Okay , so here’s my idea!
Michael and the reader are in his office/library on a rainy night. While he’s sitting in his chair , she’s in his lap cuddled up to him , lying her head in the crook of his neck. He keeps telling her how cute she looks cuddled into him. He also reads a poetry book to her. Thanks in advance!!
synopsis: exhausted from a long day, you wander into michael’s office looking for comfort. he decides his lyrics can wait trading his notebooks for a more deeper, breathless rhythm.
themes: bad era! michael x non famous! fem gf reader, lots of compliments, smut, oral, fingers you, bends you over the desk, p in v sex, lots of praise, calls you my pretty girl, you make him breathless, you tease him with silk.
note: oh I hope I’ve done this justice!! I’ve put my own little spin on it!
The rain had settled over Neverland hours ago.
It drummed steadily against the tall windows, turning the massive ranch into a private cocoon of warmth. October always made the place feel different, quieter, more grounded somehow. The amusement park rides stood entirely still beneath the weeping grey sky, the manicured gardens shimmered under the fresh downpour, and inside, every single room glowed with the amber invitation of lamplight.
The main house was unusually peaceful.
The busy daytime energy had melted away; the maids and staff had all gone home for the evening, leaving only you and Michael to enjoy the rare, golden silence.
After spending the entire afternoon comforting your sister through the messy, painful aftermath of a sudden breakup, you finally stepped through the kitchen door. You were exhausted, carrying a heavy ache in your shoulders that sleep alone couldn't fix.
Michael looked up from the counter, where he was halfway through brewing a fresh pot of chamomile tea.
“There you are,” he murmured, his face instantly softening as he set the ceramic mug down.
Before you could even set your purse down on the stool, he crossed the polished floor. His hands were warm as they cupped your face, his thumb gently wiping a stray drop of rain from your cheek before he pressed a long, lingering kiss to your forehead. He didn't pull away immediately, just rested his brow against yours.
“Long day at your sisters?” he asked softly, trying to coax a smile out of you.
You let out a ragged sigh, nodding against his chest. “She’s putting on a brave face, Michael… but she’s completely heartbroken. It was just hours of crying and trying to piece together what went wrong.”
Michael’s expression shifted into one of deep, genuine concern. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tight against him. “Oh, man, that’s just awful. It breaks my heart to hear that. Did she manage to eat anything at all? I know how she gets when she's upset she completely forgets to take care of herself.”
“Barely a few bites of toast,” you whispered into his shoulder. “I tried to get her to drink some soup, but she just couldn’t stomach it.”
“That’s no good,” Michael murmured, gently stroking your back. “Listen, tomorrow morning, I’m going to have the chefs whip up a big basket of her favorite comfort foods some fresh pastries, fruit, and that specialized herbal tea she loves and I’ll have security drive it right over to her house. We have to make sure she’s looking after her health, okay? And you, too. You carry everyone’s weight on your shoulders, baby.”
“That’s incredibly sweet of you,” you whispered, leaning into his chest to breathe in the familiar, comforting scent of his cologne. “I think she just needs time. Right now, I desperately need a shower to wash this day off of me.”
He chuckled, a low, melodic sound that vibrated against your cheek. “Go on up. Take your time, stay under the hot water as long as you need. I’ll be down in my office, just finishing up a few stubborn lyrics that have been bouncing around my head.”
You pulled back slightly, raising an eyebrow. “You and those lyrics. Do you ever actually switch your brain off?”
“They won’t write themselves,” he argued playfully, giving your hip a gentle nudge toward the stairs. “Now go. Be kind to yourself.”
The master bedroom overlooked the rain-soaked gardens, the glass fogging slightly from the chill outside. You peeled off your heavy layers, stepping into the master bath. The steaming water worked wonders, slowly melting the residual tension from your muscles until your skin was flushed pink.
By the time you dried your hair, you finally felt a sense of peace returning. You slipped into your favorite ivory silk nightdress, the delicate lace along the neckline catching the soft bedroom light, before tying the matching silk robe loosely around your waist.
Downstairs, the long hallway was dark, save for the warm, amber light spilling out from beneath Michael’s office door. You walked barefoot across the hardwood, knocking once out of habit before turning the brass handle.
The fire was crackling beautifully in the hearth, throwing dancing shadows across the mahogany bookshelves. Stacks of leather-bound notebooks lay open across his desk, surrounded by scattered sheets of legal paper covered in his messy, hurried handwriting.
Michael looked up the second the door creaked.
