Mature Michael Fic • HIS • 18+ • part four
[ part one ] • MDNI
Context: Michael's ex wife has spoken out about him, and put you in an uncomfortable position... especially considering both you and Michael just decided to go "public"...
content warnings: graphic sexual content, breeding and praise kinks. MDNI under any circumstances. This is GROWN FOLK shit.
The gate buzzer goes. I glance up from watching TV, looking over my shoulder as my housekeeper heads to the small room beside the front door to check the cameras. I go back to watching my show, when a knock comes a few minutes later.
"Yes?" my housekeeper answers.
"Delivery for Miss Jones from a... Mr Jackson."
I'm up from the couch and padding over to the front door as two large bouquets are brought in, exotic and beautiful, already organised perfectly within their own cream vases, wrapped in pretty red ribbon. I coo, clapping my hands lightly as the delivery men bring them forward, and place them neatly on an accent table behind the couch.
I walk over to read the card attached to one, tossing my hair out the way and inhale deeply, preparing myself. He excites me so much, it's completely exhilarating. Even though it had been four days since I'd last seen him, every time I think of the night he spent here I flush as red as a tomato.
I all but rip open the card and stare down at his writing, unable to stop myself from giggling as he thanks me for a wonderful night last weekend and that he's looking forward to seeing me soon. "You horn dog," I murmur, smiling like a idiot. He goes on to explain why he's in New York, and when he's expected to be back. Most of which could have been a text, but this feels so much more romantic. So I'm swept away, blushing and smiling.
I keep the card with me, pressed to my chest, and smell the flowers. Then I'm grabbing myself a glass of wine and sitting back on the couch, wondering if I should call him. I'd been playing it cool so far, going with his flow. He seems so reserved, making sure each action he takes is well thought out and not rushed, or gimmicky. It's very attractive, really. A real grown man.
I exhale, reorganising my thoughts that try to slip back into a lust fuelled haze since there would be no point, as he isn't even in the state to come and satiate my increasing appetite for him.
I sip my wine and flick through the channels on the tv, settling on a random one. It's a gossip channel, nothing too serious or deep, and I'm about to switch when I hear it.
"-- And Michael Jackson's recent ex wife, Lisa Marie Presley, will be joining us on the show later in the week to discuss--"
At the sight of a picture of Michael and Lisa popping up on the screen with a massive red line through them, I switch the TV off abruptly. My heart pounds, and it suddenly feels like someone's turned all the lights on, and I've been caught sneaking around nude.
What the hell is she doing an interview for?
I fumble for my cell phone and call Michael, pacing in front of the couch. So irritated beyond belief I could slap someone. It rings for ten seconds, then he answers. "Daphne?" that soft, soft voice is slightly elevated, which means he's probably around other people.
But that doesn't stop me from blurting out: "She's doing an interview on a fucking gossip channel, Michael."
"Hold on." The phone rustles. I wait another few seconds until he returns. "Tell me," he says in the voice he uses with me now, that handsome low voice that sends tingles up my spine.
"Lisa is going on TV to do an interview."
He pauses. "That could be about anything." I know he's trying to reassure me, but it doesn't work. Mainly because I just have this feeling she's going to paint me as this whore-ish other woman who stole her man from her. My heart pounds against my ribs, beating so hard I can't even think about how to calm down. "Daphne?" Michael asks.
"She's going to talk about us, isn't she?"
"We don't know that." His voice becomes so gentle, it's as if he's right here, comforting me.
"She is. She's going to trash talk me. And I'm going to look like a whore on national television when they all take the footage and replay it." I sniff, and wipe at my eye as tears dew. "Everyone's going to hate me."
"Baby," he says softly, "where are you?"
"At home."
"I'll come back tonight."
"But what about--"
"Don't worry about that."
My chest warms, butterflies fluttering. I stay quiet for a moment, turning back to look at the flowers he'd just sent. "Okay," I say, "if you're sure."
"I don't want you to be alone."
The butterflies intensify, and I sink my teeth into my bottom lip.
"I'll see you soon, okay?" Michael then says, and I nod before I remember he can't see me. I say goodbye and hang up the call, curling back onto the couch and pull a pillow onto my lap. This shit has genuinely made me sick to my stomach nervous. I've never had a scandal. Not a real one, anyway. Just silly rumours about my dress sense, or how much money I spend, that I have no real talents, and stuff like that. I just know this won't go down well. I'll be known as the other woman for the rest of my life, especially considering this rumour won't be tied to just anyone.
