Outside, the streets of Manhattan pulsed with their usual midnight heartbeat; restless and unruly. Car horns bleated impatiently in the distance, mingling with the bark of taxi drivers and the faint echo of laughter drifting up from the sidewalk far below. Neon signs flickered against rain-speckled windows, casting brief shards of electric color across the tall glass panes of the penthouse. But up here, above it all, the world was hushed; sealed off by floor-to-ceiling windows and velvet drapes drawn halfway shut.
Inside the penthouse, only the low crackle of the fireplace broke the silence, its flames dancing amber and gold across the room's polished mahogany bookshelves. A vintage record player sat in the corner, spinning a slow, syrupy jazz tune that curled through the warm air like smoke; something old, something that suited nights like this.
You were tucked into the corner of the private library, curled on an oversized velvet lounge chair that swallowed you whole. An apricot satin nightgown clung to your freshly washed skin; the delicate fabric glowed softly in the firelight, slipping off one shoulder as if coaxed by the warmth. Damp strands of your hair brushed your collarbone, carrying the faint scent of your favorite shampoo and the rich sweetness of shea butter and coconut oil that gleamed over your arms and legs, catching every flicker of the fire.
A pair of slender black reading glasses perched precariously on the bridge of your nose, lenses flashing each time you lifted your gaze to turn a page. The book resting against your thighs was one of those novels; the kind with pages that whispered secrets and fantasies into the quietest corners of the night. This one, though, was special: a gift from Michael, wrapped in silk and handed to you on your last birthday with that knowing glint in his eyes that made your pulse skip.
Tonight, you had finally cracked it open, letting your fingertips drift over the finely embossed cover before sinking into the story. The words sprawled across the pages like warm hands over your skin, pulling soft gasps and small, secret smiles from your parted lips.
In your free hand, you held a heavy crystal tumbler of Crown Royal, the gold-rimmed glass chilled with a clink of slowly melting ice. Each sip slid smooth and smoky over your tongue, mingling with the warmth coiling low in your belly as you read one steamy passage after another. The ruby lacquer on your nails glowed as you traced the rim of the glass, then drummed it idly against the side, punctuating the soft, breathless phrases you murmured aloud; tasting the words and the whisky together.
And through it all, a question lingered at the blurred edges of your mind, teasing you with a slow, decadent pull that made you squirm deeper into the plush cushions: Had Michael really read the back cover before he chose this? Or had he stood there in that hushed corner of the bookstore, one hand buried in his pocket while his eyes drifted over the swirling, gold-inked title; picturing you exactly as you were now: legs folded up under you, mouth slightly open, breath catching on every forbidden word, your skin glowing slick and warm in the hush of your private library while the city outside raged on without you.
The thought made heat prickle across the back of your neck, trickling down your spine in a slow, sinuous curl. Instinctively, you shifted against the overstuffed cushion, the fabric sighing beneath your thighs as the satin hem of your nightgown slipped even higher, revealing the gleam of shea-buttered skin and the soft indent of your hipbone. The record player crackled softly in the background; a saxophone moaning low as if it, too, knew what secrets your pages held.
Your lashes lowered behind the black frames perched on your nose as you dipped your head back into the pages. Your lips parted, moving silently at first; then forming the words in a hushed, breathy whisper that felt like a confession to the dark wood and flickering firelight:
"His hands traced up her sides, the palm of his hands palming her breasts, thumbs brushing over her peaks before taking them between his lips, his eyes locked on hers, making her watch; watch his lips, his tongue, the way his saliva slicked over her hardened peaks..."
Your throat tightened around the words, a warm ache pooling low in your belly. One hand gripped the heavy crystal glass a little tighter, the melting ice clinking against the rim as you tilted it to your lips. The Crown Royal kissed your tongue again; smoky and sharp, a perfect counter to the heat blooming under your nightgown.
You squeezed your thighs together, a soft exhale slipping free as you read on; eyes flicking hungrily over the next lines, tracing how he moved inside her, how her nails raked desperate red crescents into his back, how her body arched and twisted and begged under the weight of him.
A quiet, wicked little laugh purred in your throat. You wet your lips, savoring the last drop of the whisky as you whispered to the empty room, "Lucky girl..."; the words dancing off your tongue like an invitation.
You tipped the glass back, drained it, then drew the back of your hand across your mouth, leaving a faint trace of warmth on your skin. With a soft sigh, you slipped the book closed, its pages still humming with secrets you weren't quite done with yet.
Pushing yourself up from the lounge, you let your nightgown fall a little more as you stood; a loose, silky brush against your thighs as you bent to gather your empty glass. The air kissed the sheen of coconut oil on your legs as you padded barefoot out of the library, the fireplace's glow slipping off your shoulders the moment you stepped into the main room.
The city lights bled through the tall windows, shimmering against the glass shelves of the mini bar. You set the glass down carefully, your fingertips lingering on the cold marble counter as you reached for the decanter, the gold cap gleaming in the dim light. You poured slowly ; Crown Royal streaming in a rich amber ribbon, catching little glints of firelight as it filled your glass once more.
Your mind, though, stayed curled back in that plush chair, tangled in the breathless words, the weight of his imaginary touch, the delicious knowledge that Michael ; your Michael ; had chosen that story for you. Whether he'd read every page or not didn't matter now. The thought of him picturing you like this was enough. And as the record spun on and the city roared outside, you lifted your refilled glass, brushed your thumb along its golden rim, and let a slow, secret smile curve your lips ; already hungry to slip back into that wicked story waiting for you in the next room.
As you stood at the bar, the soft clink of the gold-rimmed glass in your hand, the library's warmth still clinging to your skin, you heard the faint turn of a key at the door. A quiet click, the hush of hinges swinging open ; and then there he was.
Michael stepped inside like the night itself had followed him in ; tall, broad shoulders tense beneath the spill of his loose black curls. The strands framed his face in a disheveled halo, a few rebellious locks brushing against the dark sweep of his lashes. He pushed the door closed behind him with the slow, deliberate care of a man carrying too many thoughts in his head ; the latch falling into place with a muted finality.
In the low glow of the penthouse lights, you could see the wear carved into his eyes: heavy-lidded and rimmed faintly red, exhaustion pulling at the edges of his mouth. The black blazer draped over his forearm was creased, his crimson button-down undone at the collar, showing a teasing sliver of his throat ; warm skin kissed by the glint of a fine gold chain that disappeared beneath the rumpled fabric.
He tossed his keys onto the side table with a soft metallic clatter, shrugging off the blazer in a single motion, careful but impatient. When his eyes finally rose to find you standing there by the marble bar ; nightgown hitched up just enough to show the sheen of your thighs, your glasses perched on the bridge of your nose, the glass of Crown Royal held delicate in your hand ; something in his tired face softened.
"Hi..." he murmured, voice thick and hoarse at the edges, his lips curling into a faint, weary smile.
You returned it with a slow, warm curve of your own. Pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose with the back of your knuckle, you crossed the few steps to him, bare feet silent against the cool floor. The scent of him hit you first ; the faint trace of cologne and city air clinging to his shirt, the warmth of him cutting through the chill of your drink.
"Hi, baby," you breathed, leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to the rough line of his cheekbone. You could feel the subtle prickle of stubble, the way his skin was still cool from the night air. You pulled back just enough to catch his gaze again, tilting your head with a quiet curiosity as you brushed your thumb over the back of his wrist. "Tired?"
A humorless little laugh slipped from his chest as he gave a slow nod, dark eyes flicking from your lips to the whiskey in your hand. "Exhausted," he confessed, voice dropping even softer ; a worn thread of sound meant only for you. His fingers brushed against yours as he set the blazer beside his keys, then drifted to the buttons at his chest, fumbling them open one by one with a deliberate slowness. His eyes never quite left yours, though ; half-hidden by the tumble of curls that fell forward when he ducked his head.
"Were you waiting up for me?" he asked, the question gentle, a little raw around the edges as his fingertips paused on the last button.
You shrugged one shoulder, your grin curling into something sly. "Kind of. I got... distracted." You lifted the glass slightly, the ice clinking softly. "I finally started that novel you gave me for my birthday." A quiet snicker danced past your lips. "It's... quite something."
A flicker of amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth. He exhaled through his nose ; a soft, tired huff of a laugh as he tugged the last button free, the shirt hanging loose enough now to show the sharp dip of his collarbones and a teasing brush of chest beneath the gold chain. His eyes found yours again, lids half-lowered as a smirk curved his lips. "I figured you'd like it," he murmured, reaching out to gently take the glass from your fingers ; his skin grazing yours, warm and grounding.
He lifted the glass to his mouth, the rim brushing against the faint stubble on his upper lip. His throat bobbed as he swallowed a careful sip ; the sight alone enough to make your breath catch. You watched the way his tongue darted out to catch the stray drop at the corner of his mouth, slow and absent, like it was just for you.
"Mmph," he hummed, savoring the taste before lowering the glass, his gaze locked to yours with that glint ; tired but playful, the man behind the stress peeking through. "How far in are you?" he asked, voice low and conspiratorial, like he was in on some secret only you two shared.
You tilted your head, tapping your finger lightly against the empty side of the glass. "Started this morning," you confessed, unable to fight the heat creeping up your neck. "I'm already on chapter twelve. And some of those scenes..." You paused, a breath of laughter slipping past your lips. "I never would've guessed you'd pick something like that for me."
He just watched you for a heartbeat longer ; eyes steady, dark, glinting faintly in the warm light. Then that lazy smile curved his mouth again, softer this time, touched by something fond and wicked all at once. "I read the back cover and..." He shrugged, handing the glass back into your waiting hands, the weight of it suddenly colder than the heat radiating off him. "I liked the sound of it. Besides..." He tipped his head, curls brushing his cheek, voice dipping into that low, velvet hush only you ever got to hear. "I've seen what you keep hidden in that library."
Your mouth parted to tease him, but before you could, he leaned in ; so close you could smell the faint tang of whisky on his breath, feel the soft scrape of his stubble as he pressed a slow, unhurried kiss to your lips. The kind that said home and later and don't stop reading yet.
When he pulled back, he lingered for a second, forehead brushing yours, his eyes still half-closed as his thumb ghosted across your jaw. "I'm gonna shower and change," he murmured against your mouth, the words more felt than heard.
Then he slipped past you, silent as a shadow despite the heaviness in his bones, his feet whispering over the polished floor. The loose edges of his shirt brushed his sides, the fabric fluttering with each step and giving you fleeting glimpses of warm skin and the thin gold chain that caught the low light like a secret promise. A few dark curls tumbled over his brow, half-shielding the tired sharpness of his eyes as he cast you one last look over his shoulder ; soft, half-lidded, a wordless hush that said wait for me ; before disappearing down the hallway and into the hush of the master bedroom.
You stayed frozen there for a heartbeat longer, the cool rim of the whiskey glass pressing against your lower lip, its chill at odds with the flush climbing your throat. The taste of his kiss lingered ; the faint warmth of his breath, the subtle scrape of stubble that still tingled at the corner of your mouth.
Slowly, you picked the glass up with a soft clink, the melting ice chiming like tiny bells. You reached for the bottle of Crown Royal ; its weight heavy, cool, and promising in your hand ; and padded back across the vast hush of the penthouse. Each step made the satin hem of your nightgown whisper against your thighs, a soft brush of silk on warm skin that left a trail of goosebumps behind.
The library welcomed you back like an old lover ; the crackling fireplace sighing low, the vintage record still spinning its lazy jazz, saxophone moaning in the background like it, too, was caught up in your private confession. You placed the bottle gently on the little side table beside your lounge chair, the glass set right next to it. The pages of the novel waited, splayed open where you'd left them ; the spine cracked wide like an invitation, words burning softly under your fingertips.
You lowered yourself back into the plush velvet cushions, sinking until they seemed to cradle you. The book fell open on your lap as you adjusted your reading glasses, pushing them up your nose with the tip of a slick finger. You drew in a breath ; steadying yourself ; then let your eyes drift over the words you'd barely dared to speak aloud before.
Your voice slipped into the room in a breathy hush, just loud enough to be heard over the fireplace's crackle:
"Taking me so well, my love..." you read, your voice catching on the my love, like it was meant for you alone. "He said as he slowly thrusted his length in and out of her warmth, her walls still clenching tight around his thick member, the veins along his shaft pulsing with a desperate, aching need as he reached for the candle beside them..."
Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, breath hitching as you turned the page with trembling fingers.
You paused, the words dancing hot behind your eyelids. A small sound slipped past your lips ; something between a sigh and a quiet curse. You bit down gently on your lower lip, tasting faint traces of whiskey there, the faintest salt of your skin. Then you forced your eyes back down to the page.
"He carefully blew out the flame, still buried deep within her, moving with slow, deliberate thrusts that made her whimper ; the red wax dripping from the candle's tip as he tilted it forward, letting it spill in a slow, molten line over her belly, down her core, and across the peaks of her breasts, the heat making her arch beneath him..."
You let the book drop slightly, your pulse a thunder in your throat, your thighs pressing tighter together beneath the satin draped loosely across them. You murmured it to the empty room anyway ; like a confessional whispered only to the fire and the whisky:
"Jesus Christ..." you breathed out, your voice so soft it barely stirred the air. The vividness of it all flickered behind your eyes ; the slick heat, the wax, the low growl of a man's voice promising more, more, don't stop.
Your hand found the cold glass again, fingertips curling around the heavy crystal, the melting ice kissing your knuckles as you raised it to your lips. The whiskey slipped across your tongue ; sharp, smoky, its bite almost enough to steady the fluttering heat twisting low in your belly. Almost.
You exhaled shakily, the words dragging you back in as your gaze dropped to the page once more:
"He poured it carefully down the valley of her body, then tipped it over himself ; crimson wax sliding down the ridges of his hard chest, over the swell of his abs, dripping lower until it mingled with the place where he stretched her open and full, his length throbbing with a raw, relentless hunger, so close to spilling but refusing ; holding it, savoring it, refusing to stop... not now... not ever..."
A small, strangled sound slipped out of you ; half gasp, half helpless, breathless laugh ; a soft confession that the shadows around you gladly swallowed whole. The air in the library felt heavier now, thick with firelight and words you'd let crawl under your skin. You shifted again, the smooth satin of your nightgown sliding against your warm, shea-buttered thighs as you crossed one leg tightly over the other, pressing down until you could feel your pulse there ; a steady, insistent throb that matched the ache blooming low in your belly.
You tipped your head back, hair spilling over the lounge's plush cushion, the fire's glow catching your throat and collarbones, gilding them in molten gold. The warmth of it only deepened the heat simmering beneath your skin, the kind that made your breath come a little too fast, too shallow.
"God... she's too lucky," you murmured to the flickering fireplace ; your voice cracked with a grin you could feel tugging at your lips, sharp and breathless, half disbelieving at just how deeply the words had sunk into you.
You lifted the heavy glass again, your fingertips slippery against the cold crystal. You tipped it to your lips, letting the last swirl of Crown Royal roll over your tongue ; smoky, sweet, and burning enough to make your eyes flutter closed for a heartbeat. The warmth pooled low in your belly, mingling with the pulse already hammering between your thighs, softening the sharp edges of the scene your mind refused to release.
Your lashes lifted, heavy, as you let your gaze fall back to the open book. The fire popped behind you, a slow crackle that filled the space between your heartbeat and the next word. You let your eyes trace the lines, the ink almost pulsing under your stare as the story wrapped itself tight around you once more.
You read aloud, your voice slipping into the hush like silk:
"His body pressed against hers, moving within her ; thrusting deep, pulling back, every inch slicked in her warmth. The sound of her moans poured sweet and high into his ear, filling the room ; echoing through the mansion like music only they could hear. His teeth grazed the column of her throat, teasing her skin before he sank them in ; a sharp bite, a gasp, a sting that made her arch and beg for more..."
Your lips parted on the last word. A soft exhale shivered through you, your chest rising and falling as you stared at the page ; reading the same wicked line again and again, each time sinking a little deeper into the heat that coiled around your spine. You reached blindly for your glass, desperate for the distraction, the chill of it biting at your palm as you lifted it once more. The whiskey went down smoother this time, your throat used to the burn now ; your body so heated from the inside out that the drink felt like nothing more than another layer of warmth to spread through your veins.
Goosebumps prickled along your arms, down your ribs, while the hair at the nape of your neck lifted under the soft brush of air from the vent overhead. You could almost feel it now ; that imaginary wax poured in slow rivulets over your chest, the heat blooming where it dripped, cooling and warming at once. You squeezed your thighs tighter, the silk of your nightgown caught in the press, clinging to the curve of your hip and the soft skin just beneath.
With a low sigh, you set the empty glass back on the side table ; the crystal clink echoing too loudly in the hush. You adjusted yourself against the lounge seat, shifting until you could tuck your bare feet beneath you, your knees drawn up as the book perched in your lap like a lover's secret.
You pushed your glasses up the bridge of your nose, your fingertips trembling just slightly, and picked up where you left off.
"Maestro..." you whispered, testing the name on your tongue before your voice lifted, reading the next line aloud:
"She moaned it softly, almost reverently, as his fangs broke her skin ; his hips rolling deeper, deeper still, the thick length of him hitting that deepest place inside her as he drank. Her legs locked tight around his waist, drawing him in until they were fused together ; the faint hiss of candle wax still warm, sealing them in a heat that bound them skin to skin. Her nails carved down his back in desperate red lines, marking him as hers, as he pulsed inside her ; refusing to stop, refusing to let go..."
Your head fell back once more, the ceiling blurring above you as you exhaled a rough, half-laughing curse. "Fuck..." you breathed out, your voice raw in the hush. The air felt thick in your lungs ; too warm, too heavy, scented with fire and old books and the ghost of Michael's cologne that still lingered in the room like he'd never really left.
With a trembling hand, you slipped the silk ribbon back into the crease of the book, marking the page you knew you'd revisit. You let the cover fall shut with a soft thud that felt too final ; like sealing a door you weren't quite ready to close. You set the novel gently aside on the table, beside the empty glass, the bottle of Crown Royal half-drained, catching the firelight in its amber depths.
You sat there for a moment, the fire crackling soft and slow in the hearth, the mellow hum of the old jazz record drifting through the library like a secret only the walls could keep. Your thighs pressed tight together, the subtle, restless ache building low and warm in your belly ; a slow thrum of want that pulsed hotter with every heartbeat. You could still feel it: the phantom trail of that molten wax down your sternum, the imagined scrape of sharp teeth grazing your neck, the delicious, impossible stretch of a lover born in ink and paper yet crawling all over your skin like he was real ; so real you could almost taste him.
Then the quiet creak of the door gave you away ; Michael stepping in, barefoot on the polished floor, fresh from his shower. He was a dream made flesh in the hush of the room ; wearing nothing but a pair of soft plaid pajama pants that clung low on his hips, the fabric hugging his lean waist just enough to make your mouth water. The cotton shirt meant to cover him hung forgotten in his hand, draped loosely over his knuckles. His chest was bare ; warm brown skin marbled in beautiful constellations of creamy vitiligo that seemed to glow in the flickering light. Droplets of water clung to the ends of his dark curls, stray strands falling into his eyes as he crossed the room with that slow, bone-tired grace that made your chest ache.
He reached you without a word at first, lowering himself beside you on the lounge chair until the cushion dipped under his weight, pulling your gaze greedily to him. He scooped up your bare feet, settling them across his lap ; his palms broad and warm as they cradled your ankles. He smirked at you, dark lashes heavy over those warm, exhausted eyes that still glittered with a teasing softness only you ever got to see.
"I thought you were reading?" he murmured, voice low and thick from sleep and steam, the barest edge of a laugh curling around the words.
You lowered your gaze shyly behind your glasses, the heat on your cheeks giving you away. "I was..." you breathed out, your voice softer than the fire's crackle, "but it was getting to me... it was a lot." Your lips curved in a guilty, breathless grin.
He snorted under his breath, a teasing sound made soft by the affection that always curled behind his words. "Mmhm... and you've been drinking, so of course it's a lot." His thumb drew lazy circles over the arch of your foot, warm and tender, making tiny shivers crawl up the backs of your calves.
You couldn't stop looking at him ; the way the firelight kissed the strong slope of his shoulders, the subtle pull and flex of his forearms when he shifted your legs in his lap, the slow rise and fall of his chest as his gold chain glinted against the scatter of water droplets still clinging to his collarbone. Just sitting there, just watching him ; that wasn't helping the ache simmering low in your belly one bit.
He felt your stare ; he always did. His dark eyes lifted to yours, half-lidded and heavy with that quiet, knowing heat that made your breath catch. His palm slid up the curve of your calf, over your knee, slow and deliberate, fingers pressing in just enough to remind you of what they could do. He gave your thigh a gentle squeeze, like he knew exactly where your mind had wandered. "What is it, pretty girl?" he asked, voice soft enough to hush the room.
Something inside you gave way at that ; your feet slipping off his lap as you shifted forward. The whiskey and the words and the warmth of him blurred together until you couldn't sit still anymore. You rose onto your knees on the cushion, leaning in until your thighs straddled his lap, your nightgown falling like water around you as you settled your weight onto him ; the heat of his bare chest brushing your stomach through the silk.
Your hands found his face without thinking ; your palms warm against the sharp lines of his jaw, thumbs brushing slowly over the soft stubble along his cheeks, tracing the edge of his jawline, the shadow beneath his lower lip. He tilted his head back slightly to look at you ; those tired, sultry eyes sinking deep into yours, heavy-lidded and burning with a hunger that never needed words. His big hands slid from your thighs to your waist, his fingers brushing over the thin fabric of your nightgown ; slow strokes that made the satin rustle and cling to your heated skin.
"What do you want, baby?" he murmured, that wicked, knowing tease threading through the softness of his voice, his mouth tipping up at one corner ; because he already knew the answer. He always did.
You felt your breath stutter as you settled fully on his lap, the warmth of him pressed firm between your thighs. One thumb traced over the lush curve of his bottom lip, the other brushing slowly over the cleft of his chin, feeling the small dip beneath your fingertip. His eyes fluttered shut for a heartbeat at the touch ; lashes brushing his cheeks before they lifted again, locking you in place with that low, molten stare.
"I want you..." you whispered, the words slipping out like a prayer ; soft and raw and honest. Your pulse thundered in your ears as you felt the heat of his breath against the pad of your thumb.
A soft chuckle rumbled from his chest ; warm, dark, and edged with that deep, endless tenderness he saved just for you. "You can always have me, beautiful," he murmured, his hands sliding lower over the swell of your hips, squeezing them gently as if to anchor you right there, flush against him. "You know that..." His voice dropped into something softer ; a vow pressed into the hush of the room. "I love you."
Your lips parted, your thumb brushing along his lip as he spoke, your other hand cupping his jaw tighter, as if you could pull those words deeper into you. "I love you too..." you breathed, voice trembling just enough to give you away.
He smiled, the curve of his mouth soft and lazy ; and then he dipped forward, kissing the pad of your thumb so tenderly it made your stomach flip. But he didn't stop there ; his lips parted, catching your thumb gently, drawing it past his teeth until the warmth of his mouth wrapped around it. His tongue flicked slow and deliberate over the sensitive tip, a lazy, sinful pull that made your breath catch in your throat.
His eyes stayed locked on yours ; those low, tired, wickedly soft eyes turned molten beneath the damp tangle of curls falling across his forehead. They glinted in the firelight, catching the flicker of the flames behind you like they were smoldering from the inside out. Your chest pressed flush to his as it rose and fell in short, shivery stutters ; each shallow breath ghosting against his lips as his tongue dragged slow, deliberate circles around your thumb. The wet heat of his mouth made your spine arch, a soft, helpless ache tightening between your thighs as your knees squeezed his hips a little closer.
When he finally let your thumb slip free, the pad of it damp, your heartbeat thrummed so loud in your ears you could barely hear the crackle of the fireplace behind you. You held his gaze a moment longer ; that dark, lazy, all-knowing stare ; before you brought that same thumb to your own mouth, parting your lips to draw it in slow. The tip of your tongue flicked over the taste of him, the faint warmth lingering on your skin as you sucked it deeper, your eyes never leaving his.
Michael's breath hitched, his lips parting just slightly ; pink and soft and wet in the fire's glow. His eyes dropped to your mouth, dark lashes sweeping low as he watched your tongue tease your own thumb like you were tasting something forbidden. A low, rough sound crawled up his throat. "So nasty..." he murmured, voice soft but edged with a spark that made your toes curl against his thighs. His eyes flicked back to yours ; heavy, dark, pupils wide. You could feel the heat rolling off him in waves.
Then he reached up, slow and deliberate, slipping his fingers around the delicate frame of your reading glasses. He tugged them off with gentle care, tossing them aside on the cushion. His large palm found the back of your head, fingers weaving into your damp hair as he tugged you closer. When his mouth finally met yours, it was slow at first ; a deep, savoring press that tasted like whiskey and want, soft lips parting yours open until you gave him everything.
His other hand slipped up the side of your neck, strong fingers cradling your jaw as he angled your head, deepening the kiss until your breath stuttered out in a quiet gasp. His tongue brushed yours ; a teasing, sin-slick slide that made your pulse pound harder. His thumb traced the curve of your throat, brushing over the rapid flutter of your pulse point, grounding you in that hush where only the fire dared to crackle.
A low growl rumbled deep in his chest when you rocked your hips, pressing yourself closer against the thick warmth growing beneath the soft fabric of his pajama pants. His hand on your hip squeezed tight enough to make you whimper into his mouth ; the sound swallowed by the wicked tangle of his tongue.
He pulled back just enough for his lips to hover over yours ; his breath brushing your mouth in short, heated bursts as his soft chuckle vibrated through your chest. "I love the way you respond to me," he murmured, voice hoarse and sweet with mischief. Before you could answer, he caught your lips again ; this time harder, deeper, tasting you like he was starving for it.
His palm slipped down, brushing over the side of your throat before drifting lower ; fingertips grazing the swell of your breast through the thin satin of your nightgown. You gasped softly against his lips, your nails dragging lightly over the slope of his bare shoulders, feeling the heat of his skin, the slight dampness where the shower droplets hadn't fully dried.
You slid your mouth down to his bottom lip, catching it gently between your teeth. You sucked on it slow, feeling the tremor that ran through him when you tugged, letting it slip free with a soft, wet pop that made both of you pause ; your breath ragged, eyes locked.
A quiet groan crawled out of him, his jaw flexing beneath your fingers. His hands slipped from your waist to the curve of your behind, big palms spreading wide as he gripped you tight, pulling you flush against the hard heat pressing insistently through his pajama pants. The squeeze made you gasp ; a soft, startled moan bubbling from your lips as your palm flattened over the strong, warm plane of his chest, feeling the steady pound of his heartbeat under your touch.
"Michael..." you breathed, the word trembling out on a sigh ; equal parts plea and confession.
"Mmm?" he hummed, his mouth ghosting over the corner of your jaw, the tip of his nose brushing your cheek. You felt the warmth of his smile before he pressed his lips to the sensitive skin just beneath your ear. His mouth drifted lower, kissing down the side of your neck ; slow, open-mouthed kisses that turned wetter, hotter, until his teeth grazed the delicate line of your throat.
A soft gasp escaped you when his tongue flicked over your pulse, a gentle lick followed by the delicious scrape of his teeth as he bit down just enough to send a thrill ripping through you. You threw your head back instinctively, the soft spill of your hair brushing his bare chest, the fireplace painting you both in flickers of gold and shadow.
"Michael... oh..." you whispered, your voice catching when his lips latched onto the crook of your neck. He sucked there, slow and deep, until your skin throbbed under his mouth ; the same wicked trail Maestro carved into that lucky girl's throat in the book laying on the floor with lost pages.
You felt his hands slide up ; fingers brushing the thin straps of your nightgown. He hooked them gently, tugging one down, then the other, his knuckles dragging fire across your heated skin. The silk slipped over your shoulders, a whisper of fabric that pooled at your waist until the top half of you was bare under his hungry stare.
He pulled back just enough to look ; really look ; his warm brown eyes dropping to the soft curve of your breasts, your peaks tight and sensitive from his touch and the chill of the air. A soft sound escaped his throat ; somewhere between a hum and a growl. His big hands slid up, palms warm as they cupped your breasts fully, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples in slow, teasing circles that made your back arch and another quiet gasp fall from your lips.
His mouth drifted lower with a warmth that made your breath catch ; a soft exhale trembling out of you as his lips brushed down your throat, across the delicate hollow at the base of your neck, and over the gentle slope of your collarbone. You felt him pause there for just a heartbeat, the heat of his breath ghosting over your bare skin, before his mouth finally found the soft swell of your breast.
His lips pressed there first ; slow, reverent, almost a hush of worship that made your chest rise into him. Then his mouth opened wider, teeth grazing your sensitive skin with the faintest scrape, a tease that made your fingers curl deeper into the dark curls at the back of his neck. His tongue flicked out ; a slow, lazy stroke that circled your nipple once, twice, tasting you before he drew the peak fully into the heat of his mouth.
A soft gasp tumbled from your lips, spilling into the hush of the private library like a secret. The jazz record spun on in the background, all low brass and whispered percussion, but all you could hear was the soft, wet sound of his mouth ; the way his tongue licked and curled and tugged at you, coaxing your nipple deeper against his teeth. He sucked slow at first, his lips sealing tight, his tongue circling the sensitive peak in deliberate, almost patient strokes that made your thighs tighten around his hips.
