1994

mature content!

I tried to forget him. I really tried. But forgetting him was nearly impossible when he was omnipresent, like God Himself infiltrating the entirety of my surroundings, his name sounding mockingly at the corner of every street, the turning of every road.

"We have him," the world seemed to shout, "we have him, and you lost him." I had indeed lost him. If it wasn't our ugly parting a year ago, then it was the way he bitterly told me to leave some seven months earlier, after picking me up from the street like a Goddamn stray dog. It had been an odd few months, passing like a mere second in the drowsiness of everyday life, days gliding into nights and nights into days. Without him life was bleak, but Michael had been right in saying that I myself had asked for it. Wasn't it I that heeded the call? That packed bags and send him the divorce papers not a day later? And thus, here I was, heading to work in my loneliness in the hot city of New York, a bleak sun colouring everything a certain greyness. I touched the significantly empty ring finger as if to remind myself, cruelly so. It indeed was the only thing I went by now, as the woman who was once married to Michael Jackson but divorced him not two years later. I regretted it as much as the next person, but never in my life would I admit to that, for pride was one of my many vices. And as I walked to the lawyers office, it was the first time in many weeks, months even, that I truly felt heartbroken, longing for the simplicity of his embrace. Was it the young couple I saw from across the street? The faint whisper of his song that I had stuck in my head? Or a signalling of some sort..?
I curtly greeted my assistant, who was already awaiting with a hot cup of coffee. Irish, that is. She and I laughed at everyone who thought I had an addiction to caffeine. Well, I did.

"Schedule, today, Ms. Rhodes?"

The thinly girl, obedient yet not meek, hastily followed.

"At nine we have a meeting with a corporate faculty. They said until ten thirty, but we didn't plan anything after, seeing as you said that they—"
"Drag everything out endlessly. Yes, very keen, Rhodes."

We rushed past the business of the place, colleagues frantically discussing politics and assistants panicking at getting done what needed to be done.

"At one there's a short staff meeting, mister Lennarts wanted updates on the progression of the cases..."
"Bleugh!"
"Then you will have from two 'til four to do some work on that pro bono file. Then there's a new client coming at four thirty."
"God, so late?"

We had arrived at my office, and planting my belongings on my desk I turned around on my heels.

"And what's this persons name?"

Rhodes searched her files, pushing the thick frames of her glasses back on her nose.

"Uh, one J. Nicholas, ma'am."

I frowned. Something rang familiar, but I couldn't quite place it.

"Know the man?" My assistant asked, noticing my confusion, but I shook my head.

"No, I don't think so. Well," and I clapped my hands together, "let's get to work! Only ten minutes until those Godawful whiny beans will step in."

Thankfully, it was busy day, fighting the pesticide of humanity and taking notes of it, too. I wasn't the most conventional lawyer, but that didn't make me bad one. Everything went according to plan and I felt satisfied, my succes filling a little of the emptiness I felt within me. But I was on a thin line with patience, and when the last client simply refused to show up at four thirty, I cursed like a sailor, stomping around the reception with my assistant trodding in my wake.

"Who the hell does he think he is? He's gonna have to pay for this, literally," and I warningly put up my finger for no one in particular,  "that's going to be four hundred and twenty five dollars in ten minutes, sir. Double that, no, triple that after I make sure he will explain in explicit fucking detail whatever he has to say. Take allllll the time you need sir, I have the whole day!"

The office was nearly empty now, and even Rhodes was packing her stuff, not believing that this Nicholas guy was going to show up at all. She exchanged her glasses for some sunnies and shared in my annoyance.

"Let me know how long you plan to wait here, ma'am. I will send him the bill with a thank you note."

I nodded, but just then, one of the clerks gestured widely to me from across the room.

"What?" I called out loud, not caring for his diplomacy.
"Uh, I believe he's here, that client..."
"Where? My office?"

The man nodded.

"How the hell did that happen?"

"Went through the back. Don't ask why."

Signalling to Rhodes it was ok for her to leave, I walked, nearly ran, to make sure the clerk had been right. I flung open my door, the flower dress (no, not very conventional indeed) swinging behind me like a cape.

"And just whatever we're you thinking making me wait—"

I stopped. Froze in my tracks. My breath caught in my throat. A clammy, cold grasping my heart, along with a bittersweet sensation of joy.

It was him. Was it indeed him? I walked around my desk to make sure, but there he was, sitting on the chair with his legs neatly crossed, tapping his fingers against his knee. His short hair was the first thing I noticed.

"Jimmy Nicholas. Now I know where I recognised it from."

