels to your chin, inching it up a little as his lips hover dangerously close overs yours. Your little shallow breaths hit lips, making him shiver.
Finally, he presses his lips to yours, they’re practically burning hot & supple as anything. You hear a little moan from him the second you two connect you lips, making you furrow your brow. You’d been dreaming about kissing him again after what happened, daydreaming about it while grocery shopping. You never wanted him to stop kissing you, never.
By the time he broke the kiss, he didn’t move far. He leaned his forehead on yours, playing with your bottom lip with his thumb. You pout a little, wanting him back like a baby would with their favourite treat.
“Are you convinced yet?” Michael mutters.
You nod, a vulnerable & pleased expression on your face.
“There you go.”
Michael slid his thumb across your chin, his face completely unreadable. You keep your gaze on him, not faltering. Suddenly, you feel his thumb graze & rub on your pouty lips.
“Open.”
You hesitate before opening your mouth into a small O. His Thumb slowly slides into your mouth, resting against your tounge. Your mouth warm, wet, & inviting.
“Suck.” He whispers hoarsely.
You start blinking rapidly, not used to him acting such a way. He’s always been so gentle, so soft-spoken, almost shy. Yet the way he’s acting right now, it’s like you bring out this erotic side of him, & you can tell he relishes in it.
Without thinking any longer, you latch your lips & tongue around his slender thumb, the slight salty taste making you hum. You flutter your eyes shut, swirling your tongue around it. Michael watches you like he’s in a trance, his eyes half lidded, full of pure untainted lust.
You release your mouth of his finger.
“I wanna taste it,” you say, palming his cock through his sweats. The stiffness of it takes you by surprise.
“I didn’t get to last time & I’ve been dreaming about doing it, can I?” You continue.
Before Michael could even answer, you were crawling out of the bed desperately, your little ass perched up in the air momentarily as you made your way to the floor.
You situate yourself in between his legs, kneeling. You never realised how long & lanky they were until now.
“I don’t want you feeling uncomfortable on that floor,” he protests, yet you can see his bulge swelling up more & more with each second.
You giggle, flipping your locks to one side as you slide your hands up his meaty thighs, making him twitch.
“That’s what you’re worried about?” You smirk, a dangerous twinkle in your eye as you pull at his waistband, signalling him to take them off.
"Didn't want your little knees getting hurt, but if you say so."
He hesitated before grabbing his waistband himself, lifting himself up as you took over & pulled them down his legs impatiently.
His thighs were dad thick, the subtle hair on them made your hands tingle as you rubbed them up & down. You knaw on your bottom lip as you slide a hand over his boxers, gently playing with his bulge.
The subtle sensation makes him weak, he throws his head back as a low & lengthy groan escapes him. He braces one hand beside him on the mattress for support, the other playing with your hair tediously.
You waste no time slowly pulling the hem of his boxers down. He lifts himself, allowing you to fully slide them down to his ankles. Your mouth is practically watering at the familiar sight of his cock sprung free in front of your face, standing tall. The tip mauve & deep, the skin warm, & incredibly soft as you traced your finger across a singular vein.
You wrap your hand around his lower base, inching your head up to look him in the eye as you stick your tongue out, slapping the tip on your tongue a few times. You've always been a slow love maker. You feel him vivaciously throb around your grip, glistening pre-cum starting to pool on his head.
"Quit teasin' ", he giggles softly, rubbing the back of your head.
You lower your head, licking one long, painfully slow stripe up his shaft, followed by suckling on his tip. His hand grips the sheets roughly, knuckles white as he lets out a sharp hiss through his teeth. You keep your eyes on him at all times, noticing the way little beads of sweat collect at the sides of his temples. It doesn't take much to please him.
"Oh fuck," he moans.
Finally, you sink your ripe lips down his length as much as your throat can take. You reach his base, gaggling slightly as you feel his hand travel to your breast, groping it over your camisole.
You continue your work on his cock, rhythmically bobbing your head up & down his length at a safe pace as you jerked his lower half, not able to take him all. He tasted clean & a little salty, you loved it.
You realised your mouth off him with a wet pop, stroking him.
“You taste so good.” You whisper seductively.
His mouth is practically pryed open as he watches you stroke him, amazed by your talent & desperation.
Just before you're about to go down on him again, he stops you.
“Enough of me, I wanna touch you.”
Without any further notice, he’s grabbing you by your armpits, lifting you off the floor with a groan. He situates you on the bed, pulling the straps of your camisole down as he pulls your top completely off. Your full breasts sitting cute in front of him, nipples hard from arousal.
“So damn pretty.” He says, latching his mouth onto one, sucking gently, humming to himself. He’s exactly where he’s dreamed of being.
You throw your head back as you whimper, the feeling of his slick tongue on your sensitive nipple sending you onto overdrive.
He releases himself from your breast, turning his attention to your hot pink panties, stained & just begging to be removed. He slides two fingers across your clothed folds, whispering profanities under his breath as you spread your legs wider. It’s like your body knows who he is & reacts as such whenever he touches you.
“Mhm, there,” You let out a guttural moan, your eyes falling to the back of your head from the sensation of your clit being grazed.
He leans down, groping the squidgy skin of your inner thighs as he kisses your damp lips, sucking & tasting you through the fabric.
“I can feel you throbbing, want more?” he chuckles, looking up at you momentarily.
“Yes, yes,” you beg, nodding aggressively. You don’t care how desperate you may seem, if you want something you want it.
He latches his finger around the hem of your panties, pulling them to the side to reveal your glossy slick folds.
“Sexy pussy,” he coos, playing with your swollen clit a little before latching his mouth onto it. He laps up your juices from bottom to top as if he wants to physically consume it, his shoulders hunched.
You let your mouth fall completely open as you fall back on the bed, your thighs trembling as you listen to him slurping you up, your hands flying to his hair.
“Fingers please,” you beg, barely audible as you struggle to talk.
Michael listens to your command, sliding 2 of his lengthy fingers into your weeping entrance. One hand flies to your mouth covering it as you arch your back into an aggressive C. Suddenly, you’re painfully aware the children are in close proximity.
“Remember, baby, the children. Try to be quiet for me.” He says, slowly sliding his fingers in & out.
You nod, clamping down on your bottom lip till you taste blood as you struggle.
“Please Michael, wanna come again so bad.”
He speeds up the pace with his fingers, licking & sucking your sensitive nub with a calm gentle rhythm driving you over edge.
