، summary𓈒 During the WMA (World Music Awards) in 1996, Diana dirty ass sat in your man’s lap and you obviously caught an attitude about it because Michael ate that shit right up.
، pairing𓈒 michael jackson x hip-hop artist!black reader
، warnings𓈒 Diana dirty ass, no use of y/n, praise, Michael’s obliviousness, oral sex (f receiving obviously), slightly dom!reader for a good lil second.
، notes𓈒 literally love this man downnn but I hate writing moaning dialogues...that shit blows me ngl. And i did proofread, so yeah...Enjoy.
The backstage chaos of the 1996 World Music Awards in Monte Carlo was a dizzying blur of flashing cameras, and towering security guards. The energy in the Salle des Étoiles was suffocatingly thick with the scent of expensive champagne, heavy perfumes, and just pure raw adrenaline.
You were currently leaning back in a plush leather chair in your private dressing room, trying to let your wardrobe team finish the final touches on your look. As one of the top tier hip hop and R&B artists dominating the charts, the pressure tonight was immense. You had a massive, high energy performance scheduled, and the stakes were sky high and you had ended up doing your thing– yada yada yada. Your performance had the entire arena on their feet, Michael Jackson being your number one hype man, cementing exactly why you were the definitive leading lady of the charts. You had already walked up to that podium three times to accept your own trophies, looking absolutely stunning, speaking your mind, and representing for the culture on a global stage.
But honestly? Your mind wasn't even entirely on your set. It was on your man.
Michael was having a historic, earth shattering night. You had watched from the wings earlier as he took the stage for "Earth Song," delivering a performance so visually stunning and spiritually devastating that it left half the venue in tears. And then came the sweep. The man was practically clearing out the trophy room. One by one, he took home five record-breaking awards: World's Best-Selling Male Pop Artist, World's Best-Selling Male R&B Artist, World's Best-Selling American Male Recording Artist, World's Overall Best-Selling Male Recording Artist, and the holy grail— World's Best-Selling Record of All-Time for Thriller. You had been beaming, clapping until your hands were raw, so incredibly proud of him.
Until the seating arrangements played you.
Because of protocol and the intense media glare, you couldn't sit directly next to Michael during the broadcast. Instead, you were positioned just a few rows back, keeping up professional appearances. That gave you a front row seat to the exact moment she, Diana Ross, had done a whole tribute, looking every bit the legendary diva she was. But as she started singing "Ain't No Mountain High Enough," she decided to take the performance off the stage and into the audience. You watched, your face instantly freezing into a mask of pure, unadulterated composure, as Diana made a straight beeline for Michael’s front row seat.
Before anyone could even blink, she dropped her tomato looking ass right down onto Michael’s lap.
And Michael? Oh, he ate that shit right the fuck up.
Your chest tightened, a hot flash of pure irritation hitting your bloodstream. Diana Ross or not, she is sitting on my man's lap. It felt deeply disrespectful, and under normal circumstances, you didn't play those types of games. At all. You didn't care about the history, you didn't care about the "mentor" title. Every instinct in your body wanted to roll your eyes, break character, and let the attitude show. But you knew the cameras were scanning the crowd for a reaction. You knew the media would love nothing more than to create a certain narrative about the young R&B queen being pressed. So, you held your composure like the absolute professional you were. You kept your spine straight, your chin up, and a polite, completely blank expression on your face, but internally, the ledger was marked. Michael was going to have some explaining to do because Instead of being surprised or pulling back like a man who knew his woman was sitting three rows behind him, a massive, brilliant smile split his face. He let out that high pitched, breathless giggle, his eyes crinkling up as he wrapped his long arms tightly around Diana's waist, hugging her close while she sang right into his face. He was swaying with her, looking completely charmed, totally lost in the moment. Behind him, your jaw tightened just a fraction, your fingers digging into the fabric of your designer gown. Like; Bitch, I will slap you right here in Monaco. I don't give a fuck if the whole world watching.
The second the curtain closed on the final bows, because yes Diana’s dirty ass was last, Michael ended up being surrounded by a wall of people, his five awards being carried in his hands. The area outside was a chaotic zoo of security, executives, and photographers, wanting to get pictures of the man. His schedule was supposed to be brutal; his security team had a private jet fueled and waiting to fly him straight back to the states so he could return to the set of his Ghosts film project. And you were supposed to fly back to Los Angeles separately because of that but you didn't care about Ghosts right now. You just wanted to get back to your hotel suite, rip this tight dress off, and breathe.
But Michael knew you. And more importantly, he had caught your eye from across the room right after the Diana incident while you were taking pictures with your trophies. He saw that brief, icy look in your gaze beneath your beautiful smile, and he knew he wasn't going anywhere near a film set tonight until things were right between you.
He blew off his itinerary, ordered his security to redirect his transport, and slipped completely under the radar to your private luxury hotel suite overlooking the Mediterranean Sea.
When the knock came at your door around two hours later, you already knew who it was. You opened the door, still wearing your glamorous makeup having traded your gown for a silk robe. You leaned against the doorframe, crossing your arms, staring at him.
Michael stood there still partially in his stage attire, his dark hair framing his face, looking a little nervous. He didn't have his usual entourage; he had slipped away with just Bill keeping watch down the hall.
"Hey," he said softly, his voice a tentative, breathy murmur.
"Hey," you replied, keeping your tone flat, cool, and entirely unbothered. "Thought you were supposed to be on a flight back to the Ghosts set, superstar. Five awards wasn't enough? You trying to get fired from your own film?"
Michael winced slightly, stepping past you into the dimly lit, lavish suite as you closed the door. "I canceled the flight for tonight. I pushed the shoot back two days."
"Oh, really?" You walked over to the wet bar, pouring yourself a glass of wine, your silk robe whispering against your thighs. "Why would you do that?"
Michael followed you, his long strides closing the distance until he was standing right behind you. The heat radiating off his body was immense, still carrying that electric, post-performance energy. "Because I saw your face tonight. And I know you're mad at me."
You turned around slowly, leaning your lower back against the bar, looking up into his dark, apologetic eyes. "Mad? Why would I be mad, Mike? You won five awards. Diana Ross gave you a whole lap dance on international television. Looked like you were having the time of your life."
"It wasn't a lap dance," he protested quickly, a small, high pitched giggle of pure nervousness escaping him before he caught himself. He stepped closer, trapping you between his arms as he rested his hands on the bar on either side of your hips. "You know how Diana is. She’s...she’s like family, she’s always done theatrical things like that. It’s just show business, baby. I didn't invite her to do that, I swear."
"I don't care who she is," you said, your words slipping out heavy and sharp now that you were behind closed doors. "Family or not, that's my lap she was sitting on. And you sat there all smiles and shit, letting her sing in your face in front of all the cameras. It looked crazy, Michael. And you know I don't play them messy ass games."
"I know. I know you don't," he murmured, his demeanor shifting instantly from defensive to entirely submissive, his voice dropping into that deep, gravelly register he only used when said cameras were gone. He leaned down, his face inches from yours, his dark eyes locked onto your lips. "I hated it too, because all I wanted was you sitting there. I didn't want anybody else touching me. I was thinking about you the whole night."
"Mm-hmm," you huffed, trying to look away, but Michael reached up, his large, slender hand cupping your jaw, his thumb gently forcing your chin back up.
"Look at me," he whispered, his grip firm but incredibly tender. "I skipped my flight for you. I don't care about the film right now. I don't care about the awards. I came here to make it up to my girl. Let me make it up to you."
The intense, burning sincerity in his eyes began to melt your resolve. You let out a long, ragged sigh, your shoulders dropping. "I didn’t ask you to do any of that."
"I know," he breathed, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss against your lips. "I'm sorry. Let me fix it."
He didn't give you a chance to answer. He captured your mouth in a deep, hungry kiss that tasted like the raw, pent up adrenaline of the entire evening. He swirled his tongue against yours, pulling a soft moan from your throat as his other hand reached out, trying to grab your hand, but you pulled away, when your nose filled with the scent of heavy, shitty, old lady perfume causing your face to scrunch up in disgust. You put a hand on his chest, gently but firmly pushing hum away. "I can fucking smell her on you!" you snapped, your eyes locking onto his now wide ones. "Gosh! She knew exactly what she was doing. You a grown man, Michael. You know better. You supposed to be my man, but tonight you looked like her fucking fanboy. I’m sitting three rows back watching you hold another woman tightly around the waist while she all up in your face? No. We don't play that."
"I know, I know, you're right," Michael rushed out, steping closer, completely disregarding your personal space. He looked up at you through his eyelashes, his dark eyes wide and pleading. "I should have been more mindful. I was just caught up in the excitement of the night…the awards, the energy…I wasn't thinking. I'm so sorry, baby. Please look at me."
"No," you muttered, turning your back to him again. "Don't you got a film to shoot?"
"I just told you I don’t care about the shoot," he said firmly, his voice suddenly shifting, losing that timid edge. His large, slender hands came around your waist from behind. He pulled your back firmly against his chest, his grip tight and unyielding. You tried to twist out of his hold, but Michael was surprisingly strong when he wanted to be, especially when his adrenaline was pumping. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his hot breath fanning against your skin.
"I'm not going anywhere," he whispered, his voice gravelly and deep against your ear. "I don't care about the set right now. I care about my girl. I'm not leaving this room until you know that you're the only one I want. The only one."
"Michael, stop," you grumbled, though your heart did a traitorous little flip at the sheer weight of his body pressing into yours. "You think you can just smooth this over?"
"I'm gonna try," he murmured, his lips pressing a slow, heavy kiss right against your jawline, his hands sliding down the silk of your robe to grip your hips, pulling you flush against him. "I'm gonna make it up to you all night…"
You just stared off into space, all dead eyed, while his lips grazed your neck. He really thought this was gonna erase everything that happened, having the audacity to try to charm his way out of the doghouse after being dead wrong.
"Get your hands off me, Michael, for real," you snapped, twisting your torso sharply until his grip broke. You stepped a foot away from him, your eyes flashing with absolute fire as you looked him up and down. "I just told you I can smell that heavy ass perfume she wears all over you, it’s making me sick to my stomach, and then you gonna move closer. Like what the fuck..."
Michael’s face fell instantly, a flash of hurt and panic crossing his features as he stepped back, completely reluctant but listening to the sheer authority in your voice. He let his arms drop to his sides, looking at you with a heavy, lost expression, completely misinterpreting the ice in your demeanor. He truly thought you were done with him for the night, that this situation had crossed a line he couldn't repair, and with a slow, defeated sigh, he turned on his heel and began to walk toward the double doors of the suite.
But…was it really that serious? It was...but you were sitting there thinking you could get some kind of lick off this - literally. You bit your lip and sucked your teeth before you even let a word slip.
"I didn't tell you to leave," you called out, stopping him dead in his tracks before he could take more than three steps. "I told you to get your hands off me."
Michael froze, his back still turned to you, his shoulders rising and falling with a tense, heavy breath as the shift in the room's energy hit him. You didn't say another word, letting the silence stretch out agonizingly as you deliberately leaned your backside against the edge of the mahogany wet bar, swirling the remaining white wine in your glass before tilting your head back and downing the rest of the alcohol in one smooth swallow.
You set the empty glass down on the counter with a sharp, echoing clink, locked your eyes onto the back of his head, and said, "Get on your knees and eat my pussy."
The raw, unfiltered command hung heavily in the air, thick with your attitude and an undeniable, intoxicating power. Slowly, Michael turned back around, his eyes incredibly dark, heavy lidded with a sudden, raging heat as he took in the sight of you draped against the bar. He didn't say a single word. He just began walking back toward you, his strides slow, deliberate, and entirely focused, his gaze locked hungrily onto your face as the space between you evaporated.
When he finally reached you, his towering frame casting a shadow over yours, he leaned his face down, his lips parted as he instinctively reached for your mouth to soften the tension with a deep, apologetic kiss. But you wasn't about to make it that easy for him; you quickly turned your head to the side at the very last second, causing his lips to land firmly against your flushed cheek instead.
A low, vibrating chuckle rumbled deep in Michael’s chest, his warm breath tickling your ear as he let out that raspy, quiet laugh because sometimes, when you got full of attitude and try to play tough, he just found it incredibly endearing. But your playful boundaries snapped instantly; you turned your head just enough to press a hard, bruising kiss right against the pulsing vein of his neck, before your hand flew up, your fingers wrapping around his shoulder in a fierce, unyielding grip that dug directly into his muscle. You used your entire weight to push him downward, and the second he felt the true intensity of your demand, the laughter completely died, his knees buckling instantly as he let you drive him straight down to the floor.
Michael went down without a single shred of resistance, landing heavily on his knees, because he was used to that, right between your thighs, his face now perfectly level with your waist. He reached up with large hands, parting the silk of your robe with a slow, reverent urgency until the fabric fell away from your hips, exposing your bare, smooth dark skin to the cool air of the suite. He didn't hesitate for a single second. He leaned his face entirely in between your legs, his hot breath fanning across your inner thighs just a beat before his tongue made direct, wet contact with the warmth of your pussy.
A sharp, breathless whine caught in your throat, your fingers instantly tightening around that same shoulder as he began to devour you. Michael didn't say a word, entirely focused on making up for every single second of the night’s disrespect with the sheer devotion of his mouth. He started with long, broad, agonizingly wet strokes from the bottom of your opening all the way up to your clit, his tongue working with a heavy, expert pressure that had your hips instantly jerking forward against his face and your jaw hanging as you released breathless moans.
The contrast of his soft, pristine image with the absolute, filthy hunger of how he was eating you out was driving you completely insane. He used his large hands to grip the undersides of your thighs, lifting your legs slightly and pinning them against his chest to open you up even wider, burying his nose and lips entirely into your slickness. You let out a high pitched, breathless squeal, your back arching off the bar counter as his tongue shifted into a frantic, swirling rhythm right around your sweetest spot. He sucked on your clit, pulling it into his mouth with a steady, torturous suction that made your knees wobble, your words slipping out in a string of broken, needy stammers as you begged him not to stop. "Oh, Michael...right ther- don't stop, please, baby…”
Michael only sucked harder, his hands squeezing your thighs so tightly his fingers left fading marks on your dark skin. He was completely relentless, swallowing down every single drop of your slickness, his breathing coming in heavy, muffled sounds against your skin as the scent of your arousal completely replaced whatever lingering perfume had been in the air before. He slid two of his long fingers deep inside you, pumping them in a fast rhythm that matched the frantic motion of his tongue, stretching you open and filling you up until you were a completely ruined, whimpering mess in his grasp.
You could feel the swell of your orgasm building like a tidal wave in the center of your stomach, your hands fiercely pulling at the collar of his shirt as your hips rolled helplessly against his mouth, entirely at the mercy of the silent, hungry wrecking ball on his knees before you. But Michael still wasn’t satisfied with how close he was. He wanted all of you. He wanted to bury himself so deep in your warmth that you couldn't tell where your body ended and his mouth began. Michael took his fingers out of your pussy and slid his hands from the undersides of your thighs down to your calves to grip them. In one smooth motion, he lifted your legs completely off the floor and hoisted them up, draping your knees heavily over his broad shoulders. The shift was instant and completely overwhelming; you were practically sitting right on top of his shoulders now, your pelvis tilted completely upward and thrust forward, leaving you entirely exposed and utterly helpless under his gaze.
A loud, high pitched shriek tore from your throat, your hands frantically reaching backward to grip the edge of the mahogany bar just to keep from falling completely over. "Oh my god, Michael—yes!" you panted, your head rolling back as the cool wood of the counter dug into your lower back.
Michael didn't give you a single second to adjust to the intensity of the angle. He brought his massive, slender hands down, wrapping his fingers completely around the thickest part of your thighs. He squeezed his grip until his knuckles turned white, digging his fingers into your dark skin with possessive strength. Using that iron grip for pure leverage, he braced his weight and shoved his entire face forward, pinning back your hips heavily against the hard edge of the bar, anchoring you so he could drive his face even deeper into your heat and so you couldn't flinch away from him even an inch.
"Yes, Michael…ah, right there, Mike, don't stop!" you panted, your words dissolving into raw, breathless stammers as his tongue struck that exact, agonizingly perfect sweet spot with an unyielding, frantic pressure. "Right there! Oh my gosh, you got it…just like that!"
Michael didn't need to be told twice. He devoured you with a primal, silent ferocity, completely deaf to anything but the wet, heavy sounds of his mouth working against your skin and the high pitched, needy whimpers escaping your lips. He sucked your clit into his mouth, his tongue swirling and flattening against you in a rhythmic, torturous pace while he brought his hand back so his long fingers could pump deep inside you, curling upward to hit you from the inside out. The double texturing of his tongue and fingers was entirely too much. Your hips began to jerk violently against his face, your toes curling in the air as the heat in your stomach continue to coil into a tight, unbearable knot.
"Yes, Michael, yes!" you whined, your eyes squeezed shut as your hips jerked involuntarily against his face. Your voice breathless, completely stripped of all that ice and attitude you’d had just minutes before. "Fuck! Yes!"
Michael didn't make a sound. The only response you got back was the tight, bruising squeeze of his hand on your thigh, anchoring you in place as he sucked your clit completely into his mouth while his fingers still pumped inside of you. He began to draw on it with a steady, deep suction, his tongue swirling fiercely around the head until your entire lower body went completely rigid. You were entirely trapped, your legs pinned over his shoulders while he literally drank from you, his nose inhaling the sharp, intoxicating scent of your arousal.
He slid another one of his of his long, smooth fingers straight back inside you, now pumping three of them deep and fast, his knuckles rubbing against your opening with a slick, heavy friction that matched the wild pace of his tongue. He was stretching you open, driving his fingers in to the absolute hilt, making a heavy, squelching sound that had your face burning with pure heat. You were a complete mess, your fingers clawing at the smooth wood of the bar behind you, as the pleasure built up so high it felt like static behind your eyes.
"Michael, please...I'm gonna- I'm about to..." you gasped out, your chest heaving as a heavy shudder ran straight down your spine. You tried to pull back, just an inch, just to breathe, but his grip on your thigh was an absolute vice, forcing you to take every single bit of the pleasure he was throwing at you. The wave crashed over you with a sudden, violent force. Your entire body went rigid, your back arching away from the bar as you completely camw right on his face, your walls clamping down on his fingers in an intense, pulsing sequence of release. You were soaking him, your slickness pouring out in a heavy rush that he eagerly swallowed down, his tongue never stalling, not even when your knees began to shake violently, his strong hands keeping your legs spread wide as he drank you in, proving to you with every single wet, heavy stroke that nobody else on that earth could ever hold a candle to how he loved you. You grind heavily through the entire duration of your climax until you were a completely trembling, vocal mess.
For a long, quiet minute, the only sound in the room was your ragged, shallow breathing. Michael slowly slid his fingers out of you and your legs off his shoulders, letting your feet find the floor, though your knees immediately buckled the second you tried to bear your own weight.
He caught you instantly. Rising from his knees, his face glistening in the dim light with the evidence of how well he’d just taken care of you, Michael slid his long arm around your waist. He held you up against his chest, completely bearing your weight because your legs were shaking so you couldn't have stood on your own if your life depended on it.
Still keeping his silence, he reached out with his other arm, grabbing a clean glass and the open bottle from the wet bar you were leaning against. He poured himself a slow drink. He took a slow sip, his throat bobbing, before setting the glass down, his eyes never leaving your flushed, exhausted face
That energy of his melted away, replaced by the deep, gentle adoration he always held for you. He then wrapped both arms around you securely, tucking your head underneath his chin as you leaned heavily into his warmth, your silk robe hanging loosely off your shoulders. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss directly to the crown of your head, his chest rising and falling against yours in a steady, calming rhythm, though yours was the complete opposite.
"I've got you," he whispered into your hair, his voice a soft, soothing melody of sweet nothings as he rubbed comfort into your lower back, walking you both to the bathroom to clean up. "I've got you, baby. You good. You're so good to me...I love you so much."
hi can you do michael x black! fem!pop and RnB star reader (their relationship is private) where after practicing for the bad music video with the red shirt and tie and he comes home late and comes in the room but reader sees his hair out and the tie and shirt and basically pounces on him when he touches the bed and kisses him and micheal always known she was confident but not like this and if it’s not too much the smut should be (oral m receiving, reader taking over the michael does and go down on her after)
، summary𓈒 he finally comes home in late from the studio, looking all sorts of fine. that hair out and his shirt a lil wrinkled but it's okay cause that tie is loose and it has him glowing. you see him, lock eyes with him, and you pounce on your nigga.
، pairing𓈒 michael jackson x black!fem!pop/RnB star reader
، warnings𓈒 no use of y/n, oral sex (f & m receiving), switch!reader n michael, pussy sex, dick sex, yada yada yada, reader worshipping michael and then michael worshipping her right the fuck back.
