Chapter 68 Part B: Your Shelter, My Arms

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Oh my…


“Jesus Christmas,” He growls, squinting his eyes close and pressing his forehead against mine, hands still firmly pressing behind my knees. I can feel his frame tremble a little as the sensations overtake him once more. His teeth clench and breaths go in through his mouth only to seemingly get stuck there as he holds his position, still attempting to reconcile this glorious enveloped feeling with memories of our lovemaking in the past. I have to fight my own battle below, willing my eyes to stay open so as to take in that expression…that amazing expression that’s been lost to me for three months. Three. Whole. Months. I haven’t seen that look in ages—lifetimes even. Not since Detroit.


Detroit…


Just the word itself causes my whole body to flush with heat and my lower muscles to spasm to life at the recollection, causing Michael to groan out and sink even deeper into my depths in retaliation. Lucky for both of us, my body’s been ready for him for longer than I’d probably be willing to admit. Lubrication is not even an issue as he decides he’s had enough acclimatizing and begins to pull himself free from my hot walls, slowly and with tortuous purpose. As he drags himself free, my mouth moans and my body groans, arching into the escaping prisoner and attempting to recapture him. Once he’s completed withdrawal, his tip the only piece of him still hanging on the edge of me, he gives a low growl and slams right back in, forcing the full mass of his penis into the far-reaching conclusion of my womanhood.


Good God. How does he do this?


My first reaction to the sudden re-intrusion is to cry his name out loudly and dig at his hair while my ankles dangle helplessly atop his shoulders. The white satin slip has scrunched itself around my stomach in order to reveal all of my secrets to him and if I bend my neck just a bit, I can just make out the slickened George poking through the hole in his pants and digging himself into an opening of a much more comfortable atmosphere. I can’t stare long because the sight makes me dizzy. Instead, I slam my head back against the pillow and focus on the circular indention in the ceiling and try to figure out what’s so off about it as Michael continues to slow-stroke me, melting my heated flesh from the inside.


“Dammit, gurl…” He groans, biting his lip and pulling back some so he can watch himself descend deeper and deeper into my vaginal opening, getting a kick out of how greedily the Mrs. swallows him up. “I forget…how incredibly tight you are…you’re always…so deliciously tight.” Bringing his eyes back up to my face, he bites that lip again and grins. How the hell did I not come just now? “Why’d…you suppose…that is? Huh, babygirl?”


“Mmmm…” is all I can think to answer as my chin arches to the ceiling and my hands go straight to his broad neck. I can feel the thick chords there straining as he begins a slow grind into me, circling his hips in profoundly deep swivels. God, it’s been so damn LONG...How the hell did we make it so long? There’s no way a girl can survive without this. Is there?


“Oh, Asha…my girl, I missed you.” He sighs, bending down to place sloppy, wet kisses along my jaw and ear while he continues pounding slowly and unfathomably into my womanhood. Rocking me senseless; slowly but surely. “I missed you…sooo damn…much. Such a perfect…pink…wet…oh, baby, it’s so good! Oh, God; keep squeezing, girl…donstop.”


“Uuhh, God, baby…dunstop, dunstop, dunstop.” I whimper, tossing my head backwards and forwards, flailing my ankles around on his shoulders. He grits his teeth in response to my plea and picks up the pace, hammering the wetness until it squelches below him. Geez, I always love the slippery sound of our sex. It never fails. He always has me wetter than a rainforest by the time he starts to the point where the squishy sound of his incessant pounding is always inevitable. Right now it’s bringing me to the edge—and fast. “Harder, Michael…Harder—oh, gosh, baby, give it to me…yesss, deeepperrr…”


“Boy…Can you even…take it harder?” He half-smirks, half-gasps, watching me with an amused expression tinted with surprise.


I answer his question by clenching my inner walls hard and digging my nails into his shoulder. “Don’t…patronize me…Fuck me.”


“Goddamn.” He growls, clenching his jaw as the sharp scraping of my nails pierces his flesh and breaks some of the skin. Suddenly glancing down at me, Michael’s dampening face splits into a grin that catches me off guard as he continues slowly moving in me. Still smiling he breathes, “Still got it…don’t I, girl?”


I can’t help but laugh out loud, giggling as he sinks deep into me and presses a kiss against my jaw, the vibrations shaking against my skin as he chuckles. Biting my lip to constrain yet another fit of merriment, I only wrap my arms tight around his neck and turn my head to whisper, just as he reaches the end of me, “Never lost it, babe.”


“Damn straight,” is his joking response as he places another rough kiss on my cheek before pulling back again in order to regain his leverage. My eyes roll when he presses one of those sweet spots he knows so well.


Using the sleeveless undershirt to my advantage, I let my hands roam the skin of his arms hungrily—the only exposed skin he’s allowed me thus far. Admittedly, I suspect we both had a much more romantic idea about how we were going to pick back up on our lovemaking after such a long break; not to mention doing it as man and wife for the first time. But if we really think about it; who the heck needs formalities? We know what each other likes; we’ve been here before so why not just get what we want right off? Heck, we didn’t even get to take our clothes off before he was diving into me. True: Honeymoon sex does have wonderful, candlelit, ‘let’s make it like the first time’ potential; but the reality is, we’ve already had the first time and the next time and the one after that. Now we just want it.


“That’s right, baby…” Michael exhales, leaning back and gripping my ankles on his shoulders for support as he gives himself more room to quicken the tempo and strength of his pounding. Now he’s hammering into me, burying George again and again, barely allowing the poor thing a breath before he’s plunged right back into the hot ocean he calls home. “Say…my name…gurl…”


“Michael…” I gasp, half-crying as I arch into him, handing him my sex and begging him to batter it.


“I said…say…my name!” He growls, tightening his grip almost painfully on my ankles and bruising my opening with his contradictory might. It kind of hurts. But geez, it’s nice.


“MICHAEL!!” I scream, unable to take anymore. With a spasm out of this world, my body quivers and clenches, drowning poor George in a sea of me as I leak around him and onto the gorgeous, gold comforter. I almost feel bad for ruining such an exquisite duvet. But that seems to be the furthest thing from Michael’s mind as he cries out my name and buries himself in me one last time, his spine shuddering and jerking; the magnitude of his release hitting full force.


And man is it hard. He comes with all the intensity of a man who hasn’t had access to a woman’s sacred place in three months. I can feel his hot seamen flowing deep into my gut and burning the inside of my stomach as the torrent continues, relentless in its search for an egg. Luckily though I’m already knocked up, so those little sperm-boys are shit outta luck.


Michael surprises me further by pulling himself from me half-way through his orgasm and letting the rest of the white seamen splash its way on the outer surface of my vagina, coating my lower lips and clitoris in his essence while he watches, transfixed. Hell, I’m transfixed myself, staring unashamed with my mouth hanging open as I observe the dirty spectacle with fascination and a thoroughly and newly wet center. And not just because he’s milked himself there either.


“Goddammit, babe.” My husband sighs exhaustedly, falling back on his heels as his weary member goes limp between his legs. His eyes have yet to move from the mess he’s created. But then again, neither have mine. It’s just so…wow. Laughing suddenly, he plucks at one of my garter bands and grins, “I like these. They’re sexy.”


“Oh. Well, thanks. I hoped you would.” I say, returning my head to the pillow and my focus back on that weird piece in the ceiling as I try to regulate my breathing and get some sort of rhythm under control. I think my body’s in shock. Too much of a good thing after too long without it. I feel like I want to push him down and ride him until dawn while feeling an equally strong urge to roll over and sleep for a good three years. I’m still contemplating which to do first when I hear myself ask breathlessly, “So…what up with that ceiling? It looks…off.”


“Huh?” Blinking slowly (he seems to be in the same state of Gone as me), Michael lazily tilts his head back to have a look. After a moment of frowning while his brain strains to piece the world together again, he suddenly makes a sound of acknowledgement and uses what seems to be the remaining bits of his energy to lean over me to one of the nightstands. He digs in the drawer for a brief second before coming up with a tiny remote. With a single click, the gold and burgundy curtains behind the bed slowly separate just as the large circular indention in the ceiling does the same. Both reveal very big mirrors. A spotlessly clear indication of our current thoroughly-sexed states.


My mouth drops open. “WHAT!?”


“Yeah…Sorry, I forgot to mention that earlier.” Michael murmurs, frowning thoughtfully at his reflection in the ceiling. “Slipped my mind.”


Unable to help myself, I drag my eyes from him and slowly sate the burning curiosity of the very bad girl inside of me. And boy is she glad I did. The good girl inside of me, however, is stunned to say the least. What I see before me (or over me; whichever you prefer) is the image of a long-legged, skinny brunette with her curls tangled and knotted, her face damp, her slip bunched around her stomach to reveal her slight baby-bump and—most shockingly—the ooey white mess still dripping heavily from her parted legs—the likes of which enclose an equally disheveled man leaning on his haunches fully clothed; minus of course the long friend drooping sleepily between his thighs.


A very shocking sight indeed. Yet somehow so…


“Hot.” I finish my thought out loud, the naughty side of me winning full out. Remember how I said I didn’t know whether to ride him or go to sleep? Yeah well, I made up mind. I want to ride the shit out of him.


