Detox

Chapter 16: Love

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

He mutters the Emily Browning masterpiece beneath his breath as the elevator begins its journey upwards. He favors a corner (as if to give himself a personal timeout) and tries to blend into the wood panels that surround him. His lashes drift closed to prevent from staring too hard at his much taller companion whose broad back seems miles long. The private elevator will make no stops and with each gentle bump beneath his feet, his stomach drops (and flutters with butterflies) as he realizes how close he is to being with her again.

When last did I touch you, Stephanie? When was the last time we held each other and simply…loved? When was the last time we looked into each other’s eyes and said all we needed without uttering a word? These days you seem to look right through me…and even in the briefest of moments when our eyes do meet, we turn away much quicker than we used to. We are becoming so cold…empty…hollow.

He suddenly feels like crying, but he knows he cannot reveal his weakness to his employees. He settles for drawing little hearts on the varnished wood and whispering the words to the poem to perhaps soothe his aching heart. It is one of their favorites after all.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

He smiles softly as years of memories come rushing in like a tidal wave; poignant and sweet memories of nights when she’d awaken him with feather kisses on his nose and lips, while taking off his glasses and admonishing him lovingly for dozing off while reading.

/You’re going to keep having a stiff neck if you keep sleeping like that, babe/

Of nights spent quizzing her for the MCAT exams into the wee hours of the morning.

/Which of the following is not a derivative of the amino acid Tryptophan? A. Melatonin. B. Serotonin. C. Creatine. D. Niacin....why are you laughing?/
/Seroootooneeen...Creaateeen...your accent is too cute/
/Stop it, babe. You know it’s embarrassing when you do that/ He pouts and blushes like hell.
/Okay. I’ll stop...for now/
/What’s the answer then?/
/…uum…/
/Come on honey…/
/I’m thinking. I’m thinking…uh…/
/We just studied it five minutes ago.../
/Shssh! I know it! God! Gimme a minute to think/
/Hmm…mmmm….mmm…/
/Stop doing that, Michael/
/Doing what?/
/You’re distracting me when you keep humming and swaying like that/
/I’m trying to give you a hint!/
/…? Huh? How…wait…is it Niacin? Hey!/ Giggle /Why did you do that?/
/Because I wanted to. A kiss on your sweet lips for each time you get an answer right/
/…It’s just the first question, honey/
/Good. Which means I get to kiss you about fifty more times. Now number two. Ready? How many ATP…/

Memories of hours spent in his studio or den, where she’d give him the ‘yay’ or ‘nay’ whenever he sang bits of demo scratches or tracks for her listening pleasure.

/Laaa laaa laa laaa la/ His voice pitch is a little higher and then lowers an octave. He stops and swivels to face her. /Something like that, babe. What do you think?/
/Hmmm…almost sounds like a mix of ‘Remember the Time’ and ‘Earth Song’/
Fingers drum on console, brows scrunched in thought. /You think so? How about this pitch then?/
She leans forward, headphones over ears, eyes closed in concentration. She lets the sound soak through her very pores. She likes it, and even before she opens her mouth to say it, he already knows. Her body language says so. It’s in the way her lips part ever so slightly, the way her breathing quickens a little, the tapping of her foot, and the soft smile as she remains lost in her world.
/I think that will work/ He announces with a flourish of satisfaction.
She lifts her lashes in bemusement. How in the world had he known…?

Memories of diamond-tipped winter mornings, walking hand-in-hand down their New Haven neighborhood bundled in jackets and gloves and winter hats, with smoking breaths and stolen kisses and sharing dreams or making plans. Of making snow angels and licking falling snow, or kissing red-tipped noses or getting the bout of the flu thanks to her.

/You’re gonna catch it, babe/ Sniffle.
/I don’t mind/ He gives her an Eskimo kiss. She giggles in delight.
/The boys are gonna get it too/
/I’m sure they won’t mind either/ In the twilight of winter, her eyes take on a shade of pale emeralds.
/I’m running out of Benadryl, babe/
/We’ll stop at the store to get some, but I have something that will definitely make you feel even better/
/You are so bad!/ He laughs as she punches him playfully. /And I meant for the boys by the way/
/I knew that/
/Mr. Jackson.../
/Hmm, Mrs. Jackson?/
/What on earth am I going to do with you?/ And this time, she’s the one to give him a long Eskimo kiss.

Memories of intimate play times when she’d sit on the bathtub edge and allow him to shave her legs (and sometimes between them) before worshipping every inch of her flesh with his lips and tongue. Her head would be thrown back; revealing that lovely arch of a neck. Her breathing would become shallow; her low sounds of pleasure mingling with his reverberations of approval at her taste…that sweet nectar she willing gives him when she comes and comes and…

He bites back a groan and adjusts himself discreetly.