، notes𓈒 enjoy anon, this was rushed, lets kiss.
The huge ass mansion had been quiet all damn day, and you were highkey losing your mind from the boredom.
Being a whole global pop and r&b star meant your schedule was usually packed the fuck out, But today, you had wrapped up your schedule early. You had done your interviews, finished your vocal lessons, and you had driven back to the house, expecting to see his car in the driveway, but he was still locked away in the dance studio rehearsing.
So you had spent the last four hours trying to occupy your mind. You took a long bath, did your skincare routine, tried on three different nice soft and silky robes, and paced around the house, growing more bored by the minute.
your relationship was one of the industry's best kept secrets. The public had absolutely no idea that two of the biggest names in music were sleeping in the same bed almost every night. To them, you were two big artists who deeply respected each other's work, occasionally sharing a brief, polite hug at an awards show. But behind closed doors, away from the prying eyes of the paparazzi and your managers who insisted a public romance would ruin both of your images, you belonged entirely to him. And he belonged to you. You both preferred it that way anyway. It kept the media out of your business, kept the fans from turning your love life into a spectacle, and gave you a private sanctuary where you didn't have to be icons, you could just be two people completely obsessed with each other.
It was past midnight when you finally heard the heavy front door click open downstairs.
You sat up in that big ass king bed, ears perking up the second you heard his tired ass footsteps coming up the grand staircase. But you had to check yourself and calm down, cause you felt like a dog waiting on its owner to get home. When the bedroom door pushed open, your lip tucking into your mouth without you even realizing it.
Michael walked in looking absolutely delicious. he was fresh off the set of rehearsing for the "bad" music video, and he hadn't even changed out of his clothes yet. He was wearing that red button up shirt, the collar slightly messy, with the patterned tie loosened just a little bit around his neck. But the thing that officially broke your brain was his hair. His curls were completely out, wild, damp from sweat, and falling all over his face and shoulders in the most effortless, and sexiest way possible. he looked all types of fine and it was actually killing you.
"Hey, pretty," Michael mumbled, his voice all deep and raspy from a long day of directing and dancing. He gave you a tired, sweet little smile, his eyes instantly locking onto you sitting in his bed. "I'm sorry i'm so late, the choreo was just-"
He didn't even get to finish his sentence. the second his knee touched the edge of the mattress as he went to crawl in and greet you, you completely jumped on him.
You moved so fast it caught him completely off guard. You threw your arms around his neck, and straddled his lap, tackling his fine ass back onto the plush mattress. Michael let out a sharp gasp, his hands automatically coming up to catch your waist.
"whoa-" michael breathed out, his eyes widening.
You didn't give him a chance to speak. You leaned down and slammed your lips against his, kissing him with a wild, hunger that you had been building up all day. You were sucking on his bottom lip, forcing your tongue into his mouth, and gripping his jawline with your fingers to keep him right where you wanted him.
Michael had always known you were a confident woman. You carried yourself like a queen on stage, and in the bedroom, you were never shy about asking for what you wanted. But tonight, this was different. This was a different kind of affection that completely caught him off guard. You weren't just kissing him; you were fucking consuming him.
You tasted like the sweet strawberries you had been snacking on all evening, and he tasted like orange juice. Michael let out a low, shaky hum into your mouth, his grip on your waist tightening as he tried to keep up with the sheer intensity of your lips.
You pulled away just an inch, your breathing heavy, your eyes dilated as you stared down at his face. His lips were already swollen from your lips, his chest heaving underneath that red shirt.
"God, you are so beautiful," you whispered, your voice thick with admiration. You reached up, your fingers going straight into his wild, unraveled curls. You stroked the thick, soft texture of his hair, pulling gently at the roots, making him tilt his head back against the pillows. "Look at you. Look at this hair. Michael, you look so fucking gorgeous it hurts."
A blush crept up his ears, spreading over his cheekbones. Michael was used to millions of screaming fans calling him handsome, but hearing it from you, hearing the raw, genuine worship in your voice while you held him down, made him completely weak.
"You like it?" he mumbled, his voice trembling a little as your fingers massaged his scalp.
"I love it. I love everything about you," you murmured, peppering hot, wet kisses all over his face. You kissed his eyelids, the high bridge of his nose, and then you slid your lips down his jawline, tracing the sharp, perfect edge of it down to his neck. You began to call him every beautiful name in the book, pouring your heart out into his skin. "My king. My gorgeous man. You worked so hard today, baby. Let me take care of you. Just let me do everything."
Michael’s eyes fluttered shut, a soft sigh escaping his lips. He was usually the one taking charge, the one orchestrating everything in his life and his career, but hearing you command him to just lie back and receive was doing dangerous things to his composure.
You reached down, your hands grasping the loose tie around his neck. With a slow tug, you pulled it completely off his collar and tossed it carelessly onto the floor. Next, your fingers moved to the buttons of his red shirt. You popped them open one by one, your knuckles brushing against the warm, smooth skin of his chest, with every inch of skin he exposed, you followed with your lips, pressing soft kisses against his collarbone, his sternum. Michael’s chest was glistening with a faint sheen of sweat, his muscles toned and tight from the dancing. You parted the fabric, leaning down to press your lips directly over his heart, feeling the frantic, rapid beat of it against your mouth.
"You're so pretty, Michael," you groaned against his skin, your hands sliding the shirt off his broad shoulders but leaving it hanging around his elbows just because you didn’t want it all the way off.
You slid down his body, shifting your weight until you were kneeling between his thighs. Michael’s breathing was getting shallower now, his hands resting limply on the sheets, his dark curls scattered across the white pillows as he watched you.
Your hands moved to the waistband of his pants. You unbuckled them slowly, the metallic click echoing loudly in the quiet room. You slid the zipper down, you parted the fabric and pulled his underwear down, exposing him fully to your gaze.
He was already fully hard, thick and throbbing, a single drop of pre cum glistening at the tip from the kiss alone. You leaned forward, stroking the length of him once, your warm palm sending a visible jolt through his entire body. Michael’s hips twitched upward instinctively, his eyes squeezing shut as he let out a sharp, ragged breath.
"Please," he breathed, the sound so quiet, so vulnerable, it made your pussy ache with desire.
You didn't make him wait. You leaned down and swirled your tongue right over the sensitive tip of his dick.
"Oh...God," Michael choked out, his hands gripping the fabric of the bedsheets until his knuckles turned white.
You looked up at him through your lashes, loving the view of him completely at your mercy. You opened your mouth wider, and slowly slid your lips over the head of his dick, taking him inside. You didn't rush. You wanted him to feel every single millimeter of your warm, wet mouth. You wrapped your lips tightly around him, creating a thick suction as you slid down his length, taking as much of him as you could before slowly sliding back up.
Michael let out a high pitched, breathy whine, his head tossing to the side. "Oh, sweet Jesus...you're so warm...baby, please..."
You ignored his pleas, focusing entirely on your rhythm. You began to bob your head in a slow, agonizingly steady pace. Every time you slid down, you used your tongue to stroke the underside of his shaft, hitting the most sensitive nerves. Your hand stayed wrapped around the base of his length, massaging him in your mouth, making sure there wasn't a single inch of him that wasn't being loved on.
The sounds filling the bedroom were incredibly loud, sloppy, and wet. The squelch of your mouth moving against him, combined with the frantic, undone whimpers breaking from Michael’s throat, was absolutely music to your ears. Michael was completely helpless under you. He was a global superstar, a man who commanded the attention of the entire planet, but right here, under the weight of your love and your confidence, he was just a man begging his woman for release.
"Mmfuhh...stop, wait, you-" Michael gasped out, his hips jerking off the mattress as you pick up your pace, taking him all the way to the back of your throat. A soft, pathetic whimper escaped his lips, his voice breaking completely. "Oh goodness, oh fu...you feel so good...please, sweetheart..."
You loved that he got like this. The slight submissive streak in him only came out when he was completely overwhelmed by pleasure, when he trusted you enough to let go of all his control. You picked up the pace, your head moving faster, your lips tightly cinched around him. You began to suck heavily, creating a intense vacuum that had Michael’s hips arching off the bed.
"I'm gonna...I'm gonna cum, oh– baby, wait, please!" Michael cried out as his hands left the sheets and flew to your head. He didn't push you away, and he didn't force you down; his fingers just tangled frantically in your hair, holding you close as his body began to tremble.
You didn't stop. You sucked him even harder, humming around his dick, sending vibrations through his body, your hand pumping the base furiously, pushing him completely over the edge.
Michael let out a loud, echoing groan, a shuddering breath rattling through his lungs as his hips buckled violently. He spilled himself down your throat, his body shaking with the force of his orgasm. You swallowed him down eagerly with a moan, taking every single drop, your tongue swirling around the tip to clean him up as his release slowed to a stop.
Michael collapsed back against the pillows, panting heavily, his chest covered in a thin layer of sweat, his eyes completely glassy. He looked up at you, his curls a beautiful, messy disaster, a look of love on his face.
"You are...you are unbelievable," he breathed out, his voice barely a whisper.
The sight of him spent and sticky had made you completely soaked under your robe. You slid up his body, your wet pussy brushing against his thigh, making him let out a soft groan. You looked down at him, your eyes dark with a dominant, unyielding hunger.
"Can you eat my pussy now," you whispered, your voice all sweet like you hadn’t just given him the sucky suck of his life.
He loved your confidence, but he also loved reclaiming his role as the provider. Michael let out a low, chuckle, his large hands coming up to grip your hips.
"Oh, absolutely," Michael murmured, his voice voice alone wanting you come right there on his thigh.
Michael flipped your positions. In the blink of an eye, you were flat on your back against the pillows, and he was hovering over you, his lip tucked in between his pretty pearly whites.
He didn't waste a single second. Michael reached for the lapels of your silk robe and parted them, exposing your beautiful, bare body to the cool air of the room. He was practically making love to you with his eyes, his gaze heavy and appreciative, making you feel like the only woman in the universe.
"You look so beautiful like this," Michael groaned, his hands sliding up your thighs, parting your legs wide. He knelt between your knees, his long fingers caressing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, making you shiver. "Let me see how wet you are for me."
He slid his hand up, his fingers instantly finding your swollen, dripping pussy. You let out a loud whimper, your hips arching off the bed as he slipped two fingers inside you, like he was testing you. You were completely drenched for him, your walls tightly squeezing his fingers as you bit your lip, drawing your brows together. Michael let out a dark, satisfied hum, a smug little smirk playing on his lips.
"Look at you. So wet for me," he taunted softly, his voice a deep, velvety rasp. "You were so eager to take care of me, but you're starving, aren't you?"
"Michael, please," you whined, confident demeanor melting away into absolute need.
"Shh," he silenced you, his fingers sliding out of you before he moved them to his mouth, moaning around his own fingers at the taste of you. He moved down your body, his long torso stretching out as he settled himself between your thighs.
When his face hovered right above your pussy, you reached down, your fingers tangling in his curls, holding him there. Michael looked up at you through his hair before he buried his face right into your wet, wanting pussy.
The first stroke of his tongue was made you shiver. He lapped from the bottom of your opening all the way up to your clit, collecting your juices on his lips. You let out a loud, piercing scream, your back arching completely off the bed, your fingers tightening in his hair.
"Oh my god, Michael," you moan out.
Michael didn't give you a moment to breathe. He was a perfectionist in everything he did, and that included how he pleased his woman. He began to eat you out with a hungry rhythm that completely shattered your sanity. His tongue swirling circles around your clit while his groans vibrated against your pussy.
You let your head fall back against the pillows, your knuckles turning white as you gripped his shoulders, trying to push him closer, trying to ground yourself. Michael’s hands came up, clamping tightly around your thighs, pinning your legs wide open over his shoulders so you couldn't move, forcing you to take every single bit of the pleasure he was dishing out, while dragging you even closer.
He slid two fingers back inside you, pumping them in a fast, deep rhythm that perfectly matched the frantic flick of his tongue. The squelching, wet noises filling the room were incredibly nasty. Michael was eating you out like he was starving, his nose burying deep into your wet skin, his breath hot and ragged against your thighs.
"Michael, shit…i think…mmmhh—! Don’t stop, wait, I'm gonna cum!" you screamed, your voice echoing off the walls of the mansion.
Michael just let out a muffled, chuckle against your skin, refusing to stop. In fact, he went harder. He increased the speed of his fingers, pumping into you relentlessly, hitting your g-spot with every single stroke, while his tongue worked your clit into an absolute frenzy.
You completely lost control. Your hips began to shake violently, your breath catching in your throat as the tension built to an unbearable peak. You cried out his name, tears literally pricking the corners of your eyes from the sheer intensity of it.
"Michael! Michael, please, oh my god!" You practically squealed, your voice coming out in a questionable pitch.
Michael hummed as he continued to suck on your clit and push his fingers deep in your sopping wet pussy. Your walls clamped down around his fingers in violent spasms as a massive, screaming orgasm tore through your body. You shook beneath him, your voice cracking as you poured your release all over his face, and his hand, letting out little “mmmh’s” and “oh fuck’s,”
Michael held you through it though, keeping his long fingers deep inside you, curling them, while his tongue gently lapping up the sweet taste of your pussy juice until your breathing finally started to slow down.
When he finally pulled his face away, you were completely spent, panting heavily, your body trembling. Michael slid up your body, his face covered in your juices, his lips shiny and wet, his dark curls falling messily over his eyes, looking incredibly completely in love with because he was.
He leaned down, pressing his wet lips against yours, making you both moan as you tasted each other on your tongues.
Hi cutie! I’m definitely gonna need another Jermaine smut from you🤭 I don’t have a specific request but whatever you feel like writing is perfectly fine with me!
ᴛʜᴇʏ ʜᴜɴɢʀʏ ᴀꜱ ꜱʜɪɪ | ᴊᴇʀᴍᴀɪɴᴇ ᴊᴀᴄᴋꜱᴏɴ
، summary𓈒 you and maine are hungry for different things.
، pairing𓈒 Jermaine Jackson x black!fem!reader
، warnings𓈒 no use of y/n, jackie fine ass, ovulation, fingering, oral sex (f & m receiving), squirting, cum licking.
، notes𓈒 hey, cutie🫦…also sorry for taking so long on this anon, and everyone who loves this man, okay...enjoy my strange ladies.
، taglist𓈒 @uh444
You parked your car three blocks away from the Hayvenhurst gates, right under the shadow of an overgrown tree.
You sat there for a good five minutes, just letting the engine idle low, staring at your reflection in the rearview mirror, tapping your nails against your steering wheel. You fixed your hair, before checking your lip gloss in the dim light.
You were out your mind. Truly out your mind. It was going on one in the morning on a whole Tuesday, and here you were, acting like a thief in the night.
But see, the blame didn't even belong to you. It belonged to Jermaine and that damn voice of his.
Two hours ago, you were tucked up in your own bed, minding your business, trying to watch whatever late night rerun was playing. Then the phone rang. You picked up the receiver, and before you could even get a full "hello" out your mouth, that deep, sexy ass drawl came vibrating through the wire. He was talking about nothing at all- just humming, asking what you had on, telling you how quiet the house was, and laughing that low, rumbling laugh that always started in his chest.
And right now? You were right in the middle of your cycle. Ovulating down to your boots. Your body was betraying you, humming on the same exact frequency as his vocal cords. Every single word he said felt like a literal hand sliding down your stomach and into your panties to touch on your lil coochie. By the time he said, "You should to slide through, baby, I’m just chilling," you were already out of the sheets and looking for your keys.
You killed the headlights, slipped out the car, and closed the door, feeling like a woman on a mission.
Walking up to the perimeter of the Jackson estate at night was always a trip. The walls were high, the iron gates looked like they belonged to a fortress, and the security guards usually kept it locked down. But you’d been messing with Jermaine long enough to know the blind spots, the loose latches, and the exact shift changes. You slipped through the side pedestrian gate that you knew damn well wasn't clicking all the way shut right now, your flat sandals barely making a scrape against the stone walkway.
You breathed through your nose, your heart doing a little double tap against your ribs. If Katherine caught you sneaking around here at one o'clock in the morning, it was over for you. You’d never live down the shame of Mama Jackson looking at you sideways.
You made it to the back kitchen entrance, the one with the heavy glass door that led right into the living area. You pressed your hand against the glass, checking the lock. It yielded with a soft thud. Jermaine had left it cracked for you.
You slipped inside, the sudden blast of the central air conditioning hitting your warm skin and making your nipples instantly harden under your thin cotton tank top. You stood still in the dark living room, letting your eyes adjust, smelling the familiar scent of the house– expensive furniture polish, carpet cleaner, and...fried food?
You frowned, sniffing the air. The distinct, unmistakable aroma of seasoned oil, hot iron, and melting cheese was drifting through the hallway.
You crept forward, your feet silent on the cold floor of the living before transitioning onto the kitchen tile. The light from the kitchen stove hood was on, casting a warm, amber glow across the massive island.
You rounded the corner, expecting to see Jermaine standing there by his lonesome, maybe looking all smooth in a soft robe, waiting on you.
Instead, you froze.
Because there was two of 'em.
Jermaine was standing over a massive cast iron skillet, a spatula in his hand, wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and a white tank top that showed off every bit of his shoulders and arms.
And sitting right there on the counter, swinging his legs like he didn't have a care in the world, was Jackie.
Jackie had a half eaten piece of buttered toast in his hand, a glass of orange juice sitting next to his thigh, and he was right in the middle of laughing at something Jermaine said. He was wearing some shorts and a t shirt, looking like he’d just finished a workout or was about to start one, even though it was the middle of the night.
"I’m telling you, man, if you don't flip that now, it’s gonna burn," Jackie was saying, his voice a higher pitch than Jermaine’s, full of that brotherly agitation. "You let the grease get too hot."
"I know what I’m doing with the damn eggs, Jackie," Jermaine mumbled, his voice completely unbothered. He didn't even look up from the pan, his hips swaying just a fraction to some music only he could hear. "You eat your toast and stay outta my pan."
You stood there in the doorway, completely trapped. You couldn't back up because the floorboards behind you were creaky, and you couldn't slide past 'em because they were taking up the whole damn room.
You cleared your throat, just a little bit, trying not to scare 'em.
Jackie’s head snapped around first. His eyes went wide for a split second before a slow, wicked, completely knowing smirk spread across his face. He chewed his toast extra slow, leaning back against the upper cabinets.
"Well, well, well," Jackie drawled, loud enough to make Jermaine jump a little. "Look what the damn cat dragged in."
Jermaine turned around, the spatula still held mid air. When his eyes landed on you, a lazy, heavy eye lidded smile broke out across his face. He looked you up and down, taking in the tank top, the short shorts, and the look of irritation that was definitely settling onto your features.
"Hey, girl," Jermaine said, his voice dropping an octave, smooth as silk. He didn't even look embarrassed. He just looked pleased with himself.
"Hey," you muttered, crossing your arms over your chest, trying to ignore the way Jackie was grinning at you. "I didn't know it was a family reunion in here."
"Baby, don't mind him," Jermaine said, turning back to flip whatever concoction he had going on in that pan. It looked like some kind of massive, messy scramble with peppers, onions, and about three different types of cheese. "Jackie just down here being a nosey shmuck."
"Ain't nobody nosey," Jackie said, hopping down from the counter with an easy, athletic grace. He picked up his plate with the remaining crust of toast. "I was down here minding my stomach when this fool decided to come down and start a whole whole restaurant at one in the morning. And now I see why. You had to get your energy up, huh, J?"
"Man, shut up," Jermaine laughed, throwing a dish towel at his brother's head. Jackie ducked it easily, chuckling as he walked past you. “We ain’t even doing nothing.”
As Jackie got right next to you in the doorway, he paused, leaning in a little bit so only you could hear him. "He been talking about you for the last hour, girl. Good luck with him." He patted your shoulder, and started heading toward the stairs.
You watched him go, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. You turned your attention back to Jermaine, who was now sliding the massive plate of food further onto the counter so it wouldn’t fall off of it. There were four slices of toast, eggs in the pan, and a side of leftover fried chicken he’d apparently reheated in the oven.
"You fixing to feed an army?" you asked, walking closer, the scent of him finally hitting you.
"I'm hungry, baby," Jermaine said, not even looking at you yet as he grabbed a fork and a knife from the silver drawer. "I didn't even think you was really coming. You took so long, I thought you went to sleep."
He said it with his mouth already half full of an onion piece he’d picked out the pan, his jaw working as he mumbled the words.
You walked up behind him, the heat radiating off his back pulling you in. You didn't hesitate. You wrapped your arms tightly around his waist from behind, pressing your front against his back.
