Have you ever wondered what would Michael Jackson's life look like if some events didn't happen to him? If he had someone he trusted by his side through everything? Someone that had the power to save him from his tormented life?
Hayley "Brit" Thame...
A/N: hey guys, I'm sorry for the wait but I was on vacation and I had job interviews so I didn't have much time to write! But here is chapter fifty three, I hope you'll love it!
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I
opened my eyes slowly, one after the other. The sun was coming through the curtains of the hotel suite, letting me know morning was here; the first morning of nineteen ninety two. My back was against Michael's chest, allowing me to feel his warmth against my body, and his arm was around me. I took his hand that was on my belly, and brought it to my mouth to lay a kiss on top of it before I hugged it against my chest.
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A smile slowly appeared on my face as flashbacks of the before dawn hours played in my head. How Michael undressed me with his eyes before he actually did with his hands, how his eyes filled with desire when he laid eyes on my lingerie. I remembered the feeling of having Michael's hands on my naked body, how strong yet gentle his grip on my hips was. His eyes were candles in the night, and their light a spark of passion.
At first, I could feel he was holding back. His whole body seemed tensed, and he was obviously nervous.
"Look at me," I told him a bit out of breath, as he was hovering me. I cupped his face in my hands, and looked deep into his eyes. "Neither of us is new to this. This isn't something I haven't done before. I'm ready. Are you?"
"It's been a while since I have been there. I—I'm afraid I might do something wrong, and hurt you, or—"
"Shh," I hushed him, putting my finger over his lips while propping on my other elbow. "You're not going to hurt me. It's actually the opposite," I whispered, inching closer to his lips. I gently slid my hand all the way down to his belt and started unbuckling it. "Relax, it's going to be fine. It's just you and me," I tried to reassure him softly, as I threw his belt on the floor. I kissed the side of his neck sensually, as his breathing quickened at my love treatment.
"You know this part of my body... my vitiligo didn't spare it," he said in barely audible shameful voice.
"I know, and I don't care. You're still the sexiest man I've ever met," I told him, and through the not completely dark room, I caught sight of a little smile appearing on his face. I kissed his jaw and then found my way back to his mouth. "Now tell me, are you ready?" I asked before I gently bit his bottom lip.
"Yeah, I think I am," he answered in a more confident tone, before he pushed me back against the mattress gently.
I smiled as images and feelings of Michael and I making love came back within me. How every touch sent electricity through my whole body, how every tongue-laced kiss made my heart and stomach flutter with happiness and desire, and how every moan of pleasure became melody to my ears. Michael was always shy and insecure about his looks, but when I managed to show him that all I cared was him as a whole, a new man appeared in front of me: a confident one.