Memories of her laughter (oh, how he misses that) whenever they’d play games in their backyard with their children (hide and seek, water gun fights, balloon fights, camping, Cowboys and Indians) or swim in the pool (she never could understand the attraction of Marco Polo) or sneak out to a local fair in New Haven (under disguises of course). Of how she’d cheer for him whenever he won something at the shooting gallery, looking for all the world like a little girl getting her first Christmas present. He loved the moments they’d spend on the carousels and roller coasters (her shrieks of delight or fear always cracked him up), or how they’d cuddle close on the Ferris Wheel and not say anything but simply letting their hands and smiles do the talking. He loved the way she’d feed him scoops of ice cream or sundae as they sat on park benches to watch the rest of the attendees; of how they’d still play those dumb (but fun) games of imagining what each person was in their other life.

/Jesse James in drag/ This to a statuesque woman with a stern expression having lunch.
/Michael! That’s horrible/ She laughs and claps a hand over her mouth to control herself.
/Look at her though/ He giggles. /You next./
/Uum…/ She picks a teenage couple necking. /He’s King Tutankhamen/
/Oooh…/
/She’s a slave girl he falls in love with/
/A forbidden affair/
/Yeah…only she’s his sister and he doesn’t know it./
He spits out his drink with helpless laughter. /That is so disgustingly gross, babe/
/Incest was in back in the day, honey. Don’t laugh/ And yet she’s grinning. She’s one-upped him in this round.

I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.

The elevator doors swing open soundlessly, and Javier steps aside to let Michael through.

“See you in the morning, sir?” There’s a knowing tone in the question, and though his expression doesn’t give it away, Michael is aware of just what his bodyguard is suggesting.

I hope so, Javier, Michael thinks sadly. However, he seriously doubts he’ll be getting any such action anytime soon.

Instead of speaking his concerns aloud, he settles for giving an obligatory chuckle of embarrassment before spinning on his heels to make his way down the quiet hallway. He’d take the time to admire the furnishings – though he has stayed in this hotel before - but he is immediately distracted at the sight of the woman waiting for him at the door to the suite.

His face turns a bright crimson, and he suddenly feels like he’s about to be lectured by the former professor. However, before he can open his mouth to say anything (maybe an apology for some reason), she silences him with a finger to his masked lips and a firm shake of her head.

“Do all the talking you want in there,” Cassie advises. “You’ve got nothing to say to me, Michael.” She twists the gilded knob and opens the door for him. “Good luck,” she adds in a whisper and a knowing wink before unceremoniously pushing him inside with a little more force than necessary.

He would have fallen flat on his face if it wasn’t for his quick reflexes reaching out to steady his gravity with a sturdy side table. He turns around to pout at Cassie, but the door’s already closing and he’s all alone…

Alone…with her.

He swallows tightly and straightens up to compose himself.

If she’s been here watching…

Still blushing furiously, and his heart now beating like a drum, he slowly takes off his sunglasses to survey his surroundings properly.

Quiet.

He descends the small flight of steps leading into the main living room, but there is nothing to show that someone was even occupying the space. Nothing is out of place, and each piece of Venetian-themed furnishing looks untouched. It’s a clear sign that she really hasn’t even bothered to spend a second relaxing before showing up at the auditorium.

She probably wanted to surprise me, he thinks with a pang. She had come to see me…and that…that had to happen. Goddamnit.

He pauses in the middle of the room to take off the surgical mask and fedora, absently tossing them to a couch. It’s then that he notices the mink coat draped over one of the sofas.

She wore that tonight…oh God…

Lean fingers reach for the rich cloth to hold it close to his body. His lashes flutter closed as the intense, sweet smell of his wife’s perfume makes him literally weak in the knees. He is unaware of the harsh sob that escapes his lips as he squeezes his eyes shut and clutches the coat like a lifeline.

I’m so sorry, babe. I’m so damn sorry. I really am.

Over and over and over again, like an incessant mantra, his apology continues in his head. He doesn’t let go of the coat even as he forces his lashes open and his feet begin to lead him to where she probably is. The bedroom door is closed, but there’s no sound coming from behind it. Dare he knock? She could be in the shower or taking a bath. Maybe he ought to wait until she comes out, but he realizes that the longer he stands out here like a fool, the more time slips by and his courage threatens to fail him.

Hesitantly, almost shyly, he lifts a hand to knock…and holds his breath for a response.

Nothing.

He knocks a little harder. Surely, she’d assume that it was Cassie returning and she’d open the door, right? And yet all he receives is still that lonesome silence.