"Mmm," you murmured, your hands sliding down to the front of his sweatpants. You rubbed your palms over his flat, firm stomach, feeling the way his muscles tightened up instantly under your touch. Your long acrylics bit just a little bit into his skin through the fabric, your nails scratching lightly in slow circles up and down his midsection.
You leaned up on your tiptoes, pressing your lips against the warm skin of his neck. You kissed your way up to his jawline, leaving lingering, wet presses against his skin, biting down just a tiny bit on his shoulder.
Jermaine didn't even give a fuck. He just let out a low grunt, his body swaying just a fraction against yours, but he kept his eyes locked on that plate, spooning a little more onto it. He was playing with you, and you knew it. He loved the attention, loved the way you came in here starving for him, but he was going to take his sweet old time.
"You hungry?" he asked.
"Not for food," you whispered against his skin, your nails digging a little deeper into his hip bones.
"Mmm, oh."
Oh.
Oh?
You huffed, dropping your arms to stand next to him.
Here you were, driving through the night, your body practically on fire because of a phone call, and this man was standing here talking about eggs.
He stopped chewing for a second, holding the fork in mid air, a little piece of cheese hanging off the edge. He gave you that innocent, wide eyed look he always used when he knew he was pushing his luck.
"What?" he asked, his voice muffled by the food. "I gotta eat, right?"
"Jermaine."
"Come on upstairs with me," he said, completely ignoring your attitude as he picked up the heavy plate in one hand and a giant glass of sweet tea in the other. He used his elbow to nudge your hip. "Bring that napkin right there for me, will you?"
You sucked your teeth, a loud but you grabbed the cloth napkin anyway. You followed him out the kitchen, the two of you moving like two shadows through the long, carpeted hallways of Hayvenhurst.
Your eyes dropped down to his backside as you walked behind him. The way those sweatpants hung off his hips, framing his ass perfectly with every single step he took up those stairs; it was a problem. You let your eyes linger, your mouth going a little dry.
The man was gorgeous, even when he was being completely ridiculous, worried about a damn late night snack.
When you got to his bedroom, he pushed the door open with his foot and walked inside. The room was dark, and smelling faintly of incense. A single lamp was on by the bedside table, casting a warm light over the king sized bed that was unmade.
Jermaine set his plate down on the dark wood nightstand. He didn't even wait to sit down; he just leaned over the bed, took a huge bite of the fried chicken, and started chewing with an expression of bliss on his face.
You stood at the foot of the bed, your hands on your hips.
"So this is what we doing?" you asked, your voice dropping into that low tone. "I come all the way over here at two in the morning, and I’m just supposed to sit here and watch you perform an autopsy on some chicken?"
Jermaine swallowed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before remembering the napkin you brought. He reached over and took it from you, giving you another one of those slow, lazy smiles.
"Baby, I told you, I didn't think you was coming," he said, his voice dropping into that tone that had gotten you into this mess in the first place. He reached out, his big, warm hand catching your wrist and pulling you gently toward him. "You know how long it take you to get ready. I thought you was home doing your hair or something."
"My hair was already done, Jermaine," you said, letting him pull you until your knees hit the edge of the mattress, but you kept your arms crossed. "You was on the phone talking all that stuff, making me think you was lonely. You didn't say nothing about having a whole buffet in here."
"I am lonely," he said, his eyes dropping down to your lips, then down to where your tank top met your shorts. He gave your wrist a little squeeze. "But a man can't be lonely and hungry at the same time? That's too much suffering for one person."
"You ain't suffering," you scoffed, looking down at the plate. The food actually did smell amazing, and your own stomach gave a little traitorous rumble.
Jermaine laughed. He picked up his fork, cut off a perfect piece of the egg scramble, right where the cheese was melted and stretchy, and held it up to your mouth.
"Here," he murmured, his eyes locking onto yours. "Take a bite. Stop acting mean."
You looked at the fork, then at him. His eyes were full of that playful mischief that always won you over. You sighed, leaning forward, and let him feed you. The food was still hot, seasoned nicely with just enough pepper and salt, the cheese was nice. You chewed slowly, watching him.
"Good, right?" he asked, looking proud of himself.
"It's alright," you lied, wiping a bit of grease from your lip with your thumb.
"Yeah, okay," he chuckled, sitting back on the edge of the bed and going to town on the rest of the plate.
For the next ten minutes, you just sat there on the edge of the bed, watching this man eat like he hadn't seen food in a week. It was almost fascinating how much he could put away while still looking completely relaxed. He didn't rush. He chewed every bite, taking slow sips of his sweet tea, occasionally looking up at you to flash a greasy smile or to try and feed you a piece of chicken.
You just shook your head, the initial urgency of your hormones settling into a slow, simmering heat. You knew you weren't leaving. You were stuck here now.
Finally, Jermaine set the empty fork down on the plate with a satisfied sigh. He leaned back against his pillows, his stomach slightly rounder under the white tank top, looking like a big ass cat that just finished off a mouse.
"Man," he breathed, rubbing his hand over his chest. "That hit the spot right there."
You looked at him, then looked at the empty plate. "You done?"
"I'm done, baby," he said, his voice trailing off into a lazy yawn.
"Good. Now go brush your teeth," you said, reaching over to push his shoulder. "Because I know you ain't thinking about laying up in this bed with your mouth smelling like onions and shit."
Jermaine groaned, rolling his head back against the pillows. "Come on, girl. Give a man a minute to digest."
"No," you said, getting up from the bed and walking over to his bathroom door, throwing it open. The bright white light from the vanity spilled out into the dark bedroom. "Go. Right now."
Jermaine grumbled something under his breath, something that sounded suspiciously like you being bossy, but he got up anyway. He stretched his arms high above his head, his sweatpants slipping even lower, showing off the dark line of hair that disappeared into the fabric. You tried not to stare, but your body reminded you with a bruising ache right in your center that you were still very much waiting.
He shuffled into the bathroom, his bare feet padding against the marble tile. You followed him, leaning against the doorframe with your arms crossed, watching his routine.
Jermaine was meticulous about his face and his teeth, no matter how tired or full he was. He grabbed his toothbrush, squeezing a generous amount of paste onto the bristles. He caught your eye in the mirror, giving you a mouthy grin before he started scrubbing.
The sound of him scrubbing filled the quiet bathroom, mixed with the rush of the warm water running from the faucet. He brushed for what felt like an eternity, getting every single tooth, his eyes never leaving yours in the glass. There was something intensely intimate about watching a man do something so mundane, especially a man who spent half his life in front of cameras and screaming fans. Here, in the quiet of his bathroom at two in the morning, he was just Jermaine, greasy lipped, full of food, and trying to get the onion smell out his mouth so he could get close to you.
He finally rinsed, spitting into the sink before wiping his mouth with a clean hand towel. He reached for the mouthwash, taking a huge swig and shaking his head back as he gargled, the sound rattling in his throat.
When he finally spit that out, he wiped his face again, turned off the water, and faced you.
He smelled like mint now, the scent of onion completely gone. He stepped close to you, his frame completely blocking out the light from the vanity, his chest just inches from your face.
"That better for you, Miss Lady?" he whispered, his voice completely clean, his breath hot and minty against your cheek.
You looked up at him, your heart doing that familiar thud against your ribs. The irritation was gone, replaced by that waiting that had been building up inside you since you were sitting in your own bed hours ago.
"Mmhmm," you hummed back, your hands finally leaving your chest and sliding up to rest against his warm, bare shoulders. "That's much better."
Jermaine smiled, a hungry look that told you the food had done exactly what it was supposed to do. He reached behind you, his hand finding the light switch and flipping it, plunging the bathroom into the dark.
"Come on," he murmured, his hands wrapping around your waist as he guided you back toward the bed.
He pushed you gently onto the bed before moving over you like a shadow.
Before you could even open your mouth to say anything, his hand came up, his long fingers cupping the back of your neck, and he pulled your face up to his.
Jermaine loved to kiss. It wasn't ever some quick, rushed thing just to get to the main event. This man would spend a whole seven minutes just working your mouth, tasting you, taking his time like he was trying to memorize the texture of your lips.
The minute his lips pressed against yours, you let out a soft sigh, your eyes fluttering shut. His mouth was warm, and soft. He started slow, just brushing his lips against yours, teasing the corners of your mouth until you whined, parting your lips to beg for more. He took that as his invitation, sliding his tongue inside with a smooth, deep stroke again your own that made your toes curl and clit jump.
He kissed you like it was new years and he kissed you like it was the end of the world. His hand on the back of your neck tightened just enough to keep you still, his thumb stroking along your jawline, holding you right where he wanted you. You tried to shift your hips against his, tried to reach down to get into his sweatpants, but the moment your hand strayed toward his waistband, he caught your wrist in his grip.
He pulled your hand away, pinning it flat against the mattress above your head, all without breaking the kiss. He let out a low warning grunt against your mouth, letting you know damn well that you weren't running this show. You weren't allowed anywhere near his pants until he was completely done with your mouth.
He kept kissing you. He changed the angle, tilting your head back further, his tongue swirling against your tongue in a rhythm that was so dirty it made your head spin. You could feel the wet, slippery sounds of your mouths meeting filling up the quiet bedroom. Every time you thought he was about to pull away, he’d just dive back in deeper, sucking on your bottom lip until it was swollen, tasting every single inch of your mouth until you were completely breathless, your heart hammering wildly in your chest. Your whole body was trembling underneath his weight, the ache between your legs growing so intense it was bordering on painful. Is this what having blue balls felt like?
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of torture but also pleasure, he slowly pulled his mouth back. Just an inch. His lips were wet, strings of slick following before cutting off, his eyes looking down at you through those long lashes. His breath was hot against your face.
"Take your shorts off," he rasped, his voice slightly rougher now. "Take 'em off and your panties..."
Your hands were shaking as you reached down, kicking out of your shorts and sliding your panties down your thighs, kicking them somewhere onto the floor. You shimmied back up a little towards the center of the bed, your heart in your throat.
Jermaine watched every single movement, sitting up, his knees settling between yours.
"Spread 'em for me," he commanded softly, his hand reaching down to rest on the inside of your thigh.
You swallowed hard, slowly opening your legs, parting yourself completely for him. Because you were ovulating, you were already incredibly slick, the cool air of the room hitting your wet skin and making you shiver.
Jermaine looked down, his eyes darkening as he saw how ready you were for him. He didn't rush. No, he never rushed. He brought his hand up, his long, dark fingers hovering just an inch away from your pussy, letting you wait for it for one more second.
Then, he pressed the pad of his thumb right against your clit.
You let out a loud, sharp gasp, your hips instantly bucking up off the mattress. "Jermaine-"
"Shh," he whispered, leaning down to press another wet kiss to your lips, stifling your cry. Even now, with his hand down there, his mouth was right back on yours, keeping you grounded, keeping you locked into him.
He slid his index finger down, dipping it right into the thick creaminess of your wetness. He let out a low, satisfied sound in his throat when he felt how soaked you were. He coated his fingers in your slickness, his thumb starting to rub in slow torturous circles over your clit, pressing down hard enough to make your brain go entirely foggy.
You were trying to keep your composure, but the sensation was too much. You pulled your mouth away from his, not even able to kiss him, your head tossing back onto the pillows, a low moan escaping your lips. "Oh my god, Jermaine..."
"You so wet," he murmured, his eyes locked on your face, watching every single expression that crossed your features. He loved seeing you like this; completely unraveled, completely at his mercy. "Look at you. You practically begging for it."
He didn't let you settle into the rhythm. Just as your body started getting used to the friction of his thumb, he slid his middle finger all the way inside you.
You let out a small strangled cry, your fingers hooking into the bedsheets, tearing at the fabric as his finger stretched you out. He was long, his knuckles thick, and the feeling of him filling you up while you were this sensitive was almost too much to bear. He pushed his finger in deep, all the way to the hilt, holding it there for a second so your pussy could adjust to him.
"Ah, shit, Jermaine, please..." you whined, your legs trembling, your knees shaking as you tried to hold yourself open for him.
"Please what?" he asked, his voice low and teasing. He started to curl his finger inside you, finding that perfect, sensitive spot along your front wall.
When he hit it, your whole body went stiff. An accidental broken sob like moan ripped from your throat, your hips arching off the bed, your hand slapping over your mouth, because it was almost three in the morning. You tried to close your legs around his hand, the pleasure too intense, but he used his other hand to pin your thigh down, keeping you wide open.
"Don't close up on me now," he muttered, his eyes burning into yours. "Stay right there."
He added a second finger, sliding it right alongside the first one. The sudden fullness made you gasp, your breath coming in short pants against your hand. He started a slow pumping motion, sliding his fingers in and out of your soaking wet pussy, the sound of his fingers squelching loudly against your slickness filling up the quiet room.
Squish, squish, squish.
The sound alone was enough to make you lose your mind as you pulled your hand away, biting your tongue so you wouldn't make a sound. Your skin was hot, your head leaning all the way, showing him the line of your throat. "Jermaine, wait, stop- I'm gonna- "
"No you ain't," he cut you off, his voice firm, entirely in control. He slowed his pace down to a crawl, dragging his fingers out until just the tips were inside, then pushing them back in with a slow thrust. He was intentionally keeping you right on the edge, refusing to let you cross that line yet. "You ain't coming yet. We just started." He was frowning like he was genuinely upset, as though you were at a party and you already wanted to leave even if you just got there.
He leaned down, his chest rubbing against your clothed breasts as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. He bit down on your shoulder blade, not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to make you let out a small whimper, distracting you from the overwhelming sensation between your legs.
His fingers kept moving inside you, all slow and deep. Every time he felt your walls start to tighten up, signaling that you were getting too close to the edge, he would stop completely, keeping his fingers buried deep inside you, just holding you there while his thumb worked your clit in slow circles.
You were crying now, your voice raw, entirely expressive. You couldn't hide a single thing from him. Your hips were moving on their own, trying to chase his hand, trying to force him to move faster, but he was like a rock over you, completely unbothered by your struggles.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice vibrating against your neck.
You forced your eyes open, your vision blurry with tears of pleasure. He lifted his head, looking down at you with a satisfied grin. He looked so damn handsome, so completely in his element, that it made your heart ache just as much as your body.
"You like that, baby?" he whispered, his fingers giving a sudden roll inside you that made your eyes roll back.
"Yes- yes, Jermaine, please, oh my god..."
"I got you," he murmured, his lips coming back down to capture yours, drinking in your loud, breathless moans as he finally began to pick up the pace, dragging you deeper and deeper into the heat.
He could feel your walls fluttering around his fingers like a trapped bird, squeezing down on him so tight it felt like you were trying to wring every last bit of friction out of his fingers. You were completely at his mercy, trembling from your shoulders all the way down to your toes, your fingers digging so deep into the bedsheets you could hear the threads straining under your grip.
"That's it," Jermaine said against your lips, his voice dropping into a thick, low growl that vibrated directly into your open mouth. "Give it to me, baby."
He sped up his thumb just a fraction, hitting that tiny, swollen pearl of skin with pressure while his two fingers worked inside you. That was the final blow. A shattered, high pitched scream tried to tear its way out of your throat.
Before the sound could even carry out into the quiet room, Jermaine’s mouth smashed down onto yours, swallowing the high note of your orgasm whole. He drank in every single drop of your vocal distress, his tongue sliding deep into your mouth while your body shook beneath him. The release hit you so hard it turned your limbs to dead weight, warm pleasure washing over your hips and rolling down your thighs like a dam breaking open.
You were practically floating, your breathing coming in short, pathetic little hitches as the climax slowly began to settle into a soft but burning hum deep in your belly. You let out an exhale, your eyelids feeling so heavy you could barely keep them half open. You thought he was done.
You were dead wrong.
Jermaine didn't pull his fingers out. He left them buried deep inside your hot, slick walls, his wrist pressed against your skin, letting you feel every single beat of his pulse against you. He lifted his head up slowly, his eyes sparkling with a wicked kind of satisfaction as he looked down at your tired face. His lips were shiny, swollen from your kiss, and he had a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Look at you," he murmured softly, his thumb giving your clit one light flick that made your whole lower body jump like you’d been shocked with live electricity. "Look how soft you got for me, baby. You thought I was letting you off that easy?"
"Jermaine...wait," you gasped out. You reached out with a trembling hand, trying to push against his hard, smooth chest, but you had zero strength left. "Please...I'm- I'm so sensitive right now, baby, give me a minute–"
"Nah," he grunted, his tone completely smooth, entirely uncompromising. "We ain't taking no breaks tonight. I told you I was hungry, didn't I?"
Before your foggy, orgasm drunk brain could even process what he meant by that, Jermaine shifted his weight back onto his knees. He dragged himself down slowly, his broad, bare chest scraping against your ribs and your stomach, his hot breath trailing a burning path down your skin.
He gripped your thighs with both of his hands, his long fingers biting gently into your soft flesh, and pulled you all the way to the very edge of the mattress. He spread your legs wide open again, wider than before, pinning your knees back toward your chest so you were completely exposed to him all over again.
The cool air hitting your wet, sensitive skin sent a shiver down your spine, and the feeling of being completely unraveled made you try to cover yourself. But you were too slow.
Jermaine leaned down, bringing his face right between your thighs. He didn't pause nor did he give you a second to brace yourself, he just buried his nose right into your pussy, inhaling deep like he was breathing in the finest cologne, before pressing his open mouth directly against your pulsing, wet cunt.
"Oh– fuck!" you shrieked, the sound tearing out of your chest before you could stop it.
The contact was so sudden that your hips jerked upward. It felt like a shockwave went straight up your spine. The heat of his tongue lap lapping against your sensitive clit sent a wave of sensation crashing over you, so sharp that it almost felt like pain.
Remembering where you were, you slammed your hand over your own mouth. You clamped your palm down over your lips so hard your knuckles turned white, biting down on the meat of your hand to muffle the loud, broken noises trying to spill out of you.
Jermaine felt you tense up, he also felt the way your body was trying to pull away from the intensity of it all, but he just wrapped his big arms around your thighs, locking you completely in place. He was going crazy down there. He ate you like a starving man sitting down to his first real meal in days.
He slipped his tongue long and flat right up your slick slit, dragging it all the way from the bottom up to the top, taking his sweet time with every single stroke just like he had done his food. Every time his tongue flicked over your swollen clit, your eyes rolled into the back of your head, a muffled, desperate whine bursting past your hand.
“Mmph– nnngh!”
He loved hearing those pathetic little sounds escaping around your fingers. It drove him crazy. He raised his eyes up, looking at you from between your wide spread legs, watching you struggle to keep quiet. His face was slick with your warm juices, all glistening and shit, looking completely devious.
Without breaking eye contact, he cupped your ass cheeks in his hands, lifting your hips up just a fraction higher, and plunged his tongue as deep inside you as it could physically go. He swirled it around in circular strokes, tasting every single bit of the thick sweetness you were giving to him, before pulling back just enough and moving your hips back down to suck your clit directly into his warm mouth.
"J-Jermaine!" you choked out, your voice muffled behind your hand, your other arm reaching down frantically.
You weren't trying to push him away anymore, you couldn't if you tried. Instead, your hand plunged into his hair, your nails digging deep into his thick curls, gripping him by the roots. You tried to pull him closer, then tried to push him away, your fingers tangling desperately in his hair as your body lost all sense of control. You pulled on his hair hard enough to pull his head tight against your pelvis, but he didn't mind it at all; he just grunted against your wet skin, the vibration of his voice traveling straight into your nerve endings and making you lose your damn mind.
He started eating you faster, his tongue working in relentless, slick laps that sounded impossibly loud in the silent room.
Your hips began to move completely on their own, rolling against his mouth, trying to chase that sharp peak that was building up again WAY too fast. Your body was still exhausted from the first climax, making this second one feel ten times heavier, ten times more overwhelming. It was building up like a tidal wave.
"Stop...please, Jermaine, stop, I can't…" you whimpered, your legs shaking so hard they were visibly violently trembling in his grip. "It's too much– uhn– Jermaine– !"
Jermaine didn't listen to a single word. He pulled his mouth off your clit for just half a second, his lips slick and dripping, his breath hot as hell against your inner thigh.
"Cover your mouth," he ordered softly. "Just take it."
He plunged two fingers right back inside your soaking wet hole, filling you up completely, while his tongue went right back to relentlessly working your clit.
You bit down on your own hand so hard you nearly broke the skin, your toes curling tightly toward the mattress as your walls clamped down around his fingers like a vise. Your body convulsed, a long, muffled, shattered scream burying itself into your palm as you came violently all over his face and hands.
Your hips pushed against his mouth, your nails yanking on his hair as you rode out the orgasm. The spasm were so deep, and so intense, that your whole lower half felt like it was too warm, liquid pouring out of you and coating his fingers, his lips, his chin.
He stayed right there between your thighs for a second, catching his breath. He wiped his chin with the back of his hand, but when he pulled his hand away, he actually felt the amount of wetness coating his palm, and his wrists.
He looked down at his hand, then looked closely at the sheet beneath your ass, which was completely drenched, a dark circle spreading out onto the fabric.
A devious grin stretched across his face, his eyes lighting up with absolute amazement and pride. He leaned back on his heels, letting out a low, breathless whistle that cut right through the quiet room.
"Aw, nah," he whispered, his voice dripping with smooth, raspy disbelief. "Look at this shit...you done went and squirted all over the bed, girl."
Your eyes snapped open, wide and glossy with lingering tears, your skin turning instantly hot. Your chest heaving up and down like you’d just ran a whole mile.
"Jermaine, shut up," you gasped out.
You quickly scrambled to pull your legs together, your thighs shaking. You tried to slide back up the mattress, trying to cover yourself, completely embarrassed by how completely you had lost control. Your muscles felt like warm butter, zero strength left in your arms or your legs, making you look like a newborn calf just trying to move away from him.
"Nah, don't try to hide it now," Jermaine chuckled, moving up the bed right alongside you. He reached out with his arms and pulled your soft, trembling body right back into his chest, gathering you up into his lap like you belonged there. "Look at you shaking like a leaf, baby."
"Because you don't know how to act," you mumbled, hiding your face right into the crook of his neck. You wrapped your weak arms around his shoulders, breathing in his skin, completely exhausted. "I'm tired as hell, Jermaine. My legs feel weird."
"I know," he murmured, his tone shifting instantly from that playful teasing to something incredibly sweet.
He wrapped his large, warm hands around your bare thighs, his palms smoothing over your skin in long, comforting strokes. He began pressing soft, lingering kisses all over the side of your face; first your cheek, then the corner of your eye, down your jawline, and right onto your burning neck.
Every time his warm lips hit your skin, a tiny, involuntary noise escaped your throat; a soft, pitiful little sigh that made him grin against your skin.
"I know, baby. I know," he whispered softly, his deep voice vibrating right against your ribs as he kept rubbing your thighs, soothing the edge of the sensitivity. "I got you. You good. I just had to taste you, that's all. Couldn't help myself."
He kept kissing you, taking his time, his tongue taking tiny, lazy licks at your neck, making you shift resting in his arms. He cradled you close, holding you against his warm chest until the trembling in your legs slowly started to settle down into a soft ache.
"You alright?" he asked softly, resting his chin on top of your head, his hand sliding up your back to pull you against him. "Or you want me to just put you to bed?"
You lay there for a second, listening to the steady beat of his heart under your cheek. Your body was exhausted, yeah, but as your head started to clear, you felt the heavy bulge of his erection pressing firm and thick right against your hip through his sweatpants. He had spent all this time working you over, eating you until you lost your damn mind, and he hadn't even touched himself yet. He had been completely focused on your pleasure, completely unselfish, just taking care of you first like he always did.
And looking at him now, his hair a little wild from your hands pulling on it, his lips slick, the sheer sight of him made that warm, familiar ache bloom right back up in the pit of your stomach.
You lifted your head off his chest, looking up into his eyes.
"You think you just gonna put me to bed after all that?" you murmured, a tiny, tired little smile playing on your lips.
Jermaine raised one eyebrow, looking down at you with surprised amusement. "What, you got some energy left?"
"Not for riding," you whispered, sliding your hand down his stomach, letting your acrylics drag lightly over the waistband of his sweatpants. "But I know you ain't sit up here and do all that just to go to sleep empty handed."
He let out a low chuckle, his hand coming down to rest over yours. "Baby, you don't gotta do nothing. You exhausted."
"Shut up and let me handle it," you muttered softly, pushing yourself up onto your knees.
You shifted your weight, sliding down his body until you were kneeling right between his open legs on the mattress. Jermaine leaned his back up against the headboard, his heavy eyelids dropping low as he watched you.
You reached out, your fingers hooking into the elastic waistband of his sweatpants. You pulled them down slowly, dragging his briefs down with them, letting his heavy, fully erected dick spring free.
He was thick, dark, and completely ready, glistening at the head with pre cum.
You leaned in close, wrapping your hand firmly around him, feeling how warm and rock hard he was in your grip. You lowered your head, pressing a soft, warm kiss right to the soft skin of his inner thigh, right next to his groin, making him let out a long exhale through his nose.
"Fuck, baby..." he rasped out, his hands instantly reaching up to rest in the messy sheets beside him.
You moved your mouth closer, taking the rounded head of his dick into your mouth, wrapping your wet lips tight around him as you pulled him in. You dragged your tongue up the underside of his shaft, swirling it right over the sensitive tip, taking in every drop of his moisture.
Jermaine’s hips gave an involuntary jerk, a low groan tearing out from deep inside his chest. "Shit..."
You slid your hands further down, your fingers gently cupping his balls. You weighed them in your palm, your long nails lightly scratching against the soft, sensitive skin of his scrotum, making his whole lower body go tight. You leaned down lower, taking one of his balls into your mouth, sucking softly while your thumb smoothed over the other, working him with a slow, thorough pace that was taking his breath away.
"Ah, fuck, honey..." Jermaine hissed, his head falling back against the headboard, his chest rising and falling heavily. "You trying to kill a nigga tonight, swear to God..."
You pulled back from his balls, licking a wet path all the way back up his thick vein to the very tip. You opened your mouth wide, taking him deep into your throat, swallowing as much of his length as you could manage. You kept your lips tight, creating a warm suction as you began to move your head up and down in a filthy bob.
The wet sounds filled up the quiet bedroom, echoing off the walls. Jermaine’s hands came up from the sheets, his fingers entangling themselves into your hair, holding your head as you worked him. He wasn't pushing you down too hard, he was gentle, guided by pleasure, but he was holding you right where he wanted you, his hips rising up off the bed to meet every single downward stroke of your mouth.
"Fuck, you feel so good," he grunted out, his voice completely raw. "Look at you...taking all of it."
Hearing him talk to you like that, feeling the way his body was shuddering under your hands, did something to you. You worked your tongue around the head, bobbing faster, your hand sliding up and down the base to match the rhythm of your mouth. You took him all the way to the back of your throat, feeling his pre cum leaking onto your tongue, tasting him completely.
Jermaine’s breath came in ragged, sharp gasps, his grip in your hair tightening just a fraction as his hips began to pump faster into your wet mouth.
"Wait, wait...baby, pull back," he grunted out suddenly, his voice raspy with warning, his muscles locking up tight. "Pull back before I bust right in your mouth..."
You pulled completely back off him for a split second, taking a second to catch your own breath while you held his dick in your hand. Your heart was beating like a drum against your ribs. You looked up at him, biting down on your swollen bottom lip, your eyes locking onto his blown out gaze.
Instead of letting him cool off, you kept your hand wrapped tight around his length, giving him a few slow, firm strokes, up and down, dragging your thumb right over the sensitive, glistening tip to keep him right on the edge.
Jermaine let out a harsh, gravelly exhale through his teeth, his hips giving a subtle, involuntary jerk into your palm. "Ah...baby- mmnhmm..."
You shifted your weight, swinging one leg over his lap so you were straddling his thigh. You weren't sitting on his dick, you kept yourself hovering just in front of it, your thighs gripping his tight while your wet pussy pressed against the broad muscle of his upper leg.
You leaned in close, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, and captured his mouth again.
You tasted like him, he tasted like you, and the clash of your tongues sent a jolt of fire straight down to your toes.
Mid kiss, you slowly pulled your head back just an inch, breaking the seal of your lips with a soft, wet sound. You looked into his eyes, your breathing coming in shallow pants.
You raised one hand between your faces, gathering up a pool of slick saliva in your mouth, and spit right into your own hand. Then, without breaking eye contact, you raised your eyebrows, giving him a look, gesturing for him to do the exact same thing.
Jermaine stared at you for a half second before a small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. He leaned his head forward, gathering up his own slick spit, and dropped a heavy pool of it right into your open palm with yours.
You reached down between your legs, sliding that same hand down to your soaking wet cunt. You gathered up a fingers worth of your own creamy, hot slick nut and brought it all together. You mixed the spit, his pre cum, and your wetness right on the shaft of his dick, rubbing your palm up and down his entire length until his dick was completely drenched, shining wet and slippery in the dim room light.
Jermaine let out a low groan from the back of his throat, his head hitting the headboard with a soft thud as he shook it side to side as though he were disappointed. "Fuck...you so nasty for that, girl."
"You like it," you whispered against his jaw, your voice practically a goner.
You gripped his jaw with your free hand before you crashed your mouth right back onto his.
While your hand kept up a slow, relentless stroke on his slick, dripping dick, making that wet squelch slick sound every time your palm slid up to his top, Jermaine’s hands went all over your body.
His large, warm hands wandered up under your shirt, because Jermaine just loved you with your shirt on, his palms cupping your breasts, his thumbs rolling over your hard, swollen nipples. Every time he squeezed, you let out a muffled, high pitched whine directly into his mouth. He caught the noise, before sliding one hand down your back, his long fingers digging into your soft ass cheeks to pull you down tighter against his leg.
He stroked your hips, smoothed his hands over your hot skin, his thumb occasionally sliding down to flick against your clit just to hear you whimper against his lips. In return, you varied your pace on his dick, sometimes twisting your hand at the top, sometimes squeezing lightly at his balls while your wet palm pumped his shaft.
Every time you hit the right spot, Jermaine would let out these hushed, quiet moans and deep, chesty grunts that vibrated straight through your body. He was trying so hard to stay quiet, his jaw tight, his chest heaving, but the messy friction you were making on his little friend down there was driving him past his limit.
"Ah...shit...baby..." he rasped against your lips, his tongue lazily tangling with yours as his breathing grew shorter, and more frantic. "Right there...don't stop...keep stroking like that..."
You kept going, your hand moving faster now, the wet slick squelching loudly between your fingers. You rubbed your wet, warm pussy lightly against his thigh to match the stroke of your hand, giving yourself just enough friction to keep you hovering right on the edge along with him.
Jermaine’s hands clamped down hard on your hips, pinning you to him. His head pressing against your shoulder as he let out a long, trembling, muffled moan.
His whole body went stiff as board underneath you. His hips gave two, three thrusts up into your pumping hand, and he finally came, you watched in awe as he lifted his head against your cheek to kiss it.
Thick, hot streams of his nut spurted out, coating your wet palm, your fingers, and splashing up onto his stomach. He kept moaning softly against your cheek, his breath coming in hot, ragged hitches against your skin while his body shuddered through every last pulse of his release.
The room was dead silent, with the exception of the synchronized sound of your breathing. The clock on the nightstand flicked quietly past two in the morning.
Jermaine’s shoulders were glistening with a thin sheen of sweat as you lay your head on his shoulder, his hands still resting on the small of your back, holding you against him like he was terrified you’d slip away. His body felt completely spent, his muscles relaxed into that post cum languor that made him feel like his legs were asleep under your thighs.
You slowly lifted your head off his shoulder, looking down at his stomach, which was completely painted with his creamy, cloudy nut, dripping down over his dark skin and coating your right hand.
You looked up at him through your lashes. His hooded eyelids watching you with that gaze that told you that you did good and he had an amazing time.
Slowly, you brought your hand up to your mouth.
You didn't wipe it on the sheet, and you didn't reach for a towel. You stuck your tongue out, taking a lazy lick right across the palm of your hand, cleaning up the thickest part of his release. You closed your lips around your fingers, sucking them clean one by one, making a soft, wet sound in the silent room as you tasted what came outta him but was completely yours.
Jermaine’s eyes opened a little wider at the sight. A low hum vibrated deep in his throat, his eyebrows pulling together.
"Damn," he rasped. "You really sum' else, you know that?"
You didn't even answer him with words. You just smirked, dragging your tongue over your thumb until your hand was completely clean.
Then, you shifted your weight off his thighs before you leaned forward, hovering your face right over his stomach. You lowered your head, pressing your warm tongue directly against the smooth skin just below his belly button, dragging it upward in a slow, wet line right through the warm mess on his skin.
Jermaine’s stomach muscles instantly jumped under your tongue, tightening up in a sharp reflex. He let out a hissed gasp through his teeth.
"Shit..." he muttered, his head tilting back against the wood again. "You ain't gotta do all that, baby..."
"Yes I do," you murmured against his skin, your voice muffled.
You kept going, taking your sweet time with him. You dragged your tongue up his stomach, taking every drop of his nut off his dark skin, licking him clean with slow strokes. You used your lips and the tip of your tongue to clean every crease, every smooth dip of his abdomen, tasting the salty, warm contrast of his skin against his release. You took a tiny, light bite out of his hip bone, making him let out a hushed groan, before licking and sucking over the spot to soothe the sting.
He just lay there, completely at your mercy, his chest rising and falling, his hands stroking your back, your shoulders, his long fingers tangling aimlessly through your hair while you worked over his body. It was almost sweet in a way.
When you were finally satisfied, having licked his stomach completely clean, you smoothed your wet tongue up his sternum, kissing your way up the center of his chest. You lingered over his heart, listening to the steady thudding underneath his ribs, before trailing your mouth up the side of his throat. You bit lightly into his skin, leaving a soft, wet press of your lips right at the base of his neck.
Jermaine’s hand came up, his long fingers cupping the side of your face, his broad thumb sweeping gently over your cheek bone. He pulled your head up, forcing you to look at him in the dim light.
"Come here," he whispered.
You slid up his body, bringing your face right down to his, and pressed your lips directly to his.
The kiss was slow, your tongues slid together in a soft rhythm, you could feel the complete satisfaction humming between you.
Jermaine’s tongue lazily swirling against yours, sucking on your lower lip with a soft, persistent pull that made your whole body feel like it was melting right into his chest. He tasted every inch of your mouth, over and over, his thumb gently stroking your jaw, keeping you locked right there against him.
Every time you tried to pull back just a fraction to catch your breath, he’d just follow your mouth, humming softly against your lips, deepening the kiss until you were completely breathless again.
"Mmm..." you let out a soft, muffled whine into his mouth, your body relaxing entirely limp over his frame.
He pulled his mouth back just an inch, his lips wet and shining, resting his head against against the headboard.
"That was crazy, girl," he whispered.
"Yeah. You loved it though," you murmured back, your eyes closed, resting your chin on his chest.
"Yeah, I did," he admitted, his arm wrapping firmly around your waist, pulling the blanket up from the foot of the bed and sliding it over both of your bodies– it was fucking disgusting but who has the energy to care right now. "I love you."
You laughed softly, your arm wrapping tight around his waist. “I love you too.”
، summary𓈒 michael is often busy with rehearsals and you ain't have no pleasure in a good minute so you just politely ask him to just use his fingers.
، pairing𓈒 michael jackson x black!fem!reader
، warnings𓈒 SMUT, 18+, masturbation, no use of y/n, kissing, fingering, crying, oversimulation, use of "baby".
، notes𓈒 I ain't write for michael in a minute (IM SORRY—i was feening for his brother), this was a bit rushed, but it literally based off this post- like wym his fingers was nearly five inches long??? bye; enjoy my strange ladies.
It was about 2:14 in the morning the last time you checked the green digital clock on your nightstand before going downstairs, and you done switched sides on the couch for what felt like the fifty thousandth time. You were curled up on said couch in the living room, the only light in the room coming from the warm, amber glow of the flickering television screen playing on mute. You had a satin robe tied loosely around your waist with your silk slip underneath, and your bare legs tucked under a thick throw blanket.
The house was too damn big when he wasn't there. You’d been trying to watch some late night sitcom reruns, but your eyes kept drifting to the heavy doors of the entrance.
You had the AC humming at a cool seventy degrees, but under this blanket, you were burning up. And it wasn't because of the weather outside. It was a deep, simmering heat right in your bones, settling heavy and tight right between your thighs.
Lord knew you loved your man. You loved his drive, his genius, the way his eyes lit up when a new idea clicked in his head. But this tour prep? It was running him ragged, and by default, it was leaving you high and dry; but shit, if you didn't miss your man.
And more than just missing his conversation, your body was aching for him.
You stared up at the ceiling. I ain't had no real lay down in...what? Three weeks? Four weeks? A whole fucking month.
It had been almost a full month since the two of you had really, truly connected. A month of quick, sleepy kisses in the mornings, brief phone calls during his fifteen minute lunch breaks, and falling asleep on opposite sides of a king sized bed because he was too physically exhausted to do anything but pass out the second his head hit the pillow.
Just yesterday, the desperation had gotten so bad you actually tried to take matters into your own hands. You’d dim the lights, pulled down your panties, and tried to get some relief. But it was a disaster. Every time you tried to find the right angle, your hand would cramp, or you’d lose the rhythm, or you just couldn't quite reach the spot that was aching deep inside your pussy. The frustration had built up so fast, hot and heavy behind your eyes, until you just ended up curling into a ball and crying actual tears of pure, unadulterated aggravation.
Imagine crying over some damn fingering. You’d felt so pathetic, sitting there with wet cheeks and a throbbing ache that wouldn't quit.
And now, here you were, twenty four hours later, and the ache was only worse.
Your skin was practically buzzing. Every little rub of the satin robe against your thighs felt like a tease. You’d spent the last hour just thinking about him- his hands, his voice, the way he breathed against your neck when he got worked up. You were needy, plain and simple. You wanted him, and you weren't planning on letting him just slip into sleep tonight without giving you a little piece of himself.
Just as you were about to give up and let sleep take you, the heavy thud of the front door finally echoed through the house.
You sat up, throwing the blanket off your legs. Your heart did a little flutter as you heard the familiar, exhausted sigh, followed by the soft rustle of his jacket being hung up in the closet.
A moment later, Michael walked into the room.
He looked absolutely beautiful, but incredibly worn down. He was wearing black pants, a loose, button down shirt over a white tee, and his black loafers. His curls were damp, clinging to the back of his neck and framing his face in sweaty spirals. His shoulders were slumped, and his eyes heavy with exhaustion.
When he noticed you sitting up on the couch, a soft, weary smile broke through his tired face.
"Hey, beautiful," he murmured, his voice incredibly deep, raspy, and quiet from a long day of singing. "What are you doing up? It's so late."
"Waiting on you," you said, your voice soft but carrying that smooth, slow drawl. You stood up from the sectional, stretching your legs, letting the silk robe part just enough to show a sliver of your thigh. "You look beat, baby."
Michael walked over to you, his movements slow. When he reached you, he just collapsed his forehead right onto your shoulder, letting his arms wrap loosely around your waist. He let out a long, shuddering breath, breathing in the scent of your cocoa butter lotion and the sweet perfume you’d lightly sprayed before he got home.
"I am," he whispered against your collarbone. "We did the choreography for 'Billie Jean' and 'Beat It' back to back today. Frank wanted to run the lighting cues over and over. My knees are aching, sweetheart. I feel like I could sleep for a whole week."
You gently stroked the back of his neck, your fingers slipping underneath the damp curls at his nape. You felt a wave of maternal warmth for him, but right beneath it was a burning, tight sensation in your lower belly.
"Mmh, I know you tired, Mike," you murmured, shifting your hips slightly so they brushed against his. "But I been missin' you. Like, really missin' you."
Michael pulled back just an inch, his dark eyes looking down into yours. He had that soft, gentle gaze he always got when he was looking at you, but there was a distinct fog of fatigue over his pupils. "I miss you too, girl. So much. Let's just go up to bed and cuddle, okay? I just want to hold you."
He reached down to take your hand, intending to lead you toward the grand staircase, but you didn't budge. You held his hand, but you anchored yourself, stepping closer into his space.
"Michael," you whispered, looking up at him with wide, glossy eyes. The desperation in your face must have shocked him, because his gaze instantly sharpened as you continued. "I don't just want to cuddle. I'm bout to go crazy. I swear to God I am. I ain't had none of you in a whole month."
"Have you been crying?"
You bit your lip, a hot flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck. You didn't want to admit it, but you were too far gone to care about your pride.
"Yeah," you confessed, your voice cracking slightly. "I was. Yesterday. And tonight."
Michael’s brow furrowed, his thumbs soothingly rubbing circles into your hips through the thin silk of your slip. "Why, baby? Tell me. What happened?"
"I just did! Because of this," you burst out, gesturing vaguely down between your bodies.
Michael let out a soft, breathy chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He reached up, gently tapping his fingertips against your chin. "Sweetheart, I love you, and you know I want nothing more than to lay you down right now. But my back is so stiff, and my body is literally aching. I don't think I have the strength to give you what you need tonight. Let me get some rest, and I promise you, tomorrow morning I'll make it up to you."
"Tomorrow morning you gotta be back at the arena by eight, and you know it," you pointed out, stepping even closer, wrapping your arms around his neck. You looked up at him through your lashes, letting your lips part slightly. "And I can't wait that long. I'm practically dying over here."
"I'm sorry, baby," he whispered, kissing your forehead gently. "I just don't have the energy for a whole session."
"I ain't asking for all that," you murmured, your hand sliding down his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart through his shirt. You let your fingers trail down, stopping right at his waistline. "I know you tired. I know your knees hurting. So you don't gotta do all that..."
Michael raised an eyebrow, a slight, intrigued smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Oh, really? And what are you suggesting?"
"Just use your fingers, baby," you whispered, your voice a smooth, seductive purr against his ear. You nipped gently at his earlobe, making him shiver. "Just sit back, relax, and use your pretty hands on me. That's all I need. Just a little taste."
Michael groaned softly, his grip on your waist tightening just a fraction. You could tell he was fighting his own exhaustion, but the temptation of your touch, combined with the desperate tone in your voice, was starting to wear down his defenses. He loved how much you wanted him. He loved that even when he was completely drained, you still craved his touch above everything else. His eyes searched your face, taking in the dilated pupils, and the absolute raw hunger written in every line of your expression. He let out a long, shaky sigh, his head tilting back to look at the ceiling before closing his eyes.
"Oh, sweetheart," he groaned, bringing his head back down to look down at you. "You really know how to play with fire, don't you?"
"I'm burning up, Michael. Put it out."
He looked down at you with hooded eyes, a slow, dangerous smile creeping onto his lips. It wasn't his usual sweet, boyish grin. This was the smile of a man who knew exactly what kind of power he held over you, a man who was about to take his sweet, precious time.
"You're a bad girl," he muttered. "So needy. Using my weakness against me when I'm too tired to fight back. Can't even let a man rest."
"I ain't hear you say no," you teased, your heart racing. "Please, Michael? Just touch me. I'll do whatever you want, just don't leave me dry tonight."
Michael closed his eyes for a brief second, inhaling deeply, before opening them again. The exhaustion was still there, but now it was mixed with a heavy, simmering heat. He looked down at your lips, his gaze darkening.
"Alright," he whispered, his voice incredibly thick. "Alright, sweetheart. But we're doing this my way. And you have to promise to do exactly what I tell you."
"Always, baby," you breathed, a thrill running down your spine.
Michael took your hand and led you slowly up the stairs. The house was dead silent, the only sound being the soft pad of your bare feet and his loafers on the carpeted steps. When you reached the master bedroom, the massive space was cool and dark, lit only by the moonlight streaming through the large doors that led to the balcony.
Michael didn't turn on any lights. He preferred the darkness, the intimacy of the shadows.
He walked over to the massive king sized bed, kicking off his loafers before sitting down on the edge of the mattress. He leaned back against the headboard, his long legs stretching out in front of him. He looked up at you, standing at the foot of the bed.
"Come here," he commanded softly.
You walked over, your heart hammering against your ribs, really trying not to smile at how happy you were to be getting someee. You stopped right between his outstretched legs, looking down at him.
Michael reached up, his long, slender fingers catching the tie of your satin robe. With a slow pull, he undone the knot. The silk parted, pooling around your elbows and revealing the lace slip you were wearing underneath.
Michael’s eyes swept down your body, taking in every single curve, the rich warmth of your skin, the way your chest rose and fell with your shallow breathing. He let out a soft, appreciative hum, his hands sliding up your thighs, his palms warm and slightly calloused from years of dancing.
"You look so beautiful," he whispered, his hands smoothing over your hips, resting on your waist. "So beautiful. My sweet girl."
"Michael, please," you whimpered, the heat between your legs blooming instantly at his touch. "I'm already so wet for you."
"Shh," he murmured, his fingers gently digging into your hips, anchoring you. "Don't rush me. I told you, we're going slow. If I'm doing this, I'm taking my time."
He pulled you closer, guiding you to climb onto the bed. "Sit on my lap, facing away from me," he instructed, his voice all low and steady.
You did as you were told, turning around and straddling his thighs, your back pressing against his chest. The feeling of his broad chest against your back, his warm breath tickling the back of your neck, made you shiver.
Michael wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you tightly against him. He buried his face in your neck, inhaling deeply, kissing the soft spot right beneath your ear.
"You feel so good," he murmured. "So soft. So warm," he whispered, moving his head up, his lips brushing against your temple. "And you smell so good. What is that?"
"Cocoa butter. The one you like," you mumbled, your hands finding his thigh, tracing down to his knee. "Now stop stallin', Michael."
He let out a tired but rich laugh that vibrated against your chest. "Alright, alright. Impatient little thing."
His hands slowly slid down from your waist, moving over the smooth fabric of your slip, down to where your thighs met. You parted your legs slightly, giving him access, but Michael wasn't in a hurry. He kept his palms flat against your outer thighs, gently rubbing them in slow, circular motions.
"Michael..." you groaned, shifting your weight, trying to press your pussy against his hand.
"Stop moving," he whispered against your ear, his voice firm but gentle. "Just relax. Let me handle it."
You let out a breathy sigh, forcing your muscles to relax, leaning your head back against his shoulder.
Slowly, agonizingly so, Michael’s right hand slipped inward. His long fingers brushed against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, light as a feather. You trembled, your fingers gripping the bedsheets beside you. He trailed his fingers up, closer and closer to the lace of your underwear, but just when you thought he was going to touch you, he retreated, sliding his hand back down to your knee.
"Michael, stop teasing me," you whined. "You playin' too much. Just touch it."
Michael let out a soft chuckle against your neck. "You've been waiting a month, a few more minutes isn't going to kill you."
He repeated the motion, his fingers tracing patterns on your inner thighs, slowly acclimating your body to his touch, building the anticipation until you were literally panting, your hips involuntarily twitching.
Finally, his hand slipped underneath the lace material.
When his bare fingertips made contact with your swollen, soaking wet center, you let out a loud gasp, your back arching off his chest.
"Oh, fuck..." you breathed, your eyes closing tight. "Michael..."
"Mmh, look at that. Look at you," his voice incredibly soft, almost reverent. He felt how warm and slick you were, his fingertips instantly becoming coated in your juices. "You're soaking wet for me, girl. You really were needy, weren't you?"
"Yes," you confessed, your fingers gripping his bicep, your voice cracking. "Yes, baby. I been wanting you so bad."
Michael didn't immediately start stroking you. Instead, he just rested his palm against your mound, letting you feel the heavy, warm weight of his hand. He began to apply a slow, steady pressure, moving his palm up and down, grinding your sensitive flesh against himself. Michael might have been too tired to move his body, but his hands had a mind of their own.
And though friction was intense, it wasn't enough. You wanted his fingers in you.
"Please, Mike. Put 'em in. Just a little bit," you begged, turning your head slightly to try and catch his lips.
Michael turned his head to meet yours, pressing a deep, slow, open mouthed kiss to your lips. He tasted like sweet mint. He kissed you thoroughly, his tongue lazy and heavy, mirroring the slow rhythm of his hand down below.
While he kissed you, his middle finger slowly slipped inside of your pussy.
You let out a muffled moan into his mouth, your walls clenching tightly around his finger. They were so long, and the intrusion felt incredibly deep and full.
Michael pulled back from the kiss, his eyes heavy, watching your face in the dim moonlight. He saw the pleasure written across your features, your lips parted, your brow slightly furrowed as you tried to cope with the sensation.
"You're so tight," he whispered, his finger remaining completely still inside you. "So warm."
"Move it, baby," you pleaded, your hips giving a desperate little twitch. "Please, move it."
"Shh, easy," he murmured. "Let me stretch you out first."
He slowly curled his finger inside you, hooking it slightly against your front wall. The sudden friction against your g-spot made your eyes roll back, a loud broken moan escaping your throat. "Oh, shit- ! Michael...Michael!"
"I got you," he whispered, his voice incredibly deep and steady.
He slowly slid a second finger, his index finger, inside alongside the first. The fit was incredibly snug, making you stretch around him. He began a slow, rhythmic in and out motion. It wasn't fast, and it wasn't rough.
He began to move his fingers, but it was agonizingly slow. He would slide it almost all the way out, letting you feel the slick friction of his exit, only to push it back in with a slow thrust that was incredibly deep. With every stroke, his fingers coated themselves in your slickness, the wet, squelching sound filling the quiet bedroom, making your face burn with a mixture of embarrassment and arousal.
Over and over, he kept the pace tortuously slow. He was making sure you felt every millimeter of his fingers sliding inside you.
You were losing your mind. Your body wanted him to move fast, wanted to ride his hand to get that quick, explosive release, but every time you tried to speed up the pace, tried to really buck your hips and fuck yourself on this man's hand like a bitch in heat, Michael’s hand on your hip would tighten, holding you firmly in place.
"No, no," he cautioned, his deep voice vibrating against your back. "Don't rush, baby. Just feel how good it is."
"It's too slow, Michael," you cried out, a tear of frustration and pleasure escaping the corner of your eye. "You torturing me."
"I'm loving you," he corrected softly, his finger finally finding your highly sensitive clit.
He didn't rub it. He was just pressed down gently, holding his finger there while his fingers on his other hand continued its slow, deep curls inside of you.
The combination of the deep, slow penetration and the steady, heavy pressure on your clit sent a massive wave of electricity straight to your core. Your legs began to shake, your inner muscles contracting violently around his finger.
"That's it," Michael murmured, feeling the pre orgasmic ripples of your body. "You like that, don't you?"
"Yes, yes, right there, Mike," you gasped, your voice completely wrecked. "Right there."
He kept his movements steady, his long fingers working inside you with a masterful, lazy rhythm that was driving you over the edge. He didn't have to strain himself; he just lay there, watching your face in the dim light, enjoying the way he could make you unravel with just a fraction of his effort.
"I'm not going to let you come yet," he whispered, his voice dripping with a playful, dominant malice.
And just like that, he eased up. He pulled his fingers almost completely out, his fingers lightly brushing away from your sweet spot, leaving you hovering right on the edge of a cliff, completely suspended.
You let out a frustrated, heartbroken groan. You grabbed his thighs, turning to look up at his handsome, smug face. He looked so incredibly handsome, his features all soft and full of love.
"Michael, why you doing me like this?" you whined, completely exasperated. "You know I'm right there. Don't play with me like this, baby, I'm begging you."
Michael down at you, his eyes incredibly soft but holding a deep, intense hunger. He reached over, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb wiping away the stray tear of frustration.
"Because I want it to last," he whispered honestly. "If I let you come right now, you're going to fall asleep, and I won't get to feel you like this for another long time. I want to enjoy you, sweetheart. I want to see how much you can take."
You looked into his eyes, seeing the genuine, deep affection mixed with the primal desire to possess you, to dominate your pleasure. The frustration faded instantly, replaced by a deep submission.
"Okay," you whispered. "Okay. Do what you want. Just don't stop."
Michael smiled, a beautiful smile. "I won't stop."
He reached down, his hands catching your thighs and spreading them wider, draping your legs over his own. He adjusted himself slightly, leaning back a bit more so he had a clear view of your pussy.
He dipped two fingers into your slick pool of moisture, coating them completely before he slowly pushed both fingers deep inside you, a sharp gasp escaping your lips.
"Ohhh- hnnmm," you whimpered, your hands moving down to grip the sheets for dear life.
Michael began to pump his fingers inside you, but he kept the pace slow, steady, and incredibly deep. He was curling his fingers upward, hitting that sweet spot inside you over and over again with a wet, rhythmic squelch that echoed.
His other hand reached up, his thumb gently circling your clit, match the slow rhythm of his fingers. Every slide of his fingers made you lose your breath. You closed your eyes, your head rolling back against his shoulder, your hips rolling against his hand as you let out low moans.
You were completely at his mercy. Every touch was calculated, designed to build the tension in your lower belly until it was almost unbearable.
"Michael...please...I can't..." you cried out softly, your hands clutching the satin sheets, your toes curling. The pleasure was rolling through you in waves, so overwhelming because you had waited so damn long for it.
"Yes you can," he whispered, his voice a soothing, hypnotic tone. "Just ride the wave, baby. Let it build. I've got you."
He kept you on that agonizing edge for what felt like hours, but was likely only fifteen minutes of sensory torture. He would build you up until your thighs were shaking uncontrollably, asking you to "Look at me, baby," with a hypnotic tone, his finger applying a perfect, steady pressure to your clit while his other fingers stroked deep inside you, and then he would slow down even more, whispering sweet, encouraging words into your ear, kissing your neck, your ear, your lips, until your body settled just enough for him to start the build up all over again.
By the time he finally decided to let you go, you were completely spent, your body vibrating with a tension so tight it felt like a coiled spring. "You love it when I touch you like this?" he asked, his voice a low, commanding purr.
"I love it...I love you, Mike...I'm about to..." you sobbed softly, not even able to finish your sentences, your fingers digging into his thighs, likely leaving light red marks that you couldn't see because of his pants. "I need to come. Please, baby. Let me come."
Michael looked down at you, his own breathing heavy now, his face flushed with heat. He saw how completely undone you were, how entirely devoted you were to his touch in this moment.
"Alright, baby," he whispered, his voice incredibly tender. "Come for me. Right now."
He suddenly sped up his movements, his fingers thrusting deeply and rapidly inside of you, while his thumb rubbed your clit in fast, intense circles.
The sudden shift in pace was too much. Your body instantly locked up.
A loud, soul shattering cry tore from your throat as your vision went completely white. Your walls clamped down on his fingers in tight, rhythmic spasms, squeezing him with incredible force. You arched your back, before your entire body began shaking violently as the intense, delayed orgasm crashed over you in waves, going on and on, seemingly never ending because of how long he had held you back. Your hips bucked against his hand, your chest heaving as you rode it out.
Michael held you tightly against him, his fingers staying deep inside you, feeling every single contraction of your climax. He buried his face in your neck, letting out a low, satisfied groan of his own as though he were the one nutting, completely intoxicated by your pleasure. He let you shake, kissing away the happy tears that gathered at the corners of your eyes.
"Yes, baby," he whispered against your skin, his voice all thick and warm. "That's it. Let it out. Give it all to me."
You collapsed against his chest, your muscles completely jelly, your heart pounding like a drum. You were panting heavily, sweat lightly shining your forehead, letting the contractions gently squeeze him until the worst of the tremors faded into a lazy, warm afterglow.
Slowly, carefully, Michael slipped his fingers out of you. He reached over to the nightstand, grabbing a soft hand towel to clean himself and you, his movements incredibly tender and caring.
Once you were both cleaned up, he pulled you back into his arms. You collapsed against his chest, completely spent, your forehead resting right over his heart. You could hear it beating- a steady, comforting thump thump, thump thump.
"You alright now, needy girl?" he teased softly, his chest rumbling against your cheek.
You released a soft, satisfied hum, wrapping one leg over his thigh, tangling your bodies together. "I'm perfect. Thank you, baby."
"Anytime," he murmured, his voice incredibly heavy now, his eyes already fluttering shut. "Now...let your man get some sleep."
"Go to sleep, Mike," you whispered, kissing his warm chest.
Within minutes, his breathing slowed into a deep, even rhythm. You lay there in the quiet of the bedroom, warm, fully satisfied, and completely loved, listening to the soft sound of his breathing as the neon green clock ticked away into the morning.
Mmmm…just imagine bf!jermajesty fucking you to wicked games (or just any the weeknd song) and just him in your guts while he talking you through it cause he just so big.
So jermajesty of course because he has money, he’s got these nice ass speakers that makes the music vibrate straight through your chest.
You’re laying in his massive bed- the sheets are probably like 1000 thread count silk or some shit that feels like butter against your skin, and wicked games by the weeknd is just playing in the background, because you both love the artist. Jermajesty just crawls over you. Just completely dwarfing your body, smelling so fucking good.
He’s not in a rush because he knows exactly what he’s doing. He looks down at you with those sexy heavy lidded eyes, murmuring some slick, low voiced shit in your ear while his hands, which are huge, btw, grip your hips so tight they’re surely gonna leave marks. He’s wrapping his hand around himself, sliding his dick up and down your pussy, spreading your wetness all over, making you whimper. Paying attention to your clit and your pussy lips, teasingly dipping just the very tip of his dick inside you for a good lil second, all groaning and shit as if he were at the gates of heaven that was between your legs. Then he just slides his dick in your pussy, the sound of your pussy squelching around him filling the room.
The size of him is literally ridiculous. The feeling had both of your jaws dropping; his brows coming together, your moans filling the room and his ears, it only spurs him on. He is so thick and so long and you tighten up almost instantly and push against his abdomen, gasping and trying to move away because oww but also yes please because it hurts so good, but he just pins your wrists above your head with one hand. He doesn't let you run from it.
"Unt unt, baby. Take it," he mumbles against your neck, his voice all deep and shit, making you wanna nut right then and there. "I know you want it. Just breathe for me." his thumb reaching down to circle on that clit so you could relax.
And then he starts pounding into you. Just completely relentless, all heavy while rhythmically matching the beat of the song. Abel’s voice (🥴🫦) and the bass alone vibrating through the mattress, through your spine, while he’s just absolutely wrecking you.
You're literally losing your mind, toes curling, trying to blink back tears because it’s so deep and so full, and every single thrust is hitting your spot perfectly. “Wait, maj…fuck- unh…” You try to tell him to slow down because you literally can't take it, just babbling nonsensical shit, but he just covers your mouth with his own, tasting your whimpers, swallowing them bitches, and pushes even deeper if that's even possible. He’s holding your leg all the way up over his shoulder, stretching you out, just completely fucking dominating you.
He makes you take every single inch of him like a good girl until you’re just a shaking, trembling mess underneath him.
، summary𓈒 you go live on tiktok and your fans realize you gotta boyfriend and they wanna know who he is.
، pairing𓈒 jermajesty Jackson x influencer!black reader
، warnings𓈒 no use of y/n, fluff.
، notes𓈒 lauv ittt- enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. jermajesty is a chud and I love him, so ignore how corny this is. Now im GETTING back to the requests.
"First of all, whoever said my lace is lifting in the back...your mama is a man."
You leaned in closer to the ring light, squinting at the chat flying across your iPad screen. The tiktok live was currently sitting at eighty four thousand viewers, and every single one of them had decided today was the day to choose violence.
"I’m serious," you muttered, parting your freshly installed 30 inch bustdown middle part. "Don't play with my stylist like that. She glued this down with the tears of my enemies. It’s sitting. It’s melted. It’s giving scalp but you bitches are just blind."
User38492: Not the wig defense protocol 😭
Kayla_From_The_Block: GIRL forget the hair, who was that tall shadow in the background of your vlog yesterday??
TeeTee_Bandz: Wait hold on because I saw him too! Tall, broad, and moving like he own the place.
Mya.M: SPILL THE TEA SIS. WHO IS HE?!
You paused, your edge brush frozen mid swoop.
Damn. You thought you had cropped that clip perfectly. It was a three second transition in your "Spend the Day with Me in LA" vlog- just a quick aesthetic pan across your living room to show off the new sofa. But the internet FBI apparently had 4K vision and a magnifying glass.
"What shadow?" you asked, trying to keep your face deadpan. You went back to swooping your baby hairs, acting like your heart didn't just do a little skip hop drop. "Y'all are hallucinating. That was probably just the coat rack. Or a ghost. This apartment is old as hell, I keep telling y'all."
Breezy_B: A coat rack in a designer Balenciaga hoodie? Chile, please.
NoName90: And the coat rack got shoulders like a linebacker? Okay.
RealRecognizeReal: Is she blushing??? OH SHE BLUSHING.
"I’m not blushing- black people don’t blush!" you yelled, laughing despite yourself and covering your face with your long, acrylic french tips. "Y’all are so nosey! This is why I don't show y'all my business. Can a girl just live? Can I just have my little apartment in peace without a whole interrogation committee?"
The truth was, you did have a man. And not just any man.
You had been lowkey seeing Jermajesty Jackson for the last six months. Yes, that Jackson. The legacy, the boy with a name so grand it sounded like a decree issued by a medieval king. He was sweet, incredibly fine, ridiculously tall, and, much to your amusement, absolutely obsessed with you.
Up until this point, you guys had kept things strictly on the low. You weren't hiding, but you definitely weren't broadcasting. In the influencer world, once you show your relationship, it belongs to the public. You weren't trying to have tiktok tea pages analyzing your man’s micro expressions to see if he secretly hated you.
"Anyway," you tried to pivot, grabbing your lip gloss. "So, I’m thinking about doing a closet sale next week because..."
The apartment door clicked open.
You froze. The chat froze- or rather, it started moving so fast the text became a blur of vertical light.
You heard the heavy, unmistakable thud of size 12 designer shoes hitting the hardwood floor. Then, a low, melodic hum. He was singing. Because of course he was. The man couldn't walk into a room without sounding like a three part harmony.
"Baby?" his voice boomed from the hallway. "I got the tacos from that spot you like. They was packed but you know I got us taken care of."
You squeezed your eyes shut. Jermajesty, please, not right now, you prayed to the heavens.
"I'm on Live, baby!" you called out, trying to sound casual while throwing warning daggers with your eyes toward the doorway.
But Jermajesty was already halfway into the room.
He stopped dead in his tracks just on the edge of the camera’s peripheral vision. He was wearing a black hoodie, with some black sweatpants, and his hair was perfectly curly. He looked down at his hands, holding a massive brown paper bag that smelled like heaven, then looked at you, then looked at the glowing ring light.
"Oh," he said, his eyes widening slightly. "My bad. I didn't know you was tapped in."
"It's fine," you laughed nervously, waving your hand to dismiss him. "Just set it on the counter, I'll be done in a minute."
But it was too late. The chat had officially lost its collective mind.
Keisha_D: BABY???
Tink_88: HE GOT THE TACOS???
TheGhettoGourmet: HOLD ON THAT VOICE. WHY THAT VOICE SOUND SO FAMILIAR?
BadLilThing: Show him! Show him! Show him!
DripOrDrown: Girl if you don't turn that camera to the left right now I’m unfollowing
"They want you to show your face," you murmured, looking up at him with a helpless grin. "They think you're a shadow demon."
Jermajesty chuckled, a chesty sound that probably made half the girls in the chat weak in the knees. He stepped closer, leaning his hip against the edge of your vanity desk. He wasn't shy, you don't grow up with the last name Jackson and fear a camera, but he respected your boundaries.
"They wanna see me?" he asked, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "I don't know, baby. I ain't got my makeup on. My skin might not be camera ready for your millions of fans."
"Boy, stop," you laughed, hitting his hip with your hand. "Your skin is clearer than my future. Quit playing."
"Let me see what they saying," he said, leaning down over your shoulder to look at the iPad screen.
And just like that, his face entered the frame.
The chat went dead silent for approximately one second. Then, it exploded like a firecracker in a trash can.
SpiritualGhetto: WAIT.
Lexi.K: IS THAT WHO I THINK IT IS???
NoWayJose: JERMAJESTY???
BaddieOnABudget: GIRL YOU GOT A JACKSON?!
Mimi_Monroe: Not Jermajesty! Oh you eating good fr
Nene_T: HE IS SO FINEEEEE LORD
Jermajesty saw his name flashing repeatedly on the screen and raised an eyebrow, looking down at you. "Damn, they recognized me quick. I thought I had a disguise on with the hoodie."
"You are literally six foot something, looking like majority of your family, Maj. There is no disguising you," you said, tossing your hair back and finally giving in to the chaos. You turned your chair slightly so the camera captured both of you. "Alright, y'all. Yes. This is my man. Satisfied now? You can stop spamming the chat about the Balenciaga coat rack."
Jermajesty looked directly into the camera, waving with a charming, easygoing smile. "What's up, everybody? I'm the coat rack. Nice to meet y'all."
"Don't encourage them," you warned, though you couldn't stop the massive smile spreading across your face.
"Nah, they cool," Jermajesty said, eyes scanning the comments. "They saying you bagged a prince. I don't know about all that, but I definitely bagged a queen."
"Oh, brother," you groaned, covering your face as the chat went into a full cardiac arrest.
Chrissy_Pooh: HE IS A SMOOTH TALKER OMG
LoverGirl: The way he looked at her...I’m throwing myself in traffic
Didi_100: We need a Q&A! Right now! Turn this into a couple's stream!
YeezyTaughtMe: Q&A! Q&A! Q&A!
You looked up at Jermajesty. He looked down at you, raising his eyebrows in a silent question.
"You got time before the tacos get cold?" you asked him.
"For you? I got all the time in the world," he said, pulling up a rolling stool from your vanity and sitting right next to you, his frame completely taking over the screen. "Let's give the people what they want."
"Alright, keep it respectful in the comments," you warned, pointing a manicured finger at the screen. "Because I will block a bitch. Do not try me today. Keep it cute or get booted."
"Yeah, keep it cute," Jermajesty echoed, leaning back with his arms crossed over his chest, looking entirely too comfortable. "I’m sensitive, y'all. Don't hurt my feelings."
"You are not sensitive," you laughed, nudging him.
"I am! I’m a libra. We feel things deeply," he protested, putting a hand over his heart with dramatic flair.
User9028: How did y'all meet? Who shot their shot first?
"Oh, this is a good one," you said, pointing at the comment. "Because he likes to tell a whole lie when people ask this."
"A lie?" Jermajesty gasped, looking genuinely offended. "Excuse me? I am a man of integrity. I tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."
"Okay, go ahead then. Tell 'em how we met," you challenged, crossing your arms.
Jermajesty cleared his throat, looking directly at the camera like he was about to deliver a monologue. "Alright, so look. We was at this private party in the Hills. Very exclusive, very lowkey. I’m standing by the bar, minding my business, looking majestic as usual-"
"See, lying already," you cut in, rolling your eyes.
"Let me finish! I’m standing there, and I see this beautiful, radiant black woman walk in. She was wearing this orange dress-"
"It was rust colored."
"Orange, rust, whatever, it was fire. And she was walking like she owned the whole villa. I said, 'Hold on. Who is that?' So I did my little walk over. I gave her the look. I said, 'Excuse me, miss, but I think you dropped something.' And she looked at me and said, 'What?' And I said, 'Your standards, because you ain't talking to me yet.'"
You stared at him, completely deadpan, before turning back to the camera.
"Y'all, please do not believe this man," you said, shaking your head. "This is not what happened at all. First of all, he was not 'standing by the bar looking majestic.' He was standing by the buffet table eating chicken like he hadn't eaten in three business days."
"Hey! The catering was fire, I wasn't gonna let it go to waste," Jermajesty defended himself.
"Secondly, he did not use that corny ass pickup line. What actually happened was, he accidentally backed into me while trying to take a selfie with his cousin, and he spilled half a cup of ginger ale down my back."
"It was an accident!" Jermajesty protested.
"He ruined my dress, y'all. I turned around ready to cuss him out- and I mean, I had the words lined up in my head. I was ready to give him the full treatment. But then I looked up, and he was looking down at me with this big, goofy, puppy dog face, saying, 'Oh my god, I’m so sorry, please don't beat me up, I'll buy you a new dress, I'll buy you ten dresses.'"
"And did I lie?" Jermajesty asked triumphantly. "Did I not get you the dress?"
"He did," you admitted, a soft smile slipping through. "He literally followed me around the rest of the night making sure I had water, napkins, and dry cleaning contacts, and even gave me his jacket so I didn’t look a mess. By the end of the night, he asked for my number so he could 'verify the dress delivery.' Smooth, but goofy."
"Hey, it worked," he said, leaning over to kiss your temple. "You here, ain't you?"
Jasmine_Rose: OMGGGG that is so cute! He was sweating!
Tasha_T: Not the ginger ale 😭 he was nervous!
Kiara_D: He was folding under pressure
"I wasn't folding!" Jermajesty argued, though he was smiling wide. "I was just being a gentleman. My mama raised me right."
LaToya_S: Does Ms. Katherine know about her? Has she met the family?
The chat went wild at this question. Meeting a famous family is one thing, but meeting the Jacksons is a whole different level of pressure.
"Oh, they wanna know about the family," you said, looking at Jermajesty.
"Oh, they love her," Jermajesty said instantly, without a second of hesitation. "My mama loves her. My aunts love her. My grandma...man, grandma wanted to keep her at the house last Thanksgiving. I had to tell her, 'Grandma, she gotta come home with me, stop trying to adopt her.'"
"It’s true," you laughed. "I was so nervous, y'all. You have no idea. When he first told me he wanted me to meet his family, I almost booked a one way ticket to Ghana. I was like, 'Nope, I’m changing my identity, I cannot do this.' I was practicing my posture in the mirror, trying to make sure I didn't say anything too outta pocket."
"You was tripping for no reason," Jermajesty said, shaking his head. "You walked in there and had everyone laughing in five minutes."
"Because I was masking my terror with humor- that’s how I cope!" you shouted. "But no, they are literally the sweetest people. His mom is so gorgeous, and she made me feel right at home. She actually gave me some old family recipes."
"Which she still hasn't cooked for me," Jermajesty pointed out, giving you a look.
"Because you eat too much! If I cook that big pot of peach cobbler, you’re gonna eat the whole thing in one sitting and then complain about your stomach," you shot back.
"I have a fast metabolism," he argued. "I burn it off."
"You burn it off by playing video games and yelling at fifteen year olds on the game," you retorted.
The chat was eating up the banter, the viewer count now climbing past one hundred thousand.
User4820: Who is more clingy?
"Him," you said immediately.
"Her," Jermajesty said at the exact same time.
You both looked at each other.
"How am I clingy?" you asked, offended. "I am a strong, independent woman. I have my own bag, my own apartment, my own schedule."
"Baby," Jermajesty said, leaning forward and looking at the camera. "Let me tell y'all something. This girl right here? If I don't text her back within five minutes, she starts sending me tiktoks of women saying 'If he wanted to, he would.' She starts playing sad SZA songs in her stories."
"That is a lie!" you screamed. "That is a complete fabrication of the truth!"
"It is not!" Jermajesty laughed, enjoying your reaction. "And then, when we sleeping, she gotta have her whole leg wrapped around me like a koala bear. I’m hot, y'all. I’m like a human radiator, and she’s there clinging to me like she’s trying to survive an ice age."
"First of all, your apartment is cold," you defended yourself, pointing a finger at him. "Secondly, you love it. Don't act like you don't pull me right back if I try to move."
"I gotta keep you safe," he said softly, his tone suddenly dropping into that warm, sincere place that always made your heart melt. He looked at you, his hand reaching out to gently tuck a strand of your track behind your ear. "Even if you do kick me in your sleep."
"I do not kick you," you mumbled, looking away, suddenly shy under his gaze.
"You do. You got some strong legs, baby. I think you be running track in your dreams."
The chat was practically sobbing.
Aaliyah_99: I am crying in the club rn
Renee_Baby: They are so real for this
FineAssGirl: No but why are they actually perfect for each other?
LoveLies: Jermajesty is down BAD. Look at his eyes!
"Alright, alright, next question," you said, trying to clear the air before you got too mushy. "We aren't trying to do a whole romance novel on here."
BigDrip_12: Can he do your hair though?
You read the comment out loud and immediately looked at Jermajesty with a devious smirk. "Ooh. Now this is the real test. Maj, do you think you can lay my edges?"
Jermajesty looked at the pink edge brush and the jar of edge control sitting on your vanity. He looked back at the screen, then at your hairline.
"Lay your edges?" he repeated. "Like, swoop them? The little wavy things y'all do?"
"Yes. The swoop de swoop."
"Oh. Easy," he said, puffing out his chest. "Give me the brush."
"Oh lord," you laughed, handing him the brush and opening the edge control. "If you ruin my hair, we are breaking up. I’m telling you right now. This is a high stakes situation."
"Trust the process, baby," he said, taking the brush with absolute confidence. He leaned in close, his face just inches from yours. He put one hand gently on the back of your head to steady you, and his touch was so warm and gentle it made your breathing stop.
The chat slowed, everyone watching intently.
Jermajesty dipped the tip of the brush into the gel. He looked at your forehead like he was Da Vinci looking at the Sistine Chapel.
"Alright, so you gotta do the wave, right?" he muttered, his tongue sticking out slightly in concentration. He placed the brush at your hairline and made a tentative, shaky swoop.
"Ow, not so hard!" you laughed, wincing slightly. "You're scraping my skin, not painting a fence!"
"My bad, my bad," he whispered, softening his touch. He used his thumb to smooth down the gel, just like he’d seen you do a thousand times. He actually didn't do a terrible job, managing to create a decent, slightly thick, swoop near your temple.
"Hold on," he said, looking at his work. "Wait a minute. I might have found my calling. Look at that! That is a masterpiece."
You looked in the mirror and laughed. "Maj...it’s literally in the middle of my forehead."
"It’s a modern art swoop," he insisted, waving his hand. "It’s avant garde. You don't understand the vision."
"It’s giving 'I fell face first into some grease,'" you teased, but you didn't wipe it off. You looked at him, his face still close to yours, his eyes bright with laughter.
"You love it," he murmured.
"I love you," you whispered back, before you could even think to stop yourself.
Jermajesty’s smile softened into something incredibly warm and private, completely forgetting about the hundred thousand people watching. "I love you more, baby."
The chat exploded into a final, chaotic frenzy of hearts, crying emojis, and caps lock keys slamming.
"Alright, y'all," you said, turning back to the screen with a flush on your cheeks. "We gotta go eat these tacos before they get soggy. Thank y'all for tapping in! Say goodbye, Maj."
Jermajesty leaned over, waving at the screen. "Bye, y'all! Keep supporting my girl, she’s the best to ever do it. Peace!"
You blew a kiss to the camera and hit the 'End Live' button.
As the screen went dark, the quiet of the apartment settled back in. Jermajesty immediately wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you against his chest.
"So," he murmured in your ear. "The whole world knows now."
"Yeah," you said, looping your arms around his neck. "They do. You ready for the crazy?"
"With you?" Jermajesty smiled, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. "I’m ready for whatever."
، summary𓈒 you fake being sick just to stay home from a family trip and call to ask for your boyfriend to come over, just cause you miss him.
، pairing𓈒 jermaine jackson x black!fem!reader
، warnings𓈒 no use of y/n, mention of j*seph, tiny bit of fluff, reader being obsessed with jermaine's hair, kissing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 you tap it), dirty talk, reader being a dumb bitch, jermaine being a dumb ass, but he'll call you beautiful every chance he gets.
، notes𓈒 i love this jermaine dude…enjoy…and send in req for all the jacksons, go crazy, im bored.
It had been exactly twenty two minutes since your mama’s station wagon backed out of the driveway, packed to the brim with your siblings, coolers, and enough luggage to survive a minor apocalypse.
You had put on a masterclass performance. The weak cough, the hand pressed dramatically to your forehead, the faint groan when your dad suggested you just push through it, you deserved an emmy for that shit. You watched them drive off from behind the living room curtains, grinning like a bandit who just pulled off the heist of the century. No long, cramped car ride. No listening to your siblings argue. Just freedom.
But damn, nobody told you freedom was this boring.
You were sprawled out on the living room rug, a copy of Right On! magazine open in front of you. You flipped through the pages, looking at pictures of the Jackson 5, pausing on a full page poster of a certain tall, brown skin boy with an afro that looked like a perfect black halo.
You sighed, tossing the magazine aside. It had only been fourteen minutes since you actually sat down to do absolutely nothing, and you were already losing your mind. You looked at the rotary phone sitting on the side table.
Should I?
You didn't want to seem desperate. You weren't that girl. You had to lead into it smooth, act like he just happened to cross your mind between your fictitious bouts of the flu.
You slid, in your socks, right over to the phone, lifted the receiver, and dialed his number by heart. It rang twice before a smooth, soft spoken voice answered.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Jermaine," you said, leaning back against the couch, trying to sound as casual and slightly fatigued as possible. "What you doing?"
"Hey, baby," he countered, and you could practically hear the smile in his voice. "Not much. Just chilling at the house with my brothers since J*seph’s outta town right now. Tito’s trying to fix his guitar strap, and Michael and Marlon are playing twister. What about you? Aren't you supposed to be on your way to the lake with your folks?"
"Man, look," you sighed, playing up the part. "I woke up feeling so messed up. My stomachs turning, and my head is pounding. I had to beg my mama to let me stay behind. I told her I’d just sleep it off."
"Aw, for real? You sick?" Jermaine’s voice shifted instantly, getting all soft and concerned. "You need me to bring you something? Some soup or something?"
Perfect, you thought. Right where I want him.
"Nah, I don't need all that," you said, twirling the phone cord around your finger. "I mean, I’m feeling a little better now that I got some rest. But the house is just...real empty. And quiet. My parents won't even be back until tomorrow night." You paused, letting that little detail hang in the air for a second. "So...I was just wondering. Are you busy busy? Like, ‘working on a new album’ busy, or are you free enough to come keep a girl company?"
What you wanted to say was: Get your fine ass over here right now so I can grab that beautiful ass afro of yours and fuck you until we both can't breathe.
But you weren't going to let him know that. Not yet. You had to keep it classy.
Jermaine chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that did dangerous things to your stomach. "Oh, is that right? Your folks are gone for the whole weekend?"
He obviously wasn’t listening. "No. Just until tomorrow night. But still. Just me, myself, and I. But if you’re too busy with the group-"
"I ain't that busy," he interrupted smoothly. "Matter of fact, I can be over there in about twenty minutes. You want me to stop and get you some ice cream? Keep your throat cool?"
"Yeah. Butter pecan. And hurry up before I change my mind."
"I will, I will, baby. See you in a minute."
You hung up the phone with a triumphant grin. You scrambled up from the floor, suddenly possessing a burst of energy that completely contradicted your "sick" status. You ran to the bathroom, checking your hair, brushing your teeth again—showering again, and putting on a pair of shorts and a cropped tank top. Casual, but short enough to let him know what he was dealing with.
Exactly nineteen minutes later, there was a knock at the front door.
You slid over in your socks, taking a deep breath to reset your expression into something a little more subdued, and opened it.
Jermaine was leaning against the doorframe, looking like a whole snack and a half. He had on a nice patterned button down, open at the top to show off his chest, and a pair of pants that hugged his thighs just right, making you bite your lip. His afro- oh goodness, his afro, framing his handsome face like a halo. In his hand, he was holding a brown paper bag.
"Hey, beautiful," he said, those dark eyes of his taking you in from head to toe. "You don't look too sick to me."
"It comes and goes," you lied smoothly, waving your hand as your stepped aside to let him in.
Before you could even close the door, Jermaine wrapped a long arm around your waist and pulled you right against his chest. He smelled so good. He leaned down, his lips finding yours in a slow, sweet, lingering kiss that made your toes curl in your socks. His lips were always so soft, tasting faintly of mint.
He pulled back just an inch, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone. "You do feel a little warm," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave.
"That's just from looking at you," you joked, though your heart was actually thumping against your ribs.
He laughed, letting you go, shutting the door, and walked into the kitchen like he owned the place. He pulled a pint of butter pecan ice cream out of the bag, and moved to get a spoon like this was his own house.
You hopped up on the kitchen counter, swinging your legs. Jermaine popped the lid off the ice cream and handed it to you along with the spoon. You dug in, taking a big, satisfying bite of the cold, nutty sweetness.
"Ooh, that hits the spot," you mumbled.
Jermaine was leaning against the counter right next to your thighs, watching you eat with a playful smirk on his face. You took another spoonful, but before it could reach your mouth, Jermaine leaned forward, grabbed your wrist gently, and redirected the spoon into his own mouth.
He swallowed, smacking his lips. "Damn, that is good."
You froze, staring at him with a hard, playful glare. "Bruh, you just gon eat my ice cream? The ice cream you bought for your sick girlfriend?"
"Sharing is caring, baby," he teased, stepping closer into the space between your knees.
"I don't care about sharing when it comes to my food, you of all people should know that, Jermaine. Get your own spoon." You went to take another bite, but he caught your hand again. This time, he didn't go for the ice cream. He leaned in and licked a stray drop of cream right off the corner of your bottom lip.
A shiver ran straight down your spine. Your glare melted instantly as you sat the spoon down on the counter.
"You're a mess," you whispered, your voice losing all its edge. “I literally hate you.”
"Oh, but you love me," he murmured, his hands finding your hips, his thumbs rubbing small circles into your skin.
The playful atmosphere shifted in a second. The kitchen felt ten degrees hotter. Jermaine’s eyes somewhat darkened as he looked down at your lips, his hands gripping your hips a little tighter, pulling your body right to the edge of the counter so you were pressed against his hip bones.
"You know," he whispered, his breath hot against your neck, "we got the whole house to ourselves."
"I know," you breathed out, your hands instantly finding their way up into his hair, your fingers tangling in the curls just like you had imagined earlier. You tugged on it gently, pulling his head back so he had to look you in the eyes. "So what you gonna do about it?"
Jermaine didn't say another word. He grabbed the pint of ice cream from your hand, set it carelessly on the counter, and scooped you right up into his arms. You let out a little gasp, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carried you out of the kitchen.
You expected him to take you to your bedroom, but Jermaine passed your door entirely, heading straight down the hall.
"Wait, Jermaine, where are you going?"
He kicked open the door at the very end of the hall. The master bedroom.
Your eyes went wide. "Oh my god, no. Not my mama's room! Jermaine, if she finds out, she will actually kill both of us. She’s got a sixth sense about this shit!"