As if reading my hungry thoughts, Michael gives longing sigh and stares fixedly at our mess. “You look so tasty, baby…” He murmurs quietly, seemingly wanting so bad to test his theory but still feeling too drained to make a go of it.


Biting my lip, I decide to egg him on. “Then why don’t you taste it? It is your mess after all.”


Smirking at my obvious instigation, he only shakes his head. “Mm. I might have to take you up on that, but later girl. Right now, I kinda want a bath. If Your Highness doesn’t mind.” He adds sighing and stretching his arms as he goes to swing his legs to the floor.


“Actually, that doesn’t sound too bad.” I nod in agreement, eagerly hopping off the bed and running to the bathroom in my thoughts. But somehow my body just doesn’t have the same boundless energy. Go figure. After a few attempts at sitting up (both times that never make it beyond the semi-crunch position), I decide to screw it and just go to sleep.


But of course, my husband is always here to help.


“Alright, lazy girl. Come on, up you get.” And tossing my arm over his bared, thoroughly scratched shoulders, Michael gathers the rest of me on the weight of his right arm and effortlessly lifts me with him, a quick shot of that infinite grace I used to hate and envy so much back when we first met. Seriously. I used to watch him walk and beg providence to make him trip just so I could see what it would look like. Other than a minor stumble on his way to the bathroom after my confident declaration of wanting to give him my virginity, I can’t say I’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing it. Hmm…maybe I’ll trip him on the way back.


“What are you plotting down there, girl?” He asks, surprising me.


“To trip you.” is my lazy reply.


He only sighs and rolls his eyes. “Why?”


“Because you’re too damn graceful. It’s irritating.”


“I told you, girl. I don’t trip.”


“I know. Which is why I’m going to trip you.”


“Oh…Thanks for the heads up.”


“Of course, babe. That’s what good wives are for.”


At that he only chuckles and maneuvers so he can turn the handle to the bathroom without dropping me.


It’s my first time seeing the bathroom of a luxury suit in Paris and I have to say, for a first impression, I’m pretty impressed. The lower portions of the walls are of the same crème in the bedroom while the upper half are a mint green of sorts, giving the bathroom an automatic soothing quality of being in a cozy cabin in the middle of a wood just as the suite lounge had done the same. There’s a long mirror stationed over a lengthy marble countertop housing his-&-her sinks, golden appliances, folded towels, and the proper equipment for freshening up (i.e., toothbrushes, toothpaste, face creams, ect). There’s a marble shower-cabin with a crushed-glass door in the corner that doubles as a mini sauna (wow) and crème colored toilet accompanied with matching bidet (only ever seen those in fancy movies). The floors themselves are an expensively tiled crème and white with fancy patterns. But the most impressive part at this moment?


The tub of course!


It’s gorgeous (kind of reminding me of the one in New York that I wistfully contemplated hauling back to the dorms) and the same form of beige marble as the countertops and shower cabin. Its basin is wide and circular within a square outer rim. The tub itself is situated upon a tall cubed, marble platform that requires three short steps to climb up (unless you have freakishly long legs like my husband and I) and there’s enough of a gap between the left wall and the start of the basin that it can double as a seat or a ledge to place your belongings. They’ve course done it for us by leaving three neatly folded towels for us, a crème container full of red bath beads, one filled with scented red rose petals for our disposal, and they’ve already placed several candles around the ledge for us, the fancy silver lighter neatly resting atop one of the towels. Just behind the tub is another huge mirror made into the wall (what do you know? I think these French people are kinky freaks…gotta love it). All in all…a thoroughly luxurized, A++ bathroom on the Asha-Impress-O-Meter

Michael carefully sits me down on the lid of the fancy toilet before making his way over to set up our special bath. I wash him for a while, admiring weird random little things like his hands as he works the sexy knobs, and his arms when he reaches for the baskets of beads and rose petals, and the corners of his lips as he frowns, trying to decide whether to light the candles first or wait until he’s done with everything so as not to burn himself. Finally, I settle for closing my eyes and quietly indulging in a sit-up nap until he’s ready.


It isn’t long before he’s saying, “Your bath awaits, honey.”


“Don’t you mean our bath?” I ask, languidly opening my eyes and pushing to my feet.


“That’s what I said.” He lies, coming over to assist in undressing me. Too tired to do much else, I only lift my hands and allow him to lift the wrinkled satin slip over my head and send it floating to the floor. Patting his leg, he tells me to give him one of mine and he begins to swiftly undo the garter belt before rolling down my stocking.


“Is not,” I mumble, handing him my other leg.


“Well it’s what I meant.” He finishes and rolls up both of my white stockings along with my garter belts, setting them neatly down on the counter before going to lift his undershirt. I walk over and start on the pants he re-zipped in his desire to make it to the bathroom without tripping on fallen slacks.


“Did you know that French fries originated in Belgium?” I ask randomly, getting his fly lowered and clenching my fingers inside his pockets so I can tug them down.


“No, I didn’t. Where’d you learn that?” He seems genuinely curious as he looks down at my hands, starting the process of removing his pants by tugging on the band to free his hips then bouncing a little so that I can finish the rest.


“Just one of the many nerdy things I learned during my nerd days of nerd-dom. Do want me to fold these?”


“Nah, just leave ‘em there. So were they originally Belgium fries or what?” Kicking out of his boxers, he knocks them to the side before reaching up to remove his hair-tie that’s just two strands away from falling. Sticking it between his teeth, he goes to gather his shoulder-length dark hair in an effort to retighten it, frowning dismally when his fingers get all knotted up in the tangles.


“I don’t think so…Here. Let me.” I pop the tie from his teeth and step behind him. He patiently stands there while I stand on my tiptoes (his five-foot height advantage creating mild difficulties for me) and gather fistfuls of jet black in both hands. I stare at the thick curls for a moment, sucking my lip intensely as I contemplate all the different ways to ease this burden. Finally, divine intervention and a creative stroke of brilliance strikes and I ask, “Can I try something?”


“…What?” He looks at me through the long mirror with a skeptical and frankly quite scared look on his face. I roll my eyes. He could at least try not to show his lack of confidence in me.


“I just want to French-braid it. Ya know…since we’re in France. Plus you have sexy French-braid-type hair.” I shrug my shoulders unimportantly, poking around his naked frame so I can see his expression through the glass. “Don’t worry. My mom taught me during her cosmetology stint when she was dead-set on being a hair-stylist. It ended after a freak accident with some bleach and a would-be client though—the French-braid was the only thing she mastered.”


“Wow. That’s just the story I like to hear when letting a woman put her hands in my hair.” He rolls his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching a little. It’s all the consent I need and without restating my question, I step around him and go to start digging through the gold-handled drawers along the marble counter. They’re well-stocked; it should be no problem to find a brush… “Come on, girl. It’s not that serious. The water’s getting cold.”


“No, it’s not.” I say idly, pulling open yet another drawer and shifting through its contents. “Water takes forever to get cold—and for all I know, Rich People Water takes decades. We should be good for the next five years or so—aha! Found one!” Spinning around, I wag the comb in my hand triumphantly unable to help jumping into the air repeatedly as I squeal in my delight. “Who’s awesome? This girl is!”


“Whoa, babe! Calm down with all that modesty; people might think you’re a nun.” Michael jokes, holding his hands up as if to keep my obvious humility from spreading. At my ‘shut-the-freak-up’ look, however, he only laughs and comes over to grab my free hand. When I try to pull it away from him in a playful pout, he snatches it anyway and gives my knuckles a kiss, winking at me. “You know I’m just playing with you, baby. You’re the most humble woman I know.”


I snort. Right. Even he can’t keep a straight face for long and I don’t even hold it against him. Calling me humble is like calling a saint a compulsive liar. It’s just not right. If there’s one person who’s a pro at bragging, it is moi. Still, I don’t hesitate to shove him in the back with one hand while he snickers and guides me to the tub. Nor do I falter in my blatant staring at his incredibly toned ass as he climbs up the steps in front of me. Man…I know guys are supposed to be the ones obsessed with behinds but in the incredibly infamous words of Sir-Mix-a-Lot circa 1992: “Baby got back.” And I’m sure glad it’s mine.


He’d die of embarrassment if he only knew what I was thinking.


My eyes quickly skate up his back to take in the rest of him and I’m struck with the recurring sights of his vitiligo as it makes its usual escape from remission. No matter how much light surgery he undergoes or how many creams he medicates with; it always comes back. Sometimes worse and more extensive. Right now, it’s just in that barely returning stage and I can see little flecks of white tinting the pale yellow of his skin along his spine and dotting around his waist. Up his neck to scatter feebly around the back of his right ear. Elbows…calf…under his left armpit. Just tiny speckles of erased pigment making its appearance.


Though there’s something about his imperfections that turn me on. They’re just so raw. So him. Michael Joseph Jackson: The Man that Never Was but Always Is. Or something catchy like that.


He releases my hand upon arrival atop the cubed marble base and takes a step down into the filled circular basin, the water made soft from bath beads and foamed pink with bubbles. He’s even scattered the surface of the foamy liquid with rose petals, red and pink, the lit candles surrounding the basin setting a whole mood of romance not unfit for a honeymoon. He leans over the tub and swats at a light pad that dims the bathroom, leaving the only illumination coming from the many, many lit candles. It’s nice.