Does she know I’m here? Did someone give me away? Is that why…?

(well standing out here asking yourself Twenty Questions isn’t going to solve anything, is it, Michael? Get a goddamn grip and walk in there for God’s sake! What’s the worst that could happen? She’ll scream and kick you out and then you’re back to square one. Now MOVE!)

Maybe it was Cassie’s ‘ghost’ pushing him again, but before he could un-talk himself out of doing it, his fingers were soon wrapped around the door knob and twisting it open without conscious thought.

Oh Jesus…help me…

The only source of illumination come from the landscape windows showcasing Pasadena’s skyline at night as well as muted glows from two standing lamps at a corner of a room. He notes some of her travel luggage is still unopened, though a small carry all has been unzipped to reveal her personal items; most of which are lingerie-related.

He walks further into the room and his breath catches at the sudden sensual movement beneath the sheets of the King-sized bed.

Stephanie…

His woman.

And after years of being with her and knowing her body inside out, he didn’t need to wear his prescription glasses to realize that she had fallen asleep in the nude (again). The stunning and almost artistic outline of her figure beneath the royal purple silk sheets, had him itching to explore (or draw a quick sketch of) her in repose.

I came to talk, he reminds himself angrily. That’s all. I came to talk and nothing more…it’s all I can hope for if she even listens to me.

And yet…

I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.

His physical need and attraction is so potent, it makes him feel faint with the depth of his desire. They haven’t been intimate in several months…months for God’s sakes! Not even a proper kiss; at least the kind of kisses that would leave her molten and dazed against him. He wants that again. He wants to reach beneath the bed sheets and hold her; never letting go…to simply allow his hands, mouth, and every fiber of his being pay homage to the mother of his children.

Stephanie…can you hear me?

When did he move closer? When did he find himself half-lying on the bed? Why are his fingers reaching out to caress her sweet, oh-so-sweet features? He can hear his heartbeat rise to a crescendo in the silence though it somehow seems to synchronize with her soft breathing. He traces the outline of the streak of now dried tears on her skin, feeling his eyes beginning to burn with something he cannot and doesn’t want to control anyway. Mesmerized, he watches as a drop falls onto her cheek; whispers her name achingly as he sinks his fingers into her mane of hair and tenderly caresses the nape of her neck. Instinctively, she parts her lips to give a breathless sigh at his touch. She always did love his massages especially after a particularly long shift at the hospital.

Stephanie…my love…can you hear me?

Her features contort with discomfort as more tears splash on her lashes, forehead, and cheek. Slowly…she allows herself to drift back to reality; to claw her way back from a dreamless sleep into meeting familiar brown eyes filled with such sadness and pain that it rips her heart to shreds.

Oh babe…Michael…

Stephanie…

He groans and closes his eyes against the beauty of her bemused (still sleep-induced) hazel gaze. His feverish forehead rests against hers and together their warm and shuddering breaths mingle to become one. His lips are so close…just a kiss away… and she licks them slowly; knowing she wants to have a taste…

(been so damn long)

…and yet something at the back of her mind tells her that she shouldn’t be giving in for some reason. Something happened…something that should make this dream (for a part of her still assumes this is all a dream anyway) not be this good and wonderful and smell so much like him.

I love you…

Was that said out loud? Neither is sure but only made more aware of the intense heat that’s being generated between their bodies. She feels the uncontrollable moist of desire pooling between her legs; the musk of her lust now permeating the air. He must have felt it too for his breath hitches and he tries to move closer; his fingers tightening at the back of her neck as his arousal

(oh fuck)

…nudges against the obstructive sheet that protects her like a shield.

I’m so sorry, baby. So damn sorry…

Sorry? Her muddled thoughts try to comprehend what he’s saying. Sorry for what?

She sighs as her tongue slowly traces the outline of his lower lip. She can taste his lip gloss – a combo of mint and lemon – and she writhes in pleasure when his tongue teases hers ever so…

Sorry for…tonight…what happened at the auditorium…

And just like that – almost as if someone had walked into the room and doused a bucket of ice on them – the illusion of love and lust is shattered in one fell swoop.

It’s with a small cry that she pushes him away and scrambles to sit up; completely forgetting she’s only dressed in her panties. He doesn’t try to stop her frantic movements and is only given a tantalizing view of her full breasts before she hides them with the sheets pulled up to her neck. He doesn’t need to look into that visage to realize that her expression would now be of fury and disgust. He swallows the lump that’s risen to his throat and tries to control himself – in every way possible.