It was one of the pseudonyms he used. For hotels, for buying, even for supposed prescription drugs. He didn't acknowledge my remark, but simply gazed at me, so I sat down.

"Are you here professionally?" I asked, rather dumbly. He thought so too, and started laughing, but  not in a humorous fashion. Shaking his head, he gazed out of the window.

"No. I'm not here professionally."

It was all he said, but hearing his voice seemed to trigger something inside me, deeply, something I thought I had buried long ago. The heartbrokenness of this morning returned, like a gulf of sickness, hammering on the door of my heart as an unwanted guest. I knew why he was here, then. And a spark of hope enlightened within the fortress I had so carefully built up the last few months.

"I haven't been doing so well, Y/N. And, even though you don't look the part," and his gaze, still focused on somewhere outside, softened a little, "I know you haven't been doing so well either."

He stated it matter-of-factly, and I let him do it. He wasn't a client, after all, but, I coldly noticed, it wasn't that different from an initial consultation. He had something to say and I listened.

"I suspect you thought it would be different. Leaving me, I mean. I suspect you thought it would be the same as before we met, don't you?" It had been a rhetorical question, and he certainly didn't want me to speak up just yet.

"Well, I don't think I have to tell you that that was in vain. It was foolish leaving me, Y/N. Incredibly so. I thought you were a wise woman, but you may have only deceived me into thinking you are. Just as it was foolish expecting a conventional marriage with me. Because I believe that that's what you thought it would be. That you had changed me, made the superstar settle down. The small-town girl  saviour," he glanced at me, looked at me up and down, "it makes me sick thinking you're capable of these...these fucking fantasies."

He visibly gulped, regaining the coldness in his eyes.

"That's not what it was. That's not what it was. We married, because...because...because we were made to love each other. I cannot be...because I can't exist without you. Don't you see? That's all that there's to it. All it ever was. God, you're the blood running through my veins, woman. Don't ask me to change anything. Don't ask me to love you any differently. If you would, you would deny the entirety of my being."

He fell silent. His eyes fixed on the edge of my desk. Hands clasped like fists in his lap. And for the first time, in my life, dare I say, I realised that I had hurt him. Deeply. But he had hurt me just as much. The silence became quite overwhelming, with the clicking off the clock and the last colleague leaving the building. When the door audibly closed, I scraped my throat.

"I'm not asking you to change anymore. I've learned my lesson."

I looked him in the eyes, and he found that intimidating, I could sense it.

"All I'm asking is that you respect me the way I respect you."

Again, he swallowed. There was such an attraction between us, but at the same time a tough tension that was hard to break. Anger needed some outlet, but how?

"Have I given you any reason to think I don't respect you?" His voice had been just as cold as mine.

I lowered the corners of my mouth, nodding sarcastically. The warmness of my last coffee was filling my stomach gently and made my heart shudder a bit.

"Hm, let me think. Well, I think I've explained that plenty of times, apparently your memory doesn't serve as it once used to."

Michael let out a frustrated sigh, standing up from his chair to show his anger. He pointed at me a finger like I had just done in the lobby — a nasty habit I had learned from, I was afraid.

"Don't get smart with me, don't you dare!"

I didn't change composure, wanting to tease him more then anything else. But I knew, sitting there in my chair with my eyebrows raised and my cheeks sucked in, where it would all lead eventually. Give it five minutes. Four. Michael stomped around the desk and towered over me...

"I said something, Jesus, answer me!"

His eyes were dark now, and it wasn't just the make-up he was wearing. They got like this only in anger, which wasn't often, for he usually had great patience. But with me, not so much. He had his strong jaws clenched, his military jacket falling open thanks to his rushed behaviour. I saw his chest heaving through the fitted t-shirt, and liked the sight. Two minutes, less even, now. I sat against the back of the chair and crossed my arms, and now it was my turn to look outside the window. It wasn't even two minutes, for he already rushed over to me, pulling my head back to face him. The tight pull he had on my hair hurt, but it didn't matter.

"I just confessed my love for you, woman, can't you see I burn for you? Well, I have to get a reaction out of you somehow!"

And then he kissed me, his hot mouth completely covering mine, biting more then caressing. He stayed like this for a moment, maybe unsure of what to do next, but most likely simply wanting to dwell for a moment in something we had not done in more then a year. I felt myself weakening, my armour vanishing and becoming limp at feeling that presence again, the undeniable knowledge of what was to come, because there was no returning now.

This was how it was supposed to be.