“Hey,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. His entire face brightened, his dark eyes tracking you as you walked in. “Look at you. You look comfortable.”
“I finally feel human again,” you admitted, crossing the room. “The shower saved my life.”
He laughed quietly, tossing his pen onto the desk. “Come here then.”
You didn’t hesitate. Wandering over to his leather chair, you settled yourself sideways across his lap. It was seamless, an unspoken routine, as though your body belonged exactly there. One of his arms immediately looped around your waist, pulling you securely against his chest, while his other hand reached back out to pick up his pen, resuming his idle scribbling.
Every now and then he would pause, humming a complex, beautiful melody beneath his breath a song only he could hear in that brilliant mind of his.
“What?” he asked, his lips twitching into a smile as he kept writing.
“Writing with your mouth. I can hear the bassline in your throat.”
“I think better when I hum,” he defended himself, turning his head to press a quick kiss to your shoulder. “It’s a package deal. You date the man, you date the hum.”
“I’ve noticed,” you teased, leaning your head back against his shoulder.
The room fell into a cozy, easy silence, broken only by the rhythmic lashing of the rain against the glass, the popping of the firewood, and Michael’s soft musical murmurs. Your eyes wandered across his desk shelves until a worn, vintage poetry book caught your eye.
“Oh? What’s this?” You reached out, sliding the delicate book from the shelf. “When did you start reading this one?”
Michael smiled sheepishly, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “A while ago. I found it in an old bookstore in London. It’s got some beautiful imagery in it.”
You flicked through the yellowed pages, stopping when a folded corner caught your attention. “This one’s marked. 'To the One Who Holds the Key.' You dogeared it.”
He immediately looked bashful, trying to gently pull the book from your fingers. “Don’t look at that. I liked that one, that’s all.”
You held it just out of his reach, grinning up at him. “Read it to me.”
He hesitated, looking down at the pages and then into your eyes. “I don't know, baby… I’m tired, my voice is a little raspy tonight.”
“Michael, please? You have the most beautiful reading voice in the world and you know it.”
“You are so incredibly spoiled,” he groaned affectionately, though there was nothing but adoration in his eyes.
“I know,” you smiled, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Please?”
With a dramatic, loving sigh, he took the book from your hands. Opening to the marked page, his voice became soft, rhythmic, and deeply melodic as he began to read the opening lines:
"The world outside may rage and weep in gray, But in the quiet shelter of your grace, The heavy winter melts entirely away..."
Every word carried a profound, gentle warmth. The poem spoke of quiet devotion of finding a true home in another person, of autumn evenings spent in silence, of gentle touches, and loving someone not for a flawless facade, but simply because they were inherently themselves.
When he finished the final stanza, neither of you spoke for a long moment. There wasn’t any need to fill the air. The fire continued its crackling dance, and outside, the rain kissed the windows in a steady loop.
Michael leaned down, burying his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply against your warm, clean skin.
“Mmm…” he breathed out, his lips brushing your collarbone.
“Your hair,” he murmured, his fingers tangling into the damp strands. “It smells completely like honey. Just pure, sweet honey. It’s driving me crazy.”
You laughed quietly, a shiver running down your spine as you shifted on his lap so you were facing him more directly, straddling his thighs. “I’ll definitely take that as a compliment.”
“It is a major compliment,” he said, his voice dropping into a husky, deliberate register. He set the poetry book completely aside on the desk and, with a decisive snap, closed his notebook of lyrics. “There.”
“Finished?” you asked, your breath hitching slightly at the sudden intensity in his gaze.
“For tonight. I have much better things to focus on right now.”
You looked at him. Really looked at him. In the dim, flickering firelight, you studied the soft black curls framing his face, the lingering spark of creativity in his eyes, and the tiny, endearing crease between his brows that always appeared when he’d been concentrating too hard.
He noticed your intense gaze. “...Why’re you looking at me like that?” he asked, a shy smile pulling at his lips, though his dark eyes flared with a sudden, heavy heat.
You reached up, your fingers tracing his jawline before gently brushing a stray curl away from his forehead. “Because…” your thumb lingered against his temple, smoothing over his skin, mercilessly breaking the remaining tension of the day, “…I am so deeply, completely in love with you, Michael.”
His playful smile faltered into something incredibly intense. He stared at you, his dark eyes searching yours as if looking for a catch. Then, he shook his head in a quiet, breathless kind of disbelief.
“I don’t think I’ll ever truly understand why you fell for me,” he whispered, his fingers intertwining tightly with yours, pressing your knuckles against his chest so you could feel the steady, rapid thumping of his heart.