In the tense silence that falls, he is aware of how hot he has become since he hadn’t bothered taking off his coat, and of their still heavy breathing from what had almost transpired. Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut so they could have at least gotten to second ba -

“What are you doing here?” comes the clipped question that jerks him out of his sullen thoughts. “Who told you I was here? Never mind, you would have found out anyway.” She makes a mental note to have a good long talk with Cassie later. “Well? What are you doing here?”

He clears his throat and edges away from her a little, before forcing himself to meet her gaze. Just as he predicted, she is angry and he withers at the intensity of her emotion. He begins to smooth out a wrinkle on the sheet and clears his throat again.

“I…I wanted to talk,” he finally croaks hoarsely. “I wanted -”

“To molest me in bed first before talking? You think everything is going to be solved with your dick inside of me?”

“Stephanie!” He is shocked at her crude observation/statement, and yet a part of him is aware that she’s got a point. Every time they’ve argued, they almost always had sex first and never really talked about what got them fighting in the first place.

He closes his eyes for a moment, takes a deep breath and tries again. “Okay…you’ve got a point.” He lifts his lashes before rising to his feet. “Do you want us to talk in the living room? I think it would be better -”

“You’ve got a nerve,” she hisses coldly while making absolutely no move to change positions. “What could we possibly talk about?”

“Stephanie, please…I’m begging you.” And as if to prove his point, he literally falls to his knees beside the bed as if about to get into prayer. “I just want us to get everything out in the open, and if after…after we talk and nothing is resolved then…then…”

He can’t get himself to say it. It hurts too much.

“Hmph.”

Still not giving him the luxury of looking at her naked, she drags the top sheet along as she rises to her feet; nearly stumbles in her haste and somehow manages to wrap it around her like a towel. He resists the urge to release the bubble of a giggle that threatens to erupt as she stubbornly drags several yards of the silk bed sheet along with her into the living room. It’s like a crude wedding gown, and as Michael staggers to his feet to follow, he has to be careful not to step on it.

He watches her maneuver her ‘gown’ between the furniture (with some difficulty at times because the cloth keeps getting tangled and she has to yank it a couple of times to get it out of the way), flipping on every damn wall switch and lamp in the room until it is bright enough to blind even the blind. He winces as he realizes she is doing this to destroy any illusion of their conversation being ‘intimate’, and that point is driven home when she settles into the lone Victorian chair as far away from the nearest sofa as possible. She crosses her legs (part of the sheet falls apart to reveal more expanse of flesh, which forces him to look away quickly) and folds her arms across her chest. Only problem is her dignified pose is ruined when her hair keeps falling into her face and she has to blow it aside so it doesn’t get into her mouth.

He would tease her about it, but he keeps quiet – knowing damn well that it isn’t the time to start making light remarks about her appearance. With an inner sigh, he shrugs off the coat, nervously runs his hands down the white dress shirt and dark slacks he’s wearing beneath, before sinking into the sofa with a light grunt and expel of breath from pursed lips. They are directly opposite each other, but with the long gold and glass coffee table with its ginormous bouquet of flowers in the way, it seems like they are a million miles apart.

Ain’t that the truth, he thinks wryly.

He rubs his jaw gently; wincing a little at the sensation of his five o’clock shadow. Consciously, he clears his throat and wonders where to begin this particular conversa –

“I heard you had a good show tonight.”

He looks up at the sudden statement with surprise; wondering if she’s trying to goad him into a suitable response. However, her expression gives nothing away. He cannot tell if she’s upset, angry, blasé, or disappointed. Her tone has no inflection, and she might have been a robot for all the personality she was exhibiting now. She’s doing a fine job of distancing herself, and he feels a flicker of annoyance at this tactic. The whole idea of talking was to come together, wasn’t it? How were they to make any progress if she insisted on acting like such a –

(calm down. No need to get all hot under the collar over her attitude. She’s got every right to feel that way, remember?)

“Ye…yes,” he finally replies with a weak smile. He sits up and leans forward; legs apart to clasp his hands tightly between his thighs. Unfortunately, his new position does give him an even better view of her legs and he has to force himself to keep his gaze trained on her expressionless visage. “I…um…I…”

God! Why was this so fucking hard?!

“…thought you’d be in Tokyo…” he finishes lamely; kicking himself inwardly for how that would sound to her. She’d assume he was wishing she hadn’t showed up, and he desperately speaks to explain himself. “I was really surprised to see you, and it really means a lot that you came, Stephanie. I mean it.”

Her eyes give nothing away, and he continues with an inner sigh of resignation. If this is the way she wants it, then I’ll talk.

