Ariana's Point Of View ~

Michael & Ariana's Home | Los Angeles, California

Michael is at the studio today.

I'm at home. I'm all alone for now. But my mind is in complete overdrive. I sit in the kitchen, on a stool at the island. My long, white painted finger nail taps against my coffee mug making a light 'ding' sound.

I keep thinking about last night.

In the studio at the early hours of this morning . . with Michael.

The feeling he gave me. The feeling of him after many months without while being on tour. God, I missed him, To touch him, smell him, kiss him . . ugh, it was so beautiful. Each and every second of it. My brunette hair twirls around my finger as I remember. I can't help but to smile from the thought, to giggle, to shyly hide behind my hand as the memory is still so clear.

"Excuse me, Ms Grande . . "

I hear a voice, snapping me out of it.

It's only Jesse. I look at him. Yet my mind is totally elsewhere. "Yes Jesse? . . "

"The rest of your security and I will be around if you need us . . "

I smile, nodding. It's safe to say that Jesse is back from his day off.

"Thank you, Jesse . . " I say.

A nod is exchanged to me before he walks away. Leaving me back alone with my thoughts . . thoughts on when it was just Michael and I. Oh how much I love Michael. He's a man of many talents. One that can sing, dance and all while remaining a humble human being.

A triple threat some would even call him.

That is what the world see's and they aren't wrong . . but I see a completely different side to him. Like when it was only him and I in the studio all alone.

He's a man that is soft, so very gentle whenever he touches me in such a way especially. With only a hint of firmness. So strong my Michael is. Like he doesn't wish to hurt me, to harm me in any way shape or form. Because when it comes to intimacy, he is so cautious. It's as if he thinks I'm made of porcelain.

But I'm not. As sometimes, he's gotta love me harder.

I begin to sing, so softly and only to myself as I remain seated in the kitchen still.

"Love me, love me, love me . . "

"Harder, harder, harder . . "

I suddenly feel a light click within my mind as well as the 'ding' from my finger nail continuing to tap against my coffee mug with each word. And before I know it, my coffee is something I am no longer interested in as my bare feet take me straight to the studio. Ah the irony. But it's a place I must be to perhaps write a song, to therefore create and maybe even bring into the world that new song from those simple lyrics I sang seconds before in the kitchen. But I shouldn't think that way and so soon. I can't get ahead of myself. But whenever it comes to Michael, I can write songs in the blink of an eye . . however, I have to remain composed.

He's just my inspiration at all times.

I'm in the booth, a stool placed in front of the microphone. I continue to softly sing it to myself yet again so I don't forget.

"Love me, love me, love me . . "

"Harder, harder, harder . . "

I picture Michael's face. I imagine he's with me right now. His smell, his voice, his touch present in this room as I think. My head slightly raised, my lips part seductively from the thought of Michael alone. Powerful . . so powerful. It's easy, all it seems to take is the memory of those early morning hours spent here with him, which could be more than enough to inspire this new song.

I know what I must do.

I must write this song like I'm speaking to Michael.

I take only a few seconds before my mind is becoming a bit more clear, like it's coming up for air after an overwhelming flood of feelings and therefore possible lyrics. A not-yet-used instrumental is played. I close my eyes and I just sing.

"Tell me something I need to know . . "

"Then take my breath and never let it go . . "

I open my eyes, feeling myself straddling his lap again. My eyes burning as it was all I wished to happen in that moment. His shirt open, chest exposed. Cocoa skin still soft like I remembered it to be before I left for my tour.

"If you just let me invade your space . . "

The feeling of his fingertips so very gently grazed me as he lifted up my silk nightgown. I'm naked now . . so is Michael. Skin on skin, heart to heart.

"I'll take the pleasure, take it with the pain . . "

"And if in the moment I bite my lip . . "

"Baby in the moment, you'll know this is . . "

"Something bigger than us and beyond bliss . . "

My eyes close again, the imagination of feeling myself sink down onto him before I open them once more. But Michael's stare remaining on me as I do my best to focus my hazed vision back onto him, after adjusting to his size.

