than you can," Michael says. "Now that you're here, why don't I show you I can love you right, love you like you deserve to be loved?
"Don't love me, Michael," you reject, your voice small and scratchy. Just as Michael's hands reach out for you, you flinch backwards. "I don't need your love. You lost my love as soon as your lips touched another woman's lips."
"Are you saying you don't love me just so you can convince yourself that you don't? Are you just ignoring that you still love me and telling me you don't love me because you think it'll steer me away? If you do, you're wrong. You're so fucking wrong, babe," he counters. A smirk twitches on his lips, showing no sign of fear as he approaches you. His hands travel down your chilled arms, every finger creating it's own burning trail on your skin. Once they reach your wrists, his fingers curl around them.
"M- Michael..." you begin, ready to defend yourself. However, you can't. You can't defend yourself. You have nothing to defend.
"See? You can't even stand up to me because you know I'm right," he says. His grip on your wrists tighten as he speaks. "You still love me. You never got over me. Hell, you probably didn't even want to break up with me."
"You don't know that," you growl, willingly moving closer to him.
"Oh, I don't? Then why are you here? Why are you in my house, asking about why I cheated on you? Why are trying to tell me you don't love me when you can barely convince yourself you don't?" Michael urges, making the blood streaming recklessly through your veins start to boil.
"I came here because I wanted a reason to hate you!" you shout, causing Michael to slam your back against the nearest wall. He secures your arms on either side of you, his grip preventing you from moving.
"Oh, really?" he rasps. "Did you get what you came for, sweetheart? Do you have a reason to hate me now?"
"Yes," is all you say. The smirk on his face grows, only angering you more.
"What's the reason? Why do you hate me, babe? Tell me," he banters. His lips brush past yours as he waits for your answer.
"I hate you because I love you. I love you so fucking much, and I hate that," you reply. Unable to hold back the temptation, you smash your lips into his. This catches him off-guard, and he doesn't have time to recompose himself because you pull away. "I hate that you cheated on me, and I hate that I love you just as much as I did before you cheated. But do you know what I hate the most, Michael? Do you?"
"What? What do you hate the most?" he asks, his voice low and raspy.
"I hate that I forgive you for cheating on me," you breathe out. Michael laughs, though it's not as bright and cheery as it usually is. This time, it's dark. It's angry, which only furthers the justification of your anger. In a blur of infuriation and passion, your lips crash into his; his body presses yours against the wall, leaving you completely breathless. You kiss back and tug at his hair, twisting the ends in between your fingers.
Michael, managing to never break the kiss, bends down to get a secure grip on your thighs. He lifts you in the air, encouraging your legs to weave around his waist. Afterwards, his hands glide up and down your back until they reach your bum. He gives it a squeeze, hoping it'd surprise you. However, you stubbornly keep your mouth closed so his tongue has no entrance.
Getting impatient, just like you knew he would, he slips his hands under your shirt and rakes his fingernails up the sides of your body. A sharp pain is left behind on your skin as the numbing trail comes to an end. You gasp at the unwelcomed sensation, allowing Michael to seize the moment.
His tongue slips into your mouth, already winning a short-lived battle. With every eager smack of your lips, he discovers a new area inside your mouth. Seeing as his hands are right at the underwire of your bra, Michael helps you tug your shirt off. Your lips tore apart in order to do so, which was a weird feeling for you. It seemed as if your and Michael's were glued to each other, never meant to be broken apart. When your lips did leave each other, it left you craving more.
He throws your shirt off to his right, leaving it to rest on the couch. "I hate you, too, baby," he says as the empty void increasing the distance between your lips created an overwhelming amount of tension.