“What you saw tonight, it wasn’t as if I planned it,” he states softly. His gaze drifts to his fingers as he plays with them absently. “It would be easy for me to say that there’s nothing going on between Lisa and I, but you wouldn’t believe me, would you?” He looks at her again; a silent plea in his eyes. “I swear to you, Stephanie. I have not slept with another woman or even contemplated cheating on you with any of them from the beginning. It’s…it’s just that they…they come to me even when they know that I’m with you and…and-”

“You can’t say no?” comes the flat interruption.

“I -”

“Michael, do you take me for a fool?”

He’s stricken at the blunt question, and he shakes his head hard in denial. “Of course not, Stephanie. I would never -”

“I have seen the way women look at you, even your fans, so I am more than aware of your…charm if you want to put it that way. Be honest with me…doesn’t it feel good?”

“Wha…what?”

“The power you have,” she says with a small smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She seems to lean forward a little. “The power you have whenever you realize that women, and some men, would fall at your feet with just a smile from you or a touch. Doesn’t it make you feel good, Michael?”

It does, he wants to say, but he knows that she already knows and he feels his cheeks burning with embarrassment. “I can’t help it,” he whispers.

“I know you can’t, which makes this whole thing such a moot situation.” She leans back and sighs heavily. “Michael, I can’t force you to change your inherent charisma and magnetism. It’s something I’ve realized over the years that I cannot control, but…have you ever considered curtailing it a little?”

“How do you mean?”

“Not being so…open?” she captures her lower lip between her teeth, and this time there’s a flicker of an emotion within her eyes he cannot decipher. “At least when it comes to other women?”

“I don’t -”

“Do you know how humiliating tonight was to me?” she suddenly blurts out, and the pain in her voice is obvious now. Michael feels like he’s been sucker punched in the gut and he finds it a little hard to breathe. He bites his lower lip hard, and braces himself for the onslaught, and boy does she let him have it.

“Do you know how…how…embarrassing it is to watch another woman cling all over your husband? A man who swore to love and to cherish and to honor you until your dying day? Do you know how hurt I was to see you encourage her and the way you looked at her in that…that…dress?!”

By this time, she’s risen to her feet and the sheet threatens to fall in her haste, but she hitches it back up and continues her rant while pacing up and down…all the while dragging the yards of cloth around with her.

“What do you think the other people in the room were thinking, Michael? That “oh, poor Stephanie is at the other end of the world, while Michael is here making out with another woman who’s willing and able -”

“I don’t think they were thinking -”

“I’m not done yet!” she snaps irritably with a cold glare thrown his way for added measure. He groans and covers his face with a hand. Jesus Christmas. Talk about a grilling. “And you will not interrupt me until I’m done!”

He nods wearily, but she’s not even paying attention.

“…the gall of that woman! I knew something was going on between you two at that party last year. I should have known -”

He lowers his hand and begins to deny. “I swear to God, Stephanie, nothing -”

“Oh my God!” she suddenly gasps and comes to a stop, a hand flying to her mouth as something clicks in her mind. “So that’s it then!” She turns to focus on him squarely and if looks could kill, Michael was sure he’d be dead right about now. “Whenever Prince would say that some Auntie Lisa stopped by Neverland to play with them, I always dismissed it as him unable to say Liza – as in Elizabeth – properly. So it was Lisa Marie at Neverland all this time?”

Michael swallows and tries to find the words to state his case. “I…she -”

“SHE WAS AT NEVERLAND? IN MY HOUSE?”

“Honey…Stephanie, she always stayed in the guest house, I swear it!”

Stephanie stands rooted in shock as Michael rises to his feet with tears in his eyes. “Please…” He tries to reach out to her. “She only stopped by with her children a few times to play with them. We never did anything intimate.”

“Don’t you touch me!” she cries out with a slap of his hand. She takes a step back and nearly tumbles into the chair behind her. Michael tries to reach out to steady her descent, but he’s struck again only this time, it feels like she’s taken a dagger and stabbed it right into his heart.

“How can you expect me to trust you?” she asks coldly. “How can I believe anything you tell me now, Michael?”

He realizes it’s the very same words he had hurled at her over the phone regarding the Maxwell incident, and this time…he knows his grief is complete.

“I’m sorry…” he moans.

“You think that’s going to solve anything?!” And despite her scream, he can hear the tears in her voice, which is only compounded with the low sniffle. “You bastard-”

“I’m so sorry-”

“You fucking bastard!”

He barely feels the pillow that’s thrown at him, but does have to duck when something much harder comes flying his way. It smashes loudly behind him, but he has no time to access the damage when something else is hurled his way. This time his quick reflexes kick in and he catches it. It’s a vase that looks like it’s from the Ming Dynasty, but any appreciation of its value is deterred when he has to duck again from being creamed with what looks like a set of books flying like missiles across the room. Jesus Christ!

“I’ll kill you! I’ll fucking kill you!”