Turning back to me, he grins and says, “It’s pretty, isn’t it? Like magic?”


“Just like magic.” I agree happily, smiling back at him with all my teeth. I’m so excited all of a sudden. Like that rush of feeling you get when you’ve been waiting in line all day for a massive roller coaster and suddenly you’re the next one up. Except of course, I always bailed at that point. Never was big on heights.


Michael offers me a hand that I graciously accept, stepping down into the foamy depths with him. I’m surprised by how deep it is. It could almost be a small shallow pool, allowing a place to sit with built-in acrylic seats on either end of the tub. Instantly, my body gives a tremor of delight as the hot water scalds my skin only to lick the burns immediately afterwards as if in apology. Taking a breath, I quickly immerse my whole head underneath, forcing myself to come to terms with the heat and to adapt. I do. By the time I emerge, curls straightened and plastered to my face and back, I feel perfectly comfortable. I catch sight of Michael watching me with an amused smirk from the other side of the tub and I respond by grinning and splashing him with the foam. He screams then laughs and repeats the action, causing me to gasp and duck underwater for cover.


We spin a good five minutes engaged in a battle of the splashes before I tell him to sit back and shut up so I can get started on his French braid (although the attempted threatening statement lost much of its ferocity in the midst of my excited bouncing).


I’ve never played in anyone’s hair before. I used to let a few of the girls I hung out with do the odd maneuver in my curls since it constantly seemed to draw their fingers, but I’d always quickly get annoyed with their groping and felt too awkward to engage in similar efforts. Michael’s is the only head of hair I’ve ever felt entirely comfortable running my fingers through and likewise his fingers are the only ones I don’t mind playing in mine. He plays in my hair almost more than I play in his. Braiding and unbraiding it. Wrapping it around his fingers. (Tugging on it during sex. Heh heh.) He doesn’t care, as long as he’s doing something with it.


Smiling impatiently, I tug him over to the edge of the tub and press his back against the white basin while I climb out and settle for sitting on top of the marble base, my legs dipped into the water on either side of his shoulders. With a mumbled, “Be careful, girl” from the whiner down there and an “Oh, quit being a girl” from me, followed by a “…Even though you’re giving me a girly hairstyle” which is then shadowed by a light rap of the comb on his scalp, I get started.


We don’t say much while I work, mostly because I’m too busy being concentrated. I scrunch my brows and suck my lip, occasionally cursing and undoing a section that I could’ve sworn would’ve turned out perfect. Meanwhile, Michael hums a new song under his breath and absently strokes the skin of my calves underwater, his arms encircling them lazily. It takes me almost twenty-minutes before I’m satisfied, a span that my husband patiently waits out.


“Got it!” I finally cry, securing his tie around the end and throwing my hands up in victory. “I did it! Michael, it’s perfect! Your wife is a genius! Fire every hairstylist you’ve ever had and hire me from now on, got it? It’s your only viable option!”


Giggling and leaning forward so as to reach up and feel my work; he turns and shoots me an impressed look. “Wow. Impressive.” Told ya. “So…uh. Can I take it down now?”


My eyes almost bug out of my head. “What!?”


He looks sheepish as he mumbles, “Baby, this is a girl hairstyle…Guys don’t wear French braids.”


“Guys also don’t wear makeup or sequence yet you make it work.” I snap, offended that he would even ask such a question. I’m still hung up on it even when I offer him a grudging a compliment, “Actually, you pull this off really well. You’re probably the only guy in history who can make a French braid look so erotic.”


“You’re kidding.” He looks skeptical.


I glare. “I’m not. Go perform with that hairstyle and see how many women cream in the first few minutes.”


“Ugh, that’s gross.” He scrunches his nose and that’s what gets me.


Irritation abated, I laugh and shove his shoulder, moving him out of the way so I can sink back into the water. My limbs thank me as they come to terms once more with the enveloping warmth of the foam. “How can you say that’s gross? Do you know how many of those concert faints are caused by extreme orgasms? Those women aren’t expecting to be hit with such powerful stimuli; you just come out and throw it at ‘em. In fact, I bet most of them are pissed by the time they come to because you’ve ruined a once in a lifetime opportunity for them to see you in concert. You should be ashamed.”


“That’s not true.” He rolls his eyes, but I note the blush tinting his cheeks. “They’re caused by a number of things. Claustrophobia, dehydration, air restriction, heat-flashes—”


“Oh my gosh! Can’t you just admit for once that you’re sex on wheels and you know it and use it to your advantage?”


“I do not!”


“Those hip thrusts directed towards the first row aren’t an accident!”


“No, but—”


“Are you telling me that you don’t know these girls are envisioning you naked between their legs every time you dry-hump?”


“You’re so crass.”


“You’re so dumb.”


“Excuse me? You wanna say that again?”


I open my mouth, fix my eyes on his, and mouth, “…Dumb.”


He lets out a playful growl and launches himself at me. I scream and try to pull free, giggling and struggling in the water but to no avail. This man must have some secret drink he throws down to conceal all the serious muscles he must have somewhere because there’s no other explanation for the way he man-handles me with that slight frame. Half-yelling, half-laughing, I claw at his forearms that encircle the space above my stomach and below my breasts, screaming and closing my eyes whenever he lifts me out of the water before sitting me back down, his mouth and nose tickling the right side of my neck the whole time.


“Okay, Cookie Monster! I’m sorry; I’m s-ooo-rrr-yyy!”


“Oh. Well, why didn’t you say so?” I can hear the smirk in his voice as he turns me loose, pushing me away and floating the other direction, a satisfied smile on his face.


I scowl playfully for just a second…before I can’t stand it. The natural inclination for revenge this mischievous side never fails to bring out in me comes barging forwards just as I do. Wading over to his side of the tub as fast as I possibly can, I release my Zelda warrior cry and jump on him, hearing his own cry of surprise mixed in with his high-pitched giggle as my legs find their way snaked along his torso, my arms in a similar position about his head. His voice comes out muffled against my breasts as he no doubt questions my sanity while I declare his defeat and ruin in a marvelous British accent. It isn’t until he bites my nipple with folded lips (even that hurts with how sensitive they’ve been feeling lately) that I stop shouting about his downfall.


Instead, I scream in surprise and slight pain and lean back to drop my mouth at him in outrage. He cheats me out of my anger though by shooting me that doe-eyed lip-bite before remedying the ache in my left nipple by engulfing it in the soothing warmth of his mouth, his tongue gently lapping over the tender bud. My eyes close automatically and I exhale without realizing I’ve fallen trap once again. It’s no use. He’ll always find a way to win. He’s just too unfathomable to resist.


Obviously forgetting his search to trick me as he rather begins to enjoy himself, Michael moans a little in his throat before popping my left nipple free and moving over to my right. I loosen my arms on his head to allow him this change. His hands have found themselves enfolding the globes of my bottom as he holds my weight steady on his torso, the lower portion of his waist hidden below the water as he stands. My body literally trembles as months of repressed sexual need all gathers and assembles at that one point where his lips and tongue toy with an over-sensitized bud. Just that simple action alone sends a fire rocketing down to the middle of my legs and a desperate yearning moistening the space. That quickie on the bed came not even close to quenching this desire.


“Michael…” I mumble, closing my eyes and clenching my fingers in his black hair as he continues kissing the sides of my breasts, completely absorbed in his work. “Baby…?”


“Mm?” He asks, reclaiming my left nipple with a new aggression.


“Uhh…” That feels amazing. “Um, c-can…can you sit down…for a second?”


“…Wha?” He sounds somewhat confused but intent on not being distracted as his hands clench the flesh of my ass, gently massaging to contrast the harsh suckling he’s doing with his mouth. It’s almost enough to make me lose it already.


“Baby, please, sit down.” I growl, unable to summon the patience I’d like. I want him much too bad to be patient. “One of the ends—the make-shift seats.”


No longer bothering to try and read me but merely following my direction, Michael never ceases to release my right breast as he carts us over to the end of the tub and settles down, me slipping to his lap. The water engulfs us once more, swallowing our frames hungrily until it laps at our necks. My thighs straddling his, knees pressing firmly against the acrylic of the makeshift seat, I lean down and begin dotting loving kisses along his neck up to his ear. I can hear him sigh as I switch sides and repeat the process. I bring the fleeting kisses across his nose and down to his chin, gifting little bits of pure devotion to those spots he’s deemed unworthy. I’ll never understand how a man so gifted and beautiful could look into a mirror and not see any of it. Then again, I’ll never understand a world that’s robbed him of the ability.


“I’m so glad I married you,” I murmur, dragging my lips across the soft skin of his cheek before pressing my cheek to his. I pause there for a while, cradling his neck in my hands and inhaling the rich scent of him. I can feel his own hands brushing along my back beneath the water, the flittering movements of his fingertips stroking my spine and lower torso. It’s almost as if he can’t stop them from touching me, as though the gentle flesh of my body compels him somehow. I hope it never stops. “You’re the most amazing thing…I love you, I love you, I love you.”


“Asha…” The breath he exhales is shaky, his forehead resting on the bone of my shoulder as he hugs me to him. It’s just like it was that time long ago on his plane when we touched arms—and again in his hotel room in New York. I can feel it rolling off of him. He’s craving companionship. Crying out for the tenderness that’s been denied him his whole life. That touch that reveals love for a person and not an object. My touch. “...I love you.” He whispers, touching his mouth to my shoulder.