Just arguably the most famous man in the world for the last two decades.
I wait more anxiously than I care to for Michael's arrival. But I'm in bed by the time he does get here, only one lamp on, a scarf draped across it so the light isn't too bright. At some point I drifted off, but don't even jump when he touches my shoulder and wakes me softly.
"Just me," he whispered, before the bed beside me sinks a little and he gets in. His cologne washes over me, musky and intoxicating. I'm turning around to face him just as he turns off the light.
Those butterflies are back, swarming like crazy inside me. He actually came. Gave up the rest of his week in New York to be here with me. I'm not even sure what he had been wanting to work on, but the fact he put that to one side...?
I'm gazing at him as he settles back on the pillows, then glances at me. When he sees that I'm awake, he smiles. "Did I wake you?" he asks.
"Yes," I smirk, though it fades as he reaches over, grazes his finger down my cheek.
"How are you, baby?" he asks so gently I turn to liquid from head to toe. I sit up, already warm all over and molten elsewhere when I shift closer to him on my knees, then straddle him. He's watching me intently, moonlight leaking in from the window, bathing half his face. "It's late," he murmurs, but he's already holding my hips.
"You came all this way for me," I whisper, trailing my fingers down his chest. "How can I not say thank you?" I ask, tilting my head to the side, hair flopping over my shoulder.
He gazes at me with those big doe eyes, that look sending waves of pulsing need right down to my sex. His grip on my hips tighten as I lean in to kiss him, tasting mint. I moan softly, wrapping my arms around his neck, tingling all over as he kisses me back with just as much need.
I grind softly on his lap, moaning even more when I feel he's already hard for me, already needy. "What're you doing to me," he murmurs against my lips as I grind on him harder, pleasure rippling through me as his hard covered length massages me right where I want him.
"What d'you mean?" I whisper breathlessly, so excited to have him inside me I don't understand how I'm talking right now. He chuckles, pressing his face into my throat as he guides my hips back and forth. I'm soaking through my panties now, head spinning. I almost don't hear him when he whispers just how perfect I am for him against my skin.
My next moan sounds impatient. I lift up my hips, and pull my panties to the side. He's already pulling himself out of his boxers, angling himself just right so I can slide down onto him. He groans as I gasp, grabbing handfuls of my ass and gripping. I ride him, rocking my hips, holding onto his shoulders for balance, unable to control the whines and gasps that pour out of my mouth.
"Fuck, you feel so good," I moan, so needy, I can't even help how I sound. Everything just feels so delicious, every wave of pleasure driving me crazy. I pick up my pace, egged on by Michael soft groans and the way his hands grab and caress me, trailing up my spine or kneading my ass. "I wanna have your babies," I whine, and Michael shudders, pulling me closer. "Give them to me,"
"Daphne," He groans, brows furrowing, eyes so heavy lidded he can hardly keep them open.
"Please Michael," I purr at him, then capture his lips as he tilts his chin up, asking for them. I ease my pace as I kiss him, dizzy from the way out mouths lock together and move so passionately.
I break the kiss, "Please Michael," I whisper again, brushing my lips against his. I nudge his nose with mine, then kiss him gently. "please, cum inside me. I want your babies so bad." I ride him slowly, grinding him into me, sliding up and down his cock. His breaths are ragged, grip on me tight.
Tingles rise from my toes as I whisper sweet things against Michael's mouth, about how handsome he is, how sweet he is to me, how great his cock feels. He bites his own lip lightly, then licks them, reacting to my words.
A strong orgasm sweeps over me, and I gasp, stilling my movements, unable to do anything but pulse and tremble on him, even as Michael lifts my hips, encouraging me to keep going. But I've turned to putty, and he's all lazy handsome smiles as he eases me onto my back then slowly chases his own orgasm, thrusting careful, strong strokes into me.
I'm whining with need when he comes, pushing himself deep with a loud groan. I love that noise, and shiver with delight as he holds himself still. I can feel his cock pulsing, and just smile, rubbing his back.
"You're gonna make me go crazy," he chuckles softly, voice rasping. Before I can answer, he kisses me. Within a few minutes he's thrusting again, already wanting to go for another round.
By the end of the week I'm a wreck. Nervous tingles have completely overcome me, even as Michael tries to distract me by taking me out to dinner. It's our first public outing together that isn't completely accidental, and I'm finding it hard to focus on it. Considering tonight Lisa's interview airs, and the whole world will be watching.