“Stephanie!” Duck. “Will you please let me expla -!” Duck again. “Jesus, woman!”

“Go sleep with all your whores including that old hag in Monaco! Go to them! Goddamn it! I don’t give a fuck anymore, you stupid, big…lunkhead!”

Running out of suitable curse words for him, and having thrown everything from the mantelpiece, she tries to dash towards a side table to get another vase (and a pretty large one at that), but this time, her ‘gown’ gets in the way and she trips over her own feet; landing flat on her face with a very unladylike thud on the floor.

Ouch!

“Oh babe…” Michael groans and falls to his haunches to help her to her feet, but like a cat on acid, she whirls around with hands outstretched to shove him aside. The sheet has fallen off her chest and is now tangled around her waist and legs, and between feeling humiliation at having fallen down, still pissed off at him for everything else and now fighting with the stupid bed sheet, Stephanie has officially had it up to here.

“Steph -”

“Don’t touch me!” she cries out and begins to hit him with her clenched fists. When all else fails resolve to that tactic. “Don’t ever touch me! Ever! Ever! Ever! I hate you!”

He suffers the blows (ouch.ouch.and ouch), yet somehow manages to slide his arms beneath her armpits to help her sit up. He winces as one in particular connects with his jaw and as he feels the coppery taste of blood in his mouth, he knows he has to calm her down or she is likely to cause even more physical damage. The woman just didn’t know her own strength!

“Let me go!” she bellows angrily. “Let memmmphffff!”

The kiss is sudden and unexpected; hard and bruising and though she struggles and writhes against him…then digs her fingernails into his shoulders as if to push him off…there is something potent about the taste of his blood within the warmth of her mouth. She knows she is the cause of his pain, but she wants him to ‘bleed’ even more. When they finally pull apart to catch their breaths, she dives in again – this time to capture his lower lip (already sore with her hit) to bite hard enough to have him wincing in agony and reluctant masochistic pleasure. His entire being flares with an adrenaline rush that’s heady with its intensity. He wants to push her back to the floor, rip apart these wads of cloth and to bury himself into her heat until there was nothing left but their very souls becoming one all over again.

Unfortunately -

“…ouch…!” He has to pull away again because she had raised a knee to nudge it painfully against his already aching nether regions. He begrudgingly shifts aside to give her room to sit up on her own, watching through eyes still somewhat glazed with lust as she wraps the sheet around her again and scoots even further away. It’s as if they realize being too close to one another is not a particularly good idea, and goodness knows they still had some things to clear up.

“You asshole,” she pants breathlessly and wipes her mouth with a trembling hand. She hates knowing his kiss and touch is still capable of driving her insane with desire, and if anything, she needs to maintain her fury at him for what he did.

Still breathing harshly as well, he gives a small smile and wipes at his mouth, now sitting on the floor with a knee raised. The bleeding has stopped at least, but he might have to explain the lasting bruise to anyone curious to ask in the morning.

“And I love you too, Stephanie.”

“Shut up.”

“I really do-”

“I said shut the fuck up.”

“I can’t…when it’s the truth.”

She sneers and tells her damn heart to stop beating so fast in reaction to the intensity and sincerity in his eyes and voice. “If you loved me so much, you wouldn’t hurt me as you do.”

The fever in those brown eyes lessens to genuine remorse. “I don’t mean to hurt you, Stephanie. I really don’t.” He throws up his hands in defeat. “I admit it…I’m too weak when it comes to certain things and that includes my so-called charm, but I swear to you, Stephanie, not once have I ever entertained the idea of being with them sexually. I would never do that to you. How could I?”

She shakes her head, not wanting to listen. “Just words…plain words-”

“No other woman compares to you, Stephanie.”

“I don’t believe you.” Her voice sounds so small and suddenly very tired. She raises her knees to her chest and buries her face against them. “I don’t believe you. I’m tired of competing with anyone else -”

“Stephanie -”

“I admit it all right?! I want you all to myself, Michael!” She raises her head and looks at him with tears brimming down her cheeks. “I don’t care if anyone calls me selfish! Is it wrong to want you all to myself, huh? I don’t want to share you with anyone! Not even your fans! All these years I’ve had to deal with it, and sometimes I think, why?! Why?! Why can’t you just retire? Change your name? Let’s move to a place where no one knows us as ‘The Jacksons’! I just want to be with you and David and Prince and…and have a qu-quiet, hap-happy, pea-peaceful life…is that…is that so-so…wro-wrong?”

Michael’s eyes well with the depth of his pain and understanding, and not caring if she claws his eyes out, he crawls toward her and wraps his arms around her trembling form. She is too distraught and weary to fight back this time, not even pushing him away when he pulls her closer still. The feel of his lips on her hair is like heaven and her tears fall harder as he begins to whisper softly.