I already knew this. Where I’d never been completely sure before, he’s made it perfectly clear in the time since.


It isn’t long before all of this affection comes to a pinnacle and the words by themselves are no longer enough to suffice. Amazingly enough, the water remains warm and consoling as it cocoons us, reminiscent of the shelter we’ve found in one another over the course of this last year plus and when I reach beneath it to find him, I’ve never felt more at ease in my life. The soft breaths he takes mingled with my sighs as I guide him home, easing myself down and overwhelming him with my being as we join…it’s like music. The water around us allows for an easy entry and a new feel.


I’ve missed him so much. I’ve missed the stability he brings to my life even as he remains the sole contributor to the chaos that disturbs it. I’ve missed the completion he gives even as he steals bits of myself and absorbs it into his person a little more each day. I’ve missed the gentleness of his surface nature even while beneath boils a frustrated child confused with his bad dealings. I’ve missed the serenity and the tumult all the same; the two extremes that remind me that I’m alive, shattering the placid illusion of the life I’ve lived before him. He hurts me even as he heals me…but it’s better than not being hurt or healed and just wading in fear, a protective shell that allows nothing in.


As he pushes into me, filling me to the brim with his strength, and wraps his arms around me, looking for relief from his weaknesses, I know this is it. We’ve done it. We’ve found our secret remedy and we’ve finally committed to its use. No more hiding. No more running. No more. That’s what he’s telling me…Isn’t it?


“Oh, babygirl,” He sighs into my neck, his hands holding my hips steady beneath the water and guiding me to a slow rock on top of him. “Never leave me…Never. No matter what.”


“Never.” I confirm nodding my head and biting my lip as my lashes fall. My head goes tumbling back; exposing every inch of raw flesh my neck has to offer and inviting my husband to take advantage, which he does. And eagerly.


I groan my desperation for his touch as his teeth leave a trail down my throat, the skin twisting and burning in his wake. My lower muscles responsively spasm around him. He moans out and tightens his hands on my hips, forcing them to roll and ensnare George in a circular dance of captivity. I can feel him pulse and threaten release each time I descend, expanding and allowing for deeper penetration as my walls widen, growing accustomed to his intrusion once more. The water strokes us both from inside of me, running in after each harsh blow he gives to my core and soothing the tender inner flesh each time.


“That’s it, baby…” Michael breathes, increasing his pace and grip simultaneously so that I have no choice but to ride him faster. “You feel so good…”


“Ah…right there,” I moan, wrapping my fingers around his neck as I rock against him, taking him in deep and swirling my hips in an effort to take him even deeper. Feeling how rigid and upright he stands within me, I begin to bounce, crying out each time I manage to engulf him entirely and begging for more when I can’t quite make it. “Oh…Michael…Baby, you’re so big…Give it to me...”


“Take it, girl…I know you can.” He eggs me on, kissing beneath my jaw as he seizes hold of my throat with one hand and encircles my waist with his other arm. “Mm. Can’t nobody else…give this to you…the way I can, gurl. Remember that.”


I couldn’t agree more as I whine out his name and drop my head onto his shoulder, the overwhelming sensation of him taking my equilibrium and throwing it to space. Sometimes I swear it’s too much. He’s too much. My body always feels like it’s at its limits with him and yet he somehow never fails to push it even further. God, I should be used to this fullness by now. It shouldn’t feel new. But I just can’t seem to get a grip on it. Even now he lifts my head and drags my lips to meet his, drawing us into a fiery dance of hasty tongues and frayed breathing while concurrently taking this from a lusty salsa to a loving ballet and throwing me off kilter with his capricious nature. It’s as though he does it on purpose. Builds a rhythm that I can’t follow; leaving him the sole leader of our dance and me the fervent understudy following happily in his wake.


“Slow down, honey…Feel us.” He sighs into my mouth, halting our tongues from their frantic groping and instead seizing hold of my lower lip between his. He gently tugs on it. Nothing more.


My eyes almost roll to the back of my head as he arches up beneath the thin layer of water, now cooling, and beings a sensual roll inside that touches places in me I never knew existed before him. The water follows his lead, flowing in and out of me in great gulps and permitting him trouble-free entry each time he moves. The feel is so different, so exhilarating that I can hardly take it. His hand releases my throat and instead begins a slow caress down my neck and down…down…down into the water where his palm glides over my hardened nipples before slipping further to my stomach. Unthinkingly, my body bows, arching towards the ceiling and encouraging his touch as I continue to circle his lap, suctioning his penis into the depths of me. God, I’ll never get over him.


“Now,” He murmurs, resting a hand on my thigh and touching his thumb to my clitoris underneath the watery surface. I whimper and move into his touch, jolting somewhat on his length and causing him to inhale sharply through his teeth. Bringing my lips back to his, he licks them and whispers, “Go faster, Asha…Ride me, girl. Give me that pretty pink piece of you I love so much…So wet and so tight…”


His words alone bring me to the brink of orgasm. There’s nothing left but to obey.


Bringing my hands to his hair, I clutch fistfuls until I’m content with my hold…and I do exactly as he wants. I ride the hell out of him. Holding tight to his head, I press his face into my modest breasts and I began to slide my slick opening up and down his firm, vein-riddled penis until it burns. I bounce and roll and twist on his cock until I’m positive I’m strangling it with the pulsing strength of my hot walls. His name falls from my lips like a mantra, obscenities rolling out like a bad eighties movie. Michael’s just as bad. As he carefully strokes my clit underwater, he groans and mumbles dirty things he’d like to do my “tight little body” until it literally becomes too much for me.


With a shriek of his name, I ram myself down onto him again and again; feeling my body tighten and shudder as my climax comes slamming into me. He curses and moans my name as he continues thrusting heavily upwards, slapping his meat against me and willing himself to keep this thing going.


I come hard. Hard, I tell you. I spill around his unyielding shaft and I keep spilling until I literally feel empty.


But he doesn’t stop. He keeps stroking my over-worked clit even as I cry that it’s too much. He doesn’t hear me. All he hears is the beautiful noise echoing from beneath the dying foams as he hammers upwards and brings my spasming body down on his length, working my exhausted hips for me when I grow too weak to work them myself. He forces wet kisses on my mouth that I try to keep up with as my mind wanders to the amazing bruising being given to my weary slit. It’s way too much for a girl to take. But God, I’ve never wanted to take anything more in my life.


“Whatduyah want from me, gurl?” He gasps, kissing my mouth and rolling into me, all the while stroking a clitoris still twitching from release. I think my body’s gonna explode if he doesn’t stop. Seriously. I can’t take it. “Tell me…what you want from me.”


“Cum.” I mutter, squinting my eyes close as my walls become almost numb from his thrusting. Thank God for this water, otherwise I’d be raw.


“What…was that?” He asks, and I can feel his grin against my lips. He’s such a pervert. “You gotta…speak up, honey. You want me…to pick it up? Huh?”


And with that he really starts pounding into me, half lifting his body off the seat so as to gain leverage. My head rolls back and I practically scream as my body tightens with yet another orgasm. Good God, I can’t take another one just yet. Give me a minute, please. “Michael…Cum!”


“What’d you say?” He finds that knot of energy inside of me and pokes George’s head relentlessly against it until I come falling apart once more, his name an echo being traded back-and-forth along the acoustic walls as I go. “Yes…Fuck, girl, that’s it…”


Finally, he lets go, releasing a torrent of hot semen into my uterus as my walls milk him for all he has. My body starts quivering and shivering as the sensations rack them, jolting me so hard Michael has to tighten his hold for fear that I’ll seizure and drown. I can’t stop screaming, my voice box seemingly suffering from some shell-shocked aftermath even as my limbs turn to trembling jelly, collapsing limply into his chest as he tugs me close. I can feel his stiff penis go flaccid inside of me. George is spent. Michael probably pushed him too hard. All I can think though as I close my eyes is how I can’t wait to suck on him. I bet George misses the hell out of my mouth. It had to have become a favorite vacation spot for him.


I decidedly settle on that as our next course of action once we get out of this tub, even as my eyes droop.

& & &

“Did you see Angelique’s boobs?” I mumble sometime later once the better part of lethargy has worn off.


My body remains lazily resting against him as I straddle his lap, my cheek pressing into his thin chest as he holds me. The foam has worn down until only wisps remain, sporadically drifting passed before dispersing. The water continues to lap around our shoulders but it’s since grown tepid and not as comforting in its envelopment. Michael remains tucked firmly inside of me, his penis sheathed in my walls as they lazily embrace him. Occasionally I wiggle my hips or idly slide up and down on him whenever my weary body will permit such movement. He likes this. It keeps him on his toes as he can never tell when I’ll do it. It’s a nice cuddling alternative.


“What?” He asks, only half-surprised by my randomness.


It’s a pretty pointless thought that’s been floating through my head that leads to a pretty pointless conversation. Like many we’d have over the next hour or so we spend in the tub. This one goes like this: (Me. Michael.)