"Michael," I sighed against his lips, hanging by his arms, "Michael, please take me. Here. Right here."

He didn't say anything, for his voice would tremble, I was sure of it. Instead, he raised me, quite roughly so, then pressed the entirety of my body against him, kissing and feeling me everywhere through the thin fabric of the dress. As if he was checking if it was still the same, and it was, burning and warm, still there only for him, untouched by anyone else. The warmth between my legs pressed against his thigh, and he suggestively raised me a little, making me arch my back. Our kisses were sloppy and loose, all over the place, wanting nothing more then to engulf each other with our desires.

"I can't wait, Y/N, I'm sorry," he eventually sighed, and I nodded.

Still pressed against him, he pushed the things on my desk aside, not so fast, gently even. It was quiet, the way he did things, not wanting to seem overeager, but the hardness I felt pressing against me certainly didn't facilitate him. Laying me down, it was I myself who pulled down my panties, as if to say that it was okay, that he needn't be ashamed, that I wanted him just as he wanted me. He looked down at me, noticing my eagerness to please him, viewing the nakedness of my lower body in his sight and he lowered himself over me, kissing my face as he fiddled with his pants.

"I've never wanted you so bad, y/n. I don't think it'll take long."

I felt some wetness against my cheek, and wondered if it were tears, and while I was contemplating, he pushed inside of me, gliding smoothly and quickly and I cried out. Pain and lust were hard to distinguish. He put his hand over my mouth, making sure I was to stay silent in case there was still someone in one of the offices. I myself felt tears stinging in my eyes, pulling up my legs when his free hand roamed my breasts, after having pulled down the dress to expose them. I felt like a cheap whore, his personal escort, lying like this for him, and wondered why the thought didn't disgust me. He could've done anything to me, made me his slave, and I would have obliged — he sensed it too, feeling the wetness I had for him and urging him on. There was a strange feeling in which we both wanted to be as dirty as we could, wanting only the very core of lovemaking, which was to climax, a hundred times if necessary. It felt wonderful and anxious, too, to be together again after so many months, as if just now we found half of ourselves again... And so he quickened his pace when he noticed I felt the same as he, now only focusing on his movement when he pulled my waist to him, my legs swinging over his shoulders. With no hand to cover my mouth, my cries of ecstasy filled the office and I didn't care. My breasts bounced with each of his thrusts, sounds of him coming into me echoing against the walls. He wasn't too quick, but he was deep enough, and when one of his fingers caressed my clitoris, I moaned out loud. Arching my back, I clasped the edges of the desk to hold myself steady.

"Please," I sighed, and he fastened, almost rushing now.

We did rush to the finish line, barely taking the time to enjoy the ride. Our passion spoke for us. He fastened and fastened, his hand still pleasing me too. He clutched my stomach, in whatever way he could, bending over when he felt himself weakening.

"Oh, Lord have mercy," he prayed, not able to hold it in.

Hearing him tremble so made me more exhilarated then anything. He was blindly pushing now, like a mad dog attacking, and I shook at his violent thrusts like an empty rag doll. His cheek pressed against me and I heard his sighing and moaning close to me, my legs still over his shoulder, with his penis inside me reaching an entirely different spot. I cursed out loud when I ejaculated, feeling too his sperm shooting inside me, warm and hard. He clumsily collapsed against me, and slowly my legs wrapped around his waist as I embraced him. He stayed there for a while, not wanting to leave me just yet, wanting to do it all over again until the heavens fell down. His hand pulled my face to him, gently, and then he kissed me, more soft then before. When he backed up, I suddenly blushed at how handsome he was, at the delightful short curls making him look younger then ever. I pushed back one of them and he kissed the palm of my hand.

"I missed you," I whispered, hearing my own voice shudder a bit.

He just smiled, tidying himself after he left me, and then, like a caregiver, giving me my intimates back, straightening my dress. I felt limp, and I laid my head against his chest after I propped myself up on the desk. Pride had vanished like snow before a sun. I could smell his cologne and the fabric softener of the shirt, the calm beating of his heart. He made attempts to gather his things, but like a child, I pulled him to me, my legs wrapping around him like a snake, and without looking at him, I whispered:

"Do it once more. Just to make sure you're really here."

I raised my face to look at him, and could already see his expression change. His moist lips touched my cheeks, my jaw and neck.

"I don't think I've any say in the matter," he whispered back laughingly, and I felt the promise of what was to come pressing gently between my legs.

-

I know technically he didn't have short hair in 1994 butttt.....who's really checking....

Also is this too mature or do you guys like this stuff LMAO