“I had no idea you felt this way, honey,” he whispers thickly. He rubs her shoulders gently and sniffles a little. “I didn’t know -”

“I didn’t tell you -”

“Why not?”

“Because I thought you’d hate me for not…for not seeming to care about your celebrity status. You’d tell me that it’s all a part of the territory, and I should have expected it, right?”

“Honey, that’s true, but-”

“Yes, yes, I know. When I married you, I signed up for all this,” She pulls back a little to look at him, and for the first time since this whole debacle started, she really does take a good look at him.

Oh…Michael…

She tries. She really tries to muster up her hatred, but she cannot. She knows she is just too damn weak when it comes to him. That no matter how much of a bastard he is sometimes, a part of her will always forgive his sins.

He looks absolutely exhausted.

And it’s a reminder that just hours ago he had been on stage in front of at least a thousand people performing, and in addition he must have searched long and hard for her and now their fight and…

What am I going to do with you?

Though his skin is flushed, it’s been scrubbed free of the make up he must have worn during the show as bits and patches of it still remain in a few places. Her fingertips dance across his jaw, now swollen thanks to her antics earlier, and she allows the fine bristles of his shadow to tickle her exploring pads of flesh. She traces the outline of his lips…the fine line of his nose…his lashes flutter closed as she traces his eyelids and brow…his forehead…

“Admiring the old man?” he whispers shyly.

She cocks her head in confusion. “The old man?”

He opens his eyes to smile sadly at her. “I’m not getting any younger, Stephanie.”

“Are we having this damn talk again?” She tries to sound stern, and yet her heart breaks a little at the insecurity and fear in his voice. He really does think I-

“I’m afraid of losing you, babe…and that’s why…that’s why when I saw that picture of you and that doctor…I…I…it really hurt,” he finishes with a pained whisper. “All I could think about is he being much younger than I was, and how you were going to regret getting married to a guy like me at so young an age and how you never really got to experience other men besides me. I’m all you know, Stephanie…well besides…you know...”

She nods softly in understanding. Jason. Of course.

“Do you…do you regret it…ever?”

She sighs and reaches for his hands. “Michael…baby…”

His heart leaps at the term of endearment and his cheeks flush at the realization that maybe, just maybe she was beginning to forgive him.

“We’ve had this talk before,” she says quietly, now meeting his earnest and desperate gaze. “Did I not tell you I would grow old with you…that we would grow old together?”

“Yes, but-”

“I won’t lie and say I haven’t wondered what might have been if we hadn’t gotten married so quickly. Would I have found some other guy? Would I be in the movie business now? Or would I be lying dead somewhere like Celina?”

He winces inwardly at the sudden image that comes to mind. “Babe-”

“I know…morbid thoughts, but it’s the truth, Michael.” She slips her fingers gently around his to entwine them. “Do you know the kind of Stephanie I would have been if I hadn’t met you and chose to give my life to you?”

He blushes. “What kind?”

“The kind you would hate on first sight and never give me the time of day again.” She sighs again and shifts a little closer still until she can rest her head on his shoulder. She watches their fingers together and feels her heart beating in a rhythm she’s come to realize could only belong to him. “You made me become a better woman, Michael. Your damn…peskiness…made me who I am today…your woman…and the mother of your children. And you know what? Despite everything…I really wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“My peskiness?” he murmurs bashfully.

“Your love for me.”

His soft intake of breath brings a smile to her face. “To be honest, I’m insecure as well, Michael. Just as you feel you might lose me to someone younger, I feel there are times when I cannot keep up with the women who are closer in age to you. I don’t want you to ever feel or regret being with me. Do you understand that?”

He would answer, but the words are lodged in his throat. He can only nod and press his lips hard against her hair, close his eyes and stop himself from bawling like a baby. He hadn’t known. He hadn’t known at all just how deep her fears and worries had been.

“I know how much of a strain my decision to remain in New Haven has been -”

“I don’t mind, really -”

“Be honest with me, Michael…you’ve doubted this whole thing sometimes, haven’t you?”

There is no point lying about it now, so he gives a soft nod in agreement. “It’s definitely not a conventional marriage, honey, but…you know...when I really think about it, I really am glad it turned out this way.”

She looks at him with such wide-eyed expression of surprise, he can’t help smiling at how adorable she looks. “I try to think of how different life would have been with the children if we were solely based in L.A. Look at David now…he’s a soccer star. Doubt he would have done such a thing if we dared send him to any school in Los Angeles or locked him away with home schooling. And Prince…well...he’s the heartthrob of the neighborhood.”