“No, let me say it,” he interrupted softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I fell for you… because you never once treated me like 'Michael Jackson.' Not for a single second. You treated me like Mike. The man. The person who gets clumsy, who burns the toast, who gets tired. You actually listen when I talk. You laugh at my awful, corny jokes. You tell me when I’m overworking myself and look after me.”
He smiled, a low, devastatingly attractive expression as his gaze dropped to your lips. “And you’ve never made me feel like I had to earn your love. I don't have to perform for you.”
Before you could formulate a reply, he leaned forward, closing the small distance between you. He caught your lips in a slow, deep kiss that made your head spin. It started tenderly, but as you sighed into his mouth, his grip on your waist tightened, pulling you firmly against him until there was absolutely no space left between your bodies.
As the kiss deepened, lingering and hot, his hand drifted slowly down your side, his fingers trailing over the smooth fabric of your robe until they found the ivory silk bow tied tightly at your waist.
He paused, pulling back just a fraction of an inch, his dark eyes hooded and heavy with desire. A wicked, playful little glint flashed in them as his lips brushed against yours with every word he spoke.
“So formal,” he murmured, his voice a low, teasing purr that vibrated against your mouth. “All locked up in silk for me?”
With slow, deliberate fingers, he tugged on one end of the ribbon. You watched his face as the knot easily slipped free, the fabric parting and pooling around your hips. His fingertips brushed lightly against the exposed skin of your bare waist, sending a sharp, electric shiver straight up your spine.
His dark eyes snapped back up to meet yours, completely unblinking. The sweet, bashful boy from a moment ago was entirely gone, replaced by a man who knew exactly how to take his time.
“You know…” he whispered, his warm palm sliding completely inside the robe, his thumb slowly tracing the bare curve of your hip, dragging the silk nightdress up your thigh, “…you are the most beautiful, intoxicating thing that’s ever wandered into my life. And right now, you are making it impossible to be good.”
Your breath hitched instantly, a soft gasp escaping your lips as his hand slid further up your back, pulling you flush against his chest. “Michael…”
He chuckled, a low, wicked sound that sent another wave of heat straight to your core. He leaned in closer, his lips tracing a burning path along your jawline before burying themselves in the sensitive skin just beneath your ear. He nipped playfully at your sweet-smelling neck, making you arch into him.
“And somehow,” he whispered against your skin, his hands shifting to grip your hips firmly, lifting you slightly so you could feel the unmistakable, rigid proof of his desire pressing hard against you, “I still get butterflies every single time you walk into a room. But right now? I think I'm completely done talking.”
He chuckled against your skin, that low, rumbling hum vibrating directly against your pulse point before he slowly pulled back. His gaze locked onto yours, heavy-lidded and burning with an intensity that made the air in the room feel completely thick.
Slowly, his large, warm hand traveled up from your waist, his thumb gently stroking the line of your jaw. The contrast of his rough thumb against your flushed skin made you shiver. His touch wandered higher, his thumb tracing the soft curve of your lower lip, pressing down slightly to part them.
You didn't break eye contact. Holding his dark, hooded gaze dead in the eye, you parted your lips further, swapping his thumb for his long fingers. You slowly drew his index and middle fingers into your mouth, wrapping your tongue around them, sucking gently while your eyes stayed locked onto his.
A slow, wicked smirk spread across Michael’s face. He let out a low, ragged breath, his chest expanding against yours.
“You’re so fucking good, baby girl,” he growled, his voice dropping into a raspy, gravelly register you rarely let anyone else hear.
While you continued to hold his fingers in your mouth, his other hand began an agonizingly slow ascent up your thigh. The cool ivory silk of your nightdress bunched up in his palm, sliding higher and higher until the fabric was pushed completely past your hips. His warm, bare palm slid over the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, making your muscles twitch beneath his touch.
His hand moved higher, his fingers parting you effortlessly, sliding right into the heat of your core. As his fingertips brushed against your slick, throbbing clit, finding you completely drenched for him, his smirk widened. He paused, his fingers lightly circling the sensitive bundle of nerves.
“No panties, baby?” he murmured, his voice laced with pure, unadulterated satisfaction at the realisation.
You slowly let his fingers slip from your mouth, a soft gasp escaping your lips as his hand flexed against you. You leaned down closer to his face, your breath hitching, but your voice remained steady, dripping with confidence as you stared right back into his dark eyes.
