The Con Artist (A Michael Jackson fanfiction) (Completed)

Ten

Stella

It was one thing to be shoved into a door; it was another thing to be pushed up against it.

Fervent kisses were pressed to my lips as my hands fumbled and tried hard to focus to find the key card to my hotel room instead of touching him. His fingers travelled the curve of my hips, hungry for more and more skin, desperate for contact. My hands tugged at his belt, craving for more than I was currently receiving. He groaned, his breaths getting heavier, and pulled away from me just long enough so I could find the little piece of plastic in my purse and swiped it in the card reader. The door clicked. I turned the handle to let us in.

Michael and I were too busy ridding ourselves of our clothes and shoes for him to notice how nice the room was. It was definitely a five star (I wasn't going to settle for anything less; it even overlooked the Thames River) and the room smelled of rich tea that wafted throughout. As soon as my jacket came off, Michael's lips instantly dipped into the crook of my neck, nuzzling into the skin there and playfully biting me solely to make me laugh. He picked me up and carried me to the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. He touched his lips and sized me up, looking like a hunter proud of his catch of the day.

Except I wasn't a catch and he wasn't a hunter.

"Don't know if I told you this, baby, but that night in the motel? That was just fun and games."

Fucking Christ. I felt my heartbeat quicken and nodded my head eagerly.

"I've got a bit of a soft spot for you," he admitted, standing a bit taller and crossing his arms," and I've got a few...requests."

I raised an eyebrow and stepped closer and closer to him until my chest finally touched his stomach. He leaned and pressed his forehead to mine, holding me to keep me from falling.

"What are they?" I asked.

"I...well I assume you know I like being the one in control."

"I like that you're in control."

"You know I'd never hurt you though, right?"

"I'd hurt you if you did."

"Can I...spank you?"

"Please do."

"Then that's all I needed to know," he smiled. "Strip for me, baby."

He kissed me, his tongue massaging mine, before breaking away and urging me to hurry with the removal of my clothes. I pulled the t-shirt over my head and pulled my jeans down, quickly shuffling out of them, stepping out onto the cream carpet before letting my jeans join the shirt on the floor. His eyes widened at the sight of my peach satin undergarments complementary to my skin, and he embraced me again after I pushed his undershirt up and off of his chest.

I sank to my knees, planting pecks on his torso on my way down, and worked on his belt, undoing it before popping the button and pulling on the zipper of his jeans. My hands tugged at the fabric until his bulge was in front of my face, trying to break free from the cotton restraint. I traced my mouth over him; I could taste him through his boxers, his excitement seeping through the material.

"Don't fucking tease me, Stella," he groaned, gazing down at me with lustful eyes. He placed one hand on the back of my head and prompted me to continue while the other pushed the waistband of his boxers down into my hand so I could rid him of them. He sprang free, completely hard and all for me. Michael watched me intently as I licked and parted my lips, allowing my tongue to rest easy as I took him in-inch by inch, hollowing my cheeks out and sucking- causing his muscles to clench and his breathing to become shallow. "Pump-fuck-"