“No, he’s not,” she denies weakly, though her heart swells with pride as she thinks of her sons.

Michael nuzzles her gently. “You know what I mean, babe. Our children…they are happy there, and that’s all we could ever want for them, right? To live as normal a childhood as possible without the circus my life seems to court all the time. Seeing them reach their full potential is what we live for, isn’t it, honey?”

She nods softly, not trusting herself to speak for several long seconds. However, there is another elephant in the room; an elephant that she knows she has to address or she feels she’ll burst.

And suddenly feeling shy and nervous, she whispers her concerns against the crook his neck. “…a…about…about the baby…Michael…I know…”

“Don’t…honey, please…we already agreed -”

“I don’t want you to hate me because of my decision -”

“Hate you?” He tightens his fingers around hers and pulls away to force her to look at him. His free hand reaches out to wipe the tears from her cheeks tenderly. “Oh honey, I couldn’t. I admit I became selfish and wanted more, but then…I only had to look at my boys…our babies…those two beautiful children you gave to me, and I kick myself for being such a bastard -”

“But -”

“I can wait, honey. I really can. As long as the doctors say my boys are still swimming -”

“Michael!”

He chuckles and rests his forehead against hers to finish the rest of his words in a thick whisper. “I don’t care how long it takes until you’re ready again, my love. Just…”

”What?”

“Could you not decide to have it when my arthritis kicks in and in the middle of us making love I break a hip, and then Imma have to explain to the doc about -”

Her helpless giggle is like music to his ears and he suffers her light playful nudge before reaching out to cup her chin in an effort to capture it…that sound he has longed to hear for so many countless days and nights…to savor her laughter and girlish pleasure with something as simple as a laugh.

He sighs with longing within their kiss, feeling her body shudder and tremble with a knowledge that they are dangerously close to breaking point.

(been too damn long)

“Mmm…Michael…” she murmurs against his lips. “Baby…”

“Mmmhmm?” He doesn’t want to stop kissing her…tasting her…feeling her….wanting…

“About Lisa,” she groans. She doesn’t want to stop this good feeling either, but she’s got to straighten some things out once and for all. He pauses in his ministrations to pull back a little, and he must have seen the look in her eyes – her dire need for answers - because he eventually gives a sigh and pulls away a little more. He has to focus.

“Lisa,” he began with a slow lick of lips before capturing the lower in thought. “To be perfectly blunt, babe…she did come on to me and…”

For the next half hour, he pours out his soul as if in a confessional. He tells of unwanted phone calls and unexpected visitations where she’d show up at Neverland with the excuse of her children wanting to play with the boys. He confesses that a part of him did feel a sense of smug male pride at being able to attract other women, but he reiterates that the very idea of having sex with Lisa had not crossed his mind in the slightest. He spoke of her bold flirtations and provocative antics.

“Literally offered herself if anything should go wrong between us…same with the Princess…” he adds with a weary sigh. Sometimes women really baffled him.

Stephanie hates to admit that the confession hurts, but she realizes she needed to hear that. After all, it’s what she’s had to deal with for so long now; women simply waiting for her relationship to dissolve with Michael so they could claim him for themselves. She would laugh if she wasn’t feeling so…numbly stunned. Some people would do anything to -

“…kissed me even…”

What?!

She jerks alert from her reverie to look at him in disbelief. “Kissed…who…what?”

“The princess,” Michael admits with a dark stain on his cheeks. “I didn’t initiate it, babe. I swear. She can be pretty…overpowering when she chooses and she literally jumped all over me -”

“You cannot see her again,” comes the firm and hard statement that leaves no room for argument. I mean…seriously?! Did that woman have no shame?!

“But we have a -”

“Michael. I do not give a damn if she’s lying in her pool of blood and needs a transfusion and you’re the only blood type in the world that matches hers. You are never going to see her again. Same with Lisa Marie whatsherface.”

He tries to hide his grin at the flash of fury in those eyes he finds so enchanting, but settles for nodding and covering his mouth to control himself. “Whatever you say, babe-”

“I can’t believe these women!” she continues as if he hadn’t spoken. “I mean…what the fuck?! Whatever happened to respecting the institution of marriage?! And you didn’t help matters either!”

He winces and nods in repentance. “I know, honey, and I’m going to try my hardest from now on. Honest.”

She snorts and rolls her eyes. “And to think I wore the same thing that bitch wore tonight to tease you and all.”

He blinks and gawks at her comically. “What?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” She smirks at the stricken expression on his visage. “The dress that Lisa wore, I was wearing it too, only I had other plans for you, but…hey…” She shrugs.

“Oh Gooooooