"Why do you hate me?" you ask. You purposely squeezed your legs around his waist and run a hand through his hair. "Tell me, baby. What is it that you hate about me?" When you see his eyes become visibly darker, you smirk, but bite your lip to hold it back.
Michael kisses you, postponing answering the question. His hands, knowing they can't stay in one spot, roam your body, establishing his rightful affection for you through his fingertips. He backs away from the wall, forcing his hands to rest under your bum to support you. With a thick stream of rage whirling around you, he wastes no time rushing to his bedroom.
Before the kiss got too heated, you pull away and swiftly peel his shirt off. Dropping it on the floor, you let Michael open the door to his bedroom before resuming the kiss. Michael's kisses have always been your drug. Even after he cheated on you, you craved them. Nothing can separate you from Michael, and nothing can detach Michael from you. You're like each other's air supply, your source of life. Without one another, you're basically nonexistent.
"Answer me," you beg against his lips. Michael sighs into your mouth, in hopes of catching his breath. You're fighting for your own air as it is, but you don't care. What you really need is Michael. "Why do you hate me?"
"I hate you because..." he starts, ripping the kiss apart to lay you down on the bed. Your arms wrap around his neck and play with the hair at the nape of his neck, hoping your actions pressure Michael into answering you. Your lips touch, and you hear Michael moan, as if that simple act was enough to drive him crazy. Finally, unwilling to handle your teasing, he responds,"you're all I think about. I hate you because we didn't have sex for months, yet you always found a way to make me want you."
Your hands travel down his back, tracing his spine until you reach his jeans. "Oh, really?" you tease, propelling you to hook your fingers in the belt loops. Michael nods, not waiting for your response and skimming his lips past yours. Instead of kissing your lips, he swoops down to your neck and, though he remembers where your sweet spot is, he ignores it. His hand moves the hair away from your neck to allow him more access. With a smile, he sucks and nips at your neck, forming love bites wherever possible.
To hold back a moan, you draw in a sharp intake of air. Your hands, trembling from the exposed passion projecting all around his room, rake up his back. Eventually, they reach his shoulder blades, and you settle for digging your nails into his hot skin. "I hate you because I cheated on you, and all I thought about was you. All I thought about was how no one loves me better than you do, and I hate that," Michael explains into the sensitive skin of your neck. Admitting that you no longer can hold it back, you moan. Your chilled skin meshes with his fevered skin, getting a louder reaction out of you. Soon afterwards, goosebumps course down your body, head-to-toe. "You make me want you so fucking much, and I hate that."
"I want you, Michael. I want you so bad," you groan, impatiently running your hands down his body to reach his jeans once more. Michael, satisfied with the copious amount of hickeys he's marked you with, begins to lick down your torso. Just when he reaches your bra, you manage to unbutton his jeans. After kicking his jeans off, his hands curve your back into an arch. When he gets full access to your bra, he unclasps it and tears it off of you.
His hungry eyes admire you, leaning down to kiss you. Eagerly, he kisses every soft feature of your face before reaching back down to your chest. Michael resumes where he left off, trailing more kisses down your body. When he reached just above your bellybutton, he kisses circles around it as he fiddles with the button of your jeans. Undoing it within seconds, he aides you in peeling them off. Because of his impatience, the process of taking them off was reduced considerably.
Your jeans join his on the floor, and at the quiet thud, Michael practically rips your panties right off too. Before inching closer to your throbbing core, he slings your legs over his shoulders. With a smirk, he admires your sex. "Damn, baby, who knew I could make you this wet," he remarks, a low laugh slipping past his lips. His tongue pokes out of his mouth and scrapes up your folds. Your juices trickle down his throat, and he smiles. "I forgot how beautiful your pussy is." He licks his lips, keeping his dark stare on you.
You groan as your high level of rage increases dramatically, mostly because of how impatient you are. To encourage him to make his move, your hands tangle in his hair and bring him closer to your heat. "P- Please, Michael," you plead. Another loud whimper escapes your lips as his crisp breath fans over you.
"Oh, baby, you're begging for me now? A few months ago, you weren't," Michael retaliates. At his words, his tongue slips in between your folds and calmly licks up and down, but not taking any real action.
"I need you, Michael. Please... I- I'm sorry," you say, deciding that if you apologize - though it's an empty apology - Michael will do what you've missed for months.
"You were never this needy when we were dating..." Michael points out, chuckling at this discovery.