Jermaine just laughed as he tossed you right onto the center of the massive, neatly made king sized bed. The mattress was softer than yours, smelling faintly of lavender.
"She ain't gonna find out nothing,” Jermaine said, crawling up onto the mattress after you, his eyes locking onto yours. "Not unless you shout loud enough for the neighbors to hear."
“Jermaine, I'm serious, this is sacrilege-”
Your words were cut off completely when he came down on top of you, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss that was a thousand times hungrier than the one at the front door. He tasted like the butter pecan ice cream, and his tongue slid into your mouth with a stroke that made you completely forget whose bed you were lying on.
Your hands immediately went right back into his afro, gripping the thick texture of his hair, pulling him closer as you arched your back against the mattress. He groaned into your mouth, his hands sliding under your cropped top, his warm palms finding the bare skin of your waist and sliding up your ribs.
He pulled back for a fraction of a second, his chest heaving, his eyes all wild and dark with a desire that made your whole body ache.
“You talk too much,” he whispered, his hands moving down to the waistband of your shorts.
“I'll shut up if you show me what you got,” you breathed, a breathless smile on your lips.
He moved his hands away to strip off his shirt, revealing his chest, and you couldn't help but run your hands over his shoulders and then down his long, lean frame that was casting a shadow over your body as his eyes tracked every single breath rushing in and out of your chest.
“You look so beautiful laid out right here,” he murmured, his voice dropping into that smooth tone that always made your knees weak. “You know that?”
Before you could even form a reply, his hand moved. His fingers, all long, slender, and calloused from hours of pressing down on bass strings, traced a slow line down the side of your neck. He caught the hem of your tank top, his knuckles brushing against the bare skin of your ribs, sending a violent shiver straight down your spine. He didn't pull the shirt off. Instead, he just bunched the soft fabric up in his fist, pulling it tight against your chest so the material strained over your breasts.
He leaned down, his eyes never leaving yours, and pressed his mouth to the hollow of your throat. He lingered there, his lips hot and damp, sucking gently on the sensitive skin until you let out a soft, shaky breath. Your hands instinctively flew right back into his hair, your fingers burying themselves deep, and you tugged on it just enough to let him know you needed more.
“Jermaine...” your voice came out as a breathless whisper, the bedroom amplifying every tiny sound.
“I got you, baby. Just relax,” he murmured against your skin.
His hand shifted from your waist, his palm sliding up over the strained cotton of your shirt until it cupped your breast. He squeezed gently, as though he was testing the weight of you, while a low moan caught in your throat, your hips instinctively jerking upward against his thigh.
He chuckled, a low rumble that you felt right against your chest. He liked the reaction. His hand kept squeezing, applying just enough pressure to make you ache, while his other hand moved down to the waistband of your shorts, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of your lower belly.
Every single movement felt like it was happening in slow motion, dragging out the anticipation until you felt like you were going to lose your mind. He slid his hands inside the fabric, his warm palms cupping your hips, and slowly began to push the heavy fabric down over your thighs. You lifted your hips, helping him rid you of the shorts, until they were kicked off the edge of the bed, landing somewhere on the floor with a soft thud.
Now you were just in your top and your panties, completely at his mercy on the big, forbidden mattress. Jermaine shifted his weight, sitting back on his heels for a moment just to take you in. His eyes swept down your body, tracking the curve of your waist, the fullness of your hips, and the rich, dark tone of your skin contrasting beautifully against the pale floral sheets of your mother’s bed.
“Damn,” he breathed out, shaking his head slightly. “You are so fine. I swear, every time I look at you, it’s like the first time."
“Stop looking and come here,” you pleaded, reaching up for him. You were tired of the distance, and also tired of the slow torture.
Jermaine smiled, and crawled back up your body. But instead of kissing your lips, he leaned over your face, his long fingers gently capturing your chin. He looked down at your mouth, his eyes darkening to a near black shade.
“Open up for me, baby,” he whispered.
You parted your lips, expecting his mouth...or his spit, but instead, Jermaine slid his index and middle fingers into your mouth. The taste of him, the faint hint of the salt, and the smooth, warm texture of his skin against your tongue.
“Suck on 'em,” he commanded softly.
You wrapped your lips around his fingers, your tongue swirling around the digits, looking up at him through your eyelashes. Jermaine’s breath hitched, his jaw clenching tightly as he watched you. The sight of you taking his fingers into your mouth was doing a number on him. He began to slide his fingers in and out of your mouth in a slow, rhythmic motion, mimicking the very thing your body was crying out for down below.
While his left hand occupied your mouth, his right hand went back to your chest. He gripped your breast through the cropped top again, kneading the soft flesh with a hunger that was rapidly growing out of control. He used his thumb to flick against your nipple through the damp fabric, matching the rhythm of his fingers sliding between your lips. The dual stimulation was overwhelming. You couldn't help the muffled, needy sounds escaping around his fingers, your chest heaving as the friction built.
Jermaine pulled his fingers from your mouth, a glistening trail linking his hand to your lips. He didn't let the wetness go to waste. He brought that same hand straight down your body, tracing a line of fire down your sternum, past your belly button, and straight into the waistband of your underwear.
You let out a low moan against his neck as his warm, damp fingers slipped past the fabric, finding your slick pussy waiting for him.
“Oh, look at you,” Jermaine whispered, his voice incredibly close to your ear. “You're so wet for me already. And we ain't even started yet.”
“Jermaine, please,” you whispered, your head leaning back against the pillows.
He hummed, sliding one long finger inside of you, testing the waters. You arched your back, your fingers locking tightly into the sheets as your walls clamped around his finger. He was slow, so incredibly slow, sliding the length of his finger all the way in until his knuckles brushed against your sensitive flesh, then drawing it back out until just the tip remained.
“You like that?” he murmured, his breath hot against your cheek.
“Yes...oh, yes, Jermaine.”
He added a second finger, stretching you gently, broadening the ache inside your core. The rhythm he established was torturous. It wasn't fast; it was slow. He would push his fingers in, hold them there for a second while your pussy fluttered around them, and then slowly draw them out, only to do it all over again.
With every stroke, his other hand stayed busy on your chest, rubbing and squeezing your breasts through your shirt, pulling at the fabric until your nipples were hard and begging for direct contact. But he kept the shirt on, using the rougher texture of the cotton to create an entirely different kind of friction that was driving you insane.
You began to move your hips, trying to force a faster pace, trying to chase the climax that was dangling just out of reach. But Jermaine wouldn't let you dictate the speed. He moved his hand down from your boob and used his hand to press firmly against your hip bone, pinning you down to the mattress, keeping you trapped under his movement.
“Relax, baby,” he muttered softly, his fingers curling slightly inside of you, hitting a spot that made your mind go dumb. “I know, baby, I got you.”
He picked up the pace just a fraction, his long fingers sliding in and out of you with a wetter sound that filled the quiet spaces of the house.
“Mmm, Jermaine...” you groaned, your brows pulling together, your lip coming in between your teeth as you turned your head, your cheek pressing into the cool fabric of the pillowcase.
His thumb, which had been against your hip bone, shifted. He brought it right down, finding that tight, swollen little clit right at the top of your pussy, and pressed down. He started rubbing it in tight, heavy circles, completely matching the faster, deeper rhythm of his fingers sliding inside of you.
“Oh, shit,” you gasped out, your eyes flying open. Your hips bucked completely off the mattress, trying to force more of him inside, trying to grind right against thumb. Bitch, you loved it. You loved every single bit of it, and any remanence of trying to play it cool or keep your voice down went straight out the window. “Mmm...Maine, please...damn.”
Jermaine let out a low, satisfied chuckle against your neck when he heard his nickname drop from your lips in that tone. It did something to him. The control he’d been keeping this whole time started to slip, just a little bit. His fingers started moving even faster, bottoming out inside your slick walls, while his thumb kept up that beautiful friction on your clit.
Every single stroke was making you make noise, loud, needy sounds that echoed off the wood paneled walls. You were panting like a fucking dog, your chest heaving against the tight cotton of your top, your fingers moving up to clutch and pull at his hair like it was a lifeline. You were so slick, so completely undone by the way he was handling you, that you couldn't even think straight. The pleasure was pooling heavy in your lower belly, tightening up until it felt like a rubber band about to snap!
Jermaine had his chest pressing hard against your breasts, pinning you into the soft mattress. He brought his face right next to your ear, his breath coming in hot, ragged bursts that sent chills all over your skin.
“You want it?” he whispered, his deep and demanding, vibrating right against your ear canal. He gave a good push with his fingers, making your eyes roll back. “Tell me what you want, baby. You want this dick?”
Your mouth opened, but all that came out was a high, breathless whine. Your brain was completely fried. The feeling of his fingers stretching you while his thumb drove you crazy on that bundle of nerves was too much. You could barely even think of the words, let alone find the breath to say them.
"I can't...Maine, I can't-” you panted, your hips twitching beneath him.
Jermaine stopped his fingers completely, holding them deep inside of you, while his thumb stayed pressed firm and still right against your clit. The sudden stillness was absolute torture. Your walls throbbed around him, practically begging for the movement to start back up.
He tilted his head, his eyes locking onto yours with an unyielding stare. "Nah. Speak up, baby. Look at me and tell me. You want it or not?"
"Yes," you choked out, your voice cracking. "Yes, please, Jermaine...give it to me."
"Give you what?" he pushed, a wicked smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. He twitched his fingers inside you just enough to make you gasp. "Say it."
"The dick, Maine! Give me your dick, please," you cried out, completely helpless, abandoning every ounce of pride and dignity you had left.
Jermaine grinned, thoroughly satisfied with himself. But instead of doing what you begged for, he suddenly drew his fingers all the way out of you. The sudden absence of him made you let out a loud, frustrated groan, your hips dropping back onto the sheets in defeat.
Jermaine lifted his hand up between your faces. His fingers were glistening, completely soaked in your slick, wet juices, he slid his own fingers right into his mouth, his tongue licking them clean, his eyes locked dead on yours the entire time. He sucked on them slowly, tasting you, swallowing hard as his head tilted to the side slightly.
"Fuck," he muttered, drawing his fingers out of his mouth with a soft pop. "You taste so sweet, baby. Seriously. I don't even know whether I want to eat you or fuck you right now."
He leaned down, his large hands reaching down to capture the waistband of your panties. He dragged them down your legs and tossed them somewhere over the side of the bed, leaving you completely bare beneath him, aside from your shirt (no, he's not taking it off, he loves it). He slid back, his hands moving to the belt of his own pants, unbuckling before he pushed his pants and his briefs down his long legs, kicking them off until he was completely bare, too. He crawled back up the mattress, that heavy, thick dick brushing against your thigh.
He hovered over you, his chest glistening with a fine layer of sweat, his hands framing your head.
"I need your opinion, baby," he whispered, his eyes burning into yours as he nudged himself right against your wetness. "What should I do first? Hmm? You want me to use my mouth, or you want this dick inside you right now?"
"I want you to eat it," you whispered, your voice trembling. "Eat it...and then fuck me."
Jermaine’s jaw clenched. He didn't move an inch. He just kept himself pressed right against your wetness, letting you feel the weight of his dick.
"Eat what, baby?" he murmured. "You gotta say it. Eat what?"
You rolled your eyes, letting out a frustrated, needy groan as your head thrashed back against your mama’s pillows. He was doing this on purpose, driving you crazy with the word games when you were already on the absolute brink.
"Jermaineee, don't do this right now," you pleaded, your hands reaching up, trying to pull his head down, trying to force him to stop talking. "You know what I want. Eat my pussy. Please."
A satisfied smile spread across his lips at the words. "That's all you had to say," he whispered.
Jermaine slid his body down, his chest brushing against your bare stomach, his warm skin sliding against yours until he was positioned right between your wide open thighs. The contrast of the cool air hitting your wetness and then the sudden, searing heat of his breath hovering right over you made your entire body shudder.
He used his long, calloused fingers to grip the insides of your thighs, his large hands sinking into your flesh with a crushing force. He pinned your legs wide, holding you completely open, exposing every single bit of your slick, swollen pussy to his gaze.
Then, his tongue made contact, sliding a long, slow, wet stroke from the very bottom of your opening all the way up to that sensitive, jumping clit.
"Oh my god-" Your voice tore out of your throat, a loud cry that echoed off the bedroom walls.
It was too much. After what he had just done with his fingers, your nerve endings were so sensitized that the first touch of his tongue felt euphoric. He opened his mouth completely, burying his face right into your sex, his tongue swirling in wide circles that drenched you in his own saliva while gathering your slickness.
Your hands locked tightly into his afro, your fingers burying themselves deep into the curls, gripping his hair like a lifeline. You couldn't help it, your thighs instinctively clamped inward, trying to close around his head, trying to hold him right there so he couldn't ever pull away. Your muscles were tight, practically crushing his ears and his jaw between your legs, but Jermaine didn't care. He loved the desperation. He just dug his fingers deeper into your thighs, his grip bruising, keeping you anchored while his tongue worked in a relentless rhythm.
He started lapping at you faster, his tongue flattening out to give you the widest, heaviest pressure possible. Every single stroke was just so good, hitting your clit with a slick friction that had you losing your mind even more. You bit down on your bottom lip so hard you could taste the metallic tang of blood, trying to keep from screaming his name loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear.
"Mmm...Maineee...fuckk..." The muffled sounds escaped past your teeth as your head tilted back, your eyes rolling in the back of your head.
The bedroom filled with the vivid, sounds of his mouth devouring you; the wet, slimy slaps of his tongue against your skin. He would slide his tongue deep inside your opening, stretching you with a thick, wet pressure, and then drag it back up to swirl relentlessly around your clit until your whole lower half was shaking uncontrollably.
Jermaine felt it but he didn't slow down and you couldn't hold it back anymore. A loud cry tore from your throat as your entire body went rigid, your hips bolting completely off your mother’s mattress. Your fingers cramped up with a white knuckle grip into his hair, pulling him desperately against you as you came, your internal muscles clamping down around nothing in involuntary waves. Jermaine stayed right there, buried deep in your pussy, lapping up every drop of your slickness as your body shuddered out the last of the release, his large hands still crushing your thighs to keep you wide open for him.
You were still catching your breath, your chest heaving violently and your head thrown back against the pillows, when he finally pulled away.
Jermaine dragged his long, bare body back up the mattress, sliding over you. He didn't give you a second to recover before he gripped your jaw with his hand, his fingers sinking into your cheeks, and brought his mouth down on yours in a kiss that was just straight up nasty.
There was nothing gentle or sweet about it whatsoever. Both of your mouths were practically wide open, tasting the intense, heavy mixture of your own slickness, and his saliva. It was a filthy, wet, consuming clash of lips, teeth, and tongues. You were sucking on his bottom lip so hard it felt like you wanted to swallow him whole, your tongues tangling and sliding against each other with a messy hunger. It was honestly disgusting how wild and unhinged the two of you were on those sheets that weren't yours, but you didn't give a damn. You wanted to crawl directly inside his skin, your hands scratching down his smooth, sweaty back, pulling his heavy chest flat against your breasts.
Jermaine groaned deep in his chest, the sound vibrating directly into your open mouth as he kept the kiss locked, refusing to break the connection for even a second to breathe.
While his mouth was keeping you completely consumed, his hips shifted between your legs. He guided his heavy length right to the opening of your dripping pussy. With one slow thrust, he buried himself all the way inside you.
The sudden, thick fullness of him made you let out a muffled whimper right into his mouth. The size of him stretching you out.
Jermaine broke the kiss just an inch, his eyes completely blown out. He looked down at you, his chest heaving as he held himself deep inside you, letting you feel every single inch of him, every fucking vein.
"Yeah," he murmured, his voice a rough, ragged whisper against your lips. "Gimme one more, baby, please."
He started to move, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in, his hip bones knocking hard against yours with a fleshy thud. Jermaine was a moaning ass nigga when he really got into it, and now that he was inside you, he wasn't holding back a single sound. With every single deep thrust, a low, guttural grunt rolled out of his throat.
"Mmm...shit," he groaned, his head tossing back, his afro bouncing slightly with the rhythm as he drove himself deeper. "You feel so good, baby...fuck, you're so good."
You reached down, your palms sliding over the slick, sweaty curve of his lower back until your fingers dug deep into the firm flesh of his ass. You gripped him tight, your nails sinking in as you locked your legs even higher around his waist, pulling him down with everything you had left. You wanted him deeper. You wanted to erase every millimeter of space between you, your hips instinctively tilting upward to meet every single heavy down stroke.
"Fuck...baby," Jermaine let his whole weight settle against you, his breath hot and ragged against the side of your neck. "You're trying to take all of it...fuck...you- honey-!"
"Jermaine," you mewled, the friction building all over again, that intense, burning coil tightening in your stomach. After already coming once, your body was so sensitive that every slide of his skin against yours felt magnified, pushing you right back toward the edge. "Don't stop...right there...please."
"I ain't stopping," he breathed. He gripped the mattress on either side of your head, his arm muscles straining, as he focused entirely on breaking you down one more time.
You kept your grip on his ass, pulling him in, riding through the wave of heat until the tension snapped. You let out a muffled, breathless scream against his shoulder as your body clamped around him in tight, desperate pulses. Right there with you, Jermaine let out a long, heavy groan, his body going completely rigid as he buried himself all the way inside you, riding out his own release until you both were completely spent.
For a long time, the only sound in the room was the loud, frantic thumping of two hearts and the ragged, desperate sound of you both trying to catch your breath. Jermaine collapsed heavily on top of you, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his chest heaving against yours. You couldn't even move your legs; they just kind of slithered down his sides, completely weak and shaking.
"Oh my god," you whispered to the ceiling, your voice completely shot.
"Mmm," was all Jermaine could manage, an exhausted vibration against your skin.
After about five minutes of just laying there, the fog in your brain finally started to clear, and reality came crashing back down like a bucket of ice water. You blinked, looking around the room. There was a visible wet spot right in the center of your mama's mattress.
"Jermaine," you said, your voice tight as you nudged his shoulder. "Jermaine, get up. Move. Look at this. Look at what you did." you had a visible scowl on your face.
He groaned, slowly lifting his head, his afro wild on one side from the pillows and your hands. "What you mean what I did? You were the one pulling me down, baby."
"I don't care! This is your fault! You brought your ass over here and completely corrupted me," you snapped at him making his jaw drop, though you were trying to keep your voice calm. Panic wasn't going to clean these sheets. You had to stay grounded to get out of this crime scene. "Look at my mama’s bed, Jermaine. If she smells...this...she will know. She has a nose for this kind of shit."
You shoved him off you, scrambling out of the bed. Your legs were still trembling, making you wobble for a second before you stabilized yourself. You looked at the damage and sighed, rubbing your temples. "This is fully your fault..."
Jermaine sat up, a sleepy, satisfied smile on his face as he watched you pace. "Alright, alright. My fault. What's the game plan, boss?"
"First, we are fixing this," you ordered, pointing a finger at him. "Then, we are getting in the shower because we both smell like sex."
You both stripped the bed completely, carrying the heavy floral sheets and the mattress pad down to the laundry room like you were hiding a body. You threw them into the washing machine with a double scoop of detergent and enough lavender fabric softener to choke a horse, setting it to the highest temperature possible.
Once the machine started chugging, you walked back upstairs to the bathroom. You turned on the shower, stripped, the steam was already rising, Jermaine stepped in ahead of you, wearing one of your shower cap, not really wanting to get his hair wet. You slid past the glass door, the hot water instantly hitting your aching muscles. It felt amazing, but you were still on high alert.
Jermaine stepped under the spray, letting the water slick down his back. He grabbed the bar of soap, working up a thick lather in his hands, and then stepped behind you. His large, warm palms smoothed over your shoulders, gently washing your back in slow, soothing circles. The tension in your neck started to melt away.
"You still mad at me?" he murmured close to your ear, leaning over to press a soft, wet peck to your shoulder.
"Yes," you grumbled. "You're crazy and I hate you."
You turned around, taking the soap from him. You worked up a lather and started washing his chest and his broad shoulders, your fingers tracing the smooth lines of his skin. He leaned down, catching your lips in a few sweet, lingering pecks and ou gave in and let it slide, simply because you couldn't bear to stay angry with him for the life of you.
By the time you both dried off and got dressed into clean clothes, your nerves had completely settled. You walked back into your mama's bedroom, and you knew standard cleaning wasn't going to cut it. The air still carried the faint, heavy memory of what had happened.
"Where's your mama's stash?" Jermaine asked, leaning against the doorway.
"In the hallway closet," you said, marching over to grab the bundle of sage your mama kept for "clearing out bad energy." Well, this wasn't bad energy, but it definitely needed to be cleared out.