"Give me a reason to believe it . . "

My memory of Michael, of those beautiful hours in the studio - from him and I together. I am still able to feel him so strongly even though he is nowhere to be seen. As I said before, Michael is soft. Incredibly gentle when it comes to touching me, when it comes to loving me. That is just his nature, beautiful nature of such a beautiful man. But there are times when I just wish he would love me a little bit harder.

"Cause if you want to keep me . . "

When lyrics are just lyrics.

"You gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, got to love me harder . . "

"And if you really need me . . "

"You gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, got to love me harder . . "

Should I hum? Oh no. I feel my head mentally shake immediately from that thought - almost in complete and utter protest. What should I do then? I think . . and I think. I need something sexy to go right in this place. I ad lib for a little while with the booth filling with my voice as I experiment.

Until, I've got it.

"Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh . . "

I picture Michael's face is right before me.

"Love me, love me, love me . . "

"Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh . . "

"Harder, harder, harder . . "

This song will have a feature. A male feature, of course. But it won't be Michael . . it can't be. For he is far too busy. Then who? Who will be the person to do the honours if not Michael? I have connections . . friendships with multiple artists.

With Instagram messenger as my choice of contact. I first contact someone that I feel would be almost perfect to be apart of this possible song. If I can't have my Michael, this person is the next best thing. A lengthy message is written out for him explaining my reach out, along with a sample of what I have just sung, before I press that dreaded 'send' button.

Now, I just wait.

If accepted, he will sing his very own verse right after the first chorus. But, I'll mark time and sing the second chorus. I continue playing the unused instrumental that I already feel fits the song well . . and I told you, it doesn't take long. It's just so insane to me how much Michael inspires me. How the thought alone of Michael can be the birth of a brand new song . . well, maybe a new song. I miss him. I can't wait until he gets home. Because I so wish to touch him again, to kiss him all over.

To feel him inside me.

Hmm. My hand slowly runs along my thigh, but imagining it's Michael's hand doing the exploring . . and not my own. Ugh. I ache as the feeling of his skin is locked in my head causing me to sing again - the second chorus, that is.

"Cause if you want to keep me . . "

"You gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, got to love me harder . . "

"And if you really need me . . "

"You gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, got to love me harder . . "

"Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh . . "

"Love me, love me, love me . . "

"Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh . . "

"Harder, harder, harder . . "

"Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh . . "

"Love me, love me, love me . . "

"Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh . . "

"Harder, harder, harder . . "

My phone buzzes. A reply.

My brown eyes light up as I see a great big 'YES!' . . for Abel, but better known as 'The Weeknd' has accepted my request to feature on this new track. My long, white painted finger nails ready to type something in response to his generous agreement but I'm too late - as he already has a very clear understanding of what way I wish the song to sound.

Sexy, very sexy.

Abel has sent through a recording of his voice. Of his possible verse. I hope I give him the green light on it, he says to me. I press play . . it's silent as I listen.

"I know your motives and you know mine . . "

"The ones that love me, I tend to leave behind . . "

"If you know about me and choose to stay . . "

"Then take this pleasure and take it with the pain . . "

"And if in the moment you bite your lip . . "

"When I get you moaning, you know it's real . . "

"Can you feel the pressure between your hips? . . "

"I'll make it feel like the first time . . "

I picture Michael saying all of this to me. His body on mine. His eyes dark but very inviting. His voice so husky, a different sound from his soft sounding tone that the world already knows of. I love it so much. And I feel it's safe to say to Abel that I'm more than happy with what I just heard. The praise is given to Abel, relieved response is exchanged back to me.

Shit.

It makes me crave Michael so badly.

This time, I speak with Abel via FaceTime as we both brainstorm the ending. We start to ad lib our hearts away as it's the best way to create something. Michael says that actually. Few ideas are written by Abel but they don't make the cut. I see him listen back, getting a clearer look at the lyrics once more.

"What about this, Ari. And you can chime in as well if you feel it's right . . "

Abel says before he starts to sing.

"So what do I do if I can't figure it out? . . "

And I do. Chiming in as my brain instantly thinks and knows exactly what to sing after that line. As if I'm somewhat answering the question.

"You've got to try, try, try again . . "

"Oh whoa . . " Abel adds.