His free hand came up, big and warm as it cupped the weight of your other breast ; his thumb brushing teasingly over the neglected peak before he pinched it gently between his thumb and forefinger. He rolled it in slow, careful circles, tugging just enough to send a sharp spark of heat darting through your belly, pooling low and needy between your thighs. Your moans were soft at first ; quiet little whimpers ; but the moment his teeth grazed and tugged, they spilled out sweeter, needier, echoing off the shelves lined with all those forgotten books.
He pulled away with a low, wet pop, the peak of your breast flushed and slick, a thin strand of his saliva catching the firelight as it fell from his lips. He didn't give you a chance to catch your breath ; his mouth shifted to your other breast, his lips warm and wet as he dragged his tongue slowly over your right nipple. He let it rest there for a heartbeat ; just the tip of his tongue flicking quick, sharp lashes across your sensitive skin ; before his lips closed around it and sucked you deeper into his mouth.
He switched his pace with wicked skill ; flicking his tongue in fast, teasing bursts that made your thighs tremble around his hips, then slowing down again, circling the swollen peak with long, languid strokes that left you gasping. He pulled back only to bite down lightly, his teeth grazing the tender flesh in a promise of a sting that never quite hurt ; a tease that only made your breath hitch and your hips roll helplessly in his lap.
Your hands tangled deeper in his hair, tugging just enough to feel him groan low against your chest ; that sound vibrating straight through your skin, down to that molten ache that throbbed hotter every time your hips ground down against the thick, hard heat pressing up through his pajama pants. The thin satin of your nightgown clung to your waist, bunched and rumpled around your hips as you rocked yourself closer to him, seeking the friction your body was begging for.
He lifted his eyes to meet yours; that dark, wicked spark dancing in the warmth of his tired gaze as he sucked slow and deep, letting his teeth scrape one last time before pulling back just enough to speak. His voice was low, that lazy rasp curling around every word. "God, you sound so pretty, baby..." he murmured, a smirk tugging at his wet lips.
Before you could catch your breath, his big hands slid up and cupped both your breasts at once; the sudden squeeze rougher now, his thumbs brushing over your swollen nipples as he squeezed again. You gasped, a soft cry that broke into a whimper when he gave one breast a subtle slap, just enough to send a sharp sting through the tender skin. The sound cracked through the soft hush of the room, followed by his low, breathy chuckle.
He watched you flinch and melt all at once, that wicked grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "So damn pretty," he whispered, his voice warm and soaked in that lazy praise that made your chest tighten.
His hands slid lower, dragging down your sides in slow, greedy strokes; his fingertips brushing over the curve of your waist, the softness of your hips, until his palms spanned your lower back, pulling you tight against him. He leaned in again, the brush of his damp curls against your collarbone sending a shiver through your chest. His mouth followed; lips brushing lower, kisses open-mouthed and wet down the center of your sternum, his tongue tracing a slow, sinuous line down the slope of your torso.
Your nightgown slipped further, pooling in soft, careless folds around your hips until the thin satin was nothing but a suggestion clinging to the swell of your thighs ; the only thing separating your flushed, slick heat from the cool hush of the room. His thumbs brushed up again, circling your stiff peaks with a slow, maddening precision, coaxing another soft gasp from you as he dragged his mouth lower. His lips traced the curve of your belly, tongue flicking in warm, wet strokes that made your stomach jump beneath him ; every flick and scrape like he was spelling your secrets out in a language only your skin could read.
A soft, helpless sound slipped from your throat ; a breathy, broken plea you could hardly shape around the thrum of your heartbeat. "Michael... please..." It came out shaky, a whisper drowned in the shallow hitch of your hips rocking harder against him, your body hungry for every inch of him ; every press, every scrape of teeth, every slow, wicked stroke of his tongue that made your veins burn hotter than the whiskey settling warm and sweet in your belly.
He didn't answer you at first ; just a low, satisfied sound deep in his chest as his tongue flicked higher again. He traced a wet, sinful line up the center of your body ; from the dip of your belly to the soft valley between your breasts, tasting every inch of you with slow, possessive sweeps that left your skin flushed and damp beneath his mouth. He ghosted up your neck, along the delicate edge of your jaw, warm breath brushing your ear before he found your lips again ; and when he kissed you, it was slow and deep, stealing the last of your air with that hungry, savoring press of tongue and teeth that melted every thought clean away.
His big palm cupped the back of your head, cradling you like something precious as he lowered you carefully onto the lounge's cushion. You felt your book slip from under you ; the soft thud of it hitting the polished hardwood lost under the thunder of your pulse. Your chapter, your place in that wicked story ; gone, forgotten, replaced by the real thing, warm and breathing and hovering over you.
He leaned back just enough to look at you ; the nightgown bunched helplessly around your waist, your flushed skin glowing in the hush of the firelight. With one slow tug, he slipped it down and off completely ; the soft satin falling away, forgotten on the floor as he tossed it aside. His eyes dropped, dark and heavy, tracing the glisten between your thighs with a slow, greedy flick that made you squirm under his gaze.
He settled between your open legs, his hands warm on the back of your knees as he guided them up, draping them over his broad shoulders. The press of his mouth against your ankle made you jolt ; the brush of his lips soft, then his teeth nipped playfully at the delicate bone just above your heel. You gasped ; sharp, shaky ; the word breaking off your lips with a tremor. "Fuck..."
A low laugh rumbled from him, dark and smooth and edged with that lazy confidence that always made your skin burn. His hands slid down, tracing the line of your calves with his thumbs, feeling every soft tremor in your muscles as he leaned in. He kissed up your ankle, his lips warm and open, then caught your toes in his mouth, sucking them slow while his eyes never left yours. The heat of his tongue, the scrape of his teeth ; it made your hips roll helplessly, a soft, desperate whimper slipping from your parted lips.
He let your toes fall free with a soft pop, chuckling again ; that deep, wicked rumble vibrating straight through your thighs. His big hands moved back to the backs of your knees, pressing them closer to your chest until you were spread wide beneath him ; open and glistening, every trembling inch of you laid bare under the weight of his gaze.
"Fuck..." he murmured, the word almost reverent, dark eyes flicking down to where you were slick and pulsing for him. He shifted forward, straddling the lounge seat ; broad shoulders caging you in as he lowered his face between your thighs. His mouth hovered just above your heat, his breath hot and teasing as he opened his lips and let a slow drop of spit fall ; hitting your swollen bud with a soft, obscene wet sound that made your whole body jerk.
You gasped ; a sharp, helpless cry ; hips bucking into the air. He lifted his gaze to watch you, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Mmph... look at you... so desperate for it..." he teased, his voice rough but warm, dripping with that low, dangerous affection that made your thighs tremble around his shoulders.
A soft whine slipped from your throat, your foot nudging at his shoulder in a feeble push that only made him laugh again ; a deep, rich sound that curled around your pulse and dragged it faster.
"I got you, beautiful... shh..." he murmured, his hand leaving the back of your knee to brush down your thigh, warm and big as it settled at your hip. He lifted his thumb to his lips, sucking it slow until it glistened ; then pressed it down between your thighs, the wet pad brushing over that swollen, slick bundle of nerves in one slow, deliberate circle. The contact made your back arch off the cushion, a broken gasp spilling from your lips as your hands clawed at the lounge's edge.
"You're so wet for me..." he murmured, voice a low hum as he flicked his thumb again, rubbing his spit into that aching bud with slow, lazy circles that made your hips chase his hand. His eyes stayed locked on yours ; dark and soft, that tiny smile tugging at the edge of his mouth as he watched you unravel. "Fuck... look at that..."
He pushed his thumb lower, dragging it to your entrance ; slick, hot, so ready for him that he groaned just watching the way your body fluttered around the slow press of his thumb slipping inside. He eased it in, inch by inch, the stretch delicious and sharp, the soft grind of his hand against your folds making your thighs twitch around his broad shoulders.
Your head fell back, a soft, wrecked moan slipping out as your hips lifted off the cushion, chasing the deep push of his thumb. He flexed it inside you ; twisting, curling ; just to watch the way you broke apart on the simple touch.
"Fuck, baby... look at you..." he rasped, his voice thick with that raw, aching want that made your pulse roar in your ears. "So needy... so wet... all for me..."
You could only gasp ; no words, just the ragged sound of your breath shattering in your throat as your nails bit deeper into the lounge cushion beneath you. Every muscle in your belly clenched around the deep, teasing slide of his thumb, every nerve alive under the hush of crackling firelight and the faint hush of old jazz weaving through the thick air. The soft, slick sounds of your own needy moans tangled with the wet slip of his touch ; filthy and sweet, echoing in the hush like a secret too big for the walls to hold.
Then he slipped his thumb free, the sudden emptiness making your hips jerk up, your breath catching in your chest ; only for the hot brush of his breath to fill the gap, his head lowering, curls tickling your inner thighs. He flicked his tongue through your slick slit, a slow, teasing stroke that made your eyes slam shut, a raw gasp tearing from your parted lips.
"Yes;" The word fell out soft and desperate, your hips twitching up to chase more of his mouth. He huffed a dark laugh against your heat, that low snicker vibrating straight through you as he dragged his tongue up again. He spread you open wider with his thumbs, his mouth dipping low to kiss each trembling fold ; a slow, reverent worship that made your thighs quake around his shoulders.
Then his lips closed around that aching bundle of nerves, sucking it slow and deep until your back bowed off the cushion. He pulled back only to flick his tongue in tight, quick lashes ; back and forth, back and forth ; every stroke shooting sparks through your belly, making your fingers tangle tighter in the cushion until your knuckles ached.
But then he stopped. You whimpered, a soft, broken sound as you lifted your head just in time to see him glance up at you ; his lips wet and glistening, his eyes half-lidded and dark with that lazy, hungry mischief only he could wear so well.
"Look at me," he said, voice low and rough, the command curling around your spine like silk and barbed wire all at once.
Your breath caught, your lashes fluttering as you forced your eyes open ; dragged your gaze down the line of your trembling body to where he knelt, framed by firelight, shoulders broad between your spread thighs. He pushed your knees back more, pressing you open so wide you could feel the cool air kiss the slick heat of your folds. He lowered his head again, tongue flicking back out ; slow at first, tracing lazy circles that made your thighs tense tighter around his shoulders.
A moan cracked from your throat, raw and sweet, your hips bucking helplessly as he swirled his tongue around your bud. His eyes stayed locked on yours ; those low, heavy-lidded brown eyes watching every twitch of your mouth, every flutter of your lashes, every small shiver that rippled through your chest as you gasped his name.
"Michael... fuck..." The word broke apart on a sob as your fingers slid into his damp curls, tugging at the roots as he groaned low ; that dark, hungry sound muffled by your heat. His nose brushed against your bud as his tongue slid lower, slow and thick, dipping into your slick entrance and curling deep inside you.
Your hips rolled against his face in slow, hungry circles, feeding him every inch you could give ; letting him taste the heat pulsing deep inside you, letting him feel how soft, how tight you clenched around the steady slide of his tongue. He groaned again, a rumble that vibrated through your core, his fingers digging deeper into the back of your knees as he rocked his face closer, tongue pumping slow and deep, swirling inside you until your thighs trembled and your toes curled tight against his broad back.
A sharp cry cracked from your lips, your voice rough and high as he found that sweet spot inside ; the one that made your hips jerk up, made your whole body break open with heat. "Oh, Michael;" you gasped, voice trembling as you tugged his head closer, your fingers twisted tight in his hair.
He growled in answer ; that sound raw and soaked in heat ; before slipping his tongue out of you, dragging it up to your swollen bud. He flicked it fast, impossibly fast, the wet lash of his tongue sharp and sweet all at once. His teeth caught the swollen flesh just enough to make you cry out, your voice rising higher, cracked and breathless as you felt that sweet, sharp edge building deep in your belly.
The room spun ; firelight, old jazz, the soft, slick sound of his mouth working you open and raw. You could feel the mess of your juices and his saliva dripping down, soaking into the cushion beneath you, every soft squelch making your face burn hotter as you bucked helplessly against him.
A deeper groan rolled through him, his jaw working, the muscles flexing tight under your fingertips. No wonder his jaw stayed so sharp ; always devouring you like a holy meal, always feasting on you like a man starved for your taste.
"Fuck... don't stop;" you choked out, voice cracking as the edge came sharp and fast, heat coiling deep in your belly until it snapped hard. His right hand slipped from your knee, dragging up your trembling body until his palm wrapped around your throat ; warm, wide fingers pressing just enough to make your pulse pound harder, your vision blur sweet and soft at the edges.
"Right there;" you gasped, voice breaking as your back arched hard, your thighs shaking around his shoulders, toes curling tight as the orgasm ripped through you in a hot, wet wave. A sound like a sob tumbled out ; raw, broken ; your hips jerking helplessly against the soft, filthy drag of his tongue as he pushed you through it, through every twitch and tremor until you could barely breathe.
His eyes stayed locked on your throat ; watching the way you swallowed, the way your mouth fell open around a sound you couldn't even make. He squeezed just enough to hold you there, the pressure sweet and wicked until your body finally sagged back into the cushion, a soft, shattered moan slipping free on the tail end of a shaking gasp.
He pulled away slow, his mouth shining ; lips and jaw wet with your sweetness, breath warm and ragged as he sat back on his knees. His tongue darted out to taste the corner of his mouth, a slow smirk curling the edge of his lips as he watched you struggle to catch your breath.
"Mmmh... god, that was perfect, baby... you okay?" he murmured, voice soft but rough around the edges, hands stroking down your trembling thighs.
You nodded, your breath catching in your throat as your wide, dazed eyes dropped ; helplessly drawn to the way his big hands worked at the knot in the drawstring of his pajama pants. Slow. Unhurried. Certain. The soft cotton fell loose around his hips, pooling low on those lean thighs until he pushed them off completely, leaving nothing between you and the full, heavy length of him.
He was thick ; beautiful ; the dark, veined shaft flushed and hard, the head of him slick and glistening with need. Even there, in the shadows and firelight, you could see the scattered, tender pattern of his vitiligo marring the smooth, flushed skin ; a patchwork only you knew this intimately. A secret painted across the length of him. It made your throat tighten, your thighs press helplessly wider as a pulse of heat rolled through your belly.
He knelt back onto the lounge between your spread legs ; all golden skin and damp curls and soft, sure hands ; and reached for the bottle of Crown Royal you'd left within reach. His eyes stayed on yours as he uncapped it, a soft glint of mischief flickering in those deep brown eyes while he brought the bottle's cold mouth to your parted lips.
"Open," he murmured, low and warm ; a quiet, coaxing command that made your pulse thrum hot in your ears. You parted your lips obediently, the bite of the cold whiskey sweet and sharp on your tongue as he tipped just enough for you to swallow. A low hum of approval rumbled in his chest as he pulled it away.
"Good girl..." he murmured, voice a soft drag of velvet and heat that made your thighs twitch around him. He lifted the bottle to his own lips, taking a slow sip, the line of his throat working as he swallowed. Then he set it aside, forgotten again ; all his attention snapping back to you.
He leaned in, his bare chest brushing your trembling breasts, the coarse hairs of his treasure trail grazing your soft belly as his heavy length dragged warm and hot along your slick heat. His mouth found yours again ; slow, claiming. Not rushed ; no, never that ; but deep and deliberate, savoring every tiny gasp you gave him. The kiss tasted like you, like the sharp sweetness of Crown, like the salt of your own skin still clinging to his tongue.
Your breath stuttered against his lips as he worked you open with his mouth ; a languid tangle of tongue and teeth, his head tilting just enough to deepen the slide. He bit your bottom lip, tugging it softly until a moan spilled into his mouth, that helpless sound sliding down his body like heat poured straight into his veins.
You felt the thick weight of him twitch between your thighs, that solid, throbbing length pressing harder against your slick warmth. Your hips lifted instinctively ; chasing the heat, the friction, anything he'd give you.
When he finally pulled back, your lips were kiss-swollen and slick. His eyes drank you in ; low, hooded, soft with that possessive tenderness that always made your breath hitch in your throat. He brushed his thumb over your bottom lip, tracing the wet curve before letting it fall away.
"You look so beautiful like this..." he murmured, voice thick with awe and want ; dark lashes half-lowered as he dragged his eyes down your flushed, trembling body. "All mine. Only for me."
A shiver slipped through you, your breath trembling on a soft, desperate sigh. You watched ; helpless, transfixed ; as he brought his hand to his mouth, spit pooling on his tongue before he let it fall slow and hot into his palm. He wrapped that broad hand around his thick shaft, his spit gliding over the velvet skin as he stroked himself ; slow, base to tip, his mouth falling open as he watched his own hand work his girth slick and ready for you.
He looked up at you ; eyes dark, burning ; then leaned in just enough to drag the broad, slick head of him down, pressing it flush to your pulsing heat. He didn't push in ; not yet ; just rocked his hips enough for that flushed crown to smear your wetness back and forth, teasing your swollen bud until you whimpered, hips twitching up for more.
Then he pulled back just enough to slap his thick length against your slick folds ; once. The wet sound cracked through the hush of the room, sharp and obscene. Twice ; another smack, the heat sparking through your belly as a soft cry slipped out. A third time ; harder, heavier; the slap of flesh on flesh making you whimper and bite down on your lip just to keep from sobbing his name too soon.
He watched you do it; watched your mouth tremble around that bitten lip, watched your eyes flutter half-shut as your hips rocked helplessly up for more. A dark, crooked grin tugged at the edge of his mouth, his free hand sliding up the inside of your trembling thigh until his fingertips brushed that slick heat he'd just teased raw.
"Look at you..." he murmured, that low, rough voice scraped raw with praise and heat and a dark promise that made your belly clench tighter around the thickness pressing right at your entrance. The swollen head of him nudged against your slick folds, parting them just enough to feel that first slow, burning push ; the thick promise of being filled, stretched, made to take every inch he gave.
"So damn sweet for me," he rasped, his thumb brushing your knee as he nudged you wider open, claiming all the space between your thighs for himself. "Ready for every inch, aren't you, baby?"
All you could do was nod ; helpless, soft ; your breath trembling through parted lips. "Please..." you whispered, voice threadbare and wanting as your toes curled against his warm skin. You brushed the ball of your foot against his bare chest, feeling the slick heat of his skin, the faint dampness of shower steam still clinging to him. Your eyes dragged down his body ; the broad spread of his shoulders, the strength of his chest, the way the light caught the gold chain resting in the hollow of his throat, the splotches of vitiligo like constellations across his ribs and hips.
He gave you that small, sinful smile ; the one that always promised ruin ; then bent low, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to your ankle, his lips hot against your skin. His big hands braced your thighs wider, the slick head of him dragging through your folds, back and forth, until you whimpered. Then ; slowly, so slowly ; he eased inside. Not fast, never rushed. He knew what it did to you. How you split open for him ; every single time, as if your body could never quite get used to how thick he was, how deep he reached.
"Shhh... relax for me, baby... breathe," he murmured against your knee, his voice a hush of warmth and control as inch after inch sank into you. The stretch was everything ; a dull ache that made your toes curl, your spine arch, your nails dig helplessly into the soft cushion under you. A soft, broken moan slipped out as he bottomed out ; buried to the hilt, the coarse hair at the base of him pressed flush against your slick heat, your body fluttering tight around the thickness now seated deep inside.
He stayed there, locked inside you, savoring how you clenched around him ; the way your lips parted on a trembling exhale, your lashes fluttering, your thighs twitching against his ribs. He watched you unravel with that tender, dangerous heat in his eyes ; the same heat that made you feel owned, adored, undone.
Your palm drifted down, shaky fingers splaying across the firm plane of his stomach. You felt the warm slide of his skin under your touch ; the faint line of his treasure trail where it met the thick base of him, wet with you. Your hand wandered back up, brushing the hard slope of his chest, fingertips grazing the small dark specks of vitiligo on his pecs.
He caught your wandering hand in his, kissed your palm ; a soft, warm press that made your stomach flip ; then pressed it to his chest, pinning it there over the steady thud of his heart. He drew back, the thick drag of him pulling out slow until only the tip of him teased your entrance ; then he rolled his hips back in, filling you again, letting you feel every inch.
Your soft moan spilled out, hips twitching up to meet his push. He did it again ; slow, deliberate, the rhythmic roll of his dancer's hips coaxing out your pleasure one trembling breath at a time. His groan broke between his teeth ; a raw edge of hunger that made your belly flutter.
When he caught your hand again and pulled you forward, you let him guide you up until you were pressed chest-to-chest. He wound your arm around his neck, your palm brushing that cool gold chain. Your fingers grazed the damp hair at his nape, clinging for balance as he pushed deeper ; a steady, patient rhythm that let you feel every thick inch working inside you.
Your thighs trembled wider as he angled deeper, the head of him brushing that spot that made you choke out his name. You squeezed your hand tighter around the strong column of his neck, thumb brushing the damp skin just below his jaw. He groaned when you did, his head tipping back, throat bared ; the thick line of it so beautiful, the Adam's apple bobbing when he swallowed down a ragged breath.
He dipped closer, his forehead brushing yours as he hooked his big hands under your knees again, pushing them back, opening you wide so he could bury himself deeper. The shift made your voice break on a high, needy cry. He pulled out until just the thick head of him stretched you wide ; then thrust forward, slow but deep, filling you to the base in a single, steady push that knocked every thought from your mind.
"Oh fuck..." you sobbed out, your nails clawing at the smooth skin of his back.
He let out a dark, breathless laugh; the sound rumbling warm against your lips as he hovered just over you. "Can you handle it, baby?" he rasped, voice thick and teasing as he did it again ; that same slow drag out, that deep, deliberate thrust in that made your breath catch in your throat.
"Shut... up..." you panted, breath breaking around a helpless moan as you tightened your hand around his neck, choking him lightly ; just how he liked it. A low, wrecked groan tore from his throat, the sound rumbling under your palm.
"Shit;" he hissed, hips snapping forward a little harder this time, the wet slap of him pounding into you echoing over the soft crackle of the fire, the low sigh of jazz still humming somewhere in the background like a memory. The air smelled like sweat and shea butter and the faint sweetness of Crown Royal lingering on both your lips.
He fucked you deeper, steadier ; each roll of his hips controlled, claiming ; until the heat at your core burned so hot your toes curled tight against his ribs. Slick sounds filled the hush of the room, your wetness coating him with every thrust. His length dragged deliciously against every tender spot inside you, coaxing out gasps and moans you couldn't hold back.
Your hand slipped from his throat, palm skimming down over the slick warmth of his chest. You pressed your arm over your eyes, a futile, instinctive attempt to muffle the helpless sounds spilling from your lips. But he wouldn't let you hide; not from him.
He caught your wrists in one big hand, pinning them back above your head against the lounge, his grip strong but reverent. His other hand braced your hip, angling you just right as he pushed deeper, his breath a soft snarl against your ear.
"Don't hide from me..." he whispered, his lips brushing your temple, his hips grinding deep enough to knock the air from your lungs. "Let me hear it, pretty girl. Every sound. All of it."
Your eyes fluttered open to meet his ; that dark, molten stare locked on every flicker of your face as you came apart for him, as if he could see every hidden thought spilling loose under the steady, delicious drag of his hips. The fireplace behind him hissed and cracked, gold light dancing over the damp curls clinging to his forehead, bronzing the slope of his shoulders, the flex of muscle in his arms as he caged you there ; caught, pinned, made soft and helpless beneath every slow, claiming thrust.
"That's it, baby..." Michael rasped, voice rough with hunger but low with praise ; a sinful vow that curled down your spine and tangled with the tight, coiling heat low in your belly. He drew out, hips rolling back with that practiced, deliberate grace, then pressed forward again ; slow enough to make you feel each thick inch splitting you open, deeper than before. The stretch was a tease and a promise both, a burn that made you keen for him to give you more.
"Take all of it... just like that..." he murmured again, his breath spilling hot against your throat as he dipped closer, the warm scrape of his lips pressing to your neck. He kissed you there, slow at first ; the plush press of his mouth soothed by the rhythm of his hips pumping deeper ; then his teeth grazed your skin, a soft, wicked bite that made your back arch off the lounge, made your thighs twitch around his hips.
His pace built with each roll of his hips, each slow push and greedy pull, the wet sound of your slick warmth taking him echoing through the hush of the firelight and the old jazz record that still sighed somewhere behind you. The room smelled like shea butter, sweat, and the sweet burn of whiskey that still lingered on your lips and his.
"Just like that, baby..." he growled again, voice hitching into something darker, more guttural, as he sealed his mouth to the curve of your neck. He sucked your skin there ; open-mouthed kisses that turned into sharp pulls that would bloom purple come morning ; his hips snapping harder, faster now, every wet slap of skin meeting skin pushing you closer to that edge.
Your moan tangled in your throat, helpless and hot against the shell of his ear. "Michael..." you gasped, the word slipping out like a ragged prayer ; part plea, part praise, every syllable broken by the stutter of your breath as he buried himself deeper. Your head tipped back, throat bared, your voice catching on another choked moan as he drove in again, harder ; the head of him kissing the mouth of your cervix in soft, devastating taps that made your vision swim.
He felt your body tighten beneath him ; the flutter and clench that made his own breath break into a groan, dark and guttural against your skin. "Fuck..." he breathed out, voice cracking around the word as he kissed you deeper, tongue sweeping your mouth like he wanted to taste every gasp you made. The kiss was hungry but unhurried ; lips sliding, teeth catching, breath mixing. You tasted yourself on him, the lingering sweetness of the crown royal, the salt of your sweat, the taste of him that made your head spin.
He broke the kiss with a soft growl, lips dragging down your jaw as his hand slipped from your pinned wrist and found the back of your knee. He hooked it in the crook of his strong arm, folding you deeper, pushing your leg back until your knee brushed your chest ; the new angle stealing your breath as he sank in again, impossibly deep. The thick head of him pressed right where you were softest, where your walls fluttered tight and trembling, your slickness coating every inch of him with a wet, messy sound that made his hips snap rougher.
Your toes curled helplessly in the air, body arched in a helpless bow beneath him as wave after wave of heat rolled through you. Your thighs quivered, slick and trembling, held wide and open in his firm grasp, his fingers digging into the backs of your knees like he was trying to brand himself into your skin. The room felt molten;humid with the scent of sweat, sex, shea butter, and the deep, aching pulse of need that had been building and unraveling between you for what felt like eternity.
Each thrust of his hips landed with a sharp, wet slap, your bodies colliding in a rhythm so deep, so deliberate, it bordered on worship. His thick length dragged through your soaked folds, parting you with each stroke, stretching you open around him in a way that made your back claw at the sheets. He filled you over and over again, unrelenting, like he needed to reach somewhere deep inside and stake his claim.
He whispered your name against the side of your neck, voice shredded and raw, a whisper scraped from the base of his lungs. The sound alone could've undone you, so thick with devotion, like he was offering up a prayer and a plea all in one. His breath was hot and stuttered, lips trembling as they grazed your damp skin;laced with salt, perfumed with your shared heat.
His gold chain swung freely between you, slapping softly against your sweat-slicked chest. Each motion sent it trailing across your breastbone, the cool metal dragging along your skin, catching in the hollow dip of your collarbone, a beautiful contrast to the scorching heat of his body pinning you to the lounge seat.
And then he leaned back, never breaking rhythm, his hips still grinding into you with that steady, devastating tempo. His dark eyes dropped between your bodies, watching the way you took him;watching how slick and needy your body looked, how your folds gripped every inch of him and begged for more. His mouth parted slightly at the sight, jaw tight, nostrils flaring like he was fighting not to lose control.
You had your head thrown back now, spine arched off the seat, hands cupping your own breasts, rolling your swollen peaks between your fingers in time with his thrusts. The pleasure sparked from your nipples all the way down to your core, winding the coil inside you even tighter. When he looked up and saw you like that;open, aching, playing with yourself for him;his lip curled into a dangerous smirk.
"You're gonna make me lose my mind," he growled lowly, his voice husky, trembling at the edges with restraint.
He leaned in again, slower now, and pressed his lips to your ankle; soft, reverent. His kisses trailed up your calf as he pushed into you deep, slow, and hard, over and over. His thrusts were purposeful, like he wasn't just trying to fuck you;he was trying to imprint himself on your soul. His chain swung again, catching the glow of the fireplace as he kept moving, rhythm never faltering. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, wet, rhythmic, punctuated by your gasps and the shaky moans you could no longer hold back.
Your hands moved down his sides and found his hips, gripping tight, urging him faster. He hissed through clenched teeth when your nails bit into the flesh above his hipbones.
"Damn..." he groaned, head thrown back, curls damp with sweat and sticking to his temples. Beads of it ran down his neck and chest, catching in the gold chain around his neck as his body worked over yours like a machine.
"Michael..." you moaned, your voice dissolving into a shaky breath as you clenched around him. Your walls fluttered, eager and sensitive, tightening the closer you drew to the edge.
His hands tightened behind your knees, pressing your legs back even further, deeper, angling himself to hit exactly where you needed. You felt him dragging across that spot again and again, each stroke making your mouth fall open in a silent cry.
"You feel that?" he whispered thickly, his voice trembling now. "Right there, baby... damn, you're so tight... you gonna give it to me?"
You nodded, tears brimming at the corners of your eyes from how deep he was, from the fire winding hot in your belly.
"I'm close," you cried, voice breaking, your fingers digging into the roundness of his behind, holding him inside you like you never wanted him to leave.