“Give it to me baby, I want it,” he presses.
You start to feel a familiar sensation crescendo in your lower belly again, the same feeling on the couch & in your bed at nighttime, you knew what it was. You squeeze your eyes shut as your mouth hangs open, anticipating your release.
“Michael I’m gonna come! don’t stop don’t stop,” you warn, gripping his hair even tighter.
“Yes,” he hisses against your pussy, “cum for me, there you go.”
With a muffled cry, your let your orgasm tear through you. Your thighs like jelly as your pulse booms in your ears.
Michael sits up, crawling over you as he grabs your face for a messy kiss. He kicks his boxers & sweats off his ankles. You have no time to come back to reality after your orgasm, desperate to have him inside of you.
You shift your panties down your legs, both of you now completely stark naked infront of eachother. You both pause for a second, taking in eachothers bodies. You rub your hands along his chest, it’s taught & defined. You pepper little kisses along his collarbone as you signal him to flip over & lie down.
“Lay on your back.” You say, flipping your hair out your face.
Michael props himself against the headboard, lying flat on the bed. He’s already holding his hands out awaiting you. Heat creeps up your cheeks as you crawl over on top of him, throwing your legs on either side of his hips. You situate yourself on his shaft, your bare pussy now pressed against it. He lets his hands rest gently on the curve of your hips.
“You’ve gotta be the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, y'know that?” He says lowly, grazing his hands up & down your ass with a light slap.
“& you’ve gotta be the most handsome man I’ve ever seen, or boss.” You giggle.
His lips twitch into a smile as he holds your lower half up, allowing you to take a hold of his stiffened cock. Little whimpers fall from your lips as you rubs his slick tip across your folds, both of you are so wet & you haven’t even started. You’d love to tease him a little, sitting down a on his tip allowing it to sink in a little.
Your actions would only make him harder, a small bang from the headboard whenever his head would fall.
Finally, you slowly sink down on his length. Every inch that enters you feels suffocating yet extremely pleasurable. Your eyes flutter shut as you squeal under your breath, placing both your hands on his chest. Your pussy practically sucks him in like a hoover, not letting him go anywhere.
His hands instinctively inch you down a little further, desperate himself to be inside of the girl that’s been living in his imagination for weeks.
You wiggle your ass as you get comfortable, now fully seated on his cock. Your chest rises & falls, the pleasure so intense you’re scared to move, you feel like you could cum already.
“So tight, oh my god.” He groans, raking a hand through the ends of your hair.
"Wanted to do this for so long," you whine n' pout, rolling your hips back & fourth.
Michael hums as he guides you back & fourth on his length, your hair flying & sticking onto your lips. His tip violently hits your g-spot with each roll making your legs almost give out. You try your hardest to keep your eyes out your head & on Michael at all times, you wanted to remember this.
Your cheeks flush a light rose color, already fucked out. You start to bounce impatiently, loving the feeling of him entering & re-entering you. Your tits bounce freely in front of him, automatically making him lean forward & hold one, latching his mouth onto your right nipple.
"I love it," you moan pornographically, "It's so big."
His ego swells up at your comment, spurring him on more. He grabs onto the fat of your hips a little harder as he manually bounces you on his cock, mouth still latched onto your breast. The subtle sound of skin meeting skin fills the emptiness of the room, the air humid & warm with the aroma of both of your unique scents now melted together.
"Feeling good ma?" Michael breathes, his face red and fucked out already, his body jutting up & down from your continuous bounces.
“So good,” you whisper, leaning down into his ear.
He plants a peck on your cheek, wrapping his arms around you as he flips you over so you're on your fours.
One thing about Michael was that he loved missionary, that was one of his favourites. Sure, he'd loved seeing that pretty little face of yours tear up as you came. But truthfully, he'd been fantasising about having you bent over for the past 2 weeks, & he feels elated that it's no longer a dream.
You point your ass up in the air for him, eager & starved. You wrap your arms around his t-shirt, the one you'd been touching yourself to for weeks. You let your head rest on it as you look back at him waiting for him patiently.
He positions himself behind you, for a second he just admires the view of you bent over & waiting for him. He loathes in it, & you loathe in the attention, all on you. He plants a semi-rough slap on your left cheek, leaving a red mark. You whine into his shirt, smiling.
"Always wanted to do that, seeing you around the house lookin' all pretty."
Before you can reply, you feel his cock return to your slick folds as he drags the tip over it a few times, collecting your arousal. He strokes a hand from the nape of your neck to your lower back, keeping it there as he pushes himself into you.
You drag out a whine, biting on his shirt to muffle yourself. He starts of slow, just watching the way your cunt swallows him like it knows who he is.
"My god," he whimpers, both hands on your hips now.
You feel your body jolt as he starts to speed up, a white ring of sweet elixir forming at the base of his cock. Moans n' whimpers fall from your lips uncontrollably as you happily take him.
He loved watching the way your ass recoiled against his thighs, growing even harder inside of you.
"I'm trying not to swear, goddamn." He groans.
He leans forward, pressing his clammy chest on your back with one hand on the mattress and one guiding your hips back & fourth. Michael's greedy, he doesn't know whether to look at your face or ass. Both just as hypnotising as each other.
You look back at him, your eyes half lidded & glossy.
"Michael, I think I'm gonna come again," you whine, your voice breaking.
You feel his breath hit your ear as he leans into it. Both his hands now on your hips, driving you onto his cock even harder.
"Come with me, I'm so close," he pleads with you.
"Mmyeah, please don't stop." You beg, twisting your neck as far as you can to kiss him.
You share a passionate kiss as you feel another searing orgasm crest in your belly. Your brows pinch together as you try to keep your lips on his. The second he feels your cunt tighten up, he nods, pushing you on to finish as you feel his own thrusts speed up.
"Fuck, Im coming!" You cry.
"Me too, baby, shi–"
Your head falls into his shirt beneath you as your release tears through you once again without warning, your walls tightening around him violently, bringing him to a sharp halt as he releases himself inside of you. You hum in satisfaction as you feel his warm release pool deep in your pussy, little bits trying to escape out the sides.
He finally pulls out of you, watching the way his seed drips out of you in awe, collecting some on his fingers.
"So much," he says to himself.
He finally flops down next to you, both of you half-dead & useless as you stare at each other with your chests rising and falling rapidly. Reality rushes in once again, though this time felt a little less heavy. Neither of you seemed to care, you were content & bliss.