"So what do I do if I can't figure it out? . . "

"I'm gonna leave, leave, leave again . . "

We can't hide the smiles on our faces. As artists, we can't be more proud of ourselves. I giggle, happily exclaiming, softly clapping my hands together from pure excitement.

"Ah so good! Good work. Then after that bridge, the third and final chorus will come after . . "

I tell him, with Abel agreeing, in a very carefree manner. It's easy. The chorus will be sung yet again but this time . . both our voices are in it. The unused instrumental continues to play again. Here we go.

"Cause if you want to keep me . . "

"You gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, got to love me harder . . "

"(I'ma love you, love you, love) . . " Abel sings.

"And if you really need me . . "

"(Ooh) . . "

"You gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, got to love me harder . . "

"(Got to love me, baby) . . " I add.

"Cause if you wanna keep me . . "

"You gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, got to love me harder . . "

"(Love me harder, love me harder) . . "

I sing softly, breathlessly as I image Michael.

"And if you really need me . . "

"You gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, got to love me harder . . "

"(I'ma do it, do it, do it) . . "

"I'ma love you harder! . . " Abel sings with such passion I feel.

"Ooh! . . " I exclaim.

"Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh . . "

"Love me, love me, love me . . "

"Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh . . "

"Harder, harder, harder . . "

I close my eyes. The music, the lyrics, the feeling of Michael touching me. Mmm. I know Michael is soft, an incredibly gentle man. But I feel he does have it in him, so I ask Michael . .

"Boy, you gotta love me, love me, baby . . "

"Just a little bit harder, harder, baby . . "

"Harder, harder, harder . . "

Everything stops. Our strong voices halt as well as the minimal but rhythmic instrumental. I look over at my phone, at Abel. We just did that. We just finished the song. Something that I was hoping for but didn't want to get too far ahead of myself. My hands come up to gracefully cover my nose and mouth. My eyes wide and in complete shock.

With Michael as my total inspiration and Abel having a clear understanding of the songs meaning . . that's all it took. A completed song as the outcome.

"Oh my gosh. It's done now . . "

I say, removing my hands from my nose and mouth. A smile spreads my lips from one side to another of my face.

"We did it! . . " I add.

Abel laughs. "Pleasure working with you . . "

FaceTime is over. But we will stay in touch as a music video is to be further discussed. I decide to take a quick warm shower in an attempt to calm my seemingly endless state of disbelief. My clothes hit the bathroom floor, my long hair shoved up in a high, messy bun. I step in to then be mobbed by water.

I don't wish to take long at all.

And in no time, my body is washed and I'm feeling quite fresh. A cotton white towel is taken from the rack, to wrap it around my body. My head snaps towards the bathroom door as I hear slight commotion coming from downstairs. Footsteps getting closer and closer than the sound of a door opening . . our bedroom door, of course. I come out of the bathroom to see Michael.

I can't help but bite my lip. He is so unaware of what my day involved.

"Hey Michael. How was the studio? . . " I ask him.

"Hi baby . . " He says with a kiss on my cheek before he answers me.

"Exhausting, but good. Yeah the song is finished . . "

Same here.

"That is great news, congrats baby . . " I say with a smile.

"Thank you. But now, shower time . . "

I watch silently as Michael begins to undress himself. There is a sense of calm within him . . but a sense of intense passion within me as I play in my mind the song I just wrote, recorded and finished all because of him. His state of oblivion is adorable. He has no clue about it whatsoever. I will tell him but not quite yet. His shirt, his loafers, his pants . . everything is now off.

That's it.

The towel falls to the floor, exposing my naked body underneath. I walk over to him. My arms wrap around his neck, kissing him passionately. I feel his hands on my hips as he kisses me back.

"Love me? . . " I ask him, with such puppy dog eyes I feel I have.

I'm so horny. That song has built up so many feelings.

Michael says nothing, but only nods. His lips return to mine, I feel his hands travel down to the back of my thighs, for him to gather them, and for my legs to wrap around his waist. Michael walks over to our large bed.

He's on top of me.

"Go hard . . so hard, Michael . . " I whisper to him.

to be continued.