He grunted, chest heaving. "F-fuck baby... I'm not gonna last..."
His rhythm grew rougher, faster, his control slipping as your body fluttered around him. Sweat poured from him, from you;your skin stuck together, your breaths staggered and uneven, chasing something that was right on the edge of falling.
And then it hit.
Your whole body tensed, bowed, lips falling open in a soundless scream. That fire snapped at the base of your spine and exploded in your belly, white-hot pleasure spilling out in every direction. You convulsed beneath him, walls pulsing, milking him, begging him not to stop.
"Michael!" you cried out, shaking beneath him.
With a cry ripped raw from the base of his throat, Michael slammed into you harder than ever, once;twice;his entire body trembling with restraint before it gave out entirely. His release came in thick, scorching bursts, pouring into you in long, unrelenting waves. Each pulse of him stretched the moment into something infinite;his hips pressing deep, buried to the hilt as his body locked up over yours, arms trembling from the force of it. You could feel him throbbing inside you, every twitch of his climax pressing up against your deepest ache, branding you from the inside out, his warmth spilling into your womb, coating your walls like molten honey.
He stayed inside you, his length still heavy and twitching, held in place by the tight seal of your body wrapped around him like silk. Slowly, reverently, he lowered your legs from his shoulders, setting them down with a gentleness that contrasted the storm he'd just unleashed inside you. And then;he collapsed forward, the weight of him warm and solid and human as he blanketed your body with his own. His chest pressed to yours, the heat of his skin sticking to yours, breaths jagged and erratic as he tried to come down, tried to find air again.
His face dropped to your chest, lips brushing the underside of your breast in a lazy, reverent kiss. His nose nuzzled against the damp skin there, and you felt his breath ghost across your nipple, still hard and pebbled from the aftershocks. You threaded your fingers through the wet curls at the base of his neck, stroking gently, your other hand drifting down his spine, over the flex and dip of his muscles, your touch smoothing over the thin layer of sweat slicking his skin.
He didn't move;he simply breathed with you. His body felt like an anchor and a balm, grounding you as your hearts thundered together in unsteady rhythm.
His length, still sheathed inside you, twitched again;less urgent now, but no less intimate. He was only half-hard now, but the stretch of him lingered inside you, every inch still making you ache. You felt him slowly begin to soften, felt the sticky heat of his release leaking from where you were still joined, dribbling out of you in slow, syrupy trails onto the fabric of the lounge chair beneath you.
He exhaled slowly, then pushed himself up with a low groan, the muscles in his arms flexing as he eased his weight off your chest. He looked down between your bodies, gaze dark and molten, and gently rocked his hips forward once more, just enough to make you gasp.
You whimpered at the sensation;his length dragging against your fluttering walls, still so sensitive it made your thighs twitch. "Fuck..." he breathed, voice hoarse and trembling, watching the way your body responded to even the softest movement.
Then, slowly, he pulled out of you.
The sensation was overwhelming. You felt every inch of him slip free, wet and slow, until a flood of his warmth followed, pooling out of you and sliding down the curve of your thighs. He stared at it for a moment, his jaw tight, eyes heavy with something unreadable;hunger, reverence, the kind of satisfaction that came only from giving everything and being given everything in return.
His eyes moved slowly back up your body, pausing at your glistening skin, the rise and fall of your chest, the flushed peaks of your breasts; and finally, your face.
"You okay?" he asked softly, the roughness in his voice edged with concern.
You nodded slowly, your breath still shaky, your chest still heaving with the echoes of pleasure. "I'm fine, baby..." you whispered, eyes half-lidded, limbs loose and heavy, body wrecked in the best way. Your walls fluttered again at the thought of him still inside you, at the evidence of him still seeping from your body.
Michael nodded once, slowly, then leaned forward to kiss your thigh, his fingers smoothing over your legs where they still trembled faintly. His eyes drifted down again, watching as the creamy mixture of you and him spilled from your center onto the lounge cushion; slick, hot, and glistening.
The record player had long stopped spinning, the soft jazz a memory now. The needle sat idle in the groove, leaving behind only a soft hiss like distant rain. The only sounds left were the steady crackle of the fireplace and the soft, shallow breaths shared between you;both of you still riding the echo of everything that had just passed.
Without a word, Michael slipped one arm beneath the bend of your thighs, the other cradling the small of your back, and lifted you from the lounge chair with the effortless ease of a man who'd held you a thousand times. Your body melted into his on instinct, limp and warm and boneless, the aftermath of pleasure still humming in your blood. His chest was slick with sweat, muscles still flexing from exertion, and you pressed your cheek to him, breath falling soft against his skin as he carried you.
Your bare body curled against his, limbs folding like petals toward the center of him, instinctively seeking the quiet shelter of his hold. His heartbeat thudded steadily beneath your ear;slower now, but still strong, still echoing the rhythm you had shared minutes before. One of his hands drifted along your spine, his fingertips grazing every dip and curve with reverence, the kind of touch that wasn't rushed or demanding, but slow and sacred, as if he were relearning your body not just with desire;but devotion.
"I love you," he whispered into your hair, his lips brushing the crown of your head as the words slipped out like a vow;low and hushed, nearly drowned beneath the soft crackling of the fire nearby, but still weighted with everything he felt for you. The way he said it made the world feel small, private, precious. Like it was only the two of you, suspended in time.
You exhaled against his collarbone, your lips ghosting over the slope of his shoulder. "I love you too," you murmured back, barely awake, your voice edged in velvet and sleep, a quiet echo of everything your body had already confessed.
He shifted slightly, easing back on the lounge chair, and cupped your face in his hand. His thumb traced the curve of your cheek, lifting your gaze to his. Your eyes were heavy, lids drooping, pupils dark with exhaustion and softness. He studied you like he always did in these moments;like you were something delicate and wild he still couldn't believe was his. And then he kissed you. Slow. Deep. Purposeful. His lips were plush and warm, tinged with the lingering taste of Crown Royal;rich, smoky, with a hint of honey. The kind of kiss that didn't need to say anything because it already said everything.
The book you'd been reading earlier lay forgotten on the floor, its pages splayed open and spine bent, abandoned in the quiet chaos of passion. Somewhere in the mess of thrown clothes, empty glasses, and half-spun vinyl, the story you were following had lost its place. But none of that mattered anymore. The chapter could wait. The plot could be found again. Because the real story had just unfolded across skin and breath and tangled limbs;and it was more intoxicating than anything written on the page.
All that existed now was the man in front of you;his arms wrapped tightly around your bare frame, both of your bodies slick and glowing in the amber flicker of firelight. Beyond the tall glass windows, Manhattan glittered like a sleeping beast, but neither of you noticed. The sky could've cracked open, the city swallowed by the storm creeping in from the east, and you wouldn't have cared. Not with the heat of his body wrapped around you. Not with the world narrowed to this single, breathless space;the silence after the storm, and the sound of your breathing in time.
Sleep tugged at your lashes, soft and slow. Your breath deepened, became even, and your body relaxed entirely in his arms. He felt the shift, the way you surrendered to sleep like it was a safe harbor, and he watched you for a moment longer;his expression unreadable, but gentle, almost awestruck. Like he couldn't quite believe you were real.
Carefully, Michael slipped an arm beneath your knees again and the other behind your shoulders, rising from the chair with your body still curled in his. He walked with purpose, slow and steady, carrying you through the darkened hallway of the penthouse and into the master bedroom, his bare feet silent on the hardwood floor.
The bedroom was cool and quiet, the linen sheets freshly turned down, a low breeze stirring the curtains near the balcony doors. He leaned down and gently laid you on the bed, your hair fanning across the pillow in soft waves. He bent over you and pressed a lingering kiss to your lips; soft, reverent, a kiss meant to end the night like a benediction.
"Sleep well, baby..." he whispered, brushing your cheek with his thumb once more before moving to the other side of the bed.
He eased into it beside you, the white sheets cool against his skin. You instinctively reached for him in your sleep, and he smiled faintly as he scooped you into his arms, pulling you close, spooning you from behind. His chest pressed to your back, one leg slipping between yours, his arm banding tightly around your waist. Your bodies fit together perfectly;warm, bare, flushed. His nose nestled into the back of your neck as he inhaled your scent, a mix of sweat, perfume, and something entirely you.
And as sleep claimed him too, he pressed one last kiss to your shoulder, murmuring something only the night would keep.
The penthouse was still. The fire in the library cracked quietly, casting long, dancing shadows. The empty glass of Crown Royal rested on the table, forgotten. Both your clothes were scattered across the floor like fallen petals. The jazz record on the player had long stopped, the needle now whispering soft static into the air, and that book;the one you'd been so absorbed in hours before;lay face-down on the rug, its chapter lost to the heat of hands and mouths and the rush of breathless desire.
But you'd find the page again. Eventually.
For now, all that mattered was the two of you. Wrapped together in the hush of night. Held beneath the glow of a dim city sky. And asleep in the arms of something far deeper than lust— something lasting.
Outside, the streets of Manhattan pulsed with their usual midnight heartbeat; restless and unruly. Car horns bleated impatiently in the distance, mingling with the bark of taxi drivers and the faint echo of laughter drifting up from the sidewalk far below. Neon signs flickered against rain-speckled windows, casting brief shards of electric color across the tall glass panes of the penthouse. But up here, above it all, the world was hushed; sealed off by floor-to-ceiling windows and velvet drapes drawn halfway shut.
Inside the penthouse, only the low crackle of the fireplace broke the silence, its flames dancing amber and gold across the room's polished mahogany bookshelves. A vintage record player sat in the corner, spinning a slow, syrupy jazz tune that curled through the warm air like smoke; something old, something that suited nights like this.
You were tucked into the corner of the private library, curled on an oversized velvet lounge chair that swallowed you whole. An apricot satin nightgown clung to your freshly washed skin; the delicate fabric glowed softly in the firelight, slipping off one shoulder as if coaxed by the warmth. Damp strands of your hair brushed your collarbone, carrying the faint scent of your favorite shampoo and the rich sweetness of shea butter and coconut oil that gleamed over your arms and legs, catching every flicker of the fire.
A pair of slender black reading glasses perched precariously on the bridge of your nose, lenses flashing each time you lifted your gaze to turn a page. The book resting against your thighs was one of those novels; the kind with pages that whispered secrets and fantasies into the quietest corners of the night. This one, though, was special: a gift from Michael, wrapped in silk and handed to you on your last birthday with that knowing glint in his eyes that made your pulse skip.
Tonight, you had finally cracked it open, letting your fingertips drift over the finely embossed cover before sinking into the story. The words sprawled across the pages like warm hands over your skin, pulling soft gasps and small, secret smiles from your parted lips.
In your free hand, you held a heavy crystal tumbler of Crown Royal, the gold-rimmed glass chilled with a clink of slowly melting ice. Each sip slid smooth and smoky over your tongue, mingling with the warmth coiling low in your belly as you read one steamy passage after another. The ruby lacquer on your nails glowed as you traced the rim of the glass, then drummed it idly against the side, punctuating the soft, breathless phrases you murmured aloud; tasting the words and the whisky together.
And through it all, a question lingered at the blurred edges of your mind, teasing you with a slow, decadent pull that made you squirm deeper into the plush cushions: Had Michael really read the back cover before he chose this? Or had he stood there in that hushed corner of the bookstore, one hand buried in his pocket while his eyes drifted over the swirling, gold-inked title; picturing you exactly as you were now: legs folded up under you, mouth slightly open, breath catching on every forbidden word, your skin glowing slick and warm in the hush of your private library while the city outside raged on without you.
The thought made heat prickle across the back of your neck, trickling down your spine in a slow, sinuous curl. Instinctively, you shifted against the overstuffed cushion, the fabric sighing beneath your thighs as the satin hem of your nightgown slipped even higher, revealing the gleam of shea-buttered skin and the soft indent of your hipbone. The record player crackled softly in the background; a saxophone moaning low as if it, too, knew what secrets your pages held.
Your lashes lowered behind the black frames perched on your nose as you dipped your head back into the pages. Your lips parted, moving silently at first; then forming the words in a hushed, breathy whisper that felt like a confession to the dark wood and flickering firelight:
"His hands traced up her sides, the palm of his hands palming her breasts, thumbs brushing over her peaks before taking them between his lips, his eyes locked on hers, making her watch; watch his lips, his tongue, the way his saliva slicked over her hardened peaks..."
Your throat tightened around the words, a warm ache pooling low in your belly. One hand gripped the heavy crystal glass a little tighter, the melting ice clinking against the rim as you tilted it to your lips. The Crown Royal kissed your tongue again; smoky and sharp, a perfect counter to the heat blooming under your nightgown.
You squeezed your thighs together, a soft exhale slipping free as you read on; eyes flicking hungrily over the next lines, tracing how he moved inside her, how her nails raked desperate red crescents into his back, how her body arched and twisted and begged under the weight of him.
A quiet, wicked little laugh purred in your throat. You wet your lips, savoring the last drop of the whisky as you whispered to the empty room, "Lucky girl..."; the words dancing off your tongue like an invitation.
You tipped the glass back, drained it, then drew the back of your hand across your mouth, leaving a faint trace of warmth on your skin. With a soft sigh, you slipped the book closed, its pages still humming with secrets you weren't quite done with yet.
Pushing yourself up from the lounge, you let your nightgown fall a little more as you stood; a loose, silky brush against your thighs as you bent to gather your empty glass. The air kissed the sheen of coconut oil on your legs as you padded barefoot out of the library, the fireplace's glow slipping off your shoulders the moment you stepped into the main room.
The city lights bled through the tall windows, shimmering against the glass shelves of the mini bar. You set the glass down carefully, your fingertips lingering on the cold marble counter as you reached for the decanter, the gold cap gleaming in the dim light. You poured slowly ; Crown Royal streaming in a rich amber ribbon, catching little glints of firelight as it filled your glass once more.
Your mind, though, stayed curled back in that plush chair, tangled in the breathless words, the weight of his imaginary touch, the delicious knowledge that Michael ; your Michael ; had chosen that story for you. Whether he'd read every page or not didn't matter now. The thought of him picturing you like this was enough. And as the record spun on and the city roared outside, you lifted your refilled glass, brushed your thumb along its golden rim, and let a slow, secret smile curve your lips ; already hungry to slip back into that wicked story waiting for you in the next room.
As you stood at the bar, the soft clink of the gold-rimmed glass in your hand, the library's warmth still clinging to your skin, you heard the faint turn of a key at the door. A quiet click, the hush of hinges swinging open ; and then there he was.
Michael stepped inside like the night itself had followed him in ; tall, broad shoulders tense beneath the spill of his loose black curls. The strands framed his face in a disheveled halo, a few rebellious locks brushing against the dark sweep of his lashes. He pushed the door closed behind him with the slow, deliberate care of a man carrying too many thoughts in his head ; the latch falling into place with a muted finality.
In the low glow of the penthouse lights, you could see the wear carved into his eyes: heavy-lidded and rimmed faintly red, exhaustion pulling at the edges of his mouth. The black blazer draped over his forearm was creased, his crimson button-down undone at the collar, showing a teasing sliver of his throat ; warm skin kissed by the glint of a fine gold chain that disappeared beneath the rumpled fabric.
He tossed his keys onto the side table with a soft metallic clatter, shrugging off the blazer in a single motion, careful but impatient. When his eyes finally rose to find you standing there by the marble bar ; nightgown hitched up just enough to show the sheen of your thighs, your glasses perched on the bridge of your nose, the glass of Crown Royal held delicate in your hand ; something in his tired face softened.
"Hi..." he murmured, voice thick and hoarse at the edges, his lips curling into a faint, weary smile.
You returned it with a slow, warm curve of your own. Pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose with the back of your knuckle, you crossed the few steps to him, bare feet silent against the cool floor. The scent of him hit you first ; the faint trace of cologne and city air clinging to his shirt, the warmth of him cutting through the chill of your drink.
"Hi, baby," you breathed, leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to the rough line of his cheekbone. You could feel the subtle prickle of stubble, the way his skin was still cool from the night air. You pulled back just enough to catch his gaze again, tilting your head with a quiet curiosity as you brushed your thumb over the back of his wrist. "Tired?"
A humorless little laugh slipped from his chest as he gave a slow nod, dark eyes flicking from your lips to the whiskey in your hand. "Exhausted," he confessed, voice dropping even softer ; a worn thread of sound meant only for you. His fingers brushed against yours as he set the blazer beside his keys, then drifted to the buttons at his chest, fumbling them open one by one with a deliberate slowness. His eyes never quite left yours, though ; half-hidden by the tumble of curls that fell forward when he ducked his head.
"Were you waiting up for me?" he asked, the question gentle, a little raw around the edges as his fingertips paused on the last button.
You shrugged one shoulder, your grin curling into something sly. "Kind of. I got... distracted." You lifted the glass slightly, the ice clinking softly. "I finally started that novel you gave me for my birthday." A quiet snicker danced past your lips. "It's... quite something."
A flicker of amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth. He exhaled through his nose ; a soft, tired huff of a laugh as he tugged the last button free, the shirt hanging loose enough now to show the sharp dip of his collarbones and a teasing brush of chest beneath the gold chain. His eyes found yours again, lids half-lowered as a smirk curved his lips. "I figured you'd like it," he murmured, reaching out to gently take the glass from your fingers ; his skin grazing yours, warm and grounding.
He lifted the glass to his mouth, the rim brushing against the faint stubble on his upper lip. His throat bobbed as he swallowed a careful sip ; the sight alone enough to make your breath catch. You watched the way his tongue darted out to catch the stray drop at the corner of his mouth, slow and absent, like it was just for you.
"Mmph," he hummed, savoring the taste before lowering the glass, his gaze locked to yours with that glint ; tired but playful, the man behind the stress peeking through. "How far in are you?" he asked, voice low and conspiratorial, like he was in on some secret only you two shared.
You tilted your head, tapping your finger lightly against the empty side of the glass. "Started this morning," you confessed, unable to fight the heat creeping up your neck. "I'm already on chapter twelve. And some of those scenes..." You paused, a breath of laughter slipping past your lips. "I never would've guessed you'd pick something like that for me."
He just watched you for a heartbeat longer ; eyes steady, dark, glinting faintly in the warm light. Then that lazy smile curved his mouth again, softer this time, touched by something fond and wicked all at once. "I read the back cover and..." He shrugged, handing the glass back into your waiting hands, the weight of it suddenly colder than the heat radiating off him. "I liked the sound of it. Besides..." He tipped his head, curls brushing his cheek, voice dipping into that low, velvet hush only you ever got to hear. "I've seen what you keep hidden in that library."
Your mouth parted to tease him, but before you could, he leaned in ; so close you could smell the faint tang of whisky on his breath, feel the soft scrape of his stubble as he pressed a slow, unhurried kiss to your lips. The kind that said home and later and don't stop reading yet.
When he pulled back, he lingered for a second, forehead brushing yours, his eyes still half-closed as his thumb ghosted across your jaw. "I'm gonna shower and change," he murmured against your mouth, the words more felt than heard.
Then he slipped past you, silent as a shadow despite the heaviness in his bones, his feet whispering over the polished floor. The loose edges of his shirt brushed his sides, the fabric fluttering with each step and giving you fleeting glimpses of warm skin and the thin gold chain that caught the low light like a secret promise. A few dark curls tumbled over his brow, half-shielding the tired sharpness of his eyes as he cast you one last look over his shoulder ; soft, half-lidded, a wordless hush that said wait for me ; before disappearing down the hallway and into the hush of the master bedroom.
You stayed frozen there for a heartbeat longer, the cool rim of the whiskey glass pressing against your lower lip, its chill at odds with the flush climbing your throat. The taste of his kiss lingered ; the faint warmth of his breath, the subtle scrape of stubble that still tingled at the corner of your mouth.
Slowly, you picked the glass up with a soft clink, the melting ice chiming like tiny bells. You reached for the bottle of Crown Royal ; its weight heavy, cool, and promising in your hand ; and padded back across the vast hush of the penthouse. Each step made the satin hem of your nightgown whisper against your thighs, a soft brush of silk on warm skin that left a trail of goosebumps behind.
The library welcomed you back like an old lover ; the crackling fireplace sighing low, the vintage record still spinning its lazy jazz, saxophone moaning in the background like it, too, was caught up in your private confession. You placed the bottle gently on the little side table beside your lounge chair, the glass set right next to it. The pages of the novel waited, splayed open where you'd left them ; the spine cracked wide like an invitation, words burning softly under your fingertips.
You lowered yourself back into the plush velvet cushions, sinking until they seemed to cradle you. The book fell open on your lap as you adjusted your reading glasses, pushing them up your nose with the tip of a slick finger. You drew in a breath ; steadying yourself ; then let your eyes drift over the words you'd barely dared to speak aloud before.
Your voice slipped into the room in a breathy hush, just loud enough to be heard over the fireplace's crackle:
"Taking me so well, my love..." you read, your voice catching on the my love, like it was meant for you alone. "He said as he slowly thrusted his length in and out of her warmth, her walls still clenching tight around his thick member, the veins along his shaft pulsing with a desperate, aching need as he reached for the candle beside them..."
Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, breath hitching as you turned the page with trembling fingers.
You paused, the words dancing hot behind your eyelids. A small sound slipped past your lips ; something between a sigh and a quiet curse. You bit down gently on your lower lip, tasting faint traces of whiskey there, the faintest salt of your skin. Then you forced your eyes back down to the page.
"He carefully blew out the flame, still buried deep within her, moving with slow, deliberate thrusts that made her whimper ; the red wax dripping from the candle's tip as he tilted it forward, letting it spill in a slow, molten line over her belly, down her core, and across the peaks of her breasts, the heat making her arch beneath him..."
You let the book drop slightly, your pulse a thunder in your throat, your thighs pressing tighter together beneath the satin draped loosely across them. You murmured it to the empty room anyway ; like a confessional whispered only to the fire and the whisky:
"Jesus Christ..." you breathed out, your voice so soft it barely stirred the air. The vividness of it all flickered behind your eyes ; the slick heat, the wax, the low growl of a man's voice promising more, more, don't stop.
Your hand found the cold glass again, fingertips curling around the heavy crystal, the melting ice kissing your knuckles as you raised it to your lips. The whiskey slipped across your tongue ; sharp, smoky, its bite almost enough to steady the fluttering heat twisting low in your belly. Almost.
You exhaled shakily, the words dragging you back in as your gaze dropped to the page once more:
"He poured it carefully down the valley of her body, then tipped it over himself ; crimson wax sliding down the ridges of his hard chest, over the swell of his abs, dripping lower until it mingled with the place where he stretched her open and full, his length throbbing with a raw, relentless hunger, so close to spilling but refusing ; holding it, savoring it, refusing to stop... not now... not ever..."
A small, strangled sound slipped out of you ; half gasp, half helpless, breathless laugh ; a soft confession that the shadows around you gladly swallowed whole. The air in the library felt heavier now, thick with firelight and words you'd let crawl under your skin. You shifted again, the smooth satin of your nightgown sliding against your warm, shea-buttered thighs as you crossed one leg tightly over the other, pressing down until you could feel your pulse there ; a steady, insistent throb that matched the ache blooming low in your belly.
You tipped your head back, hair spilling over the lounge's plush cushion, the fire's glow catching your throat and collarbones, gilding them in molten gold. The warmth of it only deepened the heat simmering beneath your skin, the kind that made your breath come a little too fast, too shallow.
"God... she's too lucky," you murmured to the flickering fireplace ; your voice cracked with a grin you could feel tugging at your lips, sharp and breathless, half disbelieving at just how deeply the words had sunk into you.
You lifted the heavy glass again, your fingertips slippery against the cold crystal. You tipped it to your lips, letting the last swirl of Crown Royal roll over your tongue ; smoky, sweet, and burning enough to make your eyes flutter closed for a heartbeat. The warmth pooled low in your belly, mingling with the pulse already hammering between your thighs, softening the sharp edges of the scene your mind refused to release.
Your lashes lifted, heavy, as you let your gaze fall back to the open book. The fire popped behind you, a slow crackle that filled the space between your heartbeat and the next word. You let your eyes trace the lines, the ink almost pulsing under your stare as the story wrapped itself tight around you once more.
You read aloud, your voice slipping into the hush like silk:
"His body pressed against hers, moving within her ; thrusting deep, pulling back, every inch slicked in her warmth. The sound of her moans poured sweet and high into his ear, filling the room ; echoing through the mansion like music only they could hear. His teeth grazed the column of her throat, teasing her skin before he sank them in ; a sharp bite, a gasp, a sting that made her arch and beg for more..."
Your lips parted on the last word. A soft exhale shivered through you, your chest rising and falling as you stared at the page ; reading the same wicked line again and again, each time sinking a little deeper into the heat that coiled around your spine. You reached blindly for your glass, desperate for the distraction, the chill of it biting at your palm as you lifted it once more. The whiskey went down smoother this time, your throat used to the burn now ; your body so heated from the inside out that the drink felt like nothing more than another layer of warmth to spread through your veins.
Goosebumps prickled along your arms, down your ribs, while the hair at the nape of your neck lifted under the soft brush of air from the vent overhead. You could almost feel it now ; that imaginary wax poured in slow rivulets over your chest, the heat blooming where it dripped, cooling and warming at once. You squeezed your thighs tighter, the silk of your nightgown caught in the press, clinging to the curve of your hip and the soft skin just beneath.
With a low sigh, you set the empty glass back on the side table ; the crystal clink echoing too loudly in the hush. You adjusted yourself against the lounge seat, shifting until you could tuck your bare feet beneath you, your knees drawn up as the book perched in your lap like a lover's secret.
You pushed your glasses up the bridge of your nose, your fingertips trembling just slightly, and picked up where you left off.
"Maestro..." you whispered, testing the name on your tongue before your voice lifted, reading the next line aloud:
"She moaned it softly, almost reverently, as his fangs broke her skin ; his hips rolling deeper, deeper still, the thick length of him hitting that deepest place inside her as he drank. Her legs locked tight around his waist, drawing him in until they were fused together ; the faint hiss of candle wax still warm, sealing them in a heat that bound them skin to skin. Her nails carved down his back in desperate red lines, marking him as hers, as he pulsed inside her ; refusing to stop, refusing to let go..."
Your head fell back once more, the ceiling blurring above you as you exhaled a rough, half-laughing curse. "Fuck..." you breathed out, your voice raw in the hush. The air felt thick in your lungs ; too warm, too heavy, scented with fire and old books and the ghost of Michael's cologne that still lingered in the room like he'd never really left.
With a trembling hand, you slipped the silk ribbon back into the crease of the book, marking the page you knew you'd revisit. You let the cover fall shut with a soft thud that felt too final ; like sealing a door you weren't quite ready to close. You set the novel gently aside on the table, beside the empty glass, the bottle of Crown Royal half-drained, catching the firelight in its amber depths.
You sat there for a moment, the fire crackling soft and slow in the hearth, the mellow hum of the old jazz record drifting through the library like a secret only the walls could keep. Your thighs pressed tight together, the subtle, restless ache building low and warm in your belly ; a slow thrum of want that pulsed hotter with every heartbeat. You could still feel it: the phantom trail of that molten wax down your sternum, the imagined scrape of sharp teeth grazing your neck, the delicious, impossible stretch of a lover born in ink and paper yet crawling all over your skin like he was real ; so real you could almost taste him.
Then the quiet creak of the door gave you away ; Michael stepping in, barefoot on the polished floor, fresh from his shower. He was a dream made flesh in the hush of the room ; wearing nothing but a pair of soft plaid pajama pants that clung low on his hips, the fabric hugging his lean waist just enough to make your mouth water. The cotton shirt meant to cover him hung forgotten in his hand, draped loosely over his knuckles. His chest was bare ; warm brown skin marbled in beautiful constellations of creamy vitiligo that seemed to glow in the flickering light. Droplets of water clung to the ends of his dark curls, stray strands falling into his eyes as he crossed the room with that slow, bone-tired grace that made your chest ache.
He reached you without a word at first, lowering himself beside you on the lounge chair until the cushion dipped under his weight, pulling your gaze greedily to him. He scooped up your bare feet, settling them across his lap ; his palms broad and warm as they cradled your ankles. He smirked at you, dark lashes heavy over those warm, exhausted eyes that still glittered with a teasing softness only you ever got to see.
"I thought you were reading?" he murmured, voice low and thick from sleep and steam, the barest edge of a laugh curling around the words.
You lowered your gaze shyly behind your glasses, the heat on your cheeks giving you away. "I was..." you breathed out, your voice softer than the fire's crackle, "but it was getting to me... it was a lot." Your lips curved in a guilty, breathless grin.
He snorted under his breath, a teasing sound made soft by the affection that always curled behind his words. "Mmhm... and you've been drinking, so of course it's a lot." His thumb drew lazy circles over the arch of your foot, warm and tender, making tiny shivers crawl up the backs of your calves.
You couldn't stop looking at him ; the way the firelight kissed the strong slope of his shoulders, the subtle pull and flex of his forearms when he shifted your legs in his lap, the slow rise and fall of his chest as his gold chain glinted against the scatter of water droplets still clinging to his collarbone. Just sitting there, just watching him ; that wasn't helping the ache simmering low in your belly one bit.