“Did you see Angelique’s boobs?” “What?” “Her boobs.” “Huh?” “They were nice.” “Yeah. They were. Perky.” “Very perky. …You think she had them done?” “I dunno…Why?” “Just curious.” “Asha.” “Yea?” “Don’t you ever get a boob job.” “Why would I get a boob job?” “I don’t know. That’s what I’m saying.” “Why? Do you think I need one?” “No.” “…Because you know, my breasts aren’t that big.” “I know that.” “I’m practically flat-chested.” “So.” “So…would a boob job be a bad thing?” “Yes.” “Why?” “Because you’re practically flat-chested and that’s how I like you.” “But you like big boobs.” “But I that’s not how I like you.” “Why not?” “Because you’re my flat-chested wife.” “You sure?” “Positive.” “…Okay. I won’t get a boob job.” “Thank you.” “But you have to promise not to fantasize about me having big boobs. I just offered and you turned it down. You can’t get the option back.” “I promise. I’m more likely to fanaticize about other girls being practically flat-chested.” I burst out laughing. “My God. So it’s true then.” “What is?” “People really don’t give a fuck when they’re in love.” “Nope.”


And that was the end of that. We also touch on a shitload of other topics such as my dancing abilities:


“We should go dancing.” “Dancing?” “Yeah.” “Can you dance?” “No. But I did try once.” “Really? When?” “Well, when I was little my mom used to enroll us in all these different things—you know, hoping to distract me after my dad left. One of these things was dancing.” “She put you in a dance class?” “Uh-huh.” “Did she know how big of a klutz you were when she did it!?” “Shut-up.” He giggles. “Anyway, we did these mother-daughter dance lessons when I was a girl. I had a tutu and recitals and everything. The whole deal.” “Do you remember any of the dances?” “…Yes…” “Jesus Christmas—you gotta do it!” “I’m not doing it!” “Baby, you have to!” “I will not.” “Come on…please? Pretty please? Pretty please with chocolate syrup and sprinkles on top?” “Well…there was this one dance…” He giggles and claps his hands. “Do it! Do it!” “Okay. But just this once! Now pay attention…”


I end up hopping out of the tub and performing a series of wobbly spins and bad pirouettes fit for a ten-year-old. Michael giggles profusely and claps his hands like a child at a Muppets show. I give a soapy bow and climb back into the tub where we settle on either end grinning at one another:


“Hi, hubby.” “Hi, wifey.” Reaching over he lifts my foot and begins gently massaging it while we settle back into the water. “Whatcha doing?” “Nothing. Massaging my wife’s feet. What are you doing?” “Staring at my husband’s handsome face and marveling at how handsome it is.” “That’s quite a task. Doesn’t it get boring?” “Not if it looks as good as what I’m looking at.” He blushes and ducks his head, focusing on my foot in his hands. “Still glad you married him then?” “Couldn’t be more thrilled if I won a million bucks.” “Well, technically you just won like…multiple hundred millions.” “Well then I’ve really got nothing to worry about, huh?” “Nope. You’re rich, Mrs. Jackson.” “’Mo money, ‘mo problems, Mr. Jackson.” “Tell me about it.” “You know, it doesn’t feel that different.” “Being rich?” “Being married.” “No?” “Nah. It kinda seems a bit trivial after everything…you know?” “Yeah. Like it was sort of inevitable.” “Exactly.” “Hey, Asha?” “Yea?” “…I’m really glad you think so.” “Yeah? Why?” “Because I’ve been thinking about marrying you since the diner in New York.” “No way! That long?” “It was the first time I ever thought it. I didn’t linger on it…but I pictured it. When we held hands.” “Wow…Well, I’m glad a dream came true for you.” “Yeah. Me too.”


We talk about my dog and how heartbroken I was when my parents decided we couldn’t afford him anymore and had to give him away. I’d already told Michael this story before but somehow it came up again. This time though, he paused at the end of the story to ask me curiously what the breed of the dog was. I told him it was a beagle. He nodded and returned to focusing on my feet. When the topic of Janet and Cody came up, however, he flipped:


“What do you mean he’s dating my sister!?” “Calm down. It’s not like he planned it or anything.” “Bullshit! First my girl then my baby sister. What next? My house?” “First off: I wasn’t your girl.” “You were always my girl.” “Oh? Then was dumping me just a ceremonial initiation of some sort?” “…” “Mmhm. And second of all it was a complete freak incident. If Elsie had never tried to kill me then he would have never met your sister. Fate was intervening.” “Don’t talk about that. It still kills me thinking about it.” “It’s over now…” “It should have never happened in the first place. Anyway…is he…you know. Doing stuff…with her?” “You mean is he putting his key in her ignition?” “Asha!” “What? I could’ve said is he screwing her brains out.” “I’m not kidding, girl. That’s not funny.” I fail at keeping a straight face and laugh at his disgruntled schoolboy expression. “I’m sorry, Big Brother. But the truth of the matter is he’s a grown, sexy, caramel treat and your sis is a hottie. They’re having sex.” “I’m gonna kill him. I’m gonna fucking kill him.” “Michael! Come on! You’re overreacting. They’re happy together and Janet really likes him. She makes him way happier than I ever did.” “First he fondles my wife then fondles my little sister. What’s this kid’s problem?” “Michael, we didn’t even have sex. You know that. So it’s not weird like that.” “That doesn’t mean you guys didn’t do…other things. ....Right?” “Uh…” “Dammit, I knew it! How far did you let him go with you?” “Mike, we were dating for a year. Come on.” “Did you let him put his dirty fingers in you?” “Michael! That’s private.” “You better not have, girl. I’ll kill him if you did.” “I didn’t.” “No?” “No.” “Then…what did you do?” “Nothing.” “Nothing?” “Nope. He felt me up through my bra a few times and I gave him the occasional hand-job—a skill I learned from you. That’s it. ….Michael? Baby?”


He doesn’t talk to me for a while after that. It’s kind of annoying how petty he can be. I hate that he’s making me feel bad like I did something wrong. So out of irritation for the guilt he’s causing me, I decide to ramble on and on about how I’m just so glad I didn’t have sex with my very attractive boyfriend because I was so hung up on my first love and how I just wish that that lover loved me enough to show me the same courtesy but that it really sucks that that lover started screwing a super model so soon afterwards. It’s tough out there. Especially when people don’t love you as hard as you love them and how sex is more sacred to some people than it is to others—


He stops me about there. Starts talking eagerly about this dancer Demitra had found for him that he’s excited to be auditioning soon. I can see the guilty look he’s trying to hide. I smirk. Ask him what’s so exciting about the dancer.


“This guy’s amazing! He’s so innovative and unique…I think he’s gay though. Not that it matters if you can dance.” “Only if you can dance?” “No. I guess it doesn’t matter.” “What was his name?” "Can't remember right off the top but he was good..." “Did he have shiny shoulder length hair?” “Uh…yeah. I think so.” I gasp. “Was he oddly pretty? Perfectly manicured nails—maybe a coral scarf?” “Yeah. Yeah, that’s him. Why—do you know him?” “That’s NORMAN! Ahhh!” “Wait. Who?” “Norman Eugene Alsworth III! He’s only the best person in the whole world! I met him on a plane when I was having an emotional breakdown and he’s probably the only reason I got through it. I gave him your number when he told me he wanted to be a dancer!” “Norman Eugene…that’s the kid. Wait—what do you mean you were having an emotional breakdown? When? And why didn’t you call me? I would’ve been there for you.” “Uh…because you were kinda the one causing it.” “Huh? Oh. You mean back when we broke up…?” “Well…no. After I kinda, um. Left you. In Detroit. Y'know….after the sex.” “…Oh.” “Yeah…I was in a bad state.” “Yea. Me too. …That really broke me up, girl. I thought I lost you for good.” “I thought so too.” “Were you gonna come back?” “I was going to come tell you about Skyler the day you showed up.” “You were?” “Yeah. I thought you should have the opportunity.” “Oh…But what about us? Were you gonna come back for us?” “After that night? No. I don’t think so.” “…I went through hell when we broke up. Every time. But that first time especially…” “Was it really bad?” “Worst pain I’ve ever felt.” “I’m sorry you felt you had to.” “Me too.” “…Norman rocks.” He laughs. “I know. Thanks for sending him my way.” “Always the best for you, babe.”


After that we just kind of float around for a while, occasionally mumbling some other random tidbit. Soon though, the water grows too cold to enjoy and Michael helps me out of the tub while he drains it.


As he wraps a towel around me, I can’t help but admire the way the wet droplets from his hair droop onto his face and glisten on his skin. His high, rounded cheekbones and strong jaw stand out along with the dark unfathomable eyes hidden intermittently behind long lashes that curl at the ends. His tall, lithe dancer’s frame looms overhead as he takes a towel through my hair, frowning in concentration despite the simplistic task. It’s all a girl can do to resist. But then such a girl thinks…Why does she have to?


I jump on him.

& & &

Our mouths are unrelenting as we fall onto the mattress of the bed, Michael helping me up before following behind and entangling our naked limbs once more. My legs spread around him, flexing and encircling his hips even has his hands feel their way up the heated flesh of my torso, clenching and massaging ever bit skin they come into contact with. When his large calloused palms come upon the small mounds of my breasts, capturing them and concealing them behind their size, I let out a breathy moan that flows into his mouth, writhing and twisting beneath him as I react to his touch. He gasps and recaptures my mouth, coercing me into a raging kiss that consists more of gnashing teeth and ambitious tongues than it does loving lips.