There are no photographers when we arrive to the best sushi place in the area, but there are eyes. So many people watch as Michael steps out the car, a pretty white rolls Royce, then waits for me, offering me a hand to help me out too.
His driver takes the car away as we walk into the restaurant, the whole place dropping into complete silence as diners spot him immediately. Since, I mean it's not hard, he's just too well known for his own good. He has his hand on the small of my back as we walk through to a private room, table already set with a sushi boat and chilled champagne.
Murmurs follow us all the way to the back. I hear my name a few times, but it's mostly talk about Mike. And I really don't know how he does it, pretending as if none of them are looking or even talking about him within earshot.
We chat over dinner, getting to know each other a little more. It's nice, considering we've spent more time fucking than talking, and of course I need to get to know the man if we are going to survive as a couple. He tells me about his family and his childhood, sharing more personal stories about achieving stardom before he was even a teenager. I share stories about my childhood, and although I didn't particularly have a normal one either, it's nothing in comparison to Michael's.
But he listens intently as I talk about my parents. My dad's business, John Jones Department Stores, which are now all over the US and Canada.
"I like those stores," Michael responds, "very clean. Modern."
"Yeah," I giggle, blushing like crazy, for some reason. It's not as if I made them, but hearing his praise still feels good. "That sounded so rehearsed." I smirk.
"I meant it," he smiles, sipping champagne.
"I think you'd like my dad," I say, glancing down and away from him as I pick at some sushi. I've eaten my fill, but it's so good I can't stop nibbling at it.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, he's a big Motown guy. Adores it."
Michael nods, though now it looks like he's about to get in his head about something.
"What?" I ask. Michael hesitates, shifting in his seat. "Oh my god, you're thinking about the age thing again, aren't you?"
"You can't blame me."
"Michael, let it go, so what you're old?"
"Jesus, Daphne. I'm only forty."
I grin, unable to stop myself from giggling at him. "You dress like you're fifty," I say, nodding to his suit, "but it's hot, I like it."
He sighs, rubbing his face, but his cheeks flush a soft shade of pink and I can't help but grin at him even more. "Your dad is gonna hate me," he mutters.
"No, he won't," I say softly. "If you were any other man probably, but because you're Michael Jackson, he'll be too busy hyperventilating. My mom will probably faint."
Michael laughs at that, a loud happy one that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I sip my champagne and eye him, wanting nothing more than to crawl over this table and have my way with him, like I had done twice last night. Once this morning. All quick, insanely passionate bursts of lust.
I don't know what the hell he was doing to me, but I liked it.
"Let's go," I whisper, nudging him under the table with my foot. His eyes meet mine, and in the candle light I see his pupils expand.
"God, baby, you're gonna run me ragged," he chuckles softly, but he's standing up, and already taking out his cheque book to handle the bill. When we go to leave the restaurant, the waiter tips us off that there's a mob of paparazzi outside, blocking the street.
So we sneak out the back, into a nasty smelling alley, giggling to each other like we're teenagers, a little tipsy off too much champagne and call for his car. Even then though, as the car heads onto the main road, some pictures of us are still taken, and perhaps not quite at the right moment, considering I'd leant in to kiss him as a thank you for a yummy dinner just as a flash went off.
We're back at his place within half an hour, and I'm kicking my heels off, trying not to overthink what the public will think of those photos-- and then I remember.
Lisa's fucking interview.
I rush to the living room only to find Michael already watching it, jaw clenched.
________________________________________________
end notes:
what did we think!?!?
I'm getting so into this plot I'm actually ignoring the real life books I should be writing lmfaoooo, why do I do this. Anyway, thank you so much for reading guys and leaving such nice comments, they're so motivational, I love them <33 please keep them coming!!!!!!
I also can't stop picturing Daphne as Jessica Alba with that honey blonde hair now so yeah. I'm curious if anyone sees her differently or as someone else lmao.
[tag list: @weasleylovers @slickdickwitchbitchh @twilightdance-minerva @tellybearryyyy @lotuspetalss @allihavetodoiisdream @mrs-dylanobrien265 @vivyoi @intoyouangel @inggu09 @yennabow @quietlyscornfulable @voicesinurhead @wildpandorasky @khxna @skiicoreee @romansbbg @lowbudgetdoll @enhapocketz @ilovolivegarden @amoravelee @nesiris21 - let me know if you'd like to be added!]
>> part five <<