"A trial run?" I asked skeptically as I leaned back against the couch cushions, my phone pressed to my ear.
"A trial run." Michael repeated, his accent thick.
I sighed, considering his offer. It had been two weeks since our talk in my living room and I was adamant about wanting to end things. Well, I didn't want to end things, I was just afraid. Michael had been quick to remind me of that whenever doubts began to creep in.
I had to admit that I was impressed by his dedication and determination. Ever since our midnight encounter he'd texted me every morning and called me every night. It didn't matter if he was with his friends or out and about, he still managed to call me every night just as I was winding down from the day. I hated that he was constantly catching me off guard, but even more than that I hated how much I actually liked it.
Michael actually paid attention to what I had to say. He listened to me rant about politics for nearly an hour on Tuesday night and spent last night allowing me to educate him on all things Kardashian. It didn't matter what I talked about. He listened.
"And what does this trial run consist of?" I asked. I had to admit that my curiosity was officially piqued.
Michael laughed and the sound wrapped around me like the softest silk. I pressed my thighs together, trying to take a deep breath and relax. Whether he was fucking me, talking, or laughing, he turned me on. I prayed that he didn't know just what he did to my body, but that was a useless prayer considering the things I let him do to me on my living room floor.
"It simply consists of you accompanying me to dinner on Saturday night. You'll, of course, wear something sexy and I'll look dashing. You'll swoon."
"Oh, is that all?"
"Aside from ending the night with me buried inside you so fucking deep it hurts, yes. That's it."
I gasped and immediately pressed a hand to my mouth, hoping that Michael didn't hear the sound. But of course he did. When would the universe ever be on my side?
"You think that sounds good, Y/N? Ending the night with my cock inside you and my hands around that pretty throat."
I grabbed a throw pillow and pressed it against my face, my thighs clenching. I wanted to agree with him, laugh, cry, scream at him for ruining me. That's what Michael Gray had done, he'd ruined me for every other man because I knew- I fucking knew- that whoever came into my life next wouldn't even compare to him.
Who was I thinking about first thing in the morning? Michael Gray.
When I had a bad day at work who did I want to call? MIchael Gray.
When I was touching myself at night who was I wishing it was? Michael fucking Gray.
"Love?"
I lowered the pillow to my lap, Michael's voice pulling me from my thoughts. "Huh?"
His laugh was dark. "Tell me what you were thinking about then."
"What? No, I wasn't thinking about anything."
"Bullshit."
"Look at you finally picking up on some American slang."
"Look at you evading the question."
Sighing, I leaned back against the cushions. It should have pissed me off that even through the phone Michael could read me like an open book. But it was oddly comforting. Over the last few months, he'd really gotten to know me. Not my fake, always smiling and never complaining self. But me. The woman who hated when people chew with their mouth open and the woman who occasionally did coke at three pm on a Friday afternoon just because she could. Michael saw my imperfections and he still came back for more.