I gobble his tongue, sucking harshly on it in my intensity, wanting to possess his mouth. He groans and grounds his hips into me, forcing his rigid erection to grind against my wetness, giving me a preview of what I already know to be true. My lips release him, leaving my mouth free to discharge a wanton cry of arousal that only increases his torture. Suctioning and licking along my jaws and the underside of my chin, Michael begins to dry hump me, using my lower lips as tools to roll and unroll the thin membrane of his sensitive foreskin. It’s barely a second before his shaft is glistening in my juices. As he continues this maneuver, thrusting and driving his hips into the hungry crevice between my legs, all the while biting and licking my neck, my eyes wander up to the ceiling.


Geez…


I’m immediately met with a downward view of the happenings, thanks to the now exposed circular mirror above. All I can make out of me are my spread legs, my arms thrown over my head, and my arched neck, parted lips, and lazy eyes. But Michael…he is a god above me. His frame bends and bows as he takes possession of my neck with his mouth, his hands cupping my breasts as he works. His back muscles contract and retract with each movement he makes on top of me. I gaze in aroused awe for what has to be minutes at the sheer strength in his gluteal muscles as his firm backside flexes with each thrust he sends into my desperate center.


“Oh, gawwwd…” I groan, my eyes rolling to the back of my head at the sight. How the hell is a person supposed to stay sane with a mirror over their bed during sex? It isn’t bad enough my man has a package out of this world; now I have to watch him deliver it to me? I’ll die before night’s end.


“Mm, guurrl…” He groans, moving down so he can seize my right breast in his searching mouth. I yell out as his tongue begins to expertly flick the hardened nipple, pushing and rolling it around the hot, wet, warmth of the cavern. He moves to my other and repeats the process, moaning and growling sporadically as I dig my fingers in his black curls and tug with all the savagery he inhales my nipple with. “Uhh…It’s so hard, girl.” He pulls back and admires the tough buds with an amazed look.


“So are you, baby.” I gasp, biting my lip and pushing my pelvis up in search of…what? I don’t know. Contact, friction, anything. Just then, I remember something! Lowering my head long enough to catch sight of Michael kissing passionately around the slight protruding sphere of my belly, I grip a fistful of his hair and yank upwards so he’s facing me, a stunned expression on his face. I bite my lip and give an impatient look. “Cookie Monster…”


“Y-Yea, girl. Whatcha need?” His voice is breathless and ragged. He’s so fuck-hungry. I love when he gets like this. It’s so opposite his normal demeanor. So contradictory to his image. So paradoxical with how his Mama raised him. God, I love it.


Deciding to add fuel to his fire and quench one of my own, I moan out, “I wanna suck on you a bit. Get up here.”


And just to blow his mind a little more, I merely drop my mouth open wide and rest my head back on the mattress insinuating just how I want to suck him. I want him to fuck my mouth just like he’s fucked every other part of me. I’m feeling very naughty tonight and I want my new husband to take advantage of it. Rough, ravenous advantage.


He doesn’t move for a moment and I begin to grow impatient. I’m just lifting my head to glare at him for taking his sweet time when he starts to move. Swallowing and looking a bit daunted as well as avaricious in face of the task ahead, Michael bites his lip and keeps his eyes trained on mine with all the intensity of a man possessed as he straddles my hips…and slowly begins to make his way up my body. It’s enough to make a girl short-circuit. When he reaches the point where his knees are resting on either side of my head, leaving his long anatomy hovering ominously above while he stares down at my longing expression, I feel my breathing grow shallow in anticipation. I want him more than I can sanely comprehend. I lick my lips.


Biting his, he furrows his brow fixedly…and lowers himself until the tip of George’s head parts my lips like heaven’s gates and plunges into the wet heat. He closes his eyes and groans his satisfaction even as I moan my content. This is what it’s about. This flavor. This intensity. This obsession.


“Ohh, girl…” He sighs, opening his eyes and looking down on me as he eases himself in a little deeper, sinking half of his engorged member into my waiting mouth.


“Mmm…” I force out around him. He tastes so good, so much like I expected. Three months. Three freaking months since I’ve had him safe and secure in my mouth. Must make up for lost time.


“Ahh, girl!” He inhales sharply and tosses his head back as I lean mine forward in an effort to seize more of him. Getting the picture, he lowers himself down and deep until his sack rests gently on my chin. I moan and open my mouth wider to accommodate his girth. “Dammit, babe…that’s it.”


Suddenly, he leans forward so that he’s on his palms over my head while straddling my face. As if he were rocking into any wanting vagina, he begins a slow and steady thrust into my mouth, groaning low and long as I accept his challenge and stretch my lips to meet him. Egged on by his mumbled encouragements, I stick out my tongue, moving it out of his way so that he has more room to plunge deep into the depths of my throat. I gag the first few times, startled at how soon he manages to reach the very back (his size will always remain a mystery to me) but soon grow familiar with the invasion and conquer the gag reflex as best I can. Michael’s arousal grows the more he rubs against my tonsils and continues to meet no resistance. As a result, his growls grow louder as his thrusts grow harder.


“Mmm…uhhh…” It’s the only sound I can make as he begins to slam into my mouth, cursing and praising me in equal time as he rocks.


“You’re so sexy, baby…Uggghh…So fucking sexy.” He mumbles, pulling out slowly before diving right back in, the rough surface of my tongue brushing against his sensitive foreskin as he deepthroats me. I choke some when he pushes so deep into my mouth that his balls sit on my lips, and begins to rotate. He curses and groans my name, pulling his slickened penis from my mouth just long enough for me to get a breather. I gasp and intake as much air as I can before stretching my tongue out once more, inviting him to continue. “You thirsty, baby?” He smirks, loving how insistent I am.


“Absolutely dehydrated.” I breathe. He grins. I grin back.


In goes George. He rests most of his weight on his elbows and just uses his hips to thrust, the dripping head of his penis touching all manner of my esophagus as he sexes my mouth. It’s a weird feeling, having him so deep. I can feel his cum beginning to ooze out of his urethral opening only to roll along the walls of my throat but I can’t taste it as he’s so far in. My spit gathers in my mouth, backed up by his wide shaft so that each time he decides to linger at the bottom of my throat, I end up coughing and hacking until he pulls out. My saliva dribbles from the corners of my lips and coats the lower half of my face, leaving a slick connecting trail whenever he pulls completely free.


“Fuck, girl…Your mouth is like heaven,” Michael moans, withdrawing George in wake of my coughing fit. Using his hand, he wraps it around his rigid, dripping penis and begins to stroke himself, the wet coat of my saliva catching on his fingers as he masturbates right over my mouth. Like some wanton whore I never was before him, I stick my tongue out to try and catch the creaming end each time it appears between his fingers.


“Here you go, sweetheart,” He mumbles, beginning to tap his stiff shaft against my waiting tongue, letting the pre-cum ooze onto my palled along with my own salvia. The wet sound of his slapping member against my damp tongue is enough to nearly send me over even without a stimulant below. Suddenly, he grips hold of my jaw in a firm hand and forces my mouth to remain open as he pushes his drenched, spit-covered penis back into my mouth. Keeping his hold, he begins to earnestly fuck the opening, earning gasps and gags alike from me as my eyes close. My jaws burn from the constant thrumming of his penis as it furiously works its way deep in my throat and back out again. But I can’t bring myself to mind it. Not in the slightest.


“Yes, baby…Such a pretty little mouth…Goooshh it’s perfect…Ooh, sweetheart, stick that tongue—ahhh…” He groans as I feel his penis begin to pulse and throb threateningly in my mouth. I moan out my approval, spit and pre-cum choking me as I do, when suddenly, he lets out an elongated cry, hunching over my head and gripping the sheets as he does. “I’m…I’m…uuughhh! God!”


And just like that he cleanses my throat in himself, shooting load after load straight down my esophagus until I’m choking on the thick liquid. He pushes a little deeper as he blows, smashing his balls against my lips in his attempt to ensure that all of him is cloaked in my warmth as he milks. Upon hearing my gagging though, he hastily pulls back, bringing his still creaming erection from the dark pits of my throat and back to the surface cave of my mouth, his semen splashing over my tongue as he finally pulls free of the tunnel.


There goes the delicious taste I’ve been waiting for…


He drags George from my mouth entirely and proceeds to jerk the now sporadically spurting drips of cum onto my lips and whitened tongue, making certain that not a drop misses me in place of the golden comforter.


Eventually George goes limp, drained and exhausted from the moment’s events. Exhaling heavily, Michael leans back so that he’s sitting on the upper part of my chest without putting too much weight on and he smiles down at me. His weary shaft flops onto my neck while his hands go to my cheeks. Licking my lips clean of most of his release, I shoot a cheeky smile up at him. He bites his lip hard and I know it’s to keep the self-satisfied grin from showing.


“Hey, there.” I smile.


He laughs; a breathy and bushed sound. “Hi, there.”


“Are you done with me?”


“You wish.”


“Do you need time to recover?”


“Don’t worry about me. Get up.” And climbing off of me, he goes to the edge of the huge king size and throws his legs over.