“I didn't think I'd need them tonight, Mike,” you whispered, your voice a sultry, teasing purr. “Not when I knew you’d be down here, writing lyrics with that pretty mouth of yours. I wanted to make it easy for you to take exactly what’s yours.”
Michael’s eyes flared, a dark, primal heat taking over his expression as he gripped your hip hard enough to leave a mark. “Oh, is that right?” he whispered, his thumb applying a sudden, firm pressure right where you wanted it most, making your hips helplessly roll against his hand. “You came down here just to distract me, didn't you? You knew exactly what you were doing to me in this dress.”
“Maybe I did,” you gasped, arching your back as his fingers began to move in slow, torturous circles against your wet skin. “But you’re the one who closed the notebook, baby. You’re the one who can’t keep his hands off me.”
“And I’m not going to,” he growled softly, his face hovering just inches from yours, his breath hot and demanding. “You’re so wet for me, sweetheart. Tell me how bad you want it. Tell me what you want me to do to you.”
“I need you inside me, Mike,” you panted, your hands gripping his broad shoulders as his fingers continued their steady, maddening friction. “I want to feel how big you are. Make me forget everything but you, baby. Do it.”
He didn't need to be told twice. His thumb slid back over your drenched clit, pressing down and swirling against the sensitive peak with a sudden, deliberate rhythm. The sheer intensity of the pleasure hit you instantly. You threw your head back, a breathless cry ripping from your throat as your spine arched off his lap.
Instantly, his large hand came up to catch the back of your neck, his fingers tangling securely into your honey-scented hair to support your weight. He leaned up, tracking your movement, and began pressing a trail of tender, burning kisses along the exposed line of your throat. Each kiss was a soft, warm contrast to the devastatingly wicked work his other hand was doing between your thighs.
“That’s it, let it out for me,” he murmured against your skin, his breath hitching as your thighs trembled against his hips.
Then, hooded and heavy-lidded eyes never leaving your face, he shifted his hand slightly and slipped a single, long finger inside your heat. You were so incredibly tight, your body instantly clamping down around him, and your mouth formed a perfect, breathless “O” shape as the fullness stretched you out.
A loud, uninhibited moan echoed through the quiet office, bouncing off the mahogany shelves.
Michael’s smirk returned, deeper and darker this time. He pumped his finger in slowly, testing your wetness, feeling the internal ripples of your body wrapping tightly around him. He leaned in close, his lips brushing your earlobe as he spoke, his voice dropping into a deep, raspy purr.
“Think you can take another one, baby girl? Look at how tight you are for me.”
Before you could even gasp out an answer, he slid a second finger right alongside the first, stretching you beautifully. You let out a high, sharp cry, your hips bucking upward instinctively. Michael growled, gripping your waist tightly with his free hand to anchor you down as he instantly picked up the pace, his two fingers driving into you with deep, rhythmic strokes.
The friction against your clit combined with the deep, stretching pace of his fingers was entirely too much. You looked down at him, your eyes half-lidded and glazed with raw pleasure, and leaned in close to his ear to whisper through your panting breaths.
“You’re stretching me so good, Mike… fuck, you feel so big inside me. Harder, baby, ride me with your fingers. I’m melting for you.”
The dirty talk hit him like a physical blow. Michael’s pupils dilated, a dark, primal growl ripping from his chest. “God, you’re a little bad girl,” he choked out, his control snapping as his fingers began to drive into you faster, harder, ruthlessly targeting the sensitive spot inside you over and over again.
Your head swirled, the heat in your lower stomach tightening into a knot before completely shattering. You began to orgasm, your walls contracting violently around his fingers in heavy, desperate waves. You cried out his name, your fingers digging into his shoulders as your body shook with the release, riding the intense waves of your climax right on his lap.
Michael watched you the entire time, absorbing every moan, every twitch of your body, a look of fierce, possessive pride written across his face. He kept up the steady pace until the worst of the tremors subsided, slowly drawing his slick, soaked fingers out of your heat.
Holding your gaze, he slowly brought his hand up to his mouth and sucked his own fingers clean, his tongue swirling around them, his dark eyes never breaking contact with yours.
The sight sent a fresh wave of heat straight to your core. Driven by a sudden surge of desire, you shifted your weight and slid off his lap, dropping to your knees on the soft rug between his thighs.
Michael’s breath caught in his throat, his hands resting on the arms of the leather chair as he looked down at you. “What are you doing, sweetheart?”