He felt your stare ; he always did. His dark eyes lifted to yours, half-lidded and heavy with that quiet, knowing heat that made your breath catch. His palm slid up the curve of your calf, over your knee, slow and deliberate, fingers pressing in just enough to remind you of what they could do. He gave your thigh a gentle squeeze, like he knew exactly where your mind had wandered. "What is it, pretty girl?" he asked, voice soft enough to hush the room.
Something inside you gave way at that ; your feet slipping off his lap as you shifted forward. The whiskey and the words and the warmth of him blurred together until you couldn't sit still anymore. You rose onto your knees on the cushion, leaning in until your thighs straddled his lap, your nightgown falling like water around you as you settled your weight onto him ; the heat of his bare chest brushing your stomach through the silk.
Your hands found his face without thinking ; your palms warm against the sharp lines of his jaw, thumbs brushing slowly over the soft stubble along his cheeks, tracing the edge of his jawline, the shadow beneath his lower lip. He tilted his head back slightly to look at you ; those tired, sultry eyes sinking deep into yours, heavy-lidded and burning with a hunger that never needed words. His big hands slid from your thighs to your waist, his fingers brushing over the thin fabric of your nightgown ; slow strokes that made the satin rustle and cling to your heated skin.
"What do you want, baby?" he murmured, that wicked, knowing tease threading through the softness of his voice, his mouth tipping up at one corner ; because he already knew the answer. He always did.
You felt your breath stutter as you settled fully on his lap, the warmth of him pressed firm between your thighs. One thumb traced over the lush curve of his bottom lip, the other brushing slowly over the cleft of his chin, feeling the small dip beneath your fingertip. His eyes fluttered shut for a heartbeat at the touch ; lashes brushing his cheeks before they lifted again, locking you in place with that low, molten stare.
"I want you..." you whispered, the words slipping out like a prayer ; soft and raw and honest. Your pulse thundered in your ears as you felt the heat of his breath against the pad of your thumb.
A soft chuckle rumbled from his chest ; warm, dark, and edged with that deep, endless tenderness he saved just for you. "You can always have me, beautiful," he murmured, his hands sliding lower over the swell of your hips, squeezing them gently as if to anchor you right there, flush against him. "You know that..." His voice dropped into something softer ; a vow pressed into the hush of the room. "I love you."
Your lips parted, your thumb brushing along his lip as he spoke, your other hand cupping his jaw tighter, as if you could pull those words deeper into you. "I love you too..." you breathed, voice trembling just enough to give you away.
He smiled, the curve of his mouth soft and lazy ; and then he dipped forward, kissing the pad of your thumb so tenderly it made your stomach flip. But he didn't stop there ; his lips parted, catching your thumb gently, drawing it past his teeth until the warmth of his mouth wrapped around it. His tongue flicked slow and deliberate over the sensitive tip, a lazy, sinful pull that made your breath catch in your throat.
His eyes stayed locked on yours ; those low, tired, wickedly soft eyes turned molten beneath the damp tangle of curls falling across his forehead. They glinted in the firelight, catching the flicker of the flames behind you like they were smoldering from the inside out. Your chest pressed flush to his as it rose and fell in short, shivery stutters ; each shallow breath ghosting against his lips as his tongue dragged slow, deliberate circles around your thumb. The wet heat of his mouth made your spine arch, a soft, helpless ache tightening between your thighs as your knees squeezed his hips a little closer.
When he finally let your thumb slip free, the pad of it damp, your heartbeat thrummed so loud in your ears you could barely hear the crackle of the fireplace behind you. You held his gaze a moment longer ; that dark, lazy, all-knowing stare ; before you brought that same thumb to your own mouth, parting your lips to draw it in slow. The tip of your tongue flicked over the taste of him, the faint warmth lingering on your skin as you sucked it deeper, your eyes never leaving his.
Michael's breath hitched, his lips parting just slightly ; pink and soft and wet in the fire's glow. His eyes dropped to your mouth, dark lashes sweeping low as he watched your tongue tease your own thumb like you were tasting something forbidden. A low, rough sound crawled up his throat. "So nasty..." he murmured, voice soft but edged with a spark that made your toes curl against his thighs. His eyes flicked back to yours ; heavy, dark, pupils wide. You could feel the heat rolling off him in waves.
Then he reached up, slow and deliberate, slipping his fingers around the delicate frame of your reading glasses. He tugged them off with gentle care, tossing them aside on the cushion. His large palm found the back of your head, fingers weaving into your damp hair as he tugged you closer. When his mouth finally met yours, it was slow at first ; a deep, savoring press that tasted like whiskey and want, soft lips parting yours open until you gave him everything.
His other hand slipped up the side of your neck, strong fingers cradling your jaw as he angled your head, deepening the kiss until your breath stuttered out in a quiet gasp. His tongue brushed yours ; a teasing, sin-slick slide that made your pulse pound harder. His thumb traced the curve of your throat, brushing over the rapid flutter of your pulse point, grounding you in that hush where only the fire dared to crackle.
A low growl rumbled deep in his chest when you rocked your hips, pressing yourself closer against the thick warmth growing beneath the soft fabric of his pajama pants. His hand on your hip squeezed tight enough to make you whimper into his mouth ; the sound swallowed by the wicked tangle of his tongue.
He pulled back just enough for his lips to hover over yours ; his breath brushing your mouth in short, heated bursts as his soft chuckle vibrated through your chest. "I love the way you respond to me," he murmured, voice hoarse and sweet with mischief. Before you could answer, he caught your lips again ; this time harder, deeper, tasting you like he was starving for it.
His palm slipped down, brushing over the side of your throat before drifting lower ; fingertips grazing the swell of your breast through the thin satin of your nightgown. You gasped softly against his lips, your nails dragging lightly over the slope of his bare shoulders, feeling the heat of his skin, the slight dampness where the shower droplets hadn't fully dried.
You slid your mouth down to his bottom lip, catching it gently between your teeth. You sucked on it slow, feeling the tremor that ran through him when you tugged, letting it slip free with a soft, wet pop that made both of you pause ; your breath ragged, eyes locked.
A quiet groan crawled out of him, his jaw flexing beneath your fingers. His hands slipped from your waist to the curve of your behind, big palms spreading wide as he gripped you tight, pulling you flush against the hard heat pressing insistently through his pajama pants. The squeeze made you gasp ; a soft, startled moan bubbling from your lips as your palm flattened over the strong, warm plane of his chest, feeling the steady pound of his heartbeat under your touch.
"Michael..." you breathed, the word trembling out on a sigh ; equal parts plea and confession.
"Mmm?" he hummed, his mouth ghosting over the corner of your jaw, the tip of his nose brushing your cheek. You felt the warmth of his smile before he pressed his lips to the sensitive skin just beneath your ear. His mouth drifted lower, kissing down the side of your neck ; slow, open-mouthed kisses that turned wetter, hotter, until his teeth grazed the delicate line of your throat.
A soft gasp escaped you when his tongue flicked over your pulse, a gentle lick followed by the delicious scrape of his teeth as he bit down just enough to send a thrill ripping through you. You threw your head back instinctively, the soft spill of your hair brushing his bare chest, the fireplace painting you both in flickers of gold and shadow.
"Michael... oh..." you whispered, your voice catching when his lips latched onto the crook of your neck. He sucked there, slow and deep, until your skin throbbed under his mouth ; the same wicked trail Maestro carved into that lucky girl's throat in the book laying on the floor with lost pages.
You felt his hands slide up ; fingers brushing the thin straps of your nightgown. He hooked them gently, tugging one down, then the other, his knuckles dragging fire across your heated skin. The silk slipped over your shoulders, a whisper of fabric that pooled at your waist until the top half of you was bare under his hungry stare.
He pulled back just enough to look ; really look ; his warm brown eyes dropping to the soft curve of your breasts, your peaks tight and sensitive from his touch and the chill of the air. A soft sound escaped his throat ; somewhere between a hum and a growl. His big hands slid up, palms warm as they cupped your breasts fully, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples in slow, teasing circles that made your back arch and another quiet gasp fall from your lips.
His mouth drifted lower with a warmth that made your breath catch ; a soft exhale trembling out of you as his lips brushed down your throat, across the delicate hollow at the base of your neck, and over the gentle slope of your collarbone. You felt him pause there for just a heartbeat, the heat of his breath ghosting over your bare skin, before his mouth finally found the soft swell of your breast.
His lips pressed there first ; slow, reverent, almost a hush of worship that made your chest rise into him. Then his mouth opened wider, teeth grazing your sensitive skin with the faintest scrape, a tease that made your fingers curl deeper into the dark curls at the back of his neck. His tongue flicked out ; a slow, lazy stroke that circled your nipple once, twice, tasting you before he drew the peak fully into the heat of his mouth.
A soft gasp tumbled from your lips, spilling into the hush of the private library like a secret. The jazz record spun on in the background, all low brass and whispered percussion, but all you could hear was the soft, wet sound of his mouth ; the way his tongue licked and curled and tugged at you, coaxing your nipple deeper against his teeth. He sucked slow at first, his lips sealing tight, his tongue circling the sensitive peak in deliberate, almost patient strokes that made your thighs tighten around his hips.
His free hand came up, big and warm as it cupped the weight of your other breast ; his thumb brushing teasingly over the neglected peak before he pinched it gently between his thumb and forefinger. He rolled it in slow, careful circles, tugging just enough to send a sharp spark of heat darting through your belly, pooling low and needy between your thighs. Your moans were soft at first ; quiet little whimpers ; but the moment his teeth grazed and tugged, they spilled out sweeter, needier, echoing off the shelves lined with all those forgotten books.
He pulled away with a low, wet pop, the peak of your breast flushed and slick, a thin strand of his saliva catching the firelight as it fell from his lips. He didn't give you a chance to catch your breath ; his mouth shifted to your other breast, his lips warm and wet as he dragged his tongue slowly over your right nipple. He let it rest there for a heartbeat ; just the tip of his tongue flicking quick, sharp lashes across your sensitive skin ; before his lips closed around it and sucked you deeper into his mouth.
He switched his pace with wicked skill ; flicking his tongue in fast, teasing bursts that made your thighs tremble around his hips, then slowing down again, circling the swollen peak with long, languid strokes that left you gasping. He pulled back only to bite down lightly, his teeth grazing the tender flesh in a promise of a sting that never quite hurt ; a tease that only made your breath hitch and your hips roll helplessly in his lap.
Your hands tangled deeper in his hair, tugging just enough to feel him groan low against your chest ; that sound vibrating straight through your skin, down to that molten ache that throbbed hotter every time your hips ground down against the thick, hard heat pressing up through his pajama pants. The thin satin of your nightgown clung to your waist, bunched and rumpled around your hips as you rocked yourself closer to him, seeking the friction your body was begging for.
He lifted his eyes to meet yours; that dark, wicked spark dancing in the warmth of his tired gaze as he sucked slow and deep, letting his teeth scrape one last time before pulling back just enough to speak. His voice was low, that lazy rasp curling around every word. "God, you sound so pretty, baby..." he murmured, a smirk tugging at his wet lips.
Before you could catch your breath, his big hands slid up and cupped both your breasts at once; the sudden squeeze rougher now, his thumbs brushing over your swollen nipples as he squeezed again. You gasped, a soft cry that broke into a whimper when he gave one breast a subtle slap, just enough to send a sharp sting through the tender skin. The sound cracked through the soft hush of the room, followed by his low, breathy chuckle.
He watched you flinch and melt all at once, that wicked grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "So damn pretty," he whispered, his voice warm and soaked in that lazy praise that made your chest tighten.
His hands slid lower, dragging down your sides in slow, greedy strokes; his fingertips brushing over the curve of your waist, the softness of your hips, until his palms spanned your lower back, pulling you tight against him. He leaned in again, the brush of his damp curls against your collarbone sending a shiver through your chest. His mouth followed; lips brushing lower, kisses open-mouthed and wet down the center of your sternum, his tongue tracing a slow, sinuous line down the slope of your torso.
Your nightgown slipped further, pooling in soft, careless folds around your hips until the thin satin was nothing but a suggestion clinging to the swell of your thighs ; the only thing separating your flushed, slick heat from the cool hush of the room. His thumbs brushed up again, circling your stiff peaks with a slow, maddening precision, coaxing another soft gasp from you as he dragged his mouth lower. His lips traced the curve of your belly, tongue flicking in warm, wet strokes that made your stomach jump beneath him ; every flick and scrape like he was spelling your secrets out in a language only your skin could read.
A soft, helpless sound slipped from your throat ; a breathy, broken plea you could hardly shape around the thrum of your heartbeat. "Michael... please..." It came out shaky, a whisper drowned in the shallow hitch of your hips rocking harder against him, your body hungry for every inch of him ; every press, every scrape of teeth, every slow, wicked stroke of his tongue that made your veins burn hotter than the whiskey settling warm and sweet in your belly.
He didn't answer you at first ; just a low, satisfied sound deep in his chest as his tongue flicked higher again. He traced a wet, sinful line up the center of your body ; from the dip of your belly to the soft valley between your breasts, tasting every inch of you with slow, possessive sweeps that left your skin flushed and damp beneath his mouth. He ghosted up your neck, along the delicate edge of your jaw, warm breath brushing your ear before he found your lips again ; and when he kissed you, it was slow and deep, stealing the last of your air with that hungry, savoring press of tongue and teeth that melted every thought clean away.
His big palm cupped the back of your head, cradling you like something precious as he lowered you carefully onto the lounge's cushion. You felt your book slip from under you ; the soft thud of it hitting the polished hardwood lost under the thunder of your pulse. Your chapter, your place in that wicked story ; gone, forgotten, replaced by the real thing, warm and breathing and hovering over you.
He leaned back just enough to look at you ; the nightgown bunched helplessly around your waist, your flushed skin glowing in the hush of the firelight. With one slow tug, he slipped it down and off completely ; the soft satin falling away, forgotten on the floor as he tossed it aside. His eyes dropped, dark and heavy, tracing the glisten between your thighs with a slow, greedy flick that made you squirm under his gaze.
He settled between your open legs, his hands warm on the back of your knees as he guided them up, draping them over his broad shoulders. The press of his mouth against your ankle made you jolt ; the brush of his lips soft, then his teeth nipped playfully at the delicate bone just above your heel. You gasped ; sharp, shaky ; the word breaking off your lips with a tremor. "Fuck..."
A low laugh rumbled from him, dark and smooth and edged with that lazy confidence that always made your skin burn. His hands slid down, tracing the line of your calves with his thumbs, feeling every soft tremor in your muscles as he leaned in. He kissed up your ankle, his lips warm and open, then caught your toes in his mouth, sucking them slow while his eyes never left yours. The heat of his tongue, the scrape of his teeth ; it made your hips roll helplessly, a soft, desperate whimper slipping from your parted lips.
He let your toes fall free with a soft pop, chuckling again ; that deep, wicked rumble vibrating straight through your thighs. His big hands moved back to the backs of your knees, pressing them closer to your chest until you were spread wide beneath him ; open and glistening, every trembling inch of you laid bare under the weight of his gaze.
"Fuck..." he murmured, the word almost reverent, dark eyes flicking down to where you were slick and pulsing for him. He shifted forward, straddling the lounge seat ; broad shoulders caging you in as he lowered his face between your thighs. His mouth hovered just above your heat, his breath hot and teasing as he opened his lips and let a slow drop of spit fall ; hitting your swollen bud with a soft, obscene wet sound that made your whole body jerk.
You gasped ; a sharp, helpless cry ; hips bucking into the air. He lifted his gaze to watch you, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Mmph... look at you... so desperate for it..." he teased, his voice rough but warm, dripping with that low, dangerous affection that made your thighs tremble around his shoulders.
A soft whine slipped from your throat, your foot nudging at his shoulder in a feeble push that only made him laugh again ; a deep, rich sound that curled around your pulse and dragged it faster.
"I got you, beautiful... shh..." he murmured, his hand leaving the back of your knee to brush down your thigh, warm and big as it settled at your hip. He lifted his thumb to his lips, sucking it slow until it glistened ; then pressed it down between your thighs, the wet pad brushing over that swollen, slick bundle of nerves in one slow, deliberate circle. The contact made your back arch off the cushion, a broken gasp spilling from your lips as your hands clawed at the lounge's edge.
"You're so wet for me..." he murmured, voice a low hum as he flicked his thumb again, rubbing his spit into that aching bud with slow, lazy circles that made your hips chase his hand. His eyes stayed locked on yours ; dark and soft, that tiny smile tugging at the edge of his mouth as he watched you unravel. "Fuck... look at that..."
He pushed his thumb lower, dragging it to your entrance ; slick, hot, so ready for him that he groaned just watching the way your body fluttered around the slow press of his thumb slipping inside. He eased it in, inch by inch, the stretch delicious and sharp, the soft grind of his hand against your folds making your thighs twitch around his broad shoulders.
Your head fell back, a soft, wrecked moan slipping out as your hips lifted off the cushion, chasing the deep push of his thumb. He flexed it inside you ; twisting, curling ; just to watch the way you broke apart on the simple touch.
"Fuck, baby... look at you..." he rasped, his voice thick with that raw, aching want that made your pulse roar in your ears. "So needy... so wet... all for me..."
You could only gasp ; no words, just the ragged sound of your breath shattering in your throat as your nails bit deeper into the lounge cushion beneath you. Every muscle in your belly clenched around the deep, teasing slide of his thumb, every nerve alive under the hush of crackling firelight and the faint hush of old jazz weaving through the thick air. The soft, slick sounds of your own needy moans tangled with the wet slip of his touch ; filthy and sweet, echoing in the hush like a secret too big for the walls to hold.
Then he slipped his thumb free, the sudden emptiness making your hips jerk up, your breath catching in your chest ; only for the hot brush of his breath to fill the gap, his head lowering, curls tickling your inner thighs. He flicked his tongue through your slick slit, a slow, teasing stroke that made your eyes slam shut, a raw gasp tearing from your parted lips.
"Yes;" The word fell out soft and desperate, your hips twitching up to chase more of his mouth. He huffed a dark laugh against your heat, that low snicker vibrating straight through you as he dragged his tongue up again. He spread you open wider with his thumbs, his mouth dipping low to kiss each trembling fold ; a slow, reverent worship that made your thighs quake around his shoulders.
Then his lips closed around that aching bundle of nerves, sucking it slow and deep until your back bowed off the cushion. He pulled back only to flick his tongue in tight, quick lashes ; back and forth, back and forth ; every stroke shooting sparks through your belly, making your fingers tangle tighter in the cushion until your knuckles ached.
But then he stopped. You whimpered, a soft, broken sound as you lifted your head just in time to see him glance up at you ; his lips wet and glistening, his eyes half-lidded and dark with that lazy, hungry mischief only he could wear so well.
"Look at me," he said, voice low and rough, the command curling around your spine like silk and barbed wire all at once.
Your breath caught, your lashes fluttering as you forced your eyes open ; dragged your gaze down the line of your trembling body to where he knelt, framed by firelight, shoulders broad between your spread thighs. He pushed your knees back more, pressing you open so wide you could feel the cool air kiss the slick heat of your folds. He lowered his head again, tongue flicking back out ; slow at first, tracing lazy circles that made your thighs tense tighter around his shoulders.
A moan cracked from your throat, raw and sweet, your hips bucking helplessly as he swirled his tongue around your bud. His eyes stayed locked on yours ; those low, heavy-lidded brown eyes watching every twitch of your mouth, every flutter of your lashes, every small shiver that rippled through your chest as you gasped his name.
"Michael... fuck..." The word broke apart on a sob as your fingers slid into his damp curls, tugging at the roots as he groaned low ; that dark, hungry sound muffled by your heat. His nose brushed against your bud as his tongue slid lower, slow and thick, dipping into your slick entrance and curling deep inside you.
Your hips rolled against his face in slow, hungry circles, feeding him every inch you could give ; letting him taste the heat pulsing deep inside you, letting him feel how soft, how tight you clenched around the steady slide of his tongue. He groaned again, a rumble that vibrated through your core, his fingers digging deeper into the back of your knees as he rocked his face closer, tongue pumping slow and deep, swirling inside you until your thighs trembled and your toes curled tight against his broad back.
A sharp cry cracked from your lips, your voice rough and high as he found that sweet spot inside ; the one that made your hips jerk up, made your whole body break open with heat. "Oh, Michael;" you gasped, voice trembling as you tugged his head closer, your fingers twisted tight in his hair.
He growled in answer ; that sound raw and soaked in heat ; before slipping his tongue out of you, dragging it up to your swollen bud. He flicked it fast, impossibly fast, the wet lash of his tongue sharp and sweet all at once. His teeth caught the swollen flesh just enough to make you cry out, your voice rising higher, cracked and breathless as you felt that sweet, sharp edge building deep in your belly.
The room spun ; firelight, old jazz, the soft, slick sound of his mouth working you open and raw. You could feel the mess of your juices and his saliva dripping down, soaking into the cushion beneath you, every soft squelch making your face burn hotter as you bucked helplessly against him.
A deeper groan rolled through him, his jaw working, the muscles flexing tight under your fingertips. No wonder his jaw stayed so sharp ; always devouring you like a holy meal, always feasting on you like a man starved for your taste.
"Fuck... don't stop;" you choked out, voice cracking as the edge came sharp and fast, heat coiling deep in your belly until it snapped hard. His right hand slipped from your knee, dragging up your trembling body until his palm wrapped around your throat ; warm, wide fingers pressing just enough to make your pulse pound harder, your vision blur sweet and soft at the edges.
"Right there;" you gasped, voice breaking as your back arched hard, your thighs shaking around his shoulders, toes curling tight as the orgasm ripped through you in a hot, wet wave. A sound like a sob tumbled out ; raw, broken ; your hips jerking helplessly against the soft, filthy drag of his tongue as he pushed you through it, through every twitch and tremor until you could barely breathe.
His eyes stayed locked on your throat ; watching the way you swallowed, the way your mouth fell open around a sound you couldn't even make. He squeezed just enough to hold you there, the pressure sweet and wicked until your body finally sagged back into the cushion, a soft, shattered moan slipping free on the tail end of a shaking gasp.
He pulled away slow, his mouth shining ; lips and jaw wet with your sweetness, breath warm and ragged as he sat back on his knees. His tongue darted out to taste the corner of his mouth, a slow smirk curling the edge of his lips as he watched you struggle to catch your breath.
"Mmmh... god, that was perfect, baby... you okay?" he murmured, voice soft but rough around the edges, hands stroking down your trembling thighs.
You nodded, your breath catching in your throat as your wide, dazed eyes dropped ; helplessly drawn to the way his big hands worked at the knot in the drawstring of his pajama pants. Slow. Unhurried. Certain. The soft cotton fell loose around his hips, pooling low on those lean thighs until he pushed them off completely, leaving nothing between you and the full, heavy length of him.
He was thick ; beautiful ; the dark, veined shaft flushed and hard, the head of him slick and glistening with need. Even there, in the shadows and firelight, you could see the scattered, tender pattern of his vitiligo marring the smooth, flushed skin ; a patchwork only you knew this intimately. A secret painted across the length of him. It made your throat tighten, your thighs press helplessly wider as a pulse of heat rolled through your belly.
He knelt back onto the lounge between your spread legs ; all golden skin and damp curls and soft, sure hands ; and reached for the bottle of Crown Royal you'd left within reach. His eyes stayed on yours as he uncapped it, a soft glint of mischief flickering in those deep brown eyes while he brought the bottle's cold mouth to your parted lips.
"Open," he murmured, low and warm ; a quiet, coaxing command that made your pulse thrum hot in your ears. You parted your lips obediently, the bite of the cold whiskey sweet and sharp on your tongue as he tipped just enough for you to swallow. A low hum of approval rumbled in his chest as he pulled it away.
"Good girl..." he murmured, voice a soft drag of velvet and heat that made your thighs twitch around him. He lifted the bottle to his own lips, taking a slow sip, the line of his throat working as he swallowed. Then he set it aside, forgotten again ; all his attention snapping back to you.
He leaned in, his bare chest brushing your trembling breasts, the coarse hairs of his treasure trail grazing your soft belly as his heavy length dragged warm and hot along your slick heat. His mouth found yours again ; slow, claiming. Not rushed ; no, never that ; but deep and deliberate, savoring every tiny gasp you gave him. The kiss tasted like you, like the sharp sweetness of Crown, like the salt of your own skin still clinging to his tongue.
Your breath stuttered against his lips as he worked you open with his mouth ; a languid tangle of tongue and teeth, his head tilting just enough to deepen the slide. He bit your bottom lip, tugging it softly until a moan spilled into his mouth, that helpless sound sliding down his body like heat poured straight into his veins.
You felt the thick weight of him twitch between your thighs, that solid, throbbing length pressing harder against your slick warmth. Your hips lifted instinctively ; chasing the heat, the friction, anything he'd give you.
When he finally pulled back, your lips were kiss-swollen and slick. His eyes drank you in ; low, hooded, soft with that possessive tenderness that always made your breath hitch in your throat. He brushed his thumb over your bottom lip, tracing the wet curve before letting it fall away.
"You look so beautiful like this..." he murmured, voice thick with awe and want ; dark lashes half-lowered as he dragged his eyes down your flushed, trembling body. "All mine. Only for me."
A shiver slipped through you, your breath trembling on a soft, desperate sigh. You watched ; helpless, transfixed ; as he brought his hand to his mouth, spit pooling on his tongue before he let it fall slow and hot into his palm. He wrapped that broad hand around his thick shaft, his spit gliding over the velvet skin as he stroked himself ; slow, base to tip, his mouth falling open as he watched his own hand work his girth slick and ready for you.
He looked up at you ; eyes dark, burning ; then leaned in just enough to drag the broad, slick head of him down, pressing it flush to your pulsing heat. He didn't push in ; not yet ; just rocked his hips enough for that flushed crown to smear your wetness back and forth, teasing your swollen bud until you whimpered, hips twitching up for more.
Then he pulled back just enough to slap his thick length against your slick folds ; once. The wet sound cracked through the hush of the room, sharp and obscene. Twice ; another smack, the heat sparking through your belly as a soft cry slipped out. A third time ; harder, heavier; the slap of flesh on flesh making you whimper and bite down on your lip just to keep from sobbing his name too soon.
He watched you do it; watched your mouth tremble around that bitten lip, watched your eyes flutter half-shut as your hips rocked helplessly up for more. A dark, crooked grin tugged at the edge of his mouth, his free hand sliding up the inside of your trembling thigh until his fingertips brushed that slick heat he'd just teased raw.
"Look at you..." he murmured, that low, rough voice scraped raw with praise and heat and a dark promise that made your belly clench tighter around the thickness pressing right at your entrance. The swollen head of him nudged against your slick folds, parting them just enough to feel that first slow, burning push ; the thick promise of being filled, stretched, made to take every inch he gave.
"So damn sweet for me," he rasped, his thumb brushing your knee as he nudged you wider open, claiming all the space between your thighs for himself. "Ready for every inch, aren't you, baby?"
All you could do was nod ; helpless, soft ; your breath trembling through parted lips. "Please..." you whispered, voice threadbare and wanting as your toes curled against his warm skin. You brushed the ball of your foot against his bare chest, feeling the slick heat of his skin, the faint dampness of shower steam still clinging to him. Your eyes dragged down his body ; the broad spread of his shoulders, the strength of his chest, the way the light caught the gold chain resting in the hollow of his throat, the splotches of vitiligo like constellations across his ribs and hips.
He gave you that small, sinful smile ; the one that always promised ruin ; then bent low, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to your ankle, his lips hot against your skin. His big hands braced your thighs wider, the slick head of him dragging through your folds, back and forth, until you whimpered. Then ; slowly, so slowly ; he eased inside. Not fast, never rushed. He knew what it did to you. How you split open for him ; every single time, as if your body could never quite get used to how thick he was, how deep he reached.
"Shhh... relax for me, baby... breathe," he murmured against your knee, his voice a hush of warmth and control as inch after inch sank into you. The stretch was everything ; a dull ache that made your toes curl, your spine arch, your nails dig helplessly into the soft cushion under you. A soft, broken moan slipped out as he bottomed out ; buried to the hilt, the coarse hair at the base of him pressed flush against your slick heat, your body fluttering tight around the thickness now seated deep inside.
He stayed there, locked inside you, savoring how you clenched around him ; the way your lips parted on a trembling exhale, your lashes fluttering, your thighs twitching against his ribs. He watched you unravel with that tender, dangerous heat in his eyes ; the same heat that made you feel owned, adored, undone.
Your palm drifted down, shaky fingers splaying across the firm plane of his stomach. You felt the warm slide of his skin under your touch ; the faint line of his treasure trail where it met the thick base of him, wet with you. Your hand wandered back up, brushing the hard slope of his chest, fingertips grazing the small dark specks of vitiligo on his pecs.
He caught your wandering hand in his, kissed your palm ; a soft, warm press that made your stomach flip ; then pressed it to his chest, pinning it there over the steady thud of his heart. He drew back, the thick drag of him pulling out slow until only the tip of him teased your entrance ; then he rolled his hips back in, filling you again, letting you feel every inch.
Your soft moan spilled out, hips twitching up to meet his push. He did it again ; slow, deliberate, the rhythmic roll of his dancer's hips coaxing out your pleasure one trembling breath at a time. His groan broke between his teeth ; a raw edge of hunger that made your belly flutter.