You share a final kiss as Michael wraps his arms around your small frame, pulling you tight against his sticky chest. The smell of his sweat & cologne an addictive mix.
You look up at him from his arms,
"We didn't learn anything from the first time did we?" You mutter, a small smirk on your face.
Michael shakes his head, looking elsewhere.
"No, I definitely learned something." He replies.
"& what's that?"
"That I don't wanna stay away from you."
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thank you guys for your patience with this fic, I had so much fun writing it 🥹
summary: the line had already been crossed between you & michael after having sex with him; now living under the same roof becomes harder than ever.
tags: !smut, good amount of fluff, obsession, lust with guilt, mentions of masturbation, oral m! & f! receiving, unprotected sex, fingering, soft!dom michael, submissive!reader,
a/n: so much positive feedback from part 1. I love you guys, enjoy!! I was listening to "my moon my man" by feist the majority of the time while writing this, take that as you will.
The second you opened your eyes from your deep drunken slumber the next day, you felt this unrelenting sense of confusion that started the hammers pounding in your skull. You didn't know whether to feel elated that Michael helped you with your needs, even in the most erotic way possible, or feel disgusted with yourself as a woman.
You swore you never wanted to touch another glass of wine after mulling over what you had done that evening, & all you wanted was to just take back what happened. Alas, you simply couldn't help being attracted to Michael, very attracted. The alcohol was simply a catalyst for what you've always dreamed of doing: fucking his brains out. You knew that it wasn't a true mistake, & you hated yourself for it.
Truthfully, you felt like a slut. You felt easy, & you were terrified Michael would also think the same of you. You knew you weren't at heart, but you'd never even attempted or thought of doing something so lewd & taboo in your life, so you surprised yourself. Not to mention your relationship with him had just started blossoming into something beautiful & trustful, and you started to feel like family instead of a worker. You felt like pulling the hair out of your scalp, knowing you practically threw all that out the window, the relationship you had before, gone.
The thought of Michael potentially hating you for your foolish, lustful acts clouded your mind the same morning. You knew it was his idea to help you, yet you couldn't shake the feeling that if you politely declined his request, he'd respect you more. You two never even shared a friendly embrace anymore.
The tension in the house from then on was unbearable. You've never been so grateful to work in a mansion, being able to avoid him easily. Any room before he entered felt sparse & light. When he did come in, it immediately felt small & cramped, like you wanted to escape from embarrassment. You swore you would catch him looking at you at times. Lingering in doorways, watching you leave a room. But when you'd turn your head properly to look at him, he'd be gone or looking somewhere else. You truly couldn't remember the last time he'd looked you in the eye. Yet somehow, when your back was turned, you'd always feel his gaze. You'd still pass each other by in one of his many hallways as he'd attempt to throw you a feeble smile that wasn't even a smile, but more a downturned frown that you assumed said,
I acknowledge your presence, yet I don't want to be in it.
You absolutely adored Michael's kids like they were your own. Your heart would shatter in your chest when you'd see them catching onto yours & Michael's sudden change towards each other. Yes, he was their father, yet you were like a second mother; it hurts them.
You'd be tucking them into bed, slowly pulling the covers up to their necks with a gentle peck on their forehead. You always tried to leave their rooms as soon as possible, knowing they would try to question you. You didn't make it this time. You'd hear one of their little voices mumble your name as you were just about to crack open the door to leave.
"What's wrong with you & daddy? Do you hate him?"
You felt like crying, you didn't hate him. You hated yourself.
"No, I don't hate him. Nothing is wrong, you guys sleep now. See you in the morning, okay?" you'd whisper, leaning on the door.
You never visited the living room after you put the kids to bed anymore, especially knowing Michael would be there. Old habits die hard.
The dinners were the most painful endurance; having to sit with all of them in one room for an hour felt like centuries. The satisfying sounds of laughter & small talk, now replaced by deafening silence & the clinking of cutlery on china plates. The only thing that made you feel like you could still function was the size of his dining room, large golden chandeliers hanging from the ceilings, & a substantially large cedar table that seperated your distance from him enough to breathe. You'd subconsciously look for escape routes if things got too uncomfortable, pathetic.
The children would compliment the taste of the dinner you prepared while eating, Michael's head never turning your direction, only his children.
"Tastes really yummy, thank you," they'd murmur shyly, feeling the energy shift themselves.
"You're very welcome, make sure to try & eat it all, yeah?"
You'd continue cutting your food with your head down, your posture straight on your chair.
"Tastes good, well done." Michael would say barely above a whisper as he nodded to himself.
You'd shoot your head up in his direction from sheer surprise, both of you exchanging a 2 second glance before resuming the silent treatment.
When the time came for you to wind down in your bed, you were left to drown in your thoughts with nowhere to go. You'd look at the baby pink paint on your walls, the fresh white coving & that pretty little vanity he got installed for you with a clear vase and roses situated in it. Your room was always a reminder of how kind-spirited Michael was to you, how pure your relationship was. Now you don't know how to feel when you look at your room. It's like everything is a reminder of what will never be. Your eyes fall on your sundress hung up in your closet, memories just rushing back like a tidal wave.
Sure, you feel regret & disgust with yourself. But there will always be a part of you that didn't regret it. The way he made you feel that night, emotionally & physically. You've felt from no other. You've never had someone arouse you so much to the point it feels like constraint. So much so you'd masturbate to the thought of him every consecutive night, while smelling one of his t-shirts you took from the laundry hamper.
You couldn't help it, you'd wait till Michael went to sleep too, making sure he wouldn't be able to hear your little whimpers & moans as you fingered yourself, the t-shirt propped on the pillow next to you as your head buried into it. You'd imagine the way his cock felt as it dragged in & out of your walls, the way he smelt, the way he felt in your grasp. Every attempt you'd ever had at masturbating in the past has failed; nothing was able to make you finish.
Michael was the only one who could make you cum, whether it was him giving it to you himself, or the thought of him in your own privacy. He was the only one.
You'd bite your bottom lip till you tasted blood as you grew wetter & wetter towards your orgasm, all the while trying to hide the sounds of your slickness under the duvet.
"Michael," you'd whimper breathlessly into his t-shirt, his familiar musk filling your nose just right.
You knew you were obsessed with him, you hated yourself for it, but you'd always had an innocent little crush on him since the day you were hired. One last muffled squeal into your pillow & you'd cum, hard. Your fingers suffocated by the sudden tightening of your pussy. You'd still be feeling surprised you're actually able to do that. You always wonder to yourself if he ever does the same to you, still thinks of you like that. You've had the assumption that he doesn't, so you'd try to stop doing it yourself. Yet, you'd always be betrayed by the hyper-realistic sex dreams you'd have of him nearly every night. You didn't know whether you felt trapped or horny, perhaps both.
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It was another predictable & tedious evening in Michael's kitchen, you were preparing a lasagne you learned from one of your favourite recipe books. You used it for half of the dishes you prepared for his family, & every single one came out perfect. You smile to yourself as you smell that satisfying scent of fresh herbs in the air, proud of your craft. Your hair was tied up loosely in a chic French twist, your regular polka-dot apron tied firmly around your taut waist. Soft interludes of gentle lounge music play on the radio on the windowsill as you hum along, grabbing some fresh tomatoes from the fridge as you start unwrapping them. As traditional as it sounds, the kitchen is where you felt the most peaceful after what happened. It cleared your mind, like white noise in your brain.
You placed three tomatoes on the cutting board & pulled out your knife. You could say confidence got the best of you, you diced one of them furiously, trying out a new technique. You hiss through your teeth sharply as you shake your hand, cutting yourself suddenly. You look at your trembling finger, blood rolling down to your palm.
“Shit.”
You make sure to not let any drip on the food, yet some reaches the floor. You quickly turn around & grabbing a tea towel from the oven handle, wrapping it tight around your finger. Sure, you were panicking because you just damn near sliced off your finger, but you also didn’t want Michael to see. He was too kind-hearted. Even in the current state of affairs between you two, if he saw you right now, you knew he’d try to help you & intervene. You didn’t want that.
You practically fled the kitchen, attempting to get into the bathroom before accidentally bumping into Michael, knowing he was already occupied in the front room, which was dangerously close to the bathroom. You manage to make your way in, immediately locking the door behind you & turning the tap on, placing your open-wounded finger underneath. You let out a sigh of relief as you watch the red water simmer down the drain, the pain starting to die down. Though, the relief doesn't last for long.
You hear 2 knocks at the door, making you jump out your skin, water droplets spraying your face.
You don't know why, but you have this horrible feeling it's Michael. If it were his kids, they would call out. You know they would. The silence that follows is deafening; your mouth falls agape, trying to think of something to say. No words come out; you turn back to the sink, deciding not to reply. You hear another knock.
"Can you open the door?"
Michael. His voice was soft & gentle with a hint of concern, the sound making your stomach drop. You haven't heard him speak to you directly in what feels like forever.
You close your eyes, of course he'd make this harder. You shut off the tap, keeping your hand over the sink. The bathroom even more silent than before.
"Im fine." You semi-shout, trying to sound as normal & uninjured as possible, your eyebrows pressed taught from the raging sting in your finger.
"There's blood on the kitchen floor, open the door."
"I'll clean it."
"It's not the floor im concerned about, please just open the door, let me help."
You let out a deep sigh, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear with your uninjured hand. You don't know why you're trembling. A few weeks ago, standing close to Michael or talking to him hadn't frightened you. Now the simple, pathetic act of opening a door felt impossible. You straightened your back, swallowing your pride hard & painfully. You moved to the door with caution as you placed your free hand on the lock, hesitating. Before you would let any useless thoughts invade your brain, you turned the lock quickly. Your adrenaline had you practically swinging open the door.
Michael stood in the doorframe, the sleeves of his usual white linen shirt rolled up, dark blue jeans sitting loosely on his waist. And of course, concern written plainly across his face. Surprisingly, he looked a little relieved the second he saw your face.
For a second neither of you spoke, just basking in each other's long-lost presence. Your little heart was pounding in your chest, how he didn't hear it bemuses you. You hated how badly you still wanted him deep down. Your gaze drops to your finger, blood resurfacing itself again.
"Let me see," he whispers.
You hated how gentle he sounded.
"It's really not that bad Michael-"
"Please. That's not what I asked." He snaps. A hint of intensity on his face.
The second you assume you're irritating him, you hold out your hand reluctantly. He takes it with no hesitation, making your breath catch in your throat. It'd been weeks since he touched you, weeks since he'd looked at you properly, weeks since he performed those nasty acts on you. The simple touch of his hand sends you right back, making your cunt jump in your panties a little; you tried not to think about it.
He sucks in his teeth at the sight of your knawed finger. Stroking the blood around the wound softly. Your heart pounds even faster.
"& you said that's fine?" He scoffs.
He grabs the tea towel hanging off the sink, wrapping it back around your finger.
"Keep pressure on it, I'll grab some wipes & bandages okay? Don't go anywhere."
You nod, taking a seat on the toilet as you keep the pressure around your finger, just like he said. You watch him leave the room, listening to drawers being rumaged in a nearby room, you're not sure which one.
He comes back with bandages in one hand & antiseptic wipes in the other. He kneels down in front of you, taking your hand.
"How did you even manage to do this?" He mutters, looking up at you.
You look down at him, your plump lips fallen open. You try to find the words, a sudden conversation with him is not what you expected this evening.
"I didn't mean to, I was just cutting tomatoes. Too fast" You say, watching him unwrap the wipe sachet.
Michael looks visibly stiff, yet he still manages to let out a laugh at your clumsiness.
"Silly girl." He tuts.
Once he gets the sachet opened, he hesitates before swiping it across the wound, looking at you for approval, knowing it's gonna hurt like hell. A little smile creeps up around your lips, you nod.
"Should be fine if it's quick, right?" You say.
Without warning, he presses the wipe to your wound, the burn penetrating through your nerves as you hiss. Michael strokes your knee gently, cooing to himself.
"I know, I know, you're doing great."
A few more seconds pass while he cleans your wound. Your eyes fixated on him the entire time, reverting back to the floor if he looked at you again. The collarbones peaking through his half-open shirt nearly made you consider making the same mistake again; you can't help yourself.
He throws the wipe in the nearby trashcan, keeping one hand on your knee, stroking with his thumb, making your cunt pulsate in your jeans. After what seems like ages of him over-analysing your wound, he finally pulls out the bandages & starts unravelling them.
You give him your hand to take as he starts gently wrapping it around your finger.
"Do you regret it?"
His voice was hoarse all of a sudden, still looking down at your finger while he wrapped it. You shoot your head up, locking eyes with him momentarily. The same pair of eyes you saw on top of you a few weeks ago. Your body practically freezes as you think of the right thing to say, already subconsciously trying to please him. You decide to just be yourself, say what you really feel.
"I do & I don't, if that makes sense." You say, watching his face intently for any sign of emotion shift. You swallow,
"& you? do you regret it?" You continue.
You expect him to reply instantly, seeing that he was the one who asked the question first. Yet, surprisingly, he doesn't. He just keeps wrapping tediously, eyes focused a little too hard on your hand as if there's something very interesting about it. The silence stretches further than you'd like, & you wish it didn't hurt as much as it did.
Michael smooths the edges of the bandages before letting go of your hand.
"That should be fine now." He says, standing up.
Your chest sinks as you stay on the toilet, feeling even more embarrassed than ever before. You couldn't give yourself a definite answer to whether or not he disliked you. He still cares for you, still touches you, yet he's blocked off certain areas.
"Try to keep it clean for a few days."
Before you can find the courage to press on with the conversation, he's already heading out of the bathroom. Your head falls into your hands; dinner is going to be hell.
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Dinner was as usual, silent clinking of cutlery & deafening silence. This time feels a little lighter than before, knowing you & Michael broke the ice a little. You'd give each other little glances & smiles across the table at times, & you'd notice he wouldn't just be looking at his children, this time he'd look at you too. You felt light, you hadn't felt this much relief in a long time. Even finding your designer purse you left on a park bench after forgetting it was less relieving than this. You knew he didn't hate you. You saw a longing in his eyes, some sort of want that you also knew he saw in yours. It was a mutual feeling, & you both felt it.
"Despite your finger, you did great." Michael compliments you, chewing on the lasagne, a little tantalising smirk plastered on his face followed by a wink.
The wink awakens a feeling that'd been lying dormant in your belly, butterflies. You wave your bandaged finger in the air, giggling a little.
"Couldn't have done it without you."
The children smile, seeing their two favourite people communicating again must feel warm. The whole atmosphere of the dinner started to pick up towards the end, small talk wavering its way in. & this time, you swear Michael placed his seat closer to yours.
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You spent the rest of the evening trying not to think about what happened in the bathroom. You zoned out as you washed the dishes The same memory of how everything started between you two giving you deja vu. Being distracted from Michael should've been easy. The children kept you busy with their demanding requests, dinner came & went, rooms needed to be cleaned, lunches needed to be packed. Yet every time you glanced down at your bandage, Michael on his knees in front of you flashed into your mind. The way he gently touched you, gently spoke to you like you were this little delicate entity, & the way he completely ignored your question.
By the time you tucked the children into bed & the house had fallen silent, your thoughts were once again unbearable. Just like before. You sat on the edge of your bed, absentmindedly brushing your hair after just finishing your nighttime routine at your vanity. The room was dimly lit by your bedside lamp, casting an amber glow over the walls. Despite your raging thoughts, things felt peaceful tonight. It was the first night in a while you felt a little lighter, you couldn't stop thinking of him. His smell was addicting; it took up that entire bathroom while he was in it. Intense vanilla & sandalwood.
Your brush slowed as your mind wandered back to the bathroom.
"& you? do you regret it?"
Your words replay in your mind like a mantra,you genuinely wish you'd never asked. You promised yourself you wouldn't let your pride be a factor when it comes to Michael, but you couldn't help it. You wanted to take it back. That silence he gave you afterwards made you want to scream. Apart from all the guilt & disgust you felt initially, you were scared that your feelings & wanting for Michael were unrequited, that he didn't want you the way you still want him. Part of you knew you could be wrong, you'd see the way he used to gawk at your body, your legs, your tits. You hated how it turned you on. You placed your brush down on your bedside table with a little sigh, your hair blowing. You quickly slip out of your silk pyjama pants, leaving you in your usual pink camisole & your panties. You slip under the covers, staring out the window.
A knock at your door makes your entire body tense; you know who it is. Your heart instinctively starts pounding.
“Who is it?” Just to be sure.
“It’s me.”
You pull the covers up a little higher.
“Come in.”
You hear the door creak open as Michael steps in, shutting the door behind him, making you frown in confusion. He’s changed into his usual grey sweatpants & a plain white T-shirt. His hair is a little more dishevelled than when you last saw it, he also has his glasses on this time. The ones you love.
Michael sees you laid up in bed with your hair down, your tanned shoulders peaking through the covers. You see him swallow & re-adjust himself.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Is this a bad time?”
You sit up, shaking your head. The thought of knowing Michael is in the same room as you while you’re practically half naked under the covers makes you feel exposed.
“No, I wasn’t sleeping anyway.”
Michael hums as he takes a seat at the end of your bed, fiddling with his fingers.
“I just wanted to talk. I feel like it’s been weeks since we’ve spoken properly.”
You nod along, agreeing with him. it has been weeks, & it’s been killing you.
“You’re right, but you never actually answered my question earlier,” you say, raising a brow.
He takes his glasses off, letting them hang on his shirt. His head falls into his palm momentarily, looking a bit hesitant.
“No, I don’t regret it.” He says, looking in your direction.
Your body feels even lighter than before. You stare at him, hoping for an elaboration.
“I know I’ve never admitted it because it feels wrong, but I can’t help my attraction towards you. & I know you work for me, but I didn’t care at the time. I wanted to help you feel things. What’s wrong about that?” He questions.
You can’t help the smile that threatens to invade your face, your thighs tense under the sheets. You place a gentle hand on your chest, trying to steady your heartbeat.
“Nothing's wrong, I feel the same way.”
“I know you do.”
“What?” You furrow your brows.
“I’ve heard you.”
Your heart stops beating, your stomach feels like a washing machine as you feel your mouth becoming dry. Your lashes flutter as you blink rapidly, trying to talk. You’re terrified to ask what he’s referring to, hoping it’s not about you playing with your pussy to him every night. You go for it.
“Heard what?” You stutter, trying to appear stoic.
“I’ve heard you touching yourself, I heard my name. I know how you feel about me, so don’t feel ashamed.”
You don’t know whether to accept it or try to deny it. Either way, what difference would it make? You’ve already fucked the man. Though what Michael wasn’t telling you is that he’d do the exact same.
Michael had been masturbating to the thought of you ever since he fucked you. You were like human superglue on his mind, he couldn’t get you out even if he tried. He’d imagine the way your tits bounced beneath him, the way your teary eyes looked up at him for guidance, & how damn tight your pussy was. He’d be gripping his cock tight, brows pressed together as he grits his teeth, stroking desperately. He’d wait till everyone was asleep, not wanting to be bothered. That’s how he heard you, he’d sneak by your room to check for any noise, any sign you were awake. His cock would twitch at the sound of your desperate little whimpers & the wetness of your pussy, spurring him on even more. His heart dropping when he heard his name. You could’ve been thinking about anyone, but hearing his name in your mouth felt right.
“You still want me?” He says, his eyes piercing your soul. You have nowhere to go, nowhere to run. It’s like he’s cornered you on purpose. All you can do is swallow the lump in your throat & lick your dried-up lips.
"I've been trying hard not to, but I'm sorry I did that, I’m sorry I touched myself.”
Michael's face softens, inching a little closer to you, placing a hand on your leg under the duvet.
"Why didn't you say anything? Had me suffering for weeks, thinking I did something terrible. If only you told me this earlier." He says.
You exhale a breathe, he has no idea.
"I didn't tell you because I thought you hated me or something. I thought you regretted it & looked down on me, like I was..."
He tilts his head, eyebrows tight. "Like you were what?"
"A slut."
"Oh baby," he mewls, now stroking your covered leg. The sensation travelling right up to your core, you feel yourself getting a little slick down there.
The pet name sends you into shock. The last time he called you that was during the act. Safe to say he sent you right back.
"I don't think you're a slut for wanting to feel good. I simply provided a service, & I don't regret it. I'll say it again."
You nod, thanking him for reassuring you. You realised how stupid you were those past few weeks. He never thought you were a slut, never looked down on you. Hell, he wanted you just as bad.
Michael shifts on the bed, his hand leaving your leg to place on the mattress, assuming the conversation is coming to an end.
"Thank you for telling me that, Michael." You say sweetly.
He doesn't respond, his attention caught onto something tucked beneath your pillow. You feel like you're going to end up having a heart attack the way it keeps fluctuating in speed. Your fingers fist the sheets beneath you a little, your body tense. You know exactly what he's looking at, his t-shirt.
Before you can react, he reaches over & pulls at the corner of the exposed fabric. His familiar grey t-shirt slides free, he just holds it in front of him, his lips falling agape. For a second, neither of you says a word, you feel your face burn hot immediately, feeling like you want to vomit.
"What's this? Is this mine?" he whispers, almost to himself.
He doesn't sound mad, more surprised or impressed. His eyes flick from the shirt back to you, & the classic look on your face seems to answer the question for him.
You lunge forward instinctively, attempting to get it back. He gently turns away, still looking at it like he can't believe it's real or something.
"I know it's mine because I've been looking for it."
"Michael, don't be mad, please."
He chuckles, "I'm not an angry person, & you know that," he says, gently placing the shirt on the bed.
He shifts closer to you, closer than before. He notices your chest rising & falling rapidly. He places a hand on it, stroking a little with his thumb.
"Hey, breathe. Im not mad." He says, leaning down a little to get on your eye-level.
"God, I'm sorry." You mutter, your voice starting to crack.
You feel yourself becoming teary from the searing humiliation, it felt like someone broadcasted all your secrets worldwide at once. Your bottom lip starts to quiver, your eyes looking wet as you drop your head, feeling shameful. The second Michael saw your face crumple, something inside him seemed to break.
"Baby, don't cry." he says softly.
You look away instantly, not wanting to look him in the eye. He didn't give you a chance to shy away, he gently took your wrist & pulled you towards him. He made sure the movement was slow enough for you to stop him or pull away. The moment his arms wrapped around your frame, you buried your head onto his shoulder, small little sobs ripping from your throat.
"It's okay, don't feel ashamed. It's okay, I'm not mad." His voice high pitched & gentle.
One of his hands settles against the back of your head, his fingers slowly playing & moving through your glossy hair, smoothing it back from your face as he juts your chin up to face him. The gesture was so familiar. You look up at him through your thick n' wet lashes, your lips puffy & all cried out.
Michael's thumb brushed beneath your eye, catching another tear before rolls down your rosy cheeks. You hated how easily he seemed to unravel you. He kept his eyes on your face, admiring your beauty, as if he hadn’t been doing that anyway. You could see him studying every detail as if he was trying to memorise it for later. You could hear your heartbeat slowing in your ears.
"You know what the worst part of all this is?" He mutters.
You blink, "What?"
A slight smirk tugs at the side of his lips, bringing his face closer to yours. So much so you could smell the mint on his breath.
"You've spent all this time thinking I hated you, when really, I've been trying not to walk into this room every night."
His words sat heavily and soppily between the two of you. Those doubts you had weeks before feel even more dumb.
"You have no idea how hard you've made this for me. I've wanted you so damn bad." he continues, stroking your cheek with the knuckle of his index finger.
A strange yet unrelenting sense of confidence rushes over you. Perhaps it was the relief, or the way he was looking at you like you were sweet candy. You felt tired of holding back your desires. You realised that for those few weeks, you'd convinced yourself that wanting him was something to be ashamed of, looked down upon. For once in your life, you didn't give a damn.
Your eyes flicker down to his parted lips before looking back up at him. You feel your mouth start to salivate, like you're ready to eat. Your heart hammers in your chest against his.
"Then show me." You say just above a whisper, keeping those eyes on his. You know he loves that.
Michael smiles with all his teeth, grinning at your sudden confidence. He strokes a hand through your hair again, leaning in closer. You don’t move an inch, just stare at him.
Before you know it, his hands are cupping both sides of your jaw so gently you can barely feel it. One hand travels to your chin, inching it up a little as his lips hover dangerously close overs yours. Your little shallow breaths hit lips, making him shiver.
Finally, he presses his lips to yours, they’re practically burning hot & supple as anything. You hear a little moan from him the second you two connect you lips, making you furrow your brow. You’d been dreaming about kissing him again after what happened, daydreaming about it while grocery shopping. You never wanted him to stop kissing you, never.
By the time he broke the kiss, he didn’t move far. He leaned his forehead on yours, playing with your bottom lip with his thumb. You pout a little, wanting him back like a baby would with their favourite treat.
“Are you convinced yet?” Michael mutters.
You nod, a vulnerable & pleased expression on your face.
“There you go.”
Michael slid his thumb across your chin, his face completely unreadable. You keep your gaze on him, not faltering. Suddenly, you feel his thumb graze & rub on your pouty lips.
“Open.”
You hesitate before opening your mouth into a small O. His Thumb slowly slides into your mouth, resting against your tounge. Your mouth warm, wet, & inviting.
“Suck.” He whispers hoarsely.
You start blinking rapidly, not used to him acting such a way. He’s always been so gentle, so soft-spoken, almost shy. Yet the way he’s acting right now, it’s like you bring out this erotic side of him, & you can tell he relishes in it.
Without thinking any longer, you latch your lips & tongue around his slender thumb, the slight salty taste making you hum. You flutter your eyes shut, swirling your tongue around it. Michael watches you like he’s in a trance, his eyes half lidded, full of pure untainted lust.
You release your mouth of his finger.
“I wanna taste it,” you say, palming his cock through his sweats. The stiffness of it takes you by surprise.
“I didn’t get to last time & I’ve been dreaming about doing it, can I?” You continue.
Before Michael could even answer, you were crawling out of the bed desperately, your little ass perched up in the air momentarily as you made your way to the floor.
You situate yourself in between his legs, kneeling. You never realised how long & lanky they were until now.
“I don’t want you feeling uncomfortable on that floor,” he protests, yet you can see his bulge swelling up more & more with each second.
You giggle, flipping your locks to one side as you slide your hands up his meaty thighs, making him twitch.
“That’s what you’re worried about?” You smirk, a dangerous twinkle in your eye as you pull at his waistband, signalling him to take them off.
"Didn't want your little knees getting hurt, but if you say so."
He hesitated before grabbing his waistband himself, lifting himself up as you took over & pulled them down his legs impatiently.
His thighs were dad thick, the subtle hair on them made your hands tingle as you rubbed them up & down. You knaw on your bottom lip as you slide a hand over his boxers, gently playing with his bulge.
The subtle sensation makes him weak, he throws his head back as a low & lengthy groan escapes him. He braces one hand beside him on the mattress for support, the other playing with your hair tediously.
You waste no time slowly pulling the hem of his boxers down. He lifts himself, allowing you to fully slide them down to his ankles. Your mouth is practically watering at the familiar sight of his cock sprung free in front of your face, standing tall. The tip mauve & deep, the skin warm, & incredibly soft as you traced your finger across a singular vein.
You wrap your hand around his lower base, inching your head up to look him in the eye as you stick your tongue out, slapping the tip on your tongue a few times. You've always been a slow love maker. You feel him vivaciously throb around your grip, glistening pre-cum starting to pool on his head.
"Quit teasin' ", he giggles softly, rubbing the back of your head.
You lower your head, licking one long, painfully slow stripe up his shaft, followed by suckling on his tip. His hand grips the sheets roughly, knuckles white as he lets out a sharp hiss through his teeth. You keep your eyes on him at all times, noticing the way little beads of sweat collect at the sides of his temples. It doesn't take much to please him.
"Oh fuck," he moans.
Finally, you sink your ripe lips down his length as much as your throat can take. You reach his base, gaggling slightly as you feel his hand travel to your breast, groping it over your camisole.
You continue your work on his cock, rhythmically bobbing your head up & down his length at a safe pace as you jerked his lower half, not able to take him all. He tasted clean & a little salty, you loved it.
You realised your mouth off him with a wet pop, stroking him.
“You taste so good.” You whisper seductively.
His mouth is practically pryed open as he watches you stroke him, amazed by your talent & desperation.
Just before you're about to go down on him again, he stops you.
“Enough of me, I wanna touch you.”
Without any further notice, he’s grabbing you by your armpits, lifting you off the floor with a groan. He situates you on the bed, pulling the straps of your camisole down as he pulls your top completely off. Your full breasts sitting cute in front of him, nipples hard from arousal.
“So damn pretty.” He says, latching his mouth onto one, sucking gently, humming to himself. He’s exactly where he’s dreamed of being.
You throw your head back as you whimper, the feeling of his slick tongue on your sensitive nipple sending you onto overdrive.
He releases himself from your breast, turning his attention to your hot pink panties, stained & just begging to be removed. He slides two fingers across your clothed folds, whispering profanities under his breath as you spread your legs wider. It’s like your body knows who he is & reacts as such whenever he touches you.
“Mhm, there,” You let out a guttural moan, your eyes falling to the back of your head from the sensation of your clit being grazed.
He leans down, groping the squidgy skin of your inner thighs as he kisses your damp lips, sucking & tasting you through the fabric.
“I can feel you throbbing, want more?” he chuckles, looking up at you momentarily.
“Yes, yes,” you beg, nodding aggressively. You don’t care how desperate you may seem, if you want something you want it.
He latches his finger around the hem of your panties, pulling them to the side to reveal your glossy slick folds.
“Sexy pussy,” he coos, playing with your swollen clit a little before latching his mouth onto it. He laps up your juices from bottom to top as if he wants to physically consume it, his shoulders hunched.
You let your mouth fall completely open as you fall back on the bed, your thighs trembling as you listen to him slurping you up, your hands flying to his hair.
“Fingers please,” you beg, barely audible as you struggle to talk.
Michael listens to your command, sliding 2 of his lengthy fingers into your weeping entrance. One hand flies to your mouth covering it as you arch your back into an aggressive C. Suddenly, you’re painfully aware the children are in close proximity.
“Remember, baby, the children. Try to be quiet for me.” He says, slowly sliding his fingers in & out.
You nod, clamping down on your bottom lip till you taste blood as you struggle.
“Please Michael, wanna come again so bad.”
He speeds up the pace with his fingers, licking & sucking your sensitive nub with a calm gentle rhythm driving you over edge.
“Give it to me baby, I want it,” he presses.
You start to feel a familiar sensation crescendo in your lower belly again, the same feeling on the couch & in your bed at nighttime, you knew what it was. You squeeze your eyes shut as your mouth hangs open, anticipating your release.
“Michael I’m gonna come! don’t stop don’t stop,” you warn, gripping his hair even tighter.
“Yes,” he hisses against your pussy, “cum for me, there you go.”
With a muffled cry, your let your orgasm tear through you. Your thighs like jelly as your pulse booms in your ears.
Michael sits up, crawling over you as he grabs your face for a messy kiss. He kicks his boxers & sweats off his ankles. You have no time to come back to reality after your orgasm, desperate to have him inside of you.
You shift your panties down your legs, both of you now completely stark naked infront of eachother. You both pause for a second, taking in eachothers bodies. You rub your hands along his chest, it’s taught & defined. You pepper little kisses along his collarbone as you signal him to flip over & lie down.
“Lay on your back.” You say, flipping your hair out your face.
Michael props himself against the headboard, lying flat on the bed. He’s already holding his hands out awaiting you. Heat creeps up your cheeks as you crawl over on top of him, throwing your legs on either side of his hips. You situate yourself on his shaft, your bare pussy now pressed against it. He lets his hands rest gently on the curve of your hips.
“You’ve gotta be the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, y'know that?” He says lowly, grazing his hands up & down your ass with a light slap.
“& you’ve gotta be the most handsome man I’ve ever seen, or boss.” You giggle.
His lips twitch into a smile as he holds your lower half up, allowing you to take a hold of his stiffened cock. Little whimpers fall from your lips as you rubs his slick tip across your folds, both of you are so wet & you haven’t even started. You’d love to tease him a little, sitting down a on his tip allowing it to sink in a little.
Your actions would only make him harder, a small bang from the headboard whenever his head would fall.
Finally, you slowly sink down on his length. Every inch that enters you feels suffocating yet extremely pleasurable. Your eyes flutter shut as you squeal under your breath, placing both your hands on his chest. Your pussy practically sucks him in like a hoover, not letting him go anywhere.
His hands instinctively inch you down a little further, desperate himself to be inside of the girl that’s been living in his imagination for weeks.
You wiggle your ass as you get comfortable, now fully seated on his cock. Your chest rises & falls, the pleasure so intense you’re scared to move, you feel like you could cum already.
“So tight, oh my god.” He groans, raking a hand through the ends of your hair.
"Wanted to do this for so long," you whine n' pout, rolling your hips back & fourth.
Michael hums as he guides you back & fourth on his length, your hair flying & sticking onto your lips. His tip violently hits your g-spot with each roll making your legs almost give out. You try your hardest to keep your eyes out your head & on Michael at all times, you wanted to remember this.
Your cheeks flush a light rose color, already fucked out. You start to bounce impatiently, loving the feeling of him entering & re-entering you. Your tits bounce freely in front of him, automatically making him lean forward & hold one, latching his mouth onto your right nipple.
"I love it," you moan pornographically, "It's so big."
His ego swells up at your comment, spurring him on more. He grabs onto the fat of your hips a little harder as he manually bounces you on his cock, mouth still latched onto your breast. The subtle sound of skin meeting skin fills the emptiness of the room, the air humid & warm with the aroma of both of your unique scents now melted together.
"Feeling good ma?" Michael breathes, his face red and fucked out already, his body jutting up & down from your continuous bounces.
“So good,” you whisper, leaning down into his ear.
He plants a peck on your cheek, wrapping his arms around you as he flips you over so you're on your fours.
One thing about Michael was that he loved missionary, that was one of his favourites. Sure, he'd loved seeing that pretty little face of yours tear up as you came. But truthfully, he'd been fantasising about having you bent over for the past 2 weeks, & he feels elated that it's no longer a dream.
You point your ass up in the air for him, eager & starved. You wrap your arms around his t-shirt, the one you'd been touching yourself to for weeks. You let your head rest on it as you look back at him waiting for him patiently.
He positions himself behind you, for a second he just admires the view of you bent over & waiting for him. He loathes in it, & you loathe in the attention, all on you. He plants a semi-rough slap on your left cheek, leaving a red mark. You whine into his shirt, smiling.
"Always wanted to do that, seeing you around the house lookin' all pretty."
Before you can reply, you feel his cock return to your slick folds as he drags the tip over it a few times, collecting your arousal. He strokes a hand from the nape of your neck to your lower back, keeping it there as he pushes himself into you.
You drag out a whine, biting on his shirt to muffle yourself. He starts of slow, just watching the way your cunt swallows him like it knows who he is.
"My god," he whimpers, both hands on your hips now.
You feel your body jolt as he starts to speed up, a white ring of sweet elixir forming at the base of his cock. Moans n' whimpers fall from your lips uncontrollably as you happily take him.
He loved watching the way your ass recoiled against his thighs, growing even harder inside of you.
"I'm trying not to swear, goddamn." He groans.
He leans forward, pressing his clammy chest on your back with one hand on the mattress and one guiding your hips back & fourth. Michael's greedy, he doesn't know whether to look at your face or ass. Both just as hypnotising as each other.
You look back at him, your eyes half lidded & glossy.
"Michael, I think I'm gonna come again," you whine, your voice breaking.
You feel his breath hit your ear as he leans into it. Both his hands now on your hips, driving you onto his cock even harder.
"Come with me, I'm so close," he pleads with you.
"Mmyeah, please don't stop." You beg, twisting your neck as far as you can to kiss him.
You share a passionate kiss as you feel another searing orgasm crest in your belly. Your brows pinch together as you try to keep your lips on his. The second he feels your cunt tighten up, he nods, pushing you on to finish as you feel his own thrusts speed up.
"Fuck, Im coming!" You cry.
"Me too, baby, shi–"
Your head falls into his shirt beneath you as your release tears through you once again without warning, your walls tightening around him violently, bringing him to a sharp halt as he releases himself inside of you. You hum in satisfaction as you feel his warm release pool deep in your pussy, little bits trying to escape out the sides.
He finally pulls out of you, watching the way his seed drips out of you in awe, collecting some on his fingers.
"So much," he says to himself.
He finally flops down next to you, both of you half-dead & useless as you stare at each other with your chests rising and falling rapidly. Reality rushes in once again, though this time felt a little less heavy. Neither of you seemed to care, you were content & bliss.
You share a final kiss as Michael wraps his arms around your small frame, pulling you tight against his sticky chest. The smell of his sweat & cologne an addictive mix.
You look up at him from his arms,
"We didn't learn anything from the first time did we?" You mutter, a small smirk on your face.
Michael shakes his head, looking elsewhere.
"No, I definitely learned something." He replies.
"& what's that?"
"That I don't wanna stay away from you."
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
thank you guys for your patience with this fic, I had so much fun writing it 🥹
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