You didn't answer with words. Reaching up, your hands were steady as you unbuckled his leather belt, the metal clinking softly in the quiet room. You undid the button of his trousers, slowly zipping them down and pulling his dark underwear out of the way. His thick, rigid cock sprang free, completely hard and glistening with anticipation.
You leaned forward, wrapping your lips around the plush head of his length, and began to suck him slowly, drawing him into the wet warmth of your mouth.
Michael let out a loud, ragged grunt, his eyes snapping shut as his head fell back against the headrest of his chair. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the armrests. You kept your eyes wide open, looking straight up at him through your lashes as you moved your mouth up and down his length, swirling your tongue over the sensitive ridge.
He opened his eyes, looking down at you, his chest heaving. “God… those pretty eyes looking up at me while you do that,” he groaned, his voice completely wrecked. “You’re killing me, baby. You look so beautiful down there.”
Spurred on by his praise, you gripped the base of his shaft and pushed yourself forward, taking him much deeper into your throat, swallowing him whole.
Michael let out a harsh, choked cry, his hand flying to the back of your head, his fingers tangling into your hair to hold you there for a split second as his hips twitched upward.
“Fuck… look at how much of me my baby girl can take,” he gasped, his voice trembling with the sheer intensity of the sensation. “You’re so deep, sweetheart. So wet.”
You bobbed your head a few more times, pulling out just enough to swirl your tongue around him before taking him deep again, pulling a string of heavy, breathless groans from his throat. You could feel his core tightening, his breathing turning into shallow, desperate gasps as he neared the edge.
Right before he could come, you deliberately pulled away. You licked your wet lips, looking up at him with a teasing, sultry smile as he let out a whimper of pure frustration.
“Oh, no, baby,” you whispered, standing up slowly. “Not yet. I want to feel you inside me.”
Michael didn't waste a single second. He stood up, his trousers pooling around his ankles as he stepped out of them, his tall, lean frame completely imposing in the firelight. He reached out, his hands gripping the hem of your ivory silk nightdress, and in one swift, fluid motion, he pulled it up and over your head, tossing it carelessly onto the floor along with your robe.
You stood entirely bare before him, and his eyes devoured you. Without a word, he grabbed you by the waist and lifted you effortlessly, hoisting you up onto the edge of the large mahogany desk, scattering a few sheets of lyric paper to the floor.
Before your heels could even settle against the wood, Michael crowded into your space, his body hot and heavy against yours. He crashed his lips onto yours in a fierce, possessive kiss, his tongue instantly demanding entry, drowning out your soft gasp.
His hands gripped your thighs, pulling your legs wide apart and draping them over his broad shoulders. He positioned himself at your entrance, the thick, burning head of his cock rubbing against your still-throbbing clit.
He pulled back from the kiss just an inch, his dark eyes ablaze, his breath mingling with yours. “Don't make me beg for it, Mike. Put it in,” you provoked him, your hands sliding up his chest, your fingers digging into his warm skin as you stared back at him with desperate desire. “I want you to stretch me out. Fill me up right now.”
“I’m going to stretch you so wide, baby,” he growled back, his voice completely raw. “You’re mine. All of you.”
With a heavy, deliberate thrust of his hips, he slipped himself all the way inside you, buried to the absolute hilt.
Both of your voices merged into a loud, echoing moan that shattered the quiet of the room. You cried out at the sheer, overwhelming fullness of him, your inner walls squeezing him tightly as Michael let out a deep, guttural groan, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he began to move inside you, the heavy rain outside completely forgotten against the heat of the fire.
The agonizingly perfect stretch of him filling you completely made your vision blur. You clamped your legs tighter around his broad shoulders, anchoring him closer as his hips locked flush against yours. Michael let out a ragged, trembling breath against your collarbone, holding completely still for a fraction of a second just to let your tight walls adjust to the massive size of him.
Slowly, his large hands slid up from your hips, his long fingers trailing up your ribcage until they cupped your breasts. He squeezed them firmly, his thumbs brushing in heavy, deliberate circles over your taut, sensitive nipples.
“God, you feel incredible,” Michael choked out, his voice a deep, gravelly growl that sent shivers straight to your core. “So tight. Look at how beautifully you take all of me. You’re built perfectly for this, sweetheart.”
“You’re so big, Mike,” you whined, your hands clawing at his back as he pulled back slightly and delivered a slow, crushing thrust that bottomed out deep against your cervix. “Ah! Fuck, you’re hitting everything… keep going, baby. Don’t stop.”
“I’m not stopping a single thing,” he whispered hoarsely, his pace instantly quickening. His hands stayed locked onto your breasts, caressing and lifting them as his lower body worked with a fierce, punishing rhythm. The wet, slapping sound of his hips pounding against your bare thighs echoed through the office, competing with the heavy downpour outside. “Tell me how good it feels. Tell me what I'm doing to you.”
“It’s ruining me,” you cried out, your head tossing from side to side on the desk, scattering handwritten lyric sheets to the floor. “You’re stretching me so wide, Mike… fuck, hard, give it to me hard. It's all yours.”
“Yeah, it is,” he growled, his pupils dilated with absolute dominance as he hammered into you, his breathing turning into sharp, desperate pants. “Every single drop of this is mine. You’re so fucking good for me.”
Suddenly, Michael groaned, his grip tightening on your waist as he abruptly pulled himself completely out of your dripping heat. You let out a loud whimper of pure frustration, your hips instinctively chasing his warmth.
“Mike, please, don’t do that—”
“I’m not done with you, sweetheart,” he panted, his chest heaving as he gripped your thighs and hoisted you off the edge of the desk. Your feet hit the soft rug, your knees trembling so hard you could barely stand. Before you could even catch your breath, Michael gripped your hips and spun you around, pressing your chest flat against the polished wood of the desk.
He leaned over your back, his heavy, rigid length pressing hard against the crease of your ass. With one hand, he reached forward, his fingers tangling firmly into your honey-scented hair at the base of your neck, gently pulling your head back so you had to look toward him.
“Look at you,” he whispered, his voice dripping with raw, possessive lust. “Bent over my desk, dripping wet, completely bare for me. My pretty girl.”
He guided his slick head back to your entrance and, with one brutal, unrelenting shove of his hips, he buried himself back inside you from behind. The change in angle made him hit even deeper, invading you completely. You let out a loud, piercing scream, your fingers digging into the edge of the mahogany wood.
“Oh my god! Mike! Deeper… please, bend me over and go deeper,” you begged, your voice cracking with overwhelming pleasure. “I need you all the way inside. Fuck me harder, baby, please.”
“God, you love it hard, don’t you?” Michael growled, his control snapping entirely at your words. He tightened his grip on your hair, pulling just enough to make you arch your back perfectly as he began to ruthlessly pound into you from behind. Every thrust was deep, heavy, and utterly consuming. “Take it then, baby girl. Take all of me. You want it deeper? Look at how much you’re taking.”
“Yes! Ah, fuck, right there, Mike! Right there,” you screamed, your hips mindlessly slamming back against his with every thrust, meeting his brutal pace. “I’m gonna cum, baby, I’m gonna cum again.”
“Cum for me, sweetheart. Let me feel you squeeze me,” he commanded, his voice raw, his own pace turning completely frantic as he felt your core begin to contract violently around him. “I’m right there with you… fuck, you’re so hot, you’re milking me so good—”
The tightening in your lower stomach shattered completely, sending a massive, paralyzing orgasm crashing through your entire body. Your walls clamped down around him like a vice, pulsing in heavy, desperate waves. The sensation pushed Michael completely over the edge. With a loud, deep, guttural roar that tore from his chest, he buried himself to the absolute hilt inside you, his hips twitching violently as he shot his hot, heavy load deep into your contracting warmth.
He held himself deep inside you for several long, trembling seconds, his chest slamming heavily against your bare back as both of your ragged breathing filled the quiet room. The fire crackled softly in the background, a sharp contrast to the absolute wreckage of the desk.
His grip on your hair relaxed, his fingers gently smoothing down the tangled strands before he reluctantly pulled out of you, a soft hiss escaping his lips. He wrapped his arms around your bare waist from behind, pulling your back flush against his sweat-glistened chest, both of you still shaking from the intensity.
Michael buried his face in the crook of your neck, kissing the damp skin tenderly before letting out a low, breathless chuckle.
“Well,” he murmured, his raspy voice vibrating directly against your skin as his hand slid down to playfully pinch your bare hip. “I think those lyrics are definitely going to have a completely different vibe tomorrow.”
You let out a weak, breathy laugh, leaning back into his heavy warmth. “You’re a menace, Mike. My legs are completely like jelly.”
He turned you around in his arms, his dark eyes sparkling with a wicked, deeply satisfied smirk as he looked down at your flushed, thoroughly loved-on face.
“Good,” he whispered, his thumb tracing your swollen, bitten lower lip. “That means I did my job right. Now let’s get you back upstairs so I can clean you up… and maybe do it all over again.”
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