I oblige without question, pushing myself up into a sitting position and taking a second to crack my neck. I wince. I’m a little stiff in the collar now. Maybe I should stretch my throat out the next time I let him do that. I look over and find that he’s already off the bed, absently stretching his arms like he’s gearing up for some big performance. Heck, maybe he is. I doubt he could be any better at this than if he were paid for it. Arching a brow at me as I stare at him, Michael shoots me a firm look and points to ground, indicating that he told me to get up and he shouldn’t have to tell me twice. Domineering Sex Michael. Gotta love him.


Not willing to push his patience, I swing my legs over the edge of the mattress and slide off. Yawning some, he turns and walks around toward the double doors leading toward the balcony. Knowing I’m supposed to, I follow.


When we come to the steps, he walks up them and pulls on the golden handle, opening the glass doors and allowing a gentle warm breeze to flow in. He steps aside and jerks his head in the direction of the terrace, letting me know that I should head out there. Naked. Unclothed. With my mouth still full of his bittersweet flavor. My eyes widen slightly.


“Out…there?” I stutter, blinking in surprise at his boldness.


He arches that brow again. I can see his lips twitch as if here were going to smirk. He refrains and simply says, “That’s where the doors lead.”


“But…” I’m naked and that’s outside, I want to whine. I can already feel the pout taking shape on my face.


He rolls his eyes and surprises me by re-seizing the curved golden handle and making to pull it forwards, nearly closing the door. “Fine. If you don’t want to…”


“No!”


He stops just as the door touches lightly to the frame. Raises a brow.


I pause…then relinquish. Who am I kidding anyway? Michael knows I can’t resist a challenge—let alone him. It’s a double whammy that’s not to be ignored. As if I’m going to consent to playing it safe when he’s got me dripping onto this expensive carpet just imagining him inside of me. Truth is; at this point I’d do him in the middle of the parking lot if that’s what he said he wanted.


“Where do you want me?” I grumble, narrowing my eyes at him and shoving past out onto the balcony. He grins and follows behind.


I stop in the center of the stone terrace just in front of one of the white lounge armchairs and literally catch my breath for a moment as I take in the glorious spectacle that is Paris, France at night. I still can’t get over how beautiful the Eiffel Tower is in real life up close like this. Its elongated frame glows gold, bathing the surrounding less-superior architecture in its dazzling light. From so high up, it almost feels like I’m on a different planet with a whole new view of life at my feet. Everything—the trees, the streetlamps, the skyline—it all looks fresh and out of place in my mind, the mind that’s only ever known the rundown streets of California it grew up on. Without thought, my lashes droop down as my mind works to repaint the imagery in my brain where I can store it forever. I inhale deeply through my nose, taking in the warm May air.


“Here’s fine,” Michael’s soft mumble startles me, reminding me of his presence as he comes to stand behind me, wrapping his long arms the width of my slight frame and pressing my back to him. He lowers his lips to the smooth, freckled skin of my left shoulder and begins placing gentle butterfly kisses along the flesh.


I sigh and reach behind to secure my arms around his neck, my fingers intertwining themselves in the jet black forest of his curls, never opening my eyes. We don’t do much for a while. Just stand there holding one another in the gentle night breeze while he places slow, loving kisses along my neck. I take some time to marvel at the utter strength and physicality of his body behind mine, the sturdiness in the willowy frame and wiry boyhood muscles of my husband. As his arms tighten and envelop me more heavily in their clutch, pressing my back to his hardened chest, my bottom to his stiffening erection, I notice how wholly content I feel in this moment. I’ve never felt so safe in my life. Here, in his grip…it’s like my father never left. Like my best friend never betrayed me. Like my purity was never tainted by too many dirty hands to count.


It’s like I’m home. And I never left.


“I love you, Asha…” murmurs Michael, releasing one arm from around me so that he can push my wild mane of hair to one side and focus his kisses on the other side of my neck. I suck my lip in and tilt my head for him, encouraging his tender action.


Suddenly pushing away, he releases his hold on me but before I can let my dismay be known, he seizes hold of my arms at the elbows, keeping me steady as his mouth finds the top portion of my back just below my neck. He begins to place slow, openmouthed kisses along my shoulders and that spot, making his way all over the area before moving down. Once he’s certain that I’m not going anywhere, he releases one of my arms and brings his hand (gosh, his palms are so huge) to the nape of my neck…where it proceeds to run a strict course down the protruding outline of my spine, gradually claiming and reserving rights to my body as it glides the length of my back, his mouth unhurriedly following in its wake.


My frame racks with a repressed shudder as the anticipation in every nerve mounts and heightens to ungodly elevations. It’s like he’s grabbing hold of my existence with each painstaking kiss and knotting it around his waist just to illustrate his ownership of my being, a mild reminder of who’s really in control. It’s stimulating and arousing in a way that only he’s capable of enforcing. My lips part in a soundless gasp as his probing hand and mouth come to the base of my backbone. He responds the sudden conclusion of spine by taking that slow-crawling hand and tightly ensnaring my waist with it (his other still firmly clutching my elbow) while simultaneously poking out his tongue and running it leisurely back up the path his hand and kisses had just carved out moments earlier.


“Michael…” I whisper, his name the only safety I can see in the frightening storm now raging in my body. So I call it. And I keep calling it, maybe hoping that this helpless feeling he’s producing inside will somehow flee my system upon hearing it. “Michael…”


“Shh…” He whispers, concluding the wet trail at the top of my neck where he goes on to kiss and massage the skin just below my hairline with his lips and tongue. “I got you, girl.”


I inhale and tighten at his breathy response, reminding me of those far off days where he used to reassure me of everything from his friendship to my security with that exact phrase. And the crazy thing? It used to work. Every time.


Suddenly, the slow-crawling hand that had since engaged on my hipbone comes easing back up my back again, the heat radiating from his fingertips stinging like fire on my sensitive skin. The weirdest thing happens this time, though. As it roams back up my backbone, it applies a gentle pressure along the way, slowly encouraging my body to bend at the will of his hand, so that in a matter of moments, I find myself—quite unconsciously—grasping the handles of the armchair in front of me, my legs straightened, my back curved…Kind of like a lowercase “r”.


“Good girl…” Michael mumbles approvingly and it’s weird and kind of embarrassing how proud his approval makes me feel. The same glowing feeling I used to get when I would answer a question correctly in class and my teacher would shoot me an appreciative smile. He’s my teacher and I’m his willing student. Yet another sign of my sick obsession with this man. Sigh.


He returns my thoughts to their rightful place and ensures that they don’t stray again when he bends down himself, large hands trapping my hips firmly as he touches his lips to my lower back, gently massaging the skin with his mouth. I can’t bite back the moan that bubbles in my throat releasing itself into the warm night air. It’s all I can do to keep from turning around, cursing foreplay and all who indulge in it, and attacking him like I did earlier. Before I can make myself act on the impulse however, Michael’s dropped to a single knee and has shifted the direction of his kisses even lower, his lips brushing along the soft skin of my ass.


My brows shoot up just as my mouth drops in astonishment. This is so…intimate. The tender thought makes my lower muscles clench and my heartbeat pound in my chest all at once. My fingers flex around the iron handles of the chair.


“Spread your legs, baby.” Michael directs gently, pausing in his pecking of my rear cheeks to tap the backs of my thighs instructionally.


I do as he says and widen my stance considerably.


“That’s my girl…” He praises, placing his hands on my thighs and running them back up to my ass, where he proceeds to cup a decent amount of flesh in each hand, alternating between massages and gentle openmouthed kisses.


Again the satisfied feeling that accompanies his compliment. And again my inner muscles spasm in happiness. I’d do just about anything to make him proud. It’s the oddest feeling. My thoughts are interrupted by my own gasp and moan as Michael abruptly places his mouth in the crease of my cheeks, poking his tongue out and running it along my perennial area. I cry out and shiver, my hands clenching harshly around the handles of the armchair. His only response is to pull away and scatter light kisses all over my ass cheeks again before returning right back to the gap that separates them and dragging his tongue along the groove, gliding cleanly over my anal opening and back down again. He groans into the space, bringing his hands to the underside of my bottom and spreading me open with his thumbs.


“Oh my baby…my delicious babygirl…” He sighs out, his voice strained as he inhales deeply, taking in the scent of my now blatant arousal and savoring it. I can hear each intake of breath. It turns me on like nothing else. “C’mere, sweetheart…”


I suck my lip in and squint my eyes shut, releasing a high whimper as he again licks my perineum and anal opening before pressing his thumbs a little harder and therefore spreading me open a little wider for him to do what he wants next. Catching me off guard with his abruptness, Michael places a hot openmouthed kiss on the center of my womanhood, letting his facial lips linger longingly on my vaginal lips as he does. I begin to whine, my hips twisting and pushing against his face as my aching clitoris searches for contact. As if reading my thoughts, Michael bends his head a little more until the rough, damp pad of his tongue is stroking firmly the hard bead of my sensitive area.