You struck a match, lighting the end of the sage until it started to smoke, filling the room with that sharp, earthy, herbal scent. You walked around the entire perimeter of the bed, waving the smoke over the bare mattress, into the curtains, and around the headboard, chanting a silent prayer that your mother’s maternal instincts wouldn't pick up on a damn thing. Jermaine just watched you from the door, shaking his head with a quiet laugh.
"You really ain't playing," he teased.
"I like living, Jermaine."
Once the room was thoroughly smoked out and the fresh sheets were finally dried, you both made the bed back up perfectly; tucking the corners exactly the way your mama liked them, fluffing the pillows until they looked like they hadn't been touched in years.
Finally, you walked downstairs to the kitchen, feeling like the crisis had been averted. But the moment you stepped into the room, your jaw dropped.
Right on the counter was the pint of butter pecan ice cream. Open with the lid sitting next to it, and the ice cream had completely melted into a thick, soup like puddle, sticky cream dripping down the side of the counter.
You let out a massive, frustrated huff, turning to glare at Jermaine. "Are you serious right now? You left the fucking ice cream out!"
Jermaine looked at the puddle, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. "My bad, baby. I guess I got a little distracted."
"Shit," you groaned, grabbing a rag to wipe up the sticky mess. You picked up the melted pint, popped the lid back on, and slammed it into the freezer, hoping it would miraculously resolve itself. "You are so annoying, I swear."
Jermaine laughed, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, pressing one last kiss to the side of your face. "I gotta get back before the guys realize I've been gone too long. You gonna be good?"
"Yeah," you sighed, leaning into him for a second. "I'm good. Go on before my parents magically appear."
The next afternoon, the quiet house was abruptly shattered by the sound of tires on the gravel driveway and the loud, chaotic voices of your siblings tumbling out of the station wagon. You were sitting on the living room couch, the magazine back in your lap, looking the picture of absolute innocence.
The front door burst open, your mama walking in first, carrying a cooler and looking thoroughly exhausted from a day with the extended family.
"Hey, baby," she said, dropping the cooler by the door and wiping her forehead. "How you feeling? Your stomach settle down?"
"Yeah, Mama," you said, putting on a faint, lingering tired smile. "I slept almost the whole time. Just started feeling better a few hours ago."
Your mama nodded, walking past the living room and heading up the stairs toward her bedroom to drop off her purse. You held your breath, your heart doing a sudden, violent flip in your chest. You sat perfectly still, waiting for her to tear into your ass.
A moment later, she walked back down, stopping at the bottom of the stairs, seeming to have sniff the air. She looked around, her eyes sweeping over the immaculate hallway and the open door of her room.
"Let me ask you something," she said, turning her gaze directly onto you. "Have you been in my room?"
Your stomach dropped into your shoes. Oh god, she knows, you thought, your mind racing through every possible excuse. The sheets. The mattress. The headboard.
"Oh, yeah," you said, keeping your voice completely level, forcing your face to remain totally cool. "I got so bored just sitting around after my fever broke that I decided to just clean the whole house. I dusted your room, swept, and threw some of your sage around because it was smelling a little dusty in there."
Your mama blinked, her expression softening into a pleased, surprised smile. "Well, bless your heart. I was about to say, it smells real good in there, and it looks cleaner than when I left. You did a good job, baby."
You let out a breath you felt like you’d been holding since yesterday afternoon, a smooth, innocent smile breaking across your face. "Thanks, Mama. Just wanted to help out."
"Mhmm. Well, I'm glad you're feeling better," she said, heading into the kitchen.
You leaned back against the couch cushions, closing your eyes as a wave of relief washed over you. You were definitely in the clear. But the next time Jermaine Jackson wanted to come over, you were absolutely staying in your own room.
، summary𓈒 you and michael get drunk and you both can't keep your hands off each other on the way home.
، pairing𓈒 michael jackson x black!reader
، warnings𓈒 no use of y/n, consumption of alcohol, fingering, oral (m receiving), a bit of hair pulling, yk I'm in it to win it with the balls :) definitely implied aftercare, slight praise
، notes𓈒 ik i ain't been posting for good few days but my new obsession with him brought me from under my rock. Tell me how you feel; comment if you want more.
The leather interior of the limousine was a nice cream color, save for the occasional flash of streetlights cutting through the tinted windows. You leaned your head back against the leather, a slow, heavy grin spreading across your face.
Man, you were a mess to say the least.
Normally, you kept it completely together with Michael. He was the King of Pop, the man, the icon; and you were his woman, which meant keeping up appearances. But tonight? You both had let loose at the private afterparty, and the Hennessy had been flowing a little too right.
What surprised you the most, though, was the man sitting next to you.
Michael was slumped against the door, his fedora tilted dangerously low over his eyes, a loose, boyish smile plastered on his face. Michael didn't really drink like that. A glass of wine here or there, sure. But tonight, he’d been matching your energy, sipping on whatever sweet, heavy concoction the bartender had whipped up for you and drank whatever you drank. And right now? He was completely in his cups.
"You good over there, Applehead?" you slurred a little, a soft laugh bubbling up from your chest.
Michael let out a high-pitched, breathless giggle that made your heart do a little flip. He reached up, pushing his hat back just enough for you to see his eyes. "I'm wonderful," he drawned, his voice deeper and looser than usual. "I feel...like I'm floating on a cloud."
"Mhmm, a cloud of liquor," you teased, shifting over so your thigh rubbed against his. "You a lightweight, Mike. I told you to pace yourself."
"I am not a lightweight," he protested leaning forward on his fists, getting closer to your face, though he immediately lost his balance and tumbled right into your lap, burying his face in your neck. He let out another burst of giggles, his curls tickling your face. "Okay, maybe a little bit. But you look so pretty tonight...I just wanted to celebrate."
Up front, the privacy partition was rolled halfway down. Bill, Michael’s trusted head of security, glanced in the rearview mirror. He didn't even blink. He’d seen it all, but seeing Michael this relaxed, this normal, always brought a subtle, protective softness to the big man’s face.
"We're about twenty minutes out, boss," Bill called back, his voice steady and professional. "Just sit back and relax."
"Thanks, Bill," Michael mumbled into your skin, his hot breath sending shivers straight down your spine.
Once Bill rolled the partition all the way up, giving you absolute privacy, the energy in the back of the limo shifted instantly.
"Boy, get your heavy self off me," you laughed, though you wrapped your arms around his shoulders anyway, pulling him closer. "You messy as hell tonight."
Michael lifted his head, his eyes locked onto yours. The playful, giggly aura suddenly took a back seat to something much darker, and very much warmer. "I ain't messy," he whispered, his speech a little slurred but his intent crystal clear. "I'm just loving on my girl. Can't I do that?"
"You can do whatever you want," you murmured, your voice dropping an octave. "You know you got me weak, right?"
"That's good, baby."
Michael reached up, his large, slender hand cupping your jawline. His thumb stroked your cheekbone, his touch incredibly gentle despite the alcohol surging through his veins. He leaned in, and when his lips met yours, it wasn't the soft, chaste kiss he usually started with. It was deep, hungry, and tasted faintly of sweet cocktails.
You groaned into his mouth, parting your lips to let him in. Your hands found their way into his hair, gripping the soft curls at the nape of his neck. Michael let out a low rumble in his throat, a sound that always drove you crazy, and shifted his weight, pinning you back against the plush leather seats.
"Mm, Michael, hold on," you gasped, breaking the kiss for a split second to catch your breath. "We in the car, crazy."
"Bill ain't lookin'," he whispered against your lips, nipping at your bottom lip before pulling it into his mouth. "And I don't care anyway. You taste too good."
He started trailing kisses down your jaw. You arched your back as his lips found the sweet spot right where your neck met your shoulder.
"Oh, you tryin' to be fast tonight, huh?" you panted, your fingers digging into the fabric of his black button-down shirt. You unbuttoned the first few links, sliding your hands inside to feel the warm, smooth skin of his chest. "Go 'head then."
Michael didn't need to be told twice. He was usually so careful about boundaries, but the alcohol had completely stripped away his inhibitions. He slid his hand down your waist, his palm hot against your skin, before gripping your thigh and pulling it up over his hip and the friction was instant; a soft, breathless gasp escaped your lips as your clothed cunt had come into contact with his growing bulge.
"You like that?" he whispered, his voice a gravelly, bedroom purr. He rocked against you just a fraction, already making you lose your mind.
"Michael, stop playin' with me," you whined, as the pleasure started to cloud your head, not really expecting him to actually do it. "You know you foul for this. We close to the house."
"Then I guess I gotta work fast," he chuckled, a wicked, playful glint in his eyes.
He leaned back down, devouring your mouth again, your tongues making contact and you both sighed into one anothers mouths, while his hand slid up your dress. His long fingers found the edge of your underwear, slipping underneath to rub slow torturous circles onto your clit that had you gripping his shoulders for dear life, your brows drew together, and you moaned against his mouth, which muffled the sound.
Michael pulled away but not entirely. "Shh," Michael giggled against your mouth, though he didn't stop. His fingers moved in a slow, torturous rhythm that had you writhing beneath him as he pulled away altogether, a string of spit following. "Don't let Bill hear you."
"Shut up," you breathed, completely breathless, your hips helplessly moving against his hand as a shaky whimper rips through your throat, he only slips the tip of his middle finger into you, his ring finger following, pushing all the way up until he was knuckle deep inside of you. Your hips lift off the seat and his free hand was quick to push against yours abdomen to keep you still, and you, in response, only whimpered in defiance.
He just laughed, that rich, melodic sound you loved so much, before burying his face back in your neck, biting gently on your skin while he drove you absolutely crazy in the back of that dark limo. You were both breathless, and completely intoxicated by the alcohol and each other, lost in a messy, beautiful blur of hands, lips, while the limo echoes with the obscene squelch of your pussy as his long fingers curled and repeatedly hit your g spot.
By the time the limo finally slowed to a stop in the driveway of the estate, you both were a complete mess. Your lipstick was smudged, Michael’s shirt was completely unbuttoned, and his hair was wildly disheveled.
The partition clicked, and Bill’s voice came through. "We're here, Michael."
Michael instantly pulled away, trying to look put together but failing miserably as he tripped over his own feet trying to sit up. You burst out laughing, clapping your hand over your mouth to stifle the noise as the man before you licked his fingers clean.
"Stop laughing!" Michael hissed, a huge, goofy grin splitting his face as he tried to button his shirt with shaky fingers. "Help me, I can't get the button in the hole."
"Look at you," you giggled, sliding over to fix his collar and smooth down his hair before putting his fedora on top of his head. "The King of Pop, completely tore up in the back of a Lincoln."
"Only for you," he whispered, leaning in for a sweet, messy kiss, only to be interrupted by the sound of the limo door clicking open. The cool California night air hit your face, doing absolutely nothing to sober you up. Michael gave you a look before he slid out first, but his balance was so shit he almost face-planted right into Bill’s chest. Bill caught him by the elbows without a word, a tired but amused smile playing on his lips.
"I got it, I got it," Michael insisted, waving a hand dismissively as he staggered back against the side of the car. He looked over at you, his eyes heavy-lidded and full of mischief. "Come on, baby. Help me."
You giggled, stumbling out right after him, your heels clicking unevenly on the brick driveway of Hayvenhurst. The moment your feet hit the ground, the world tilted a little, and you ended up leaning heavily against his chest. You both burst into another fit of muffled, uncontrollable giggles, clutching onto each other like two kids trying to sneak into school late.
"Y'all need some help getting inside?" Bill asked, holding open the front doors of the estate.
"No, Bill, we good," you slurred, waving him off while your arm stayed locked around Michael’s waist. "We got this. Goodnight, Bill."
"Goodnight. Try not to break anything," Bill muttered dryly, finally closing the doors behind you.
The second the doors clicked shut, locking you both inside the quiet, cavernous foyer of Hayvenhurst, all structure collapsed. Michael let out a loud, echoing laugh, lifting you up by the waist and trying to spin you around, only for his knees to buckle. You both went tumbling onto the plush, expensive rug at the bottom of the grand staircase, rolling over each other in a tangle of limbs and laughter.
"Look at us," you gasped, lying on your back, staring up at the high ceiling while Michael hovered over you, his curls framing his face like a beautiful, messy halo. "We a whole mess, Michael. If your mama saw you right now..."
"Shh! Don't say that," he giggled, placing a warm, heavy hand over your mouth. His eyes were dark, glowing with that raw intensity that made your stomach drop. "Katherine don't need to know nothing. This is our business." You nodded in response.
He smiled in response before he pressed a hard, sloppy kiss to your lips, tasting like sweet liquor. You wrapped your legs around his waist right there on the floor, humming and smiling against your man's lips, he dipped his head to bite gently at the side of your neck, You let out a soft whine, arching into him. His hands were all over you, tracing the curves of your waist, before one large, warm palm slid down to your ass, squeezing the flesh in his hand, and without warning, he gave your ass a firm, stinging slap that echoed because he made sure it echoed. “Michael!” you hissed, your eyes widening as a rush of heat went straight to your core.
Michael groaned, pulling back, his thumb rubbing the spot he just hit. "No, no...not down here. Come on. Upstairs." Getting up the stairs was a comedy of errors. Michael tried to take the stairs two at a time to prove a point, but Michael kept tripping over his own loafers, and you were laughing so hard your stomach ached, pulling him up by his belt loops while he grabbed onto the banister for dear life. By the time you finally reached the doors of his bedroom, you were both breathless, flushed, and completely consumed by the heat that had been building up since the ride home.
Michael practically threw the doors open and dragged you inside, slamming them shut behind you. The room was dim, lit only by the glow of the lights coming through the window.
"You owed me earlier," you whispered, your voice dropping into that thick, heavy drawl as you backed him up against the heavy wooden door. You reached up, finally flinging his fedora across the room where it landed somewhere in the dark. "You got yours in the limo, Mike. Left me all crazy and shit. Now it's my turn to take care of you." you panted, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the frantic, heavy beat of his heart.
Michael’s breath hitched, his hands coming down to rest on your shoulders. The playful, giggly drunk was fading, replaced by a deep, heavy lust that made his chest rise and fall rapidly. "Yeah? What you gonna do to me, girl?" He squeezd your shoulder.
"Sit your ass down and find out," you murmured, wrapping your fingers around his tie, pulling him away from the door and toward the massive, bed in the center of the room. Michael let you guide him, a smoldering, heavy-lidded look on his face as he watched you.
He fell back onto the mattress with a soft laugh, sprawling out lazily. He didn't even try to look put together anymore. His black button-down was completely open now, revealing his smooth chest, and his eyes never left you as you kicked your heels off into the corner.
You dropped to your knees right between his thighs, letting out a huff while doing so. "You sure you can handle this right now?" you teased, your hands sliding up his calves, moving slowly up his slacks until your palms rested on his thighs. "You lookin' a little sleepy."
"I ain't sleepy," he growled low in his throat, the sound sending a hot shockwave straight between your legs. He gripped the sheets tightly. "Don't talk so much. Show me. Please," he rasped, his throat bobbing as he watched your hands.
You didn't hesitate. You unbuckled his belt, the metallic click echoing in the quiet room, and slowly slid his zipper down. When you freed him from his briefs, Michael let out a long, shuddering gasp, his hips instinctively twitching upward, like he tryna fuck your hand or something. His dick was already fully hard, thick and warm against the cool air of the bedroom, glistening slightly in the dim light.
You leaned in close, letting your hot breath brush against him first, making him whine. Your tongue slides out to drag a slow, wet stripe from the bottom of him all the way up to the tippy top, feeling the pulse of the vein as you went.
You flatten your tongue, lick him again, swirling around the head before sealing your lips over it and sucking gentle at first, just enough to make his hips jerk up off the bed.
"Mmm. Oh, God..." Michael choked out, his head falling back into the pillows. His long, slender fingers immediately flew to your hair, gripping the strands gently but firmly, guiding you while his other hand fists in the sheets so tight his knuckles whiten.
You took him into your mouth, sliding down slowly, letting him feel the wet, tight heat of your throat, until your lips are stretched around him. You knew exactly how he liked it; the perfect mix of suction and friction. Because you were both still buzzing from the liquor, every sensation felt heightened, magnified, and intensely raw.
Michael’s hips started moving on their own, setting a slow, agonizingly perfect rhythm. His grip in your hair tightening whenever you took him deep, letting out loud, uninhibited groans that filled the room.
There’s a slick trail of spit connecting your mouth to his dick as you bite your lip, and you waste no time as your hand slides in where your mouth left off, thump pressing into gently into his slit of his tip, rubbing forward and backwaard while you duck lower, tongue flicking against the delicate skin of his ball sack.
"Mmm, you so good at this," he panted, his speech slurred but his tone all deep and demanding. "Look at me...baby, look at me."
You looked up, never stopping the nasty, wet, rhythmic motion of your mouth on his balls. His eyes were squeezed shut, his jaw clenched tightly, a fine sheen of sweat glistening on his chest in the firelight. He looked completely undone, entirely at your mercy, and the sight of the King of Pop looking that wrecked just for you made you suck him even harder. "Mm, yes, right there...just like that, baby," he muttered.
You pull back long enough to spit on him, watch it slide down all thick and shiny before turning your head to the side sucking the base sideways, hollowing your cheeks, sucking harder, and moving faster before you come back up then you take him back in your mouth, all deep until your nose brushes his stomach and your throat tightens around him, your fist moving at the bottom. You keep taking him until your eyes are watering and you can't breathe past him. He panted, his chest heaving as he stared down at you, his eyes completely dark with lust. "You're so good to me...damn."
The contrast of his sweet, gentle nature with the raw, heavy desperation in his voice was doing numbers on you. You reach down with your free hand and cup his balls, rolling them slow, which resulted in you earning a little slap from the man before pulling away, knowing he was a bit sensitive after you sucked them. "Sorry," you mumble around him.
Resting your hands on his thighs for leverage, you move your head in a slow, practiced up and down motion. A soft sigh of pleasure leaves your mouth, the vibration echoing clearly through his body. he gasped, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts. His hips began to roll against your mouth, faster now, losing all control. "I'm close...baby, I'm gonna..." His hips jerk up hard, and just like he did you in the limo, you push his hips down the same way, making him moan and writhe, but before he can even warn you, you feel him pulse thick and hot spurts of his nut shoot against your tongue and down your throat.
He’s a moaning mess, no shame in how loud he was, so fucking loud, you could say his voice damn near shattered the window, his hand gripping your hair tight enough to hurt, but you didn't really care cause you knew he was just grounding himself while you take every drop of his cum. You swallow it greedily, taking it in like water after a lifetime in the desert, sucking through it, your tongue teasing the man until he let out a loud, choked cry, his entire body going rigid. He threw his head back, as you held him tight against your mouth while his body trembled, the aftershocks of the orgasm rippling through his long frame.
"Hah- Hold on, hold on..." Michael choked, a desperate little whine leaving his lips, his fingers digging into your scalp when you wouldn't pull off of him. He was breathing like he’d just walked off stage after a two-hour show, his chest heaving.
When you finally do pull back, his dick slips from your lips with a wet pop, strands of spit and cum stretching between your mouth and him. Your chin’s shiny, as it all runs down your face, and your neck, and your chest heaves as you finally catch your breath, a tired smile resting on your face as you carelessly wipe your face with the back of your hand, not even caring if you don't get it all off.
For a good minute, it's just the sound heavy breathing filling the room, Michael putting more sound into it because he's just dramatic as fuck.
The depth of it all made your throat ache and soon sleepiness hit you like a wave before you collapsed against him, resting your heavy head against his thigh, feeling as completely wiped out as if the heavy lifting had been done to you. It felt as though you had a full home cooked dinner and needed a good nap after. You gave his thigh a soft, grounding pat, mumbling, "I'm just gon…" you breathed, unable to even finish the thought With a tired sigh, you pressed a lingering, tender kiss to the sensitive underside of his shaft.
Michael let out a breathless, husky laugh, his eyes fluttering open. He sat up, his heavy hands moving to rest gently on the crown of your head, his fingers threading softly through your hair.
"You're okay," he murmured, his voice a low, raspy rumble against the silence of the room. "You did so good, baby. So, so good." He offered a soft, lingering praise, his fingers massaging your scalp as he tried to coax your exhausted mind back to the surface. But the pause was only brief. He exhaled a final, resolute sigh and gave you a gentle nudge. "I know you're dead tired, angel, but we gotta clean up."
His hands shifted, gripping your arms with a firm, grounding pressure. He gave you a playful, gentle shake, bringing your heavy eyelids fluttering back open. With a fond, tired chuckle, he easily hauled you to your feet, keeping an arm wrapped securely around your waist so your legs could find their footing, guiding you both toward the bathroom to clean up.