When he caught your hand again and pulled you forward, you let him guide you up until you were pressed chest-to-chest. He wound your arm around his neck, your palm brushing that cool gold chain. Your fingers grazed the damp hair at his nape, clinging for balance as he pushed deeper ; a steady, patient rhythm that let you feel every thick inch working inside you.
Your thighs trembled wider as he angled deeper, the head of him brushing that spot that made you choke out his name. You squeezed your hand tighter around the strong column of his neck, thumb brushing the damp skin just below his jaw. He groaned when you did, his head tipping back, throat bared ; the thick line of it so beautiful, the Adam's apple bobbing when he swallowed down a ragged breath.
He dipped closer, his forehead brushing yours as he hooked his big hands under your knees again, pushing them back, opening you wide so he could bury himself deeper. The shift made your voice break on a high, needy cry. He pulled out until just the thick head of him stretched you wide ; then thrust forward, slow but deep, filling you to the base in a single, steady push that knocked every thought from your mind.
"Oh fuck..." you sobbed out, your nails clawing at the smooth skin of his back.
He let out a dark, breathless laugh; the sound rumbling warm against your lips as he hovered just over you. "Can you handle it, baby?" he rasped, voice thick and teasing as he did it again ; that same slow drag out, that deep, deliberate thrust in that made your breath catch in your throat.
"Shut... up..." you panted, breath breaking around a helpless moan as you tightened your hand around his neck, choking him lightly ; just how he liked it. A low, wrecked groan tore from his throat, the sound rumbling under your palm.
"Shit;" he hissed, hips snapping forward a little harder this time, the wet slap of him pounding into you echoing over the soft crackle of the fire, the low sigh of jazz still humming somewhere in the background like a memory. The air smelled like sweat and shea butter and the faint sweetness of Crown Royal lingering on both your lips.
He fucked you deeper, steadier ; each roll of his hips controlled, claiming ; until the heat at your core burned so hot your toes curled tight against his ribs. Slick sounds filled the hush of the room, your wetness coating him with every thrust. His length dragged deliciously against every tender spot inside you, coaxing out gasps and moans you couldn't hold back.
Your hand slipped from his throat, palm skimming down over the slick warmth of his chest. You pressed your arm over your eyes, a futile, instinctive attempt to muffle the helpless sounds spilling from your lips. But he wouldn't let you hide; not from him.
He caught your wrists in one big hand, pinning them back above your head against the lounge, his grip strong but reverent. His other hand braced your hip, angling you just right as he pushed deeper, his breath a soft snarl against your ear.
"Don't hide from me..." he whispered, his lips brushing your temple, his hips grinding deep enough to knock the air from your lungs. "Let me hear it, pretty girl. Every sound. All of it."
Your eyes fluttered open to meet his ; that dark, molten stare locked on every flicker of your face as you came apart for him, as if he could see every hidden thought spilling loose under the steady, delicious drag of his hips. The fireplace behind him hissed and cracked, gold light dancing over the damp curls clinging to his forehead, bronzing the slope of his shoulders, the flex of muscle in his arms as he caged you there ; caught, pinned, made soft and helpless beneath every slow, claiming thrust.
"That's it, baby..." Michael rasped, voice rough with hunger but low with praise ; a sinful vow that curled down your spine and tangled with the tight, coiling heat low in your belly. He drew out, hips rolling back with that practiced, deliberate grace, then pressed forward again ; slow enough to make you feel each thick inch splitting you open, deeper than before. The stretch was a tease and a promise both, a burn that made you keen for him to give you more.
"Take all of it... just like that..." he murmured again, his breath spilling hot against your throat as he dipped closer, the warm scrape of his lips pressing to your neck. He kissed you there, slow at first ; the plush press of his mouth soothed by the rhythm of his hips pumping deeper ; then his teeth grazed your skin, a soft, wicked bite that made your back arch off the lounge, made your thighs twitch around his hips.
His pace built with each roll of his hips, each slow push and greedy pull, the wet sound of your slick warmth taking him echoing through the hush of the firelight and the old jazz record that still sighed somewhere behind you. The room smelled like shea butter, sweat, and the sweet burn of whiskey that still lingered on your lips and his.
"Just like that, baby..." he growled again, voice hitching into something darker, more guttural, as he sealed his mouth to the curve of your neck. He sucked your skin there ; open-mouthed kisses that turned into sharp pulls that would bloom purple come morning ; his hips snapping harder, faster now, every wet slap of skin meeting skin pushing you closer to that edge.
Your moan tangled in your throat, helpless and hot against the shell of his ear. "Michael..." you gasped, the word slipping out like a ragged prayer ; part plea, part praise, every syllable broken by the stutter of your breath as he buried himself deeper. Your head tipped back, throat bared, your voice catching on another choked moan as he drove in again, harder ; the head of him kissing the mouth of your cervix in soft, devastating taps that made your vision swim.
He felt your body tighten beneath him ; the flutter and clench that made his own breath break into a groan, dark and guttural against your skin. "Fuck..." he breathed out, voice cracking around the word as he kissed you deeper, tongue sweeping your mouth like he wanted to taste every gasp you made. The kiss was hungry but unhurried ; lips sliding, teeth catching, breath mixing. You tasted yourself on him, the lingering sweetness of the crown royal, the salt of your sweat, the taste of him that made your head spin.
He broke the kiss with a soft growl, lips dragging down your jaw as his hand slipped from your pinned wrist and found the back of your knee. He hooked it in the crook of his strong arm, folding you deeper, pushing your leg back until your knee brushed your chest ; the new angle stealing your breath as he sank in again, impossibly deep. The thick head of him pressed right where you were softest, where your walls fluttered tight and trembling, your slickness coating every inch of him with a wet, messy sound that made his hips snap rougher.
Your toes curled helplessly in the air, body arched in a helpless bow beneath him as wave after wave of heat rolled through you. Your thighs quivered, slick and trembling, held wide and open in his firm grasp, his fingers digging into the backs of your knees like he was trying to brand himself into your skin. The room felt molten;humid with the scent of sweat, sex, shea butter, and the deep, aching pulse of need that had been building and unraveling between you for what felt like eternity.
Each thrust of his hips landed with a sharp, wet slap, your bodies colliding in a rhythm so deep, so deliberate, it bordered on worship. His thick length dragged through your soaked folds, parting you with each stroke, stretching you open around him in a way that made your back claw at the sheets. He filled you over and over again, unrelenting, like he needed to reach somewhere deep inside and stake his claim.
He whispered your name against the side of your neck, voice shredded and raw, a whisper scraped from the base of his lungs. The sound alone could've undone you, so thick with devotion, like he was offering up a prayer and a plea all in one. His breath was hot and stuttered, lips trembling as they grazed your damp skin;laced with salt, perfumed with your shared heat.
His gold chain swung freely between you, slapping softly against your sweat-slicked chest. Each motion sent it trailing across your breastbone, the cool metal dragging along your skin, catching in the hollow dip of your collarbone, a beautiful contrast to the scorching heat of his body pinning you to the lounge seat.
And then he leaned back, never breaking rhythm, his hips still grinding into you with that steady, devastating tempo. His dark eyes dropped between your bodies, watching the way you took him;watching how slick and needy your body looked, how your folds gripped every inch of him and begged for more. His mouth parted slightly at the sight, jaw tight, nostrils flaring like he was fighting not to lose control.
You had your head thrown back now, spine arched off the seat, hands cupping your own breasts, rolling your swollen peaks between your fingers in time with his thrusts. The pleasure sparked from your nipples all the way down to your core, winding the coil inside you even tighter. When he looked up and saw you like that;open, aching, playing with yourself for him;his lip curled into a dangerous smirk.
"You're gonna make me lose my mind," he growled lowly, his voice husky, trembling at the edges with restraint.
He leaned in again, slower now, and pressed his lips to your ankle; soft, reverent. His kisses trailed up your calf as he pushed into you deep, slow, and hard, over and over. His thrusts were purposeful, like he wasn't just trying to fuck you;he was trying to imprint himself on your soul. His chain swung again, catching the glow of the fireplace as he kept moving, rhythm never faltering. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, wet, rhythmic, punctuated by your gasps and the shaky moans you could no longer hold back.
Your hands moved down his sides and found his hips, gripping tight, urging him faster. He hissed through clenched teeth when your nails bit into the flesh above his hipbones.
"Damn..." he groaned, head thrown back, curls damp with sweat and sticking to his temples. Beads of it ran down his neck and chest, catching in the gold chain around his neck as his body worked over yours like a machine.
"Michael..." you moaned, your voice dissolving into a shaky breath as you clenched around him. Your walls fluttered, eager and sensitive, tightening the closer you drew to the edge.
His hands tightened behind your knees, pressing your legs back even further, deeper, angling himself to hit exactly where you needed. You felt him dragging across that spot again and again, each stroke making your mouth fall open in a silent cry.
"You feel that?" he whispered thickly, his voice trembling now. "Right there, baby... damn, you're so tight... you gonna give it to me?"
You nodded, tears brimming at the corners of your eyes from how deep he was, from the fire winding hot in your belly.
"I'm close," you cried, voice breaking, your fingers digging into the roundness of his behind, holding him inside you like you never wanted him to leave.
He grunted, chest heaving. "F-fuck baby... I'm not gonna last..."
His rhythm grew rougher, faster, his control slipping as your body fluttered around him. Sweat poured from him, from you;your skin stuck together, your breaths staggered and uneven, chasing something that was right on the edge of falling.
And then it hit.
Your whole body tensed, bowed, lips falling open in a soundless scream. That fire snapped at the base of your spine and exploded in your belly, white-hot pleasure spilling out in every direction. You convulsed beneath him, walls pulsing, milking him, begging him not to stop.
"Michael!" you cried out, shaking beneath him.
With a cry ripped raw from the base of his throat, Michael slammed into you harder than ever, once;twice;his entire body trembling with restraint before it gave out entirely. His release came in thick, scorching bursts, pouring into you in long, unrelenting waves. Each pulse of him stretched the moment into something infinite;his hips pressing deep, buried to the hilt as his body locked up over yours, arms trembling from the force of it. You could feel him throbbing inside you, every twitch of his climax pressing up against your deepest ache, branding you from the inside out, his warmth spilling into your womb, coating your walls like molten honey.
He stayed inside you, his length still heavy and twitching, held in place by the tight seal of your body wrapped around him like silk. Slowly, reverently, he lowered your legs from his shoulders, setting them down with a gentleness that contrasted the storm he'd just unleashed inside you. And then;he collapsed forward, the weight of him warm and solid and human as he blanketed your body with his own. His chest pressed to yours, the heat of his skin sticking to yours, breaths jagged and erratic as he tried to come down, tried to find air again.
His face dropped to your chest, lips brushing the underside of your breast in a lazy, reverent kiss. His nose nuzzled against the damp skin there, and you felt his breath ghost across your nipple, still hard and pebbled from the aftershocks. You threaded your fingers through the wet curls at the base of his neck, stroking gently, your other hand drifting down his spine, over the flex and dip of his muscles, your touch smoothing over the thin layer of sweat slicking his skin.
He didn't move;he simply breathed with you. His body felt like an anchor and a balm, grounding you as your hearts thundered together in unsteady rhythm.
His length, still sheathed inside you, twitched again;less urgent now, but no less intimate. He was only half-hard now, but the stretch of him lingered inside you, every inch still making you ache. You felt him slowly begin to soften, felt the sticky heat of his release leaking from where you were still joined, dribbling out of you in slow, syrupy trails onto the fabric of the lounge chair beneath you.
He exhaled slowly, then pushed himself up with a low groan, the muscles in his arms flexing as he eased his weight off your chest. He looked down between your bodies, gaze dark and molten, and gently rocked his hips forward once more, just enough to make you gasp.
You whimpered at the sensation;his length dragging against your fluttering walls, still so sensitive it made your thighs twitch. "Fuck..." he breathed, voice hoarse and trembling, watching the way your body responded to even the softest movement.
Then, slowly, he pulled out of you.
The sensation was overwhelming. You felt every inch of him slip free, wet and slow, until a flood of his warmth followed, pooling out of you and sliding down the curve of your thighs. He stared at it for a moment, his jaw tight, eyes heavy with something unreadable;hunger, reverence, the kind of satisfaction that came only from giving everything and being given everything in return.
His eyes moved slowly back up your body, pausing at your glistening skin, the rise and fall of your chest, the flushed peaks of your breasts; and finally, your face.
"You okay?" he asked softly, the roughness in his voice edged with concern.
You nodded slowly, your breath still shaky, your chest still heaving with the echoes of pleasure. "I'm fine, baby..." you whispered, eyes half-lidded, limbs loose and heavy, body wrecked in the best way. Your walls fluttered again at the thought of him still inside you, at the evidence of him still seeping from your body.
Michael nodded once, slowly, then leaned forward to kiss your thigh, his fingers smoothing over your legs where they still trembled faintly. His eyes drifted down again, watching as the creamy mixture of you and him spilled from your center onto the lounge cushion; slick, hot, and glistening.
The record player had long stopped spinning, the soft jazz a memory now. The needle sat idle in the groove, leaving behind only a soft hiss like distant rain. The only sounds left were the steady crackle of the fireplace and the soft, shallow breaths shared between you;both of you still riding the echo of everything that had just passed.
Without a word, Michael slipped one arm beneath the bend of your thighs, the other cradling the small of your back, and lifted you from the lounge chair with the effortless ease of a man who'd held you a thousand times. Your body melted into his on instinct, limp and warm and boneless, the aftermath of pleasure still humming in your blood. His chest was slick with sweat, muscles still flexing from exertion, and you pressed your cheek to him, breath falling soft against his skin as he carried you.
Your bare body curled against his, limbs folding like petals toward the center of him, instinctively seeking the quiet shelter of his hold. His heartbeat thudded steadily beneath your ear;slower now, but still strong, still echoing the rhythm you had shared minutes before. One of his hands drifted along your spine, his fingertips grazing every dip and curve with reverence, the kind of touch that wasn't rushed or demanding, but slow and sacred, as if he were relearning your body not just with desire;but devotion.
"I love you," he whispered into your hair, his lips brushing the crown of your head as the words slipped out like a vow;low and hushed, nearly drowned beneath the soft crackling of the fire nearby, but still weighted with everything he felt for you. The way he said it made the world feel small, private, precious. Like it was only the two of you, suspended in time.
You exhaled against his collarbone, your lips ghosting over the slope of his shoulder. "I love you too," you murmured back, barely awake, your voice edged in velvet and sleep, a quiet echo of everything your body had already confessed.
He shifted slightly, easing back on the lounge chair, and cupped your face in his hand. His thumb traced the curve of your cheek, lifting your gaze to his. Your eyes were heavy, lids drooping, pupils dark with exhaustion and softness. He studied you like he always did in these moments;like you were something delicate and wild he still couldn't believe was his. And then he kissed you. Slow. Deep. Purposeful. His lips were plush and warm, tinged with the lingering taste of Crown Royal;rich, smoky, with a hint of honey. The kind of kiss that didn't need to say anything because it already said everything.
The book you'd been reading earlier lay forgotten on the floor, its pages splayed open and spine bent, abandoned in the quiet chaos of passion. Somewhere in the mess of thrown clothes, empty glasses, and half-spun vinyl, the story you were following had lost its place. But none of that mattered anymore. The chapter could wait. The plot could be found again. Because the real story had just unfolded across skin and breath and tangled limbs;and it was more intoxicating than anything written on the page.
All that existed now was the man in front of you;his arms wrapped tightly around your bare frame, both of your bodies slick and glowing in the amber flicker of firelight. Beyond the tall glass windows, Manhattan glittered like a sleeping beast, but neither of you noticed. The sky could've cracked open, the city swallowed by the storm creeping in from the east, and you wouldn't have cared. Not with the heat of his body wrapped around you. Not with the world narrowed to this single, breathless space;the silence after the storm, and the sound of your breathing in time.
Sleep tugged at your lashes, soft and slow. Your breath deepened, became even, and your body relaxed entirely in his arms. He felt the shift, the way you surrendered to sleep like it was a safe harbor, and he watched you for a moment longer;his expression unreadable, but gentle, almost awestruck. Like he couldn't quite believe you were real.
Carefully, Michael slipped an arm beneath your knees again and the other behind your shoulders, rising from the chair with your body still curled in his. He walked with purpose, slow and steady, carrying you through the darkened hallway of the penthouse and into the master bedroom, his bare feet silent on the hardwood floor.
The bedroom was cool and quiet, the linen sheets freshly turned down, a low breeze stirring the curtains near the balcony doors. He leaned down and gently laid you on the bed, your hair fanning across the pillow in soft waves. He bent over you and pressed a lingering kiss to your lips; soft, reverent, a kiss meant to end the night like a benediction.
"Sleep well, baby..." he whispered, brushing your cheek with his thumb once more before moving to the other side of the bed.
He eased into it beside you, the white sheets cool against his skin. You instinctively reached for him in your sleep, and he smiled faintly as he scooped you into his arms, pulling you close, spooning you from behind. His chest pressed to your back, one leg slipping between yours, his arm banding tightly around your waist. Your bodies fit together perfectly;warm, bare, flushed. His nose nestled into the back of your neck as he inhaled your scent, a mix of sweat, perfume, and something entirely you.
And as sleep claimed him too, he pressed one last kiss to your shoulder, murmuring something only the night would keep.
The penthouse was still. The fire in the library cracked quietly, casting long, dancing shadows. The empty glass of Crown Royal rested on the table, forgotten. Both your clothes were scattered across the floor like fallen petals. The jazz record on the player had long stopped, the needle now whispering soft static into the air, and that book;the one you'd been so absorbed in hours before;lay face-down on the rug, its chapter lost to the heat of hands and mouths and the rush of breathless desire.
But you'd find the page again. Eventually.
For now, all that mattered was the two of you. Wrapped together in the hush of night. Held beneath the glow of a dim city sky. And asleep in the arms of something far deeper than lust— something lasting.
Tags: Fem!Reader, Mature era MJ, Late Night Conversation, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, Intimacy, Married Couple, Phone Sex, Large pp
It was late, the kind of night that settled deep in your bones, the air cool and still in early March. The house was blanketed in silence, the only sounds coming from the low hum of the air conditioning circulating through the vents, and the faint chime of your laptop powering up as you placed it on the bed. Your fingers were slightly shaky from exhaustion as you slipped out of your towel and into a smooth, purple satin nightgown, its fabric cool against your skin. You’d spent the whole day chasing after your two daughters—playing games, watching movies, even making a trip down to the local library. You remembered their excited squeals as they picked out books, eager for their father to quiz them later, a little competition they relished for the promise of toys or treats.
Michael had been gone for a few weeks now, whisked off to Japan for work. The house felt emptier without him, though he’d thought ahead, leaving gifts behind to ease the time apart. A brand-new laptop, gleaming on the bed, and a desktop in your office, all set up by his team. The laptop was for those precious nightly calls, a thread connecting you across the distance. He used it to check in on the girls, his voice filtering through the speakers as they giggled and updated him on their day. But tonight was for just the two of you.
Every other night, you’d Skype him before bed. Sometimes he’d stay on the line as you drifted off, the soft glow of his screen the last thing you’d see before sleep took over, and in the morning, you’d wake to a message, a “good morning” from halfway across the world.
You reached up, tugging the towel loose from your hair, letting the damp strands cascade down your back. You ran a hand through them absentmindedly, hoping they’d dry before you fell asleep. In the bathroom, you hung the towel on the railing, the cool tile beneath your feet grounding you. Suddenly, the sharp, familiar ring of an incoming call echoed from the bedroom. Heart racing slightly, you darted out of the bathroom, a smile already tugging at your lips as you tossed yourself onto the bed. Quickly adjusting yourself in front of the camera, you moved the mouse and clicked the green button.
The screen flickered to life, and there he was—Michael, your husband, looking effortlessly handsome, just as he always did. The soft glow of the hotel suite’s ambient lighting bathed his tanned skin, making it gleam in a way that made your breath catch. His white button-up was carelessly half undone, offering a teasing glimpse of his broad, familiar chest, muscles shifting slightly beneath the fabric. His eyes locked onto yours through the screen, and in that instant, the world outside the room felt distant. The unspoken intimacy between you pulled taut, like a thread drawn through space, bridging the miles that separated you.
“Hi, beautiful,” he murmured, his voice a rich, low rumble that had always felt like a caress against your skin. Though softened by the miles between you, it still held that warmth, that velvety tone that made your heart ache with want.
You smiled softly, the weight of the day easing a little. “Hi, baby. I miss you,” you breathed, pulling the laptop closer, feeling its warmth on your legs as you nestled back against the pillows—his pillows, on his side of the bed. The scent of him lingered faintly, a subtle reminder of his presence even though he was half a world away.
He cleared his throat, a familiar gesture, the kind of small movement you’d cataloged over the years. “How was your day? How are my girls?” His voice was tinged with that quiet yearning, and though it was a simple question, it carried the weight of his absence.
You yawned, exhaustion creeping up on you but still softened by the sound of his voice. “It was good. The girls are great. We had some much-needed mother-daughter time,” you replied, a hint of a smile playing on your lips as you thought back on the day.
Michael chuckled softly, his laugh a low, rolling sound that always sent a shiver through you. He shrugged the shirt off entirely, revealing the sculpted lines of his body beneath, half-dressed but every bit the man who always held your gaze. “That’s good. What did you all do? I’d like to hear about it,” he said, standing and stepping out of view, leaving only the rumpled pillows in sight.
“Well,” you began, watching the empty space, “This morning, they begged me to make French toast. I warned them it wouldn’t be as good as yours, but they insisted. So, I gave in, and honestly, it was a disaster.”
From across the room, Michael’s laugh echoed back, warm and teasing. “I had a feeling,” he said, his voice drifting to you like a memory, one of those quiet moments shared in the kitchen, his hands guiding yours.
You laughed too, the memory making you feel closer. “After that, they helped me clean up, and we blasted some of your music. They wanted to do it your way.”
You absently twisted the hem of your nightgown, the silky fabric soft between your fingertips, a calming motion. Michael hummed in response, that deep, knowing sound, and you could picture his expression even without seeing his face.
He returned to the camera, picking up the laptop with a familiar ease. “You’re coming with me,” he said, his tone playful yet commanding in a way that always made you feel warm inside. You watched as he carried the laptop with him, the camera shaking slightly as he walked into the bathroom. He set it down on the counter, the lighting now bright, reflecting off the mirror as he turned toward it.
You gazed at him through the screen, watching as he began wiping the makeup from his face. There was something vulnerable, yet undeniably captivating about seeing him like this—just him, bare, the years of his beauty laid plain before you. The faint traces of pigment on his skin from his vitiligo, a contrast of dark and light that you had memorized, faded but still so distinctly him. He wiped away the eyeliner, his eyes catching yours in the mirror.
“What else did my beautiful girls get up to?” he asked, his voice softer now, as though you two were the only ones in the world.
You took a deep breath, trying to ground yourself as your mind wandered to other thoughts. “We played a few board games, some chess and checkers, before watching a movie together. Then, we headed down to the library—of course, they want you to quiz them when you get back. They saw a doll they really liked, and you know what that means.”
Michael chuckled, the sound like a soft rumble through the screen. “Which books did they pick out?”
You grinned, a knowing look in your eyes. “Take a guess.”
He paused, his gaze lowering toward the camera, that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. “Don’t tell me…” he drawled.
You tilted your head, teasingly. “Harry Potter, of course. They’re little nerds, just like their daddy.”
Michael rolled his eyes dramatically, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “They get it from their mother, and you know it. Don’t even start with me,” he teased as he wiped the last bit of eyeliner away.
Watching him like this—just Michael, stripped of the layers the world usually saw, his skin soft and bare beneath the hotel lighting—filled you with an aching warmth. The familiarity of him was both comforting and magnetic, the way his face softened without the lines of makeup, the way his presence filled the space even through the distance. For a moment, it felt as though there were no miles between you, just the two of you connected in the intimacy of the night, the quiet hum of his hotel suite and the steady rhythm of your breathing the only sounds.
He broke the silence, his voice low and tender. “What else?” he asked, leaning forward on the counter, his gaze locked on yours through the screen. His eyes, those deep, expressive eyes, pulled you in further, making the distance seem even smaller. “I want to hear everything,” he murmured, his tone laced with gentle insistence, the kind that always made you feel like you were the only person in the world he wanted to listen to.
A soft smile tugged at your lips, the gentleness of his voice wrapping around you like a blanket. “After we got home, we had dinner. The girls were quiet for the rest of the night, didn’t really bother me, except to say goodnight. So, I took a long, hot bubble bath, washed my hair, did a little cleaning… oh, and I rearranged your closet,” you said, your voice trailing off at the end as your fingers absently traced the edge of the laptop, your mind replaying the small moments of the evening.
Michael nodded, his eyes lingering on you, his gaze sharp but soft at the same time, drinking you in. “New nightgown?” he asked, his voice husky as his eyes trailed over the satin draping your body.
You nodded, the faintest flush creeping into your cheeks. “Yeah, got it the other day. Along with a few others—champagne, black, royal blue, pink, and of course… red,” you teased softly, knowing that last color always sparked something in him. “Your favorite.”
His lips parted slightly as his tongue swept across them, the small gesture making your stomach tighten. “It looks beautiful on you,” he said, voice thickening just a touch. “Never realized purple was your color.”
You shrugged, a playful glint in your eye. “Neither did I. Something new, I guess.”
For a moment, his eyes didn’t leave yours, a heat rising between the two of you as he stared at you with that familiar intensity, like he could reach through the screen and touch you. His gaze was heavy, full of something deeper, something simmering just beneath the surface.
“How are you?” you asked softly, breaking the tension just enough, your voice tender and full of care.
He cleared his throat, shifting slightly under your gaze. “I’m doing well… tired, but nothing I’m not used to,” he said, the exhaustion lining his voice in a way that tugged at your heart.
You sighed, a hint of worry slipping into your voice. “You shouldn’t have to be used to that, baby. Why didn’t you get some rest?”
His lips curved into a small, almost bashful smile. “Wanted to call my pretty girl before she went off to sleep. You know I can’t go without hearing your voice,” he said, straightening up, the affection in his voice unmistakable. There was something about the way he said it, the way his words held you, that made your heart race a little faster.
Your eyes, almost without thinking, traced the lines of his body. He was still half-dressed, the lower half of him clad in black slacks with delicate golden elephants embroidered all over them, an eccentric touch that was so distinctly Michael. But your gaze lingered on more than just the intricate details of his pants—your eyes caught on the subtle but unmistakable outline of his arousal pressing against the fabric, and heat flushed through your body. God, he could never stay down.
Michael noticed your wandering gaze, his eyebrow arching in that teasing, knowing way of his. “What are you looking at, doll?” he asked, reaching for a comb and dragging it through his silky, straightened hair with the slow, precise movements that were second nature to him.
You shook your head quickly, feeling the flush rise in your cheeks. “Nothing, baby. Just you, that’s all,” you lied, your voice a little breathless, trying to pull your mind away from the growing tension in your body.
But Michael wasn’t fooled. His eyes bore into you, and you could feel his attention sharpening, feel him leaning into the moment even from across the screen. “Tell me,” he insisted, his voice low and commanding, a tone you knew well—one that made you melt, one you could never quite resist.
You shook your head again, heat flooding your cheeks and a nervous laugh escaping your lips. “It’s nothing, Michael,” you said, but the lie was transparent, and you both knew it.
His gaze dropped for a brief moment, then returned to yours, and the silence stretched between you, heavy with the weight of unspoken desire. You knew he could tell. You knew he’d seen the way your eyes lingered on him, the way your breath caught just slightly when your gaze met his. And just as surely as you’d noticed him, you felt it in yourself too—the subtle quickening of your pulse, the way your body was beginning to respond, the slow rise of heat pooling low in your belly.
Even though the miles separated you, you felt the pull as if he were standing right in front of you, the connection between you undeniable, magnetic, intimate.
The screen’s glow softened his features, but there was nothing soft about the way Michael stared at you. His eyes held yours, dark and intense, and though the silence stretched, it was thick with everything unspoken. You shifted slightly under his gaze, the silk of your nightgown brushing your skin, making you even more aware of the heat pooling in your belly.
“Tell me,” he repeated, his voice lower, more insistent this time, that commanding edge unmistakable.
You bit your lip, hesitating. His stare was piercing, and even though you were miles apart, it felt like he was right there, hovering over you, demanding an answer. “Michael, it’s nothing,” you lied again, but the tension in your voice betrayed you, the way it came out in a soft, breathless rush.
He let out a soft, almost amused chuckle, shaking his head, his long fingers sliding through his hair as he set the comb down. “You’re terrible at lying, you know that, right?” His smile was small but knowing, like he could read every thought running through your mind.
You swallowed, feeling your face grow warm. “I’m not lying,” you whispered, though your voice was barely convincing even to yourself.
Michael’s gaze dropped lower, his eyes trailing down the screen, taking in the way the nightgown clung to your body, the way you fidgeted slightly under his attention. “Uh-huh,” he hummed, leaning back against the counter, his arms folding across his chest. “Then why are you staring at me like that, doll?”
Your breath caught in your throat. “I wasn’t—”
He raised an eyebrow, cutting you off. “Yes, you were.” His voice dipped lower, soft and velvety but with a hard edge. “You’re looking at me like you want something. And you’re not saying what.”
Your heart pounded in your chest, the pull between you two becoming impossible to ignore. His voice, the way he was staring at you, made it hard to think straight. “I… wasn’t trying to,” you stammered, but your voice trailed off.
Michael’s lips curled into a sly smile. “You don’t have to try, baby,” he said, his voice now a murmur that sent shivers through you. “I can feel it from here.”
Your breath hitched, your body betraying you as you shifted again, the silk of the nightgown sliding against your skin, making you even more aware of your own growing arousal.
His gaze followed the movement, and he tilted his head slightly, his eyes darkening with intent. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, hmm?” he asked, his voice low and intimate, like he was pulling the confession out of you. “Tell me.”
You took a deep breath, trying to steady your voice. “It’s just… you,” you admitted finally, the words slipping out, soft and barely audible.
Michael’s smile widened, something darker flashing in his eyes. “Just me?”
You nodded, unable to look away from him. “Yeah. Just… you.”
He leaned in closer to the camera, his face filling the screen, his eyes holding yours with a steady, burning intensity. “And what about me, doll? What is it you’re thinking?”
Your mouth went dry, the heat between your legs becoming unbearable as your body reacted to his words, his tone. You could feel the desire curling inside you, sharp and demanding, but you hesitated.
Michael’s gaze flickered downward, catching on the way your chest rose and fell, the way your body subtly shifted on the bed, and he let out a low, quiet breath. “You’re getting worked up, aren’t you?” he said, his voice like silk, sliding over you, pulling you in.
You didn’t answer, but your body spoke for you—the slight tremble in your hand, the way your thighs pressed together beneath the sheets. He could see it all, even from across the screen, and that knowledge made your heart race.
“Say it,” he demanded softly, his voice leaving no room for anything but the truth. “Tell me what you want.”
You bit your lip, your heart pounding as you held his gaze, the tension between you tightening like a coil. You could feel the heat rising inside you, your body screaming for him, even through the screen. “I want you,” you whispered, the confession slipping from your lips like a plea.
Michael’s eyes darkened further, a spark of satisfaction lighting in them as he straightened up, his chest rising and falling as if your words had sent a shiver through him too. “That’s better,” he murmured, his voice low and husky. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
Your pulse quickened at his words, your body responding before your mind could catch up. The air between you two was charged, alive with tension that seemed to hum in your veins. Michael stood there, his fingers gripping the counter, the muscles in his forearms flexing slightly as he leaned closer, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your breath catch. The screen between you felt thin, like a veil you could almost tear through if you just reached out far enough.
“And what do you want me to do, doll?” His voice had roughened, deepened with desire. The question lingered in the air, pulling you in, tightening the pull between you.
Your lips parted, a shiver running through your body, your heart pounding in your chest as you barely whispered, “I want you to touch me.” The words slipped out almost involuntarily, soft but loaded with the weight of your need.
Michael’s lips curled into a slow, wicked smile that made your skin flush hot. He leaned back, letting his eyes sweep over you, devouring every inch even through the screen. “Then show me where you want me to touch you,” he said, the command in his voice unmistakable, the anticipation crackling between you.
Your lips trembled at his words, unsure yet utterly captivated by his intensity. “Right now?” you asked, your voice almost shaking with the sudden rush of heat.
He nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. “Right now,” he murmured, his voice velvet and steel. “Is the bedroom door locked?”
You glanced over at the door, your heart racing. “No,” you whispered.
“Go lock it for me,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “Then take off that pretty nightgown. We don’t need it getting messy, do we?”
Your breath hitched, and you felt a spark of anticipation light deep inside you. You nodded, lifting the laptop carefully from your lap and setting it down on the bed. Your feet touched the cool hardwood floor, grounding you as you crossed the room, the click of the lock in the quiet room feeling like the beginning of something inevitable.
As you dimmed the lights, casting the room in a soft, intimate glow, you caught your reflection in the mirror—your flushed cheeks, the way your lips parted slightly in anticipation. Slowly, deliberately, you pulled the nightgown over your head, letting the satin slip down your body before laying it neatly on your side of the bed. You couldn’t help but glance back at the screen, feeling Michael’s eyes on you even from miles away.
When you crawled back onto the bed, bare now, the cool sheets beneath you a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from your body, you felt his gaze lock onto your form. His breath hitched softly through the speakers, his eyes darkening further as he leaned against the bathroom wall.
“Look at you,” Michael whispered, his voice low and reverent, laced with desire. “So sexy.”
You smiled, your heart pounding with the thrill of his words. “Thank you, baby,” you said softly, your voice trembling slightly.
Michael pushed off the wall, his body moving with the kind of grace that always left you breathless. He walked back to the counter, setting the laptop down and adjusting the angle so he could see you more clearly. “Lay back for me, pretty girl,” he murmured, his voice a gentle command that made your stomach twist with anticipation. “Let me see you.”
You did as he asked, leaning back against the pillows, your legs brushing together as you settled in. Your hand slid down your thighs instinctively, and your breath quickened as you felt the heat building between your legs. The distance between you seemed to evaporate, the connection between you two sharper, more tangible.
“God, I miss you,” Michael muttered, his eyes never leaving your body, his voice rough with longing. “Where would you want me to touch you right now, doll? Show Daddy where it aches.”
His words sent a shiver down your spine, the sound of his voice alone making your pulse race. You spread your legs slowly, your body trembling with a mix of nerves and need. “Right here,” you murmured in a sultry tone, your fingers trailing down between your thighs. The heat of your core radiated as your fingers slid through the slickness between your folds. “It aches right here.”
Michael’s eyes darkened, his gaze flickering away from the screen for just a moment before he walked out of view. You heard the soft click of the bathroom door closing and locking, the faint sound sending a thrill through you. When he returned, his eyes were sharper, more focused, and there was a tension in his body that made your breath quicken.
“Spread them for me, baby,” Michael murmured, his voice dropping an octave, rough and commanding. “Let me see that pretty clit.”
Your body obeyed before you could think, your legs parting wider as your fingers brushed over your sensitive spot, your body responding to his voice, his gaze, the heat of his desire wrapping around you like a vice. You could feel the intensity of the moment, the way your body yearned for his touch, even though it was miles away.
Your breath became shallow, your chest rising and falling quickly as you held his gaze through the screen. His eyes were locked on yours, dark and full of need, and the sound of his breathing, ragged and low, only fueled your own arousal. You could feel the slickness of your arousal as your fingers moved, and the heat in your body built with each passing second.
“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice thick with lust. “Just like that. Keep going, baby. Let me hear you.”
Your body trembled, every nerve alive and burning with a need only he could fulfill. The sound of Michael’s voice, the slow, deliberate way he spoke to you, made the space between you disappear, leaving only the raw intensity of the moment. His eyes, dark and full of desire, stayed fixed on you, watching the way your fingers moved inside yourself, the way your lips parted in soft moans that barely scratched the surface of the pleasure surging through your body.
“God, baby, you sound so pretty,” he murmured, his chest rising and falling as his breath grew heavier. His gaze flickered down to where your fingers disappeared inside you, your wetness glistening in the dim light, your body aching with a deep need for him. “Slide them deeper for me, baby. I want to watch you.”
With a slow, deliberate motion, you pushed your fingers deeper, your walls tightening around them as a breathless moan escaped your lips. The feeling of your slick heat enveloping your fingers sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, but it wasn’t enough—it could never be enough without him.
Michael groaned low in his throat, his hand already moving down, slipping beneath his waistband as he palmed his thick, aching length. “You’re making me so damn hard, baby,” he growled, his voice thick with need. His fingers wrapped tightly around his length, gripping it through the rough fabric of his slacks. His arousal was so evident, straining against the material, his body screaming for you as much as yours was for him.
“Michael…” Your voice trembled, barely a whisper, but he heard it. His eyes locked on yours, a smirk playing on his lips, knowing exactly how much you wanted him. “I need you…”
He licked his lips, standing up straighter, his movements slow and deliberate as he unbuckled his belt, the clinking sound sending shivers down your spine. The metal clinked again as he let it fall to the floor, your eyes never leaving the way his hands moved with such confidence, with such need. “I’m not going anywhere, baby,” he murmured, his voice a deep growl that made your whole body tighten with desire.
He slid his slacks down, stepping out of them with a grace that only he possessed. Now in just his white briefs, you could see the outline of him, thick and hard, the fabric struggling to contain him. His bulge pressed tightly against the soft cotton, and you couldn’t help but bite your lip, your fingers faltering for a second as you watched him.
“You want it, don’t you?” Michael asked, his voice teasing as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his briefs, slowly peeling them down. The way his body moved was mesmerizing, every muscle in his slender, toned frame seeming to ripple as he freed himself from the last piece of clothing.
You moaned softly at the sight of him, his length thick and perfect, adorned with the splotches of his vitiligo that made him so uniquely beautiful. His length was an exquisite mix of colors—deep brown, soft pink, and pale white—each mark telling a story, each part of him more beautiful than the last. The thick foreskin rolled back as he stroked himself, exposing the flushed pink tip, glistening with precum. Your core throbbed, your body craving the feeling of him filling you, stretching you, making you his.
“I want you so bad,” you whispered, your breath catching in your throat. “I miss you…”
Michael groaned at your words, his hand gripping his length tighter, his thumb smearing the bead of precum that had formed at the tip. “I miss you more, beautiful. So much…” His voice was low, gravelly, filled with the same longing that echoed in your chest. He spat into his palm, rubbing it over his length, each slow stroke making you ache even more. “You need me, don’t you?”
You whimpered, your hips bucking slightly as you pumped your fingers faster, but it still wasn’t enough. “I need you inside me, baby. Please…” The desperation in your voice was palpable, your body on the edge, ready to tip over into oblivion, but it was him you needed to send you there.
His eyes darkened, filled with lust and something deeper, something raw and primal. “I bet you do,” he murmured, his voice sending a fresh wave of arousal through you. “Your fingers don’t feel the same, do they? Not like me. You like when I stretch you, don’t you? When I fill you so deep, you can’t think of anything else.”
You moaned in response, your fingers moving faster now, matching the rhythm of his strokes. “Yes, baby,” you gasped. “I love it when you stretch me… when you fill me so tight.”
Michael’s voice was thick with need, every word dripping with desire as his hand slowed, gripping his thick length with the kind of patience that made your entire body throb. “God, I wish I was there,” he growled, his voice laced with frustration, the distance between you unbearable. “I need to feel how tight you are… how wet you are for me.” His breath hitched, and you could see the way his length twitched in his hand, the precum glistening at the tip as he twisted his wrist, his strokes slower but more deliberate now.
You watched, mesmerized by the sight of him, the way his large hand moved over his length. His muscles rippled with each slow, controlled motion, the sheer size of him making you ache in a way that made your core pulse even more. His words brought you back to reality, the intensity of his gaze locking you in.
“Match with me, baby,” he murmured, his voice a low groan that reverberated through your body. “I don’t want you to cum yet.”
Your body trembled as you nodded, slowing the movement of your fingers inside yourself, matching the rhythm of his strokes. Your fingers curled just right, brushing that spot deep inside that made your toes curl, but you fought to keep control, not wanting to disobey his command. The slickness of your arousal coated your fingers, and you couldn’t help but moan softly, the sound filling the quiet space around you.
Michael’s eyes darkened, his gaze intense as he watched you, his lips parting in a soft, shaky breath. “You like watching me, don’t you?” he asked, his voice laced with a teasing edge, but there was no doubt that he knew the effect he had on you.
A shiver ran down your spine at his words, and your mind wandered, flashing back to the countless nights you had found him like this—waiting for you, sprawled out on the bed after the kids were finally asleep, his body bare, his hand wrapped around his length just like it was now. He’d always be watching you, his eyes dark with lust, waiting for the moment when you’d walk over and take control, finishing what he started with your own hand. You could almost feel the weight of him in your grip, the warmth of his seed spilling onto your fingers as he let go, his eyes never leaving yours.
“Say it, baby,” Michael groaned, his voice pulling you back to the present. “I know you do. I know you wish you could touch me right now, but I promise you, when I get home, you’re all mine.”
The way he said it made your body tighten, a soft whimper escaping your lips as you slowed your fingers, your breath ragged. “Yes, Michael,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as the desire swelled inside you.
But Michael shook his head, a slow, teasing grin spreading across his face. “Wrong name, doll,” he said with a soft chuckle, his body twitching as his thumb grazed over the slick tip of his length. His voice dropped to a low, guttural growl as he added, “You know better than that.”
Your heart skipped a beat, your body trembling as you corrected yourself, “Yes, daddy…” you moaned, your voice a needy whimper that made his eyes flash with approval.
“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice thick with praise as his hand moved faster now, pumping his length with slow, deliberate strokes that had you biting your lip in anticipation. “Spread those pretty legs for me. Let me see all of you.”
You obeyed instantly, spreading your legs wider, your skin flushed with arousal as you opened yourself completely for him, giving him the full view he craved. The way he looked at you, the hunger in his eyes as he took in every inch of your exposed body, made you feel powerful, like you were his whole world in that moment.
“Fuck…” Michael groaned deeply, his hand tightening around his length as his eyes roamed over your body. He watched the way your slickness glistened between your thighs, his thumb brushing over the head of his length, spreading the precum that dripped from his swollen tip. “I need you,” he growled, his voice rough with desperation. “I need to be inside you, right now.”
Your breath hitched, your fingers slipping deeper inside yourself as you watched him, your body trembling with the need to feel him, to be filled by him. “I need you too, baby,” you whispered, your voice a soft plea as your fingers moved faster, matching the rhythm of his strokes. “I want to feel you so bad…”
Michael’s eyes darkened, his body tensing as he imagined the feel of you wrapped around him, your tight, wet heat pulling him deeper, the way your body always responded so perfectly to his. “Soon, baby,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a growl. “When I get home… I’m going to fuck you so hard, you won’t be able to walk the next day.”
The promise in his words made your body tremble, your breath coming faster as you felt the edge approaching, but you held back, waiting for him, needing to cum with him, needing to hear his voice as you came apart. “Please, baby,” you moaned, your fingers curling inside you, hitting that perfect spot. “I’m so close…”
The tension between your bodies was electric, every word that spilled from Michael’s lips a molten thread that wrapped tighter around your senses, pulling you closer to the edge. His voice was a husky growl, rich and deep, each syllable dripping with lust. “Just a little longer, baby,” he rasped, his breath ragged, as if he could barely contain the heat rising inside him. “I want to hear more… God, you sound so wet for me. You’re driving me crazy.”
The sound of his voice sent a shiver straight through you, making your breath catch in your throat. You moaned softly, desperate and aching, as your fingers moved faster inside you, the slickness of your arousal coating them. Your hips lifted slightly off the bed, seeking more, needing more, as your body trembled with each slow, deliberate thrust of your fingers. Your other hand roamed up your chest, fingertips grazing your heated skin, until they found your breast, your fingers pinching the sensitive nipple, the sharp sensation shooting a fresh wave of pleasure straight to your core.
Michael’s gaze was locked onto you, burning, his dark eyes hooded with desire as they trailed over every inch of your body. It felt like his touch even though he was miles away—his hunger radiating through the screen, making your skin tingle with the intensity of it. The connection between you felt tangible, heavy, like you could reach through the distance and pull him to you. You watched the way his muscles flexed as he stroked himself, his large hand gripping his thick length, the sound of his slick, rhythmic strokes filling the space, deepening the desire in your belly.
His head fell back against the wall of the hotel bathroom, his body flushed with heat, his legs spread wide, hips rocking forward as he fucked his hand, his need palpable. His other hand gripped the counter for balance, his chest rising and falling heavily, droplets of sweat glistening on his skin. The raw masculinity of him like this—completely lost in the fantasy of you—made your insides quiver with longing. You wanted him there so badly, needed to feel him between your thighs, inside you, his body pressed against yours, hot and slick and hard.
“Fuck, baby,” Michael groaned, his voice deeper now, a low rumble that sent vibrations through your body. “You look so good… I wish I could touch you, feel you right now. I need to be inside you, baby. I need to feel how tight you are for me.”
Your body reacted instantly to his words, your pulse racing as a wave of pleasure washed over you. “Michael…” you whimpered, your voice trembling with need, your fingers pumping faster, hitting that spot deep inside that made your thighs quiver. You were so close, the heat between your legs nearly unbearable, your core tightening as you chased the release that hovered just out of reach. “I need you so much… I need you to fuck me.”
His eyes darkened at your words, his breath hitching as his hand moved faster along his shaft , his thick length glistening with precum. “You’re going to feel so good when I get home,” he groaned, his voice heavy, thick with promise.
The image of him sinking deep inside you, filling you completely, sent you spiraling closer to the edge. You moaned his name again, breathless, your body trembling with need, desperate for him, desperate to come undone for him. “Please… I need to cum, Michael,” you begged, your voice soft, filled with the weight of your desire. “I need you to make me cum.”
His jaw clenched, his eyes locked on you, the intensity of his gaze making you feel like he was right there with you, watching every little movement, every little sound you made. “Not yet, baby,” he groaned, his voice thick with need. “Hold on for me. I want to see you beg for it.”
A soft whimper escaped your lips, your body trembling as you held back, fighting the overwhelming urge to let go. “Please, baby… please,” you whispered, your voice shaky, desperate. “I need it… I need you so bad.”
Michael’s breath was a low, ragged hum, each inhale more strained than the last as he worked his hand over his thick, pulsing length, the pressure of his grip intensifying. His voice, rough and edged with desire, was laced with command as he whispered, “That’s it, baby… Cum for me. Let me hear how good I make you feel.”
His words sent a jolt through your body, your moans growing louder, almost desperate, as your fingers moved faster, slipping and sliding through the slickness of your arousal, the wet sounds filling the room. Your fingers curled deeper, hitting just the right spot that made your thighs quiver and your breath catch in your throat. Your hips bucked uncontrollably, chasing the edge, your body on fire, every nerve tingling with anticipation. The sounds of his heavy breaths and deep groans reverberated through the speakers, blending with your own cries of pleasure, creating an intimate, carnal symphony between you.
Your eyes stayed fixed on Michael, the image of him—head thrown back against the wall, chest heaving, muscles taut with need—etched in your mind. His eyes were locked on the camera, watching you fall apart, feeding off every little moan that escaped your lips. His strokes were fast, hard, the veins on his thick shaft bulging under his tight grip. His toes curled against the cold tile floor as he pushed himself closer to his release.
“I’m so close, baby,” he growled, his voice strained as he watched your fingers pump inside you. His length twitched in his hand, his grip tightening, the muscles in his forearms flexing with every movement. He was on the brink, teetering dangerously close to the edge, his body begging for release.
With one last stroke of your fingers, your body shattered. A breathy moan ripped from your throat as you came, Michael’s name spilling from your lips like a prayer, your hips lifting off the bed as waves of pleasure rolled through you. Your core tightened around your fingers, your body trembling uncontrollably, the heat of your release coursing through every inch of you.
“Fuck…” Michael groaned deeply, his body jerking as his release hit him hard, his hand moving faster, the slick sounds of his strokes filling the room. He growled, low and primal, as thick ropes of his hot seed shot out, splattering onto the floor, dripping from his tip in long, sticky strands. His body trembled with the force of it, his breathing heavy and uneven, his chest rising and falling in rapid bursts.
You watched him through the haze of your own pleasure, your body still trembling, your fingers coated in your slick arousal as you came down from the high. Your moans lingered in the air, soft and breathless, as you laid back against the pillows, your legs weak and aching, your skin flushed and sensitive.
Michael leaned back against the wall, his hand still wrapped around his semi-hard length, now covered in his own release. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, sweat dripping down the side of his neck, tracing the curve of his collarbone. His gaze was half-lidded, his lips parted slightly as he stared at the ceiling, the remnants of pleasure still washing over him.
“I miss you,” he said, his voice still tinged with the rough edge of his desire, but now softer, more tender. It was a confession, raw and vulnerable.
You swallowed hard, your chest tightening with the same longing, your heart aching to have him there beside you. “I miss you more,” you whispered, your voice soft, almost pleading. “Come home soon, baby.”
He nodded, his eyes dropping back to the screen, the intensity in them replaced by something warmer, more affectionate. “I will,” he promised, his voice low but filled with certainty. “Go clean up, I’ll be right here.”
You slipped your fingers out of yourself, your body still sensitive, and slowly climbed off the bed, your legs trembling as you made your way to the bathroom. The light flickered on as you entered, the cool tile beneath your feet a sharp contrast to the warmth still pulsing through your body. You turned the faucet on and lathered your hands with soap, scrubbing away the slick remnants of your release, the water running warm over your skin.
Back in the hotel bathroom, Michael moved with slow, deliberate motions, his body still humming with the aftershocks of his release. He wiped away the thick seed that had spilled onto the floor, his hand pausing for a moment as his mind drifted back to you. Even after his orgasm, the need for you gnawed at him, a dull ache that refused to leave. His length, still semi-hard, swayed slightly as he moved, a testament to just how deeply you affected him, even from miles away. His hand could never quite compare to the way your body felt, the way your warmth clung to him, trembling under his touch, tightening around him in the way only you could.
You turned off the water, drying your hands slowly before flipping the bathroom light off. The cool hardwood floor felt sharp against your bare feet as you padded quietly back to the bed, your body still tingling from the intimacy shared moments before. You slipped on your nightgown, the fabric cool against your flushed skin, before easing back onto the bed. The room was quiet now, the only sound the soft rustle of the sheets as you settled in.
Reaching over to the nightstand, you grabbed the laptop, watching Michael as he finished cleaning himself up. He looked so at ease, the tension from earlier completely gone, his chest rising and falling steadily. It was just him—just Michael—and the sight of him like that, bare and relaxed, made your heart swell with warmth.
He caught you watching him, his lips curving into a soft, genuine smile that made your chest tighten. “Hi, pretty girl,” he murmured, his voice softer now, the rough edge of desire replaced by something more tender. He picked up the laptop and moved back to the bedroom, setting it down on the bed before easing onto it, his body still bare. His length, though beginning to soften, still hung heavy between his legs, the evidence of his earlier need for you lingering.
Michael leaned back against the pillows, running his fingers through his tousled hair, a deep breath escaping his lips as he settled in. “Still need some help?” you teased, your tone playful but your eyes lingering on him, drinking in the sight of his still-recovering body.
He glanced down at himself with a chuckle, scratching the back of his head. “It should go down soon, I think,” he said, his tone light but laced with the remnants of desire. Then, with a smirk, he added, “I wouldn’t have this problem if you had come with me.”
You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Oh, I beg to differ, stallion. You’d still be like this, and we both know it.”
He let out a deep, rumbling laugh, the sound vibrating through the screen. “Maybe,” he admitted, his eyes twinkling with amusement. Then, his expression softened, his tone becoming more casual. “When are you going to sleep, baby?”
You shrugged, pulling the covers up around you as you settled in more comfortably. “Whenever sleep decides to creep up on me. What about you? Got anything later?”
Michael ran a slow hand over his bare chest, his fingers brushing across the ridges of muscle, his skin still warm from earlier. “Just a couple of meetings, nothing serious,” he said with a lazy grin, his eyes locking onto yours. The teasing glint in his gaze sent a familiar flutter through your stomach. “I’ll be free tonight.”
Your eyes twinkled with playful mischief as you leaned closer to the screen. “How free?” you asked, your voice low and suggestive, a hint of heat in your tone. “Because I was thinking… maybe we could do this again later.”
Michael chuckled softly, his smile deepening as he shook his head, wagging a finger at you. “Aht, aht. You know better than that. That’s my time with the girls,” he teased, though his voice was thick with affection. “You’ll have to be patient, baby. But don’t worry, it’ll be worth it when I get home.”
Your gaze flickered down to where his hand rested on his still slightly erect length, his attempts to cover himself proving futile. You could see the outline of him beneath the blanket, and it made you bite your lip, the thought of how he’d feel against you stirring that familiar ache deep inside. “Is that right?” you teased back, rolling your eyes playfully as you snuggled deeper into the covers, pulling them tighter around you. “Guess I’ll just have to wait then.”
Michael’s smile softened as he adjusted under the blanket, the movement revealing a glimpse of his lean stomach before he settled in more comfortably. His voice lowered, his tone taking on a more intimate quality. “I do miss you, though,” he admitted, the weight of his words hanging in the air between you. It wasn’t just about the physical—there was a depth in his confession that spoke of the quiet moments, the small touches, the way your presence filled the empty spaces in his life.
You felt your heart clench at the sincerity in his voice, the longing he never quite managed to hide. “I miss you more,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. “But this… this isn’t as hard as when you were on tour for three years. That was unbearable.” You tried to smile, but the ache of those long months without him still haunted you sometimes.
Michael’s face twisted into a wry smile, half amusement, half regret. He rolled his eyes gently, trying to lighten the mood but knowing how deeply it affected you. “I know… but at least now, I’ve got more time for you and the girls. I always will. That’s never going to change.” His eyes softened as he stared at you through the screen, his expression filled with a kind of love that made the miles between you feel like nothing. “I promise, baby. Always.”
You both fell into a quiet, lingering moment, just staring at each other, soaking in the connection that remained even through the distance. The intimacy of it, the love, filled the space between you, making the world feel small and just for the two of you. You reached for his pillow beside you, hugging it close, the familiar scent of black orchid wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. It was his scent—strong, bold, and uniquely Michael.
“Tired?” he asked softly, watching you with a knowing look, one arm propped behind his head while the other lazily traced patterns over his chest.
You nodded, blinking slowly as exhaustion began to creep up on you. “A little… I shouldn’t have stayed up so late. The girls wanted to go to the park for a picnic, and you know how hard it is to say no to them,” you said with a soft smile, your heart warming at the thought of the little moments you cherished with your children.
Michael bit his lip, his dark eyes softening as he watched you through the screen. He could see the exhaustion settling into your features, but also the contentment that came with the simplicity of normal life—the life you created together, away from the madness of the outside world. He let out a slow breath, his voice dropping to that low, intimate tone that always seemed to wrap around you like a blanket. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourselves. You all deserve that… you deserve so much more,” he murmured, his words laced with a tenderness that only deepened the ache of his absence.
You smiled, though it was weighed down by tiredness, your eyes heavy but still holding that familiar warmth he knew so well. “They miss you,” you said softly, your voice catching just a little as you spoke. “I tell them all the time that you can’t do everything because you’re working… but they don’t really understand yet. And they asked…” You trailed off, your eyes flicking away from the screen for a moment.
Michael’s brow furrowed slightly, curiosity piqued by the hesitance in your voice. He leaned a little closer to the screen, his hand absentmindedly running through his tousled hair. “Asked about what, baby?” he pressed, his voice still gentle but edged with concern.
You took a deep breath, the weight of what you were about to say lingering between you like a tangible thing. When you finally spoke, it was in a soft, careful whisper, as though the word itself might stir something painful. “Neverland,” you said, letting it hang in the air between you, the significance of the place touching every corner of your relationship. You knew what it meant to him—how deeply it was tied to his dreams, and how much it hurt to let it go. “They’re curious, and I try to explain, but… you know how stubborn they can be. Stubborn like their daddy,” you added with a gentle smile, trying to lighten the mood, though the gravity of the conversation was impossible to ignore.
Michael’s face tightened for a moment, his expression darkening with the memories that the name evoked. He sighed deeply, the sound heavy and resigned as his fingers dragged through his hair. His shoulders sagged just a bit, the weight of it all seeming to press down on him as he thought about it. “We’ll find our home, baby. I promise,” he said, his voice steady but thick with determination. “Just tell them daddy’s working on it, alright? It won’t be long. We’ll have something just as special.” The conviction in his words was strong, but there was a flicker of old pain in his eyes, the kind you knew would always be there no matter how much time passed.
Your heart clenched at the sight of him, the vulnerability he rarely showed anyone but you. “Please come home soon,” you whispered, your voice almost breaking under the weight of how much you needed him. “I miss you so much, Michael. I hate it when you’re away… it feels like part of me is missing.”
His face softened at your words, and for a moment, the mask he wore for the world slipped, revealing the deep ache of longing mirrored in his eyes. “I’ll be home soon, baby. I promise.” His voice was thick with emotion, low and soothing, like he was trying to wrap you up in comfort even from a distance. “Don’t get too worked up, okay? I don’t want you stressing out. When I get back, I’ll take care of you, I swear.”
You nodded, unable to find the words as your throat tightened, the overwhelming need for him making it hard to speak. “Okay,” you managed to whisper, your voice barely audible.
He sighed again, the sound full of love and something deeper—an unspoken understanding that the distance between you was unbearable, but only temporary. “I love you, beautiful. Please get some rest for me, alright?” His tone was soft, coaxing, but there was a firmness to it too, the kind that made you want to do anything he asked just to ease the concern in his voice. “It’s only a few more days… and then I’ll be right there next to you.”
You nodded again, your voice catching in your throat as you whispered, “I will.”
Michael’s expression shifted into something warmer, more playful as he smiled at you, his lips curling into that familiar grin that always made your heart skip a beat. “I’ll call you before I head to sleep tonight. I love you.”
You smiled sleepily, your eyelids growing heavier by the second as you fought the pull of exhaustion. “I love you more, doodoo,” you murmured, the nickname slipping from your lips without thought, a habit from years of teasing.
He chuckled deeply, the sound rich and full, like velvet wrapping around you in the quiet of the night. “Goodnight, pretty,” he whispered, his voice a soothing caress just before the screen went dark, the call ending.
You sat there for a moment, staring at the blank screen, the silence of the room settling around you like a heavy cloak. Then, with a sigh, you closed the laptop and pulled his pillow closer to your chest, burying your face in the soft fabric. His scent—bold and rich with notes of black orchid—filled your senses, wrapping you in the comfort of his presence even though he wasn’t there. You snuggled deeper into the blankets, letting the warmth of his pillow soothe you as sleep finally began to claim you.
Soon, he’d be home. Soon, he’d be right there in your arms, where he belonged.
For seven years, you had been the perfect maid. His perfect maid, at least. Seven long years spent adhering to Mr. Jackson’s strict, almost suffocating rules. Every single member of staff was held to his exacting standards—no exceptions. Speak only when spoken to, never step foot in his room without explicit permission, the library was off-limits unless granted entry, and his private quarters were sacred ground. Mondays? A day of silence. On those days, he wouldn’t speak, and you weren’t to say a word. When you did address him, you were to meet his gaze directly. Appearances, too, had to meet his meticulous approval—flawless and professional at all times.
But something shifted about four years ago. The rules, those ironclad restrictions, began to change—but only for you. It started with a single encounter that redefined everything. That day, it was just the two of you. No staff. No distractions. Just you and the boss, Mr. Jackson.
He had returned from a meeting, tension radiating from him in waves. He was livid, something entirely unlike his composed day-to-day demeanor. You were in the kitchen, methodically cleaning when you felt his eyes on you—burning, intense.
You had always found him attractive—who wouldn’t? His presence commanded attention, and every woman in the house, perhaps even in the world, knew it. But this time, there was something different. His stare was sharper, hungrier. Slowly, he approached, each footstep echoing in the quiet room. His breath was hot against the nape of your neck, ragged with frustration. Then, his hands—those large, capable hands—gripped your waist, the force of his touch pulling you closer to his solid frame. You could feel him, every inch of his body pressing against yours, heat radiating off him like a furnace.
“Lift your dress, doll,” he had whispered, his voice rough with an edge of command.
Without hesitation, you obeyed, the fabric of your dress sliding up, exposing yourself to him. He pressed even harder against you, his erection straining against his trousers, making you breathless. He was so hard it almost seemed impossible.
“Do you want me?” His whisper brushed against your ear like a dark promise.
Those words stayed with you long after that moment. In the kitchen, under the dim lights, he took you. Raw. Every inch of him plunged into you, again and again, relentless in his need to release his pent-up fury. He was rough—nothing like the gentle, composed man the world thought they knew. His hands gripped your hips as he pounded into you, forcing every last drop of stress from his body into yours. When he finally came, his hot seed flooded you, pouring out of you and onto the cold hardwood floor. And just like that, he left. Not a single word as he walked away, leaving you trembling and leaking his warmth behind him.
From that night on, things between you and him were different. Whenever the house was empty, you’d find small, quiet ways to tease him. Sometimes while you were cleaning, you’d lift the hem of your maid’s uniform, revealing the soft bareness beneath, knowing his eyes were on you. Other nights, when you worked late, you’d sneak into his room with his permission. When you were sure he wouldn’t return until late, you’d go to his closet, find one of his thick varsity jackets, and strip down, leaving only your lace panties. You’d slip on the jacket, its warmth enveloping you as you lay in his bed, waiting for his return.
There were nights when you stayed under the guise of “extra work,” but the truth was far more intimate. It was for him. To let him relieve the weight of the day. His body, slick with sweat, would press into yours, his rough hands guiding your hips, his thick shaft stretching you inch by inch. His breath would be hot against your skin, his grunts low and primal. In those moments, you weren’t just the maid. You were his release. His perfect girl.
His perfect maid.
It was a cold December evening, the kind where the chill seeped into your bones and lingered. The sun had already begun its descent, casting a golden hue over the Santa Ynez mountains, leaving long, jagged shadows over Neverland Ranch. The ranch, typically bustling with life, had quieted as staff members trickled out, their shifts coming to an end. You were alone in the living room, methodically cleaning the delicate piano, carefully wiping down the statues and cartoon collectibles that littered the house—a constant reminder of Mr. Jackson’s childlike spirit. It was odd, the juxtaposition between these innocent trinkets and the man himself, a man who could shift from gentle to commanding in the blink of an eye.
Mr. Jackson had spent the entire day locked in his room, resting. None of you questioned it; there were often days where he’d disappear for hours or even days on end. Sometimes, he was at the studio or abroad, and other times he’d remain behind closed doors, dealing with matters only he knew. His presence, though felt, was scarce—a distant but ever-watchful figure.
The large, ornate clock on the wall chimed softly, signaling that it was seven o’clock. The final staff member was meant to leave by now, but you had been anticipating staying longer, as you usually did. Most nights, Mr. Jackson preferred you to linger after everyone else had gone, though today, he hadn’t said a word. It was Monday, after all—his day of silence.
“Hey,” a voice broke the stillness. Mary, one of the other maids, walked up to you, her footsteps echoing in the quiet. “Mind walking me out?”
You placed the duster down on the piano bench, stretching your arms out. “Yeah, I don’t mind.” The two of you walked out of the living room, the sharp click of your heels on the hardwood floor breaking the eerie quiet. As you approached the front door, your eyes darted to the hallway to your left, where those massive double doors to Mr. Jackson’s bedroom stood ominously. For a moment, you hesitated, staring at them, wondering what lay behind them tonight. You quickly looked away before Mary could notice.
“What time do you leave?” she asked casually. “You’re always the last one here.”
You shrugged, pretending nonchalance. “To be honest, I don’t know. Mr. Jackson always lets me know when it’s time to go. Most nights, I don’t leave until nine.” You lied, slipping the words out easily, masking the truth behind the routine.
“Nine?” she repeated, her eyes widening in surprise as she pulled her coat on. “What on earth does he have you doing? Cleaning out the fireplaces?” she teased, but her curiosity was evident.
You shook your head, keeping your expression neutral. “I just do what I can. I need the extra money.” Another lie, but one you had perfected over the years.
Mary chuckled softly, her tone light but laced with something more. “Sure, it’s nothing else? I’ve seen the way Mr. Jackson looks at you, especially on Mondays.”
You shrugged again, feigning indifference. “I don’t know, and I don’t care. I’m just here to work and earn my check, that’s all.” You paused, your voice lowering slightly. “And didn’t he tell us not to gossip about him? You know he hears everything.”
Mary’s eyes widened, and she nodded, suddenly nervous. “You’re right. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow. Be safe getting home,” she said as she hurried out the door.
“You too,” you called after her, watching as she disappeared down the front steps and into the night. Once she was out of sight, you let out a heavy sigh, closing the door behind you with a soft click. The lock turned with a firm snap, the sound echoing in the now-empty house.
You barely had a moment to breathe before you turned and froze. Standing directly in front of you, as if he had materialized from the shadows, was Mr. Jackson. Dressed in all black, from the tailored button up to the perfectly pressed pants, his presence was both startling and magnetic. His curly hair was pulled back into a low bun, framing his face, while his reading glasses sat perched on the bridge of his nose, catching the dim light. But it was his gold chain that caught your eye, glinting softly against his dark attire.
He had moved so silently, you hadn’t heard a single footstep. His eyes, dark and unreadable, locked onto yours, and for a moment, the air between you felt thick, electric. He didn’t speak—of course, it was Monday—but his gaze spoke volumes, a silent command that made your pulse quicken. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you took him in, every inch of his form radiating an intensity that set your nerves alight.
He didn’t need words to communicate what he wanted. You had always known, from the subtle way he moved to the intensity of his gaze. His body spoke a language only you could understand, a language of desire, control, and need.
Slowly, he extended his hand toward you, his large palm a commanding presence. That hand had become your anchor, the connection between you two—physical, emotional, and everything in between. The mere sight of it sent a jolt through your body, a surge of anticipation that left your skin tingling. When your hand slipped into his, you felt the familiar softness of his skin, the velvety texture against your fingertips. His touch was always electric, like a live wire crackling beneath your skin. Over the years, you had watched the pigment of his skin fade with his vitiligo, but it had never changed the way you felt about him. If anything, it made him more beautiful in your eyes—his fragility matched with a quiet strength that captivated you entirely.
In a smooth motion, he reached for the light switch, plunging the room into darkness. The living room and front entrance dissolved into shadows, but the absence of light only heightened your awareness of him—his presence was all-consuming. Together, you moved down the long hallway toward his bedroom, the sound of your heels clicking against the polished hardwood in sync with the soft shuffle of his sleek penny loafers. Every step brought you closer to what you both knew was inevitable, the tension thick between you.
When you reached the door to his bedroom, he pushed it open with deliberate force, pulling you inside as the door clicked shut behind you. The room was warm, illuminated by the soft flicker of flames in the fireplace, casting golden shadows that danced along the walls. His record player spun slowly in the corner, a sensual jazz melody filling the space with its slow, hypnotic rhythm. The music wasn’t loud; it played like a soft whisper, adding to the intimacy of the room.
Michael stood there, watching you—no, devouring you with his eyes. His gaze was sharp, cutting, as though he could see straight through you to the core of who you were. He always looked at you like this, with a focus that made you feel like the only person in the world, like you were the center of his universe. His stare held you captive, your breath catching in your throat. It was a gaze you could never escape, and you didn’t want to. You thrived under his attention, knowing it was yours and yours alone.
“What?” you whispered, your voice soft, sultry, the tone meant only for him. Your lips curled slightly into a teasing smile as you stepped closer, closing the small distance between your bodies. You grabbed his other hand, holding it gently in yours, feeling the strength in his fingers. His silence was deliberate. It was Monday, and he never broke his rule of silence on these days. But you knew the second the clock struck midnight, he’d unleash everything he held back, his words flowing freely as he spoke with a passion that matched his intensity.
Releasing his hands, you reached up, placing your palms on his broad shoulders, feeling the firm muscles beneath the smooth fabric of his black button-up. The material was soft but did nothing to hide the tension in his body, the coiled energy waiting to be released. Your thumbs brushed over the cool metal of his gold chain, a glint of it catching the firelight as your hands slid higher, skimming up the column of his neck. His skin was warm beneath your fingers, the pulse in his throat strong, steady. You felt the slight rasp of stubble beneath your thumb as it grazed his Adam’s apple, and he tilted his head back ever so slightly, surrendering to your touch.
He loved this—loved the way your hands felt against him, the way you touched him with such care and reverence. You could see it in the way his breath hitched, in the way his body leaned into yours, giving in to the sensation. His silence wasn’t cold; it was deliberate, a game of restraint. But even in his quiet, his need for you was undeniable, the weight of it heavy in the air.
His gaze never left yours, those dark eyes smoldering with a quiet hunger that mirrored the fire building inside of you. It was like a pressure rising between you, a tension so thick it felt like it might snap at any moment. He didn’t need words. His body, every subtle movement, every breath, spoke volumes. His desires were laid bare in the way his chest rose and fell a little quicker, the way his hands lingered just a second longer against your skin.
His hand moved with deliberate slowness, sliding to your hips, pulling you closer until your bodies were pressed together, chest to chest. The heat of his skin seeped through his shirt, the firmness of his muscles beneath making your pulse quicken. Why did he always make you feel like this? That sweet, overwhelming sensation, hot and bothered in the most exquisite way. His presence alone was enough to unravel you, and he knew it.
Your hands slid from his neck, fingertips brushing along his throat, tracing the line of his collarbone as you began to undo the buttons of his black shirt. One by one, the fabric parted under your touch, exposing more of him to you. Your eyes never left his as you worked, and in return, his gaze stayed fixed on you, watching every move you made with a kind of silent anticipation. As you undid the buttons, his other hand came up to your face, cradling your cheek with a tenderness that belied the tension in the room. His thumb traced the line of your bottom lip, tugging it down gently, his touch so light it sent a shiver down your spine.
Instinctively, your lips parted, and he slipped his thumb into your mouth. The soft pad of his thumb pressed against your tongue, and you began to suck slowly, your eyes locked on his the whole time. The way he licked his lips as he watched you made your stomach flip, that familiar look of control in his eyes. You already knew what he was thinking. “You love sucking on anything I give you,” he would have said, and he wouldn’t be wrong. There was something so intoxicating about this exchange, the way he gave and you took, the way it bound you to him.
You rolled your tongue slowly around his thumb, savoring the sensation, the warmth of him against your lips. The only sound between you was the soft, wet noise of your mouth working around his finger, teasing him. His thumb grazed against your teeth, and you took more of it in, sucking just a little harder, daring him to respond. But Michael was never one to be undone by teasing. His teasing was designed to push you right to the edge, to make you crumble under the weight of it.
Slowly, he withdrew his thumb from your mouth, the tip glistening as he brushed it over your lips, leaving them wet and parted. You could feel your breath coming quicker now, the anticipation thick between you.
Without a word, you pushed him gently, backing him up against the door. The thud of his body against the wood was soft, but it felt final, like you’d crossed an invisible line. You finished unbuttoning his shirt, exposing the toned planes of his chest, your fingers tracing the patterns of vitiligo that dotted his skin. It was beautiful, the way the light from the fire cast shadows over his bare torso, highlighting every dip and curve, every patch of pale skin that marked him. He shrugged off the shirt and tossed it aside, his chest now fully on display, and your hands moved without thinking, exploring him, touching him.
His hand came up, tilting your chin, forcing you to look up at him. His eyes bored into yours, dark and full of intent. You felt your heart hammering in your chest, the anticipation coiling tighter. “Yes, sir?” you whispered, your voice barely audible, thick with need.
He didn’t answer, at least not with words. Instead, he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that started slow, but quickly became something more—something raw, something desperate. His lips were soft, but his kiss was anything but. It was aggressive, his tongue pushing into your mouth, fighting for dominance. There was nothing gentle in the way he kissed you now, his need overpowering, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you even closer.
His lips tasted sweet, familiar, like they belonged on yours, but the way his tongue moved… God, he knew exactly what he was doing. Every kiss felt deliberate, like a claim. In this moment, he didn’t just have you—he owned you. Your body melted into him, surrendering completely, every nerve electrified by the fire he was fanning inside you. His tongue tangled with yours, each kiss growing sloppy, heated, as both of you gave in to the spiraling desire. You could feel the sharp graze of his teeth against your lower lip, the hot, ragged breath from his lungs mingling with yours, intoxicating you even more. The way he took control—his hands, his mouth, the way his body pressed into yours—it consumed you.
He didn’t waste time as he pushed off the door, each step deliberate, forcing you to move back with him, his hold never loosening. His large hands gripped you tighter, guiding you backward until your body hit the cold wall beside his bed. The contrast between the chilled surface and the heat of him pressing into you made you gasp. His lips didn’t falter, trailing down from your mouth, leaving wet, possessive kisses along your jaw. His teeth scraped against your skin as he sucked harder, pulling a breathless whisper from your lips.
“Harder…” you breathed, barely able to form the word as the need for his rough touch consumed you. You craved the edge of him, the rawness he always gave you, that controlled chaos that left you breathless and aching.
Without hesitation, his hand shot up, wrapping around your throat, his grip firm but not painful. The sensation made you shiver, your pulse pounding beneath his thumb as his other hand held you in place. His lips moved with an animalistic hunger, kissing, sucking, marking you as his. Each kiss sent waves of heat through your body, his lips hot and wet against your jaw and then down to the tender spot behind your ear. His breath was heavy, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he kissed and sucked at your skin, sending sparks down your spine.
“Fuck yes…” you moaned, your head tilting back, giving him full access as his lips latched onto your earlobe, sucking it into his mouth. His thumb pressed just a bit harder against your pulse point, making your heartbeat race beneath his fingers. The feeling of him choking you while sucking on your neck made your knees go weak, your legs trembling as he pressed his body harder into yours.
He didn’t speak a word—of course he wouldn’t. Not tonight. You knew his rule, and no matter how intense things got, he wouldn’t break it for anything, not even for the fiery hunger between you. His silence only heightened everything, making each breath, each moan, louder in the quiet, darkened room.
He pressed himself into you harder, letting you feel all of him, his body hot and ready against yours. The pressure of him, the heat radiating from his skin, made your body ache with need. You knew he could keep this up all night, teasing you with the promise of more but never quite giving it to you. His lips trailed lower, finding your neck, kissing and sucking harder, leaving dark marks in his wake. Every touch sent shivers through you, your body reacting to every move he made.
You reached out, your hands blindly gripping at the wall behind you, trying to find something to hold onto, but the way he was working your body made it impossible to focus. Your mind began to drift, memories flooding back of the time in his library, how effortlessly he had taken you. You had been cleaning, completely unaware of him watching you until his hands were on you. He had lifted your skirt like it meant nothing, pulled your panties to the side, and without a word, had slipped inside you. The memory made you shudder.
His hand had been wrapped tight in your hair, pulling your head back, making you arch into him as he pounded into you without mercy. His other hand had clamped over your mouth, silencing your cries because there were others in the house, just a room away. The filthy, vulgar words that had spilled from his lips that day still echoed in your mind.
“You’re my pretty little slut,” he had whispered in your ear, his voice thick with lust, every word dripping with possessiveness. “Taking me so fucking well… You’re perfect.”
His words had burned through you like wildfire, each filthy praise igniting something deep inside, making you feel like you were unraveling under his touch. “Such a good girl, taking all of me… every inch.” The memory echoed in your mind, and it still made your skin flush. He had been relentless—thick, almost too big for someone with his slender frame—and yet, he filled you like he was carved for you alone. The way he stretched you, claimed you, made your legs tremble as if you were on the brink of collapse.
Even now, as his lips trailed down your neck, each kiss a slow, teasing reminder of that day, you could feel the lingering ghost of how perfect it had felt. Too perfect, like he’d broken something inside you and left you craving him in ways you couldn’t understand.
His lips hovered just above your collarbone, his hot breath washing over your skin. He paused, his grip tightening ever so slightly around your throat, sending a sharp thrill through your body. His fingers dug into your pulse, making your heart pound harder as he leaned in close, his mouth brushing your ear. “You thinkin’ about the library?” His voice was low, rough, a taunt that made your stomach coil with need.
You whimpered, barely able to catch your breath. Your nails dug into the wall behind you, scraping against the cool surface, trying to ground yourself. Your hips pressed into him instinctively, seeking more of that intoxicating heat. “How could I not?” you whispered, your voice a trembling confession.
His dark eyes flashed with something primal, the corner of his lips curling into a knowing smirk as he pressed his body harder against yours. You could feel every hard inch of him, throbbing through the thin fabric between you. “I remember it like it was yesterday,” he growled, his lips grazing your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “You looked so good bent over for me. Took me like you were made for it.”
A shudder rippled through you at his words, your body reacting without thought. Heat pooled low in your belly, your knees weakening beneath the weight of his body pressed into yours. “Michael…” you whimpered, barely able to form his name as the room seemed to blur around you.
His grip on your throat tightened just enough to make you dizzy, the pressure sending a rush of blood to your head. He chuckled, a dark sound that vibrated against your skin, and then his lips trailed lower, kissing down to your collarbone. His tongue flicked out, tasting your skin, the heat of it making you gasp. “You love it when I talk dirty to you, don’t you?” he whispered, his voice a low growl that sent shockwaves of arousal coursing through you.
All you could manage was a shaky nod, your breath catching in your throat as his lips continued their assault on your neck. Each kiss, each bite, each flick of his tongue felt like a brand, marking you as his, consuming you until there was nothing left but the burning desire he had stoked inside you.
“Good,” he murmured, his teeth grazing your skin, tugging just enough to make you whimper. His hand loosened around your throat as he pulled back, his eyes locking onto yours, dark and intense. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”
You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing, but your heart was pounding in your chest. You met his gaze, your voice barely a whisper as you spoke, “You broke your rule…”
His brow arched slightly, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Rules are meant to be broken.” He shrugged casually, but there was a glint in his eye as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your lips. “Why? Do you prefer me quiet while I’m fucking you? Hmm? Is that what you want, doll?” His grip on your throat tightened once again, just enough to make you gasp.
He moved even closer, his lips brushing against yours but not quite kissing you, teasing. “Or do you want to hear me praise you? Tell you how good you are for me, how tight you are around my dick? Tell you how fucking pretty your moans sound when I’m deep inside you?”
Your lip quivered as you tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. Your eyes locked onto his, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps as the intensity of his gaze held you captive.
“Speak, slut,” he growled, his voice low and commanding as his hand tightened around your neck, choking you just a little harder. The pressure made your head spin, but it was his roughness, his dominance, that made your body tremble with desire. You whimpered softly, trying to hold back the overwhelming wave of arousal that was threatening to drown you, but God, the way he handled you… it was too much, too good.
“What do you want, doll?” he purred, his voice a teasing whisper as his lips hovered just above yours. “Want me to speak? Or do you want me to shut my mouth? Say yes, and I won’t hold back.”
The weight of his words sent a shiver down your spine, and despite the fire in your belly, you barely managed to breathe out, “Yes.”
A slow, wicked smile spread across his face as he leaned in, his lips brushing yours, but you cut him off, your voice trembling. “Don’t talk,” you whispered, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to steady yourself. “Just… don’t talk.”
The command came out soft, but firm, and for a moment, his eyes darkened with something deeper—something more dangerous. He didn’t need words, didn’t need to speak. You loved his voice, the way it could make your pulse quicken with just a few whispered words, but when he was silent, when he let his body do the talking… that’s when he truly unraveled you.
His smirk deepened into something more primal, the hunger in his eyes unmistakable as he leaned in closer. His breath mingled with yours, hot and heavy, making your lips tingle with anticipation. His gaze was intense, those dark eyes speaking volumes without a word, and the weight of his presence pressed against you like a slow, suffocating heat. The way he looked at you—possessive, commanding—made your stomach flip and your knees weak, as though you were already drowning in him before he even touched you.
His hands found your shoulders, firm yet gentle as he guided you downward. Your body obeyed him effortlessly, sinking to your knees before him. You knelt there, your eyes never leaving his, captivated by the piercing look he gave you through his reading glasses, the subtle glint of control lurking beneath them. The sight of him towering over you, his chest rising and falling in slow, deliberate breaths, made your pulse quicken, and the air between you crackled with tension.
Slowly, your gaze dropped, following the lines of his body as you drank in every inch of him. The rough texture of his black jeans beneath your fingertips sent a thrill through you as your hands traveled up his thighs, feeling the firmness of his muscles, sculpted from years of dancing. As your fingers found the waistband, the heat between your legs grew unbearable. You worked with eager hands, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans with a deftness that came from both familiarity and desperation.
He remained silent, his fingers lazily threading through your hair as he watched you, his chest heaving slightly in anticipation. The tension was palpable, the heat in his gaze making you ache even more for him. When you pulled his jeans down, revealing his toned, muscled thighs, you let out a soft, barely audible sigh. His dancer’s legs were strong, defined, and utterly perfect, and you could feel your mouth going dry as you stared at him. I’ll never get tired of this, you thought to yourself, lost in the moment as he stepped out of his loafers and kicked his jeans aside.
Now he stood before you in just his briefs, and your breath caught in your throat. The outline of his arousal strained against the white fabric, impossibly thick and big, so evident that it sent a shudder through you. You bit your lip, unable to hold back the surge of excitement that shot through your body. The sight of him like this, raw and ready, was overwhelming, the desire burning inside you becoming almost unbearable.
Slowly, deliberately, you gripped the waistband of his briefs, pulling them down with agonizing slowness. His length was revealed inch by inch, thick and heavy, his shaft springing free as you lowered the fabric down his legs. He was magnificent, and the sight of him made your core throb with need. His length was adorned with the beautiful patchwork of his vitiligo, the blend of brown, pink, and white skin a testament to his uniqueness, and it only made you want him more.
You couldn’t help but murmur, “Look at that,” your voice dripping with admiration and lust as you stared up at him, your gaze flicking between his face and the sight of his arousal. The heat between your legs grew even more intense, your own need becoming almost painful as you took in the beauty of him.
Your hand reached out, trembling slightly with desire as you gently wrapped it around his shaft. Even with your fingers spread wide, you couldn’t fully wrap your hand around him—he was too thick, and it sent a rush of arousal through you that made you shiver. “So thick,” you whispered in awe, your voice barely audible as you began to stroke him slowly, feeling the weight of him in your hand. His foreskin moved with each stroke, sliding back to reveal the flushed pink tip, glistening with precum, the sight of it making your mouth water in anticipation.
You looked up at him again, meeting his gaze, the intensity in his eyes burning through you. You couldn’t wait to taste him, to feel him inside your mouth, every inch of his thickness filling you. Your lips parted slightly as you leaned in closer, the scent of him invading your senses, and your body ached for him, ready to give in to the hunger that had been building inside you from the moment he touched you.
You took your time, savoring every ridge and vein along his length as you stroked him, feeling the weight and heat of him in your hand. Your touch was slow and teasing, drawing out the tension between you both, letting it simmer just beneath the surface. His body responded to every flick of your wrist, every light squeeze, and the way his breath hitched sent shivers down your spine. You wanted him—every inch of him—and you knew he was more than willing to take you there, to push you past the brink until you were begging for him.
But you were in control, at least for now.
With a slow, deliberate movement, you flicked your tongue out, grazing the head of his length, tasting the salty tang of his precum mixed with a sweetness that made you hum with satisfaction. “Taste so good,” you murmured with a mischievous smile, your lips curving as you looked up at him, watching the way his jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing in that familiar, primal way.
He didn’t respond, not verbally, but his silence only added to the intensity. His gaze was unreadable, but his fingers tightening in your hair told you everything. He was close to losing control, and that excited you even more.
You pressed your lips against his tip again, feeling the sticky wetness of his precum cling to your lips with each kiss, your tongue tracing the line where the head met his shaft, flicking over the sensitive underside with a teasing slowness. His body trembled in response, the muscles in his thighs tightening as you continued to taunt him with each delicate touch.
“You like that, don’t you?” you whispered, your voice sultry and low as you ran your tongue along the underside of his length, letting it glide down to his sack, teasing him there before trailing back up again.
His answer came in the form of a firm hand pushing your head down, guiding you to take him deeper. You didn’t resist, instead relishing the control he exerted as your tongue continued to trace his length, teasing the sensitive spots along his shaft. You felt his whole body shudder when your tongue swept over his sack, and you knew you had him right where you wanted him.
He let out a heavy breath, his chest rising and falling more rapidly as you took the head of his length into your mouth, sucking slowly, teasingly, just enough to drive him wild. His fingers tightened even more in your hair, pulling slightly as you swirled your tongue around his tip, your eyes meeting his. Those dark, intense eyes bore down into yours, and there was nothing innocent about the way you stared back at him, wide-eyed and full of lust.
You began to bob your head, your lips stretched tight around him as you took him in halfway, your tongue pressing against the underside of his shaft. You could feel the way his veins pulsed against your lips, every inch of him filling your mouth as you moved, slow and deliberate, drawing out his pleasure with each stroke. His body tensed, his breathing growing ragged as you worked him, your lips sliding along the slick, spotted skin of his length.
Then, with a swift motion, he backed you up into the wall, his control snapping as he took over. His hips began to thrust, slow at first, his length sliding in and out of your mouth with a smooth rhythm. You could taste him more now, the salty sweetness coating your tongue as his length filled your mouth with each thrust, the sensation overwhelming your senses.
He straightened, his body hovering over you, his mouth slightly open as he let out a low groan, his hand cupping the back of your head. His saliva dripped onto his shaft, slicking it as he thrust deeper, pushing himself further into your mouth. The taste of him, the weight of him, it all sent a fire coursing through your veins, the heat pooling low in your belly as you moaned around his length, the vibrations from your throat driving him wild.
His breathing became heavier, his chest heaving as he watched you, his eyes dark with desire. His hand pressed harder against your forehead, holding you in place as his hips rocked forward, pushing himself deeper into your mouth, each thrust sending a new wave of arousal coursing through you. The slick sounds of your mouth working him filled the room, mixing with his low, guttural groans.
You reached beneath your dress, slipping your hand into your lace panties, your fingers finding your swollen folds. You were soaked, your body responding to every thrust, every sound, every look he gave you. Your fingers brushed over your clit, and you moaned around his length, the vibrations making him groan even louder.
His eyes flicked down, watching as you pleasured yourself, his arousal spiking at the sight. He thrust harder, faster, his hand tightening its grip on your head as he drove himself into your mouth, pushing deeper until his length hit the back of your throat. Your eyes watered, but the sensation only heightened the pleasure, your throat tightening around him as he held you there, his length throbbing against your lips.
He gave you short, fast thrusts, each one sending your head back against the wall as he fucked your mouth with abandon. The wet, slick sounds of your mouth around him, the thick saliva dripping down his shaft and onto the hardwood floor, only seemed to drive him further. He was relentless now, his other hand gripping the back of your head, forcing you to take him deeper, harder, your gag reflex barely holding as you moaned and choked around him.
You couldn’t stop yourself, your fingers working faster between your legs as his pace quickened, your moans and gags mixing with the sound of his thrusts. You were so close, so close to unraveling beneath him as he used your mouth, the roughness of it pushing you closer to the edge. And God, the way he looked at you, his eyes locked on yours, the primal hunger in them making you want to give him everything.
Your fingers pressed harder against your clit, each circle driving you closer to that edge, your body trembling with anticipation. His length still filled your mouth, every inch of him sliding in and out with the raw intensity of his thrusts. You could feel the heat building, an overwhelming pressure growing in your core, ready to explode.
His movements became more primal, each thrust harder, your head thumping against the wall until his hand moved swiftly to cradle your head. A strange tenderness amidst the storm. But there was nothing gentle about the way he moved his hips, his groans growing louder, deep and guttural, as he pounded relentlessly into your mouth. The soft jazz in the background was barely audible now over the wet sounds of your mouth and his deep, ragged breaths.
With each thrust, his base brushed firmly against your lips, the roughness of his stubble teasing the delicate skin of your mouth. His sack, heavy and full, slapped rhythmically against your chin, over and over, wet with your spit, the mixture dripping down, pooling onto his loafers in a mess that neither of you cared about. You could feel him twitch, the hard, pulsing length of him filling every inch of your throat, making you gag slightly. He was close, you could see it in his eyes—darker now, wild with lust, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, biting down hard.
His hand moved to your neck, wrapping around it possessively, and you could feel his length bulging beneath your skin as it slid in and out of your throat. He grunted, his voice deep and raw, throwing his head back in a moment of pure pleasure. His breathing became more labored, each thrust more intense, your tongue sliding along the underside of his shaft, feeling every ridge, every pulse.
The heat in your belly intensified, your fingers working furiously over your clit now, circling faster, slick with your own arousal as you teetered on the brink. You were so close, the pleasure nearly unbearable, your legs shaking, your breath coming in shallow gasps around his length . And then, just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, Michael pulled out, his shaft wet and throbbing, and slapped it hard against your cheek.
The sound echoed through the room, sharp, followed by the sensation of him ramming himself back inside your mouth, thrusting with renewed force, his face contorting as he chased his release. You whimpered around his length, feeling the thick tension in the air as your fingers continued to work your clit, each movement sending you spiraling closer.
Your toes curled in your heels, your brows furrowing as your entire body tightened with the building pleasure. His length twitched again, and you knew he was on the edge, his face a mask of raw need, his hand tightening in your hair as he grunted deeply. And then it happened—he groaned, a long, drawn-out sound, and you felt the first hot spurt of his release, his thick, salty seed filling your mouth.
He kept thrusting, slow now but deep, each pulse sending more of his warmth spilling over your tongue. The sensation pushed you over the edge, and you moaned deeply around him, your own release hitting you hard as your fingers worked your clit in desperate circles. Your entire body trembled as you came, your thighs shaking, your folds swollen and slick with your release.
His seed spilled from your mouth, thick and warm, dripping down your chin and onto your dress, mixing with the mess already made. You swallowed what you could, the rest running down your lips as Michael groaned, his gaze locked on yours. He watched every moment, his eyes dark and hungry, taking in the sight of you—your fingers glistening with your release, your lips swollen and wet, your chest rising and falling in heavy breaths.
Slowly, he pulled out, his length even harder than before, standing tall as he caught his breath. He looked down at you, his chest heaving, his eyes filled with satisfaction, but that primal hunger still lingered. His thick, salty release coated your mouth, your body still buzzing with the aftermath of your orgasm. You swallowed again, your throat sore from the roughness of it, and yet you craved more.
Michael’s seed filled your mouth, warm and thick, coating your throat and tongue. You swallowed what you could, but you knew it wouldn’t be enough to stop the slow trickle that would follow, the evidence of his dominance leaking from your body long after he was done. The mere thought of it had your thighs pressing together, your body trembling with need, craving more even as his taste lingered on your lips.
He looked down at you, still kneeling before him, a wicked gleam in his eyes as his hand reached out and wrapped firmly around your throat. His grip was possessive, fingers digging into your skin with a pressure that made your pulse quicken, your breath hitching. You loved the way he could control you with a single touch, the roughness of his dominance always leaving you on edge, desperate for more. A sly grin spread across his face as he pulled you closer, forcing your lips back to his.
The kiss was punishing, deep and rough, his mouth claiming yours with a force that left you breathless. You could taste the remnants of him on your lips, his seed still warm as it mixed with the wet heat of his tongue. His grip tightened on your throat, cutting off just enough air to make you dizzy, your moans vibrating against his mouth as he devoured you completely. Every kiss was a reminder that you were his, that he could do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. And you loved it. The intensity of his control only made you crave him more.
When he finally pulled away, leaving both of you panting, his eyes locked onto yours. The dark, commanding look in them told you everything you needed to know—he wasn’t finished with you yet. You knew what he expected, what he always wanted. Without a word, you stood up and began to strip out of your dress, your fingers trembling slightly as you pulled the fabric over your head and let it fall in a pool at your feet. You stood there, bare except for your heels, the black lace of your panties and bra the only thing left between his gaze and your skin.
He took a moment to admire the sight before him, his eyes roaming hungrily over every inch of your exposed body. Then, with a sudden, forceful movement, he turned you around and bent you over the edge of his bed, your hands gripping the sheets for balance. The anticipation was almost unbearable as you heard the drawer of the nightstand open, the familiar sound of it sending a shiver down your spine. You knew exactly what he was reaching for.
The wooden paddle, reserved for nights like this when he wanted to make sure you felt everything, was cool as he dragged it slowly down your back, teasing you with the promise of what was to come. He took his time, letting the paddle trace the curves of your ass, down to your thighs, and then back up again, the anticipation building with every second.
And then, without warning, he brought it down hard against your ass, the sharp smack reverberating through the room as your skin instantly stung with the force of the blow. “Fuck,” you gasped, your body jolting forward from the impact, the pain mixing with a surge of pleasure that left you breathless.
His chuckle was low, dark, as he lifted the paddle again, bringing it down even harder this time. The crack of it against your flesh made you moan, your head dropping into the covers as your body responded to his punishment with a heat that spread through your core. “Oh god,” you whimpered, your voice muffled as the sting from the paddle intensified, your ass burning with the delicious pain he was inflicting.
He didn’t stop there, though. His eyes were focused, watching your every reaction, the way your body trembled and arched for him, the way you couldn’t help but push your hips back, silently begging for more. The paddle slid down again, this time over the slick, swollen folds between your legs, teasing your already throbbing clit with its hard surface.
You moaned loudly, unable to control the sounds that escaped you as the wood dragged over your wetness, the sensation almost too much to bear.
He lifted the paddle and brought it down on your folds, the sharp smack sending a jolt of pleasure-pain straight through you, your body arching off the bed as you cried out into the sheets. The sting was intense, but the way it mixed with the throbbing between your legs only made you want him more.
He didn’t say much, but he didn’t need to. His silence spoke volumes, the way he handled you, the way he controlled every inch of your body, leaving no doubt in your mind who was in charge. And you loved it. You loved the way he dominated you, the way he pushed you to the edge over and over again, making you crave his roughness, his intensity.
The paddle came down with brutal precision, the impact sending shockwaves through your trembling body, pleasure and pain mingling into an intoxicating sensation that threatened to undo you. Each smack left your skin ablaze, the sting intensifying as your folds grew wetter, slick with arousal. You moaned, breathless, the sound escaping your lips as a broken, desperate plea.
“Mr. Jackson,” you gasped, your voice muffled by the sheets, barely able to hold back the raw pleasure coursing through you.
He smirked at the sound of his name on your lips, the power it gave him over you. Without a word, he threw the paddle to the floor, the wooden thud echoing in the room. His hand traced up your spine, teasing and possessive, each stroke sending shivers down your body. With a quick, practiced flick, he unclasped your bra, letting it fall away, leaving you exposed to him. His fingers slid through your hair, wrapping it tightly around his hand before pulling you upright, forcing your back into a perfect arch as your body submitted to his control.
Tears of pleasure welled in your eyes, a soft smile playing on your lips despite the intensity of it all. You knew exactly what he wanted, what he always took from you in these moments. Your mouth opened for him, willing, waiting. His other hand came to your face, gripping your jaw with a firm, almost possessive hold as he let a thick drop of saliva fall from his lips into your open mouth. His gaze was dark, intense, as he watched you obediently swallow.
“I love it when you do that,” you murmured, your voice soft yet laced with mischief as you leaned closer, teasing your tongue against his lips. Your breath mingled with his, the air between you charged as his lips parted in response. You took the opportunity to spit playfully into his mouth, the action bold and unapologetic, knowing he loved it just as much. But before you could pull back, he grabbed you by the neck, pulling you into a deep, messy kiss, both of you sharing in the heat, the saliva mixing between your tongues as the kiss grew rougher, more desperate.
Michael was no longer the shy man most knew him to be. Here, in the bedroom, he dropped the pretense, revealing the dominant, demanding lover he truly was. He spat into your mouth again, watching with dark satisfaction as you swallowed, the act primal, a testament to how fully you belonged to him in these moments. When you pulled away, a thick strand of saliva connected your lips to his, a physical reminder of the mess you both loved to make together. You flicked your tongue out, breaking the string with a teasing smirk.
He chuckled, a low, deep sound that sent another wave of heat rushing through you. Without warning, he pushed you back onto the bed, forcing you onto all fours as you quickly positioned yourself. Your eyes flicked to the clock—eleven p.m. Only an hour until he could finally speak, though he had already broken his rule for you tonight.
You felt the sudden tug at your panties, the fabric stretching before tearing completely as he ripped them from your body, leaving you bare except for the heels that still adorned your feet. You glanced back at him, a smirk dancing on your lips. “Someone’s been angry,” you teased, but the playful glint in your eyes quickly faded as his palm came down hard on your ass, the sharp smack making you bite your lip to stifle a moan.
He arched your back with one firm press of his hand against the small of it, his control absolute as he pushed you into the perfect position. He loved you like this—open, vulnerable, completely at his mercy. Even though he knew every inch of your body, knew how tight and wet you would be for him, every time he entered you, it was a struggle for your walls to accommodate his thick length, the way he stretched you inch by inch. His length , spotted with vitiligo, was a beautiful contradiction—soft in appearance yet unforgiving in size, a sight you had never grown tired of after all these years.
With one hand gripping your waist, he guided his length to your entrance, teasing you with the head of it, slicking himself with the wetness already dripping from you. The sensation of him pressing against you, the tip just barely entering, was maddening. Your breath hitched as you pushed back slightly, desperate for more, but he held you in place, not letting you take him fully just yet.
“Michael,” you whimpered, your voice strained with need, every nerve in your body screaming for him to give in, to fuck you the way you craved.
Michael’s smirk deepened as he watched your body struggle to accommodate his thickness, taking a sadistic pleasure in how slow and agonizing it was for you. His length slid in inch by inch, every vein and ridge pressing against your sensitive walls, stretching you to your limit. The tension between pain and pleasure electrified the air, your gasp barely escaping your lips as he bottomed out, hips pressed firmly against your backside. You could feel every throb, every twitch as he filled you completely.
“You’re so deep,” you moaned, voice trembling as you tried to adjust, the fullness almost unbearable. His hips moved with deliberate slowness, drawing back only to thrust forward again with a steady, torturous rhythm. His grip on your hips tightened, fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to leave marks. He watched intently, eyes fixed on the sight of his length disappearing into you, mesmerized by how your body stretched to take him.
With a low, guttural groan, he spat onto his length, adding more slickness as he continued to thrust, his movements becoming more fluid, more demanding. You glanced back at him, catching the glint in his eyes behind his reading glasses—those piercing eyes that made you feel even more powerless beneath him. He smirked as he pushed your head down roughly into the mattress, forcing your back into a deeper arch, making you open wider for him.
Then he shifted, lifting his left leg onto the bed for better leverage, driving himself into you from a new angle. His hands roamed possessively over your sides, squeezing and gripping in all the right places. His length gleamed with your arousal, highlighting the contours of every thick vein and pigment. You could hear the obscene sounds of your slickness with every deep thrust, his pace quickening as he pushed deeper, his growls rumbling from deep within his chest. The sensation of him filling you completely, over and over, was overwhelming, your body shaking with each rough stroke.
Needing more, you instinctively began to push back against him, trying to take control. But Michael wasn’t having it. In an instant, he pulled out and delivered a sharp smack to your ass, the sting so intense that you gasped. Before you could catch your breath, his hand was in your hair, yanking you up. He slapped you lightly across the face, his dark eyes locking onto yours, sending a clear message—you were not in charge here. He was.
“Then fuck me,” you spat defiantly, glancing at him through lust-filled eyes, your gaze momentarily fixating on the glint of his chain.
Without a word, he grabbed you aggressively, flipping you onto your back with ease. His hands were rough as he pinned your legs back against your chest, your toes pointed helplessly as he teased your slick folds with the tip of his length, dragging it slowly, deliberately, along your entrance. The teasing lasted only a second before he slammed into you, hard and fast, knocking the air from your lungs as your body jolted with the force of it.
“Oh god!” you cried out, your voice high and desperate as he began to pound into you with an unrelenting pace. His eyes never left you, watching intently as his length stretched you wide with each brutal thrust, the slick sounds of your arousal filling the room. You could barely breathe, barely think, the overwhelming sensation of him inside you consuming every part of your mind. You looked down, watching in awe as his thick shaft disappeared into your swollen, dripping cunt, stretching you open in a way that left you trembling.
Your moans were loud, desperate, as his thick tip grazed your cervix with every thrust, sending shockwaves through your body. Your legs quivered under his touch, your muscles weakening as the pleasure built to an unbearable intensity.
“Harder…” you whimpered, your voice barely a breath, your body craving more, needing more.
Michael’s eyes darkened, his jaw clenching as he drove into you with even more ferocity. The bed groaned beneath the brutal force of his thrusts, each one harder, more punishing than the last. The slap of your bodies echoed through the room, wet and raw, every stroke sending waves of your arousal splashing across his thighs and base. He didn’t slow down. If anything, the sound of your sobbing moans only spurred him on, the ruthless rhythm pushing you to the brink of breaking.
His length was coated in your arousal, thick and creamy, the evidence of your pleasure smeared across his length as it drove deeper, stretching you to your limits. You could feel every inch of him, the veins pulsing against your walls, the fullness so overwhelming that it sent shudders through your body. Your fingers found your clit, rubbing desperately as he fucked you harder, his hips slamming into you with a relentless force that had your back arching and your breath coming in ragged gasps.
The bed creaked beneath the weight of his thrusts, your vision blurring as he pounded into you. “Fuck, don’t stop,” you moaned, your voice hoarse, barely recognizable as you begged for more. The sight of his length disappearing inside you again and again, glistening with your slick, drove you wild. Each thrust was rougher, deeper, like he wanted to own every inch of you.
Your fingers became slick and sticky from the creamy arousal coating them, every touch sending electric jolts through your body. But it wasn’t enough—you needed more. And Michael, with his dark, silent fury, was giving it to you. He shifted slightly, changing his angle just enough to find that perfect spot inside you. The second he hit it, your body jolted, your walls clamping down hard around him.
“Right there, oh fuck, right there,” you blurted out, head falling back as the pleasure hit like a wave crashing over you. Your body shook, every nerve screaming as he hammered into the sweet spot with ruthless precision. His length twitched inside of you, every pulse sending you closer to the edge. The burn of the stretch only heightened the intensity, making your toes curl as you clung to the bed for dear life.
Without warning, Michael’s hand shot out, releasing your ankle and gripping your throat in one swift motion. His fingers tightened, squeezing hard, cutting off your air as he thrust harder, rougher, more brutal than before. The pressure on your neck blurred your vision, stars dancing across your eyes as your head spun. But through the haze, you smiled, loving every second of it.
His hand on your throat told you everything. He didn’t need words. The way he choked you, the way his length slammed into you without mercy, said more than any words ever could. He was releasing everything, pouring his anger, his lust, his possessiveness into every brutal thrust. And you welcomed it, loving the roughness, craving the way he lost control with you.
Your walls clenched around him, throbbing as he pounded you with relentless force, your body shaking beneath him as the intensity built higher and higher. Every thrust hit deeper, stretching you further, the burning pleasure twisting into something almost unbearable. His grip on your neck tightened, and you could feel the bruising already forming, but it only drove you closer to the brink.
Your vision swam in and out of focus, each rough thrust sending shockwaves through your body. The room around you seemed to blur into nothing, the only thing you could focus on was the relentless force of Michael’s body against yours, his hands gripping you with such intensity that you could feel his frustration radiating through every inch of him. His chain, cool and biting against your heated skin, contrasted with the searing heat between you, the weight of his chest pressing down on you as he held you under him, completely at his mercy. Your hand rested on his stomach, feeling the taut muscles rippling beneath your palm as he moved inside you, the power behind every thrust sending you spiraling into oblivion.
He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was just as punishing, his lips devouring yours with a force that took your breath away, literally. His grip around your throat tightened, cutting off your air just enough to make you gasp, the thrill of it coursing through you like fire. His groans rumbled deep in his chest, vibrating against your lips as his tongue teased yours, every movement calculated, deliberate. You whimpered softly, your breaths shallow, your body trembling as he plunged in and out of you with unyielding precision.
The clock struck midnight, the sound barely audible over the wet, slapping sounds of your bodies colliding and the jazz music playing softly in the background. Michael’s lips twisted into a dark smirk as he pulled back, his eyes locked on yours, filled with a dangerous intensity. “Want me to talk now, hmm?” His voice was a low growl, dripping with smug satisfaction as he drove deeper into you, your walls stretching around his length.
You could only nod, your voice caught in your throat as he continued to pound into you, your body jerking with each powerful thrust. He loosened his grip on your throat just enough for you to suck in a desperate breath, but his hand stayed firmly in place, a constant reminder of who was in control. “Look at you,” he murmured, his voice dripping with dominance. “Look how good you’re taking me, pretty girl. So wet, so creamy.”
His words sent a shiver down your spine, your body reacting to his praise, your moans turning into soft, desperate pleas. “Michael, please…”
“Please what?” he mocked, his thrusts growing more brutal, each one slamming into you so hard that it left you breathless. “You want it harder?”
Without waiting for an answer, he gave it to you, his hips snapping against yours with a force that knocked the air out of your lungs. Each thrust was deeper, rougher, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the room, the bed creaking under the violent rhythm. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, desperate to feel more of him, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his body claiming yours completely.
“Take it, baby. Take all of me,” he whispered harshly, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot and ragged as he drove into you with renewed intensity.
You moaned helplessly, your nails digging into the flesh of his shoulders, holding onto him like a lifeline as the pleasure built to a fever pitch. His lips found your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin, biting down hard enough to leave marks, each one a reminder of his dominance over you. “Why do you fuck me like this?” you gasped, your head falling back, exposing more of your neck to his hungry mouth.
He growled, flicking his tongue along the side of your neck before trailing it up to your ear. “Because you’re my pretty little slut,” he murmured darkly, his voice sending a jolt straight to your core.
Your walls clenched around him, the tightness driving him even deeper, and you could feel yourself teetering on the edge, your body trembling with the need to release. But he wasn’t finished. His hand tightened around your throat once more, choking you harder as he rammed into you with brutal, unrelenting force. Each thrust shifted the bed, the headboard slamming against the wall as his pace grew more violent, driven by some unspoken fury that had him fucking you like he never had before.
The darkness in Michael’s gaze was unlike anything you had ever seen before, an almost feral edge that made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. His thrusts were savage, each one tearing a guttural moan from your throat, the force of his body slamming into yours leaving you gasping for breath. The intensity of his movements left no room for tenderness—this was raw, unfiltered need, anger poured into every powerful stroke. He wasn’t holding back, and you could feel it in the way his hips snapped forward, the thick length of him filling you with a ruthless determination that made your entire body tremble.
Sweat dripped from his forehead, sliding down his chest and mingling with yours as he leaned over you, his breath hot and uneven against your ear. “You want them all to see, don’t you?” he growled, his voice rough, edged with a dangerous kind of heat. His eyes flicked downward, watching the way his length moved in and out of you with a slick, obscene sound. “See how good I fuck you? See how you take me like you were made for it? Look at how you’re squeezing me, so damn tight.”
You could barely respond, your head spinning as the pressure coiled tighter inside you. His words made your core clench around him, the tension building to an unbearable peak. You tried to speak, to form a coherent thought, but all that escaped was a broken moan, your lips trembling as your body shook beneath him. Words weren’t possible; the overwhelming sensations, the heat, the pressure, his brutal pace—it was all too much.
Michael’s hand shot out, cupping your face roughly, forcing your eyes to lock onto his. The intensity in his dark eyes was like a physical force, pinning you in place. He was still wearing his reading glasses, the thin frames sliding down the bridge of his nose, but the fury in his gaze never faltered. His chain dangled from his neck, swinging back and forth in time with his thrusts, brushing lightly against your skin. Every movement sent a shockwave through your body, the tension in your belly burning hotter with each passing second.
“You’re drunk on this, aren’t you?” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke. His hips didn’t slow, didn’t waver—each thrust was hard, precise, pushing you closer to the edge. “So drunk on the way I fuck you, on the way I own you. You like that, don’t you?”
You whimpered, your body arching against his, the heat in your belly threatening to consume you. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you fought to hold on, the slick sound of your bodies colliding filling the air. You glanced down, unable to stop yourself from watching where you were joined, mesmerized by the sight of his length sliding in and out of you, the thickness of him stretching you, filling you completely.
“I can feel how close you are,” he groaned, his voice thick with lust. His hips never faltered, his pace relentless as he drove himself into you again and again, hitting that spot deep inside that made your vision blur. “I know you want to cum. Just let it go, baby girl. Let it all out for me.”
You were trembling now, your thighs quivering with the effort to hold on, your body teetering on the edge of oblivion. You couldn’t stop it, couldn’t hold back the wave of pleasure that was crashing through you. “Michael, I… I can’t—” Your voice broke off, your body seizing as your orgasm tore through you, violent and all-consuming.
He watched you intently, his gaze never leaving your face as you came undone beneath him, your walls clenching and pulsing around him like a vice. The room seemed to spin around you, the sound of your moans echoing in your ears as wave after wave of pleasure rippled through your body, leaving you breathless and shaking.
“Fuck,” Michael growled, his own control slipping as he felt your cunt tighten around him. His teeth gritted together, his jaw clenched as he pounded into you harder, chasing his own release. “God, you feel so damn good. So tight, so perfect.”
His thrusts grew erratic, the muscles in his arms and chest straining as he buried himself deep inside you. You could feel him swelling, twitching, his length throbbing as he neared his breaking point. A guttural groan escaped his lips as he slammed into you one final time, his entire body tensing as he spilled his hot, thick seed deep inside you.
“Shit!” he snarled, his body shaking as his orgasm hit him like a freight train. His grip on your hips tightened, holding you in place as he emptied himself into you, his release filling you, warm and thick. He didn’t move for a moment, just stayed there, buried deep inside you as his length twitched and pulsed, his breathing ragged and uneven.
Your body was spent, trembling from the intensity of the moment, but even as your legs shook and your muscles screamed in exhaustion, there was a deep, primal satisfaction in the way he filled you. The wet, sticky mess of your combined release seeped out of you, trickling down your thighs and staining the sheets beneath you. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and sex, and you could feel the steady thrum of your own heartbeat in your ears, drowning out everything else.
Michael slowly withdrew from you, his length slipping out of your slick heat with a wet sound that made you whimper. You felt empty without him, your body aching from the loss of him, but the sharp sting of your sensitivity kept you grounded. He glanced down at the mess between your legs, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he watched his seed spill from you.
Without breaking eye contact, Michael slipped out of bed, leaving you sprawled across the sheets, trembling in the aftermath of his touch. You could hear the soft sound of running water from the bathroom, the low hum of the shower creating a soothing background. The ache between your thighs served as a reminder of his power over you—of the way he’d pushed you to your limits, leaving you breathless and wanting, yet utterly satisfied.
Moments later, he returned, a damp washcloth in his hand. His expression was unreadable, his eyes dark and intent as he approached the bed. Kneeling beside you, he parted your legs, his movements slow and deliberate. The cool touch of the cloth against your heated skin made you flinch, a shiver running down your spine. Despite the tenderness of his actions, there was an unmistakable dominance in the way he took care of you—an unspoken declaration that you were his.
“Stay still, sweetheart,” he ordered, his voice low and commanding. “I need to clean you up. Don’t move.”
You swallowed, trying to steady the trembling in your limbs. “Yes, sir,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out.
His eyes held yours as his hands moved with a precision that was both gentle and possessive. He wiped away the traces of your shared pleasure, his fingers brushing over your oversensitive folds. You whimpered, your body jerking involuntarily at the contact, still so raw from the intensity of the night.
“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice a deep, velvety growl. “All soft and vulnerable. Just the way I like you. So fragile after I’ve had my way with you.” He paused, his lips curving into a smirk as he watched you. “But you took it all, didn’t you? My good girl.”
“Yes, sir,” you breathed, your heart pounding at his words.
His gaze darkened, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his features. He set the washcloth aside and reached for your chin, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. “Who do you belong to?” he asked, his tone firm, leaving no room for doubt.
“To you, sir,” you answered, the words slipping out without hesitation.
“That’s right.” His voice was a soft growl, possessive and undeniably sensual. He leaned down, his lips brushing against yours—a kiss that was slow and deliberate, meant to remind you exactly who was in control. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, demanding entrance, and you parted them for him willingly. The kiss deepened, his hand moving to cradle the back of your head, holding you in place as he tasted you, dominated you.
When he finally pulled away, his lips hovered just above yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You taste like surrender,” he whispered, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “My perfect girl.”
He stood, his arms slipping around you as he pulled you to your feet. Your legs felt like jelly, and he held you close, supporting your weight as he guided you toward the bathroom. The steam enveloped you as you stepped inside, the warmth of the shower wrapping around you like a blanket. Michael sat down on the shower bench, pulling you onto his lap. His arms encircled your waist, holding you against him, his chest firm against your back.
“You did well tonight,” he whispered in your ear, his voice low and intimate. “Took everything I gave you. But you know I’m not done with you, don’t you?”
A weak smile tugged at your lips as you rested back against him, your head nestled into the crook of his neck. “What set you off tonight, sir?” you asked, your voice soft, a hint of teasing there despite your exhaustion.
He sighed, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice darkening. “Lisa. She’s done. Out of my life.” His hand moved, cupping your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple. “But you need to understand something, sweetheart—what we have is not just about my anger. It’s about you and me. You belong to me. Every inch of you.”
A shiver coursed through you at his words, your breath hitching as his fingers teased your sensitive skin. “Yes, sir,” you whispered, your voice quivering with a mix of fear and excitement.
“She doesn’t know about us,” he continued, his tone dripping with possessiveness. “But it doesn’t matter. You’re mine, regardless of who knows. No one else will touch you. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir. Only you,” you breathed, the weight of his claim sinking into your very being.
A satisfied sound rumbled deep in his chest, his mouth trailing along the side of your neck, his lips hot against your skin. “That’s my girl. You’ve been teasing me all week, haven’t you? Trying to provoke me?” His voice was dark, dangerous, filled with a promise that made your heart pound.
You felt a sly smile tug at your lips, despite the blush creeping across your cheeks. “I wanted your attention, sir.”
Michael let out a low, dangerous chuckle. “Well, you got it,” he murmured, his fingers moving down between your legs, brushing against your core. You gasped, your body arching into him, even as the ache from earlier still lingered. “But teasing me comes at a price, sweetheart. You know that.”
“Yes, sir,” you whimpered, feeling your body responding to his touch, the heat building again despite your exhaustion.
“You’re mine,” he whispered against your ear, his voice sending shivers down your spine. “Every inch of you belongs to me, and I’m going to remind you of that every chance I get.”
“Yes, sir. I belong to you,” you whispered, your voice shaky, your heart pounding as his fingers teased you, keeping you right at the edge without letting you fall over.
He turned your face toward the warm spray of the shower, his lips brushing a kiss to your temple. “Let the heat relax you. I need you ready for me, whenever I decide it’s time again.”
You let yourself melt into his touch, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing against your back, the water cascading down, soothing the soreness in your body. His hands moved up to your hair, undoing the knots, each touch a reminder of his claim over you.
“Who knew having an affair with your boss would lead to this,” you murmured, a wry smile playing on your lips, your eyes fluttering closed.
Michael’s hand moved to grip your jaw, tilting your head back so you met his eyes. His gaze was dark, filled with a fire that made your breath catch in your throat. “This is not just an affair,” he growled, his voice filled with raw, unfiltered dominance. “You are mine. Completely. Body, mind, and soul.”
His lips claimed yours in a kiss that was searing, possessive—one that left you breathless, a reminder of his control over you.
When he pulled back, his voice was a low rumble, each word laced with intent. “I won’t let you forget that. Not now, not ever. You’re mine, and I’ll make sure you remember that every time I touch you.”
Your eyes closed as his words sank in, the weight of them wrapping around you like a blanket. “I won’t forget, sir. I promise.”
He let out a satisfied hum, his fingers trailing down your throat, resting just above your collarbone. “That’s my girl. Always so obedient. Now hush and relax. Tonight, you’re going to rest, and when you wake up, you’ll remember exactly who you belong to.”
His lips brushed against your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “And next time, sweetheart, when I decide to take you again, I’ll remind you just how much you need me. Just how much you crave every touch, every command. You’ll beg for it, won’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation and submission.
“That’s right,” he growled softly, his lips pressing against your neck, marking you with gentle kisses that promised both pleasure and possession. “You’re my good girl. And I take care of what’s mine.”
You nodded, resting against him as the warmth of the water washed over you, feeling his arms around you—a shelter, a cage, and a sanctuary, all at once. And as his fingers traced lazy patterns along your skin, you knew there was nowhere else you’d rather be.
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