“Uhh, Michael!” I scream out, tossing my head back and thrusting my ass towards his face even as he tightens his hold on my hips and begins sliding his tongue into me. I groan and whimper, backing into his mouth as he runs his tongue along the drenched aperture of my vagina, gathering the surplus of raining arousal and moaning his contentment with the flavor. “Oh Michael…Ugh baby, your tongue is…so good…”


“You taste so sweet, girl.” He compliments, inserting his tongue deep into me once more, swirling it around my pulsing wet walls before withdrawing and licking up towards my anal opening again. “…So sweet…two perfect holes…mine…both of ‘em…”


I don’t even know all he’s talking about as he continues to mumble while alternately licking and tongue-fucking me. All I know is that by the time he starts ruthlessly sucking on my clitoris; I know I won’t survive to see tomorrow. He continues flicking his tongue roughly against the hard bud even while he inserts a finger I didn’t see coming, slipping it easily between my folds and going knuckle deep into my wetness. I cry out his name, causing a few observant birds to flutter away, abandoning their post on the ledge in search of a much more tranquil resting place.


“Mm, sweetheart…” Michael groans, unhesitant in adding a second finger and watching them shove into me, my juices glistening on his digits and dripping down his wrist as I watch from between my legs in my bowed position. He suctions my clitoris hard once more before raising his head to circle his tongue around my tight, un-penetrated second hole. I moan and whine as he does, rocking my ass into his mouth while simultaneously bouncing my moist slit on his fingers as best I can. It’s getting to be much too much too fast.


“Look at this gorgeous little hole,” He mumbles awed and I feel a thick wad of spit drip into my anal canal before sliding down the crack towards my currently fingered and occupied womanhood. “Geez…I wish I could take it now…”


He suddenly dips the tip of his tongue into my second hole, groaning and ramming his two fingers knuckle deep into my first one and leaving them resting in there for a bit while he curls and twists them inside. I scream some dirty curse and try not to twist and wiggle so much against him as that amplifies the sensation to almost unbearable heights. He takes his free hand and runs it up the back of my thigh towards my bum, up, up, up…until he reaches his new favorite opening where his tongue still lingers, poking and prodding the gap. His free hand leaves my skin for a second…before I feel it right back on me. It’s wet. Like he’s just sucked on his fingers. Why? I don’t kno—


“Arrgghhh!”


He suddenly slips the tip of his other index finger right into the taut opening of my anal gate. I scream out and scrunch my eyes close, digging my fingers into the iron handles that are holding my weight for me even while my husband works to break me entirely. Currently I have two steadily coiling fingers stuffed tight up my vagina, my juices sopping and drenching down his wrist, and one very probing finger wedging itself into the awfully tensed hole of my ass, all the while as he kisses and licks my cheeks, mumbling and muttering praises and obscenities alike in his excitement. Yeah…I can’t take anymore.


“Aww Gooddd!! Fuck, Michael!” With a scream that carries through the still air, I let loose; pouring down and soaking his hand with nature’s flavor in my climatic nirvana.


My body spasms and shutters like it never has before, my hands burning like fire from the strength with which I clutch the iron chair handles, begging them to keep me upright. My walls pulse and throb and strum, quivering and embracing his fingers with no clear intention of ever releasing them. He keeps his other index stuck inside my ass, it having sunk deeper with the distraction my orgasm caused and continues to cause. Suddenly, Michael decides he’s ready for me and—without waiting for my orgasm to die down in the least (I’m still shuddering and spasming like an epileptic)—he somehow frees his fingers from my straightjacket-hold and replaces the unsatisfying emptiness with a long, thick piece of human flesh, ramming himself into me and stuffing me completely with his solid erection.


“Good God, girl!” He groans, seizing my hip with his free hand and using it to steady me as he begins a relentless hammering into my quivering, juicing opening. He shoves himself into me with a brutish carelessness, making it clear that he’s about endured all he could without fucking me straight on. “Jesus Christmas! So…fucking…tight. Damn...it all!”


I can’t even worry about what the hell he’s cursing about. I’m too busy having what I’m sure is a mini heart-attack here. I scream and whimper, my eyes watering as the orgasms keep piling on, multiple bursts of color and thunder that keep rocketing from the nerves of my vagina again and again; they just won’t fucking stop! I’m half crying, half-moaning on a high of pure ecstasy as he rocks into me with ruthless abandon. His finger twists and thrusts into my anal opening to the same rhythm his penis works my vaginal canal, pushing and pulling with a constant might that always defies him. He even brings his free hand down in an almighty slap that catches me entirely off guard and jars yet another orgasm out of me.


Dammit, I can’t…How is he doing this to me? This is too freaking much…for one person…to handle…Damn him!


Just as my legs turn to complete jelly and I’m sure I can’t take another thrust, my grip on the chair the only real thing keeping me upright, Michael lifts me off my feet and carries me over to the long, white-cushioned bench not too far away from us. He pulls out of me but it’s for so short a time I barely feel the change. He simply withdraws long enough to rest my back on the patio bench and climb on top of me. I can barely manage a reaction other than a feeble whimper of pleasure as he guides himself back into my thoroughly used sex.


Looking down on me with the most adoring expression I might have ever seen grace the perpetual world-weary visage, Michael places a hand on my cheek and never relents the intensity of his look as he slowly continues our dance. Wrapping my legs around him, I encourage him to sink deeply into me, aching for the feel of him far inside my being. I reach my hand up and cup his cheek, causing him to open his eyes so that I can look into the bottomless pits of them and search out each immeasurable bit of heartbreak he’s attained over the years and maybe somehow back it down with this one look of unpolluted fidelity, the likes of which he’s never known before. Might never know again.


“I…love you…so much,” I gasp, arching my back and tilting my head as he circles his hips slowly, grinding our bodies together in the most intimate fashion. “God, I love you…Michael, I’ve never…loved anyone…but you. My whole life…Just you.”


“Oh, girl,” He bites his trembling lip as though he’s ashamed of its falter and instead buries his face in my neck, hiding from his feelings, hiding from the fears he can’t stop himself from feeling and that he’s too ashamed to tell me of just yet. He puts his face in my neck and he conceals himself from this horrible world for just a little while.


And I let him. Because that’s what I’ve wanted to give him since the moment we met. A place to hide. I’ve dreamed of being his shelter for so long. And unlike in the past where he relied on a woman not quite authentic in her melodic arms…he knows where to run now. He knows I can conceal him when he’s afraid to face the world. My arms can make him invisible.


“I love you…” He murmurs into my collarbone, whispered so raw it almost sounds sad. Ashamed that he doesn’t think it’s good enough even now. I probably deserve more than this small devotion, but it’s all he can give. He doesn’t know, though. He doesn’t understand that it’s more than I ever wanted. His hips thrust slowly and extensively, rocking us into a soothing dream where he’s my husband and I’m his wife. For eternity. “I love you, Asha Jackson…I love all of you…Uhhh...”


His gluteal muscles flex and hold beneath my legs as he gives one final thrust deep into the depths of me and comes undone. I tighten my legs around his hips and pull him down for a slow, sobering kiss that levitates us and sends us far away from this place of shallow people and unhealable wounds. I can feel a few of his tears drip beneath my fingers as I hold his cheeks, just as I’m sure he can feel the same as he holds mine. We kiss; tongues and lips gently grazing one another as he empties himself into me once again, liquid forms of his love flowing into my body and linking us by merely yet another means.


We continue to kiss as our chests heave quietly against one another, the warm night breeze playing with his hair and tickling our tangled limbs. It’s the unobtainable perfection captured, I’m certain.

 

& & &

“Hey. Asha?” Michael’s soft timid voice reaches up to capture my attention even as I lazily concede to sleep.


“’Mm?” I mumble, sighing and tightening my arms around his head. We lay on the white-cushioned bench we finished out the night on half an hour earlier. We’ve been lying here since we ended, saying nothing but implying everything. His chest rests contentedly on the quiet rise-and-fall of my small breasts, his arms encircling my slender frame and keeping me warm with his body-heat. One of his hands absently traces over my baby bump, lovingly stroking our fetus with his fingertips. Our legs remain a tangle of naked limbs that begin and end in directions that the eye can’t follow well enough to separate. The weather’s perfect out, warm and fine. There’s no need to rush back in just yet. It’s cozy right here. Intimate. I especially like how his heartbeat vibrates against my sternum, perfectly matching the pitch and speed of my own lazy strum.


Nothing beats bathing in the afterglow of a wonderful honeymoon with your husband…I smile slightly in my doze.


“I just wanted to tell you something before you fall asleep,” His voice is really quiet. Reminding me of that boyish uncertainty he sometimes summons on occasions where the impenetrable defense mechanisms give out and the vulnerable abused boy peaks his head round to see all that’s occurred since he last disappeared. It catches my attention. Makes me wonder what fear is eating at him this time and when he’ll let me in on it.


“Hmm?” Sadly, it’s all I can manage. I’m exhausted. It’s been a long day, pregnant or not.


“I want to tell you…” He pauses for a second. Then whispers quietly, “I’m really sorry.”


This gets my attention. Frowning some, I murmur, “…For what?”


“Just for the mistakes I haven’t made yet. Sometime I don’t say it when I should. I have a lot of pride. But I just thought…well, I think you should know I always mean it, even when I’m too stubborn to admit it. There’s never a second where I’m not sorry for hurting you. I want you to know that.”


“I know,” I yawn; sleep falling on me now like a weight. I can’t fight it anymore. It’s got me. “I always…know, Michael.”


He quiets for a while. Then he kisses my shoulder, intertwines our fingers and says nothing else for a long time. I’m only partially awake when he murmurs, “That makes me really happy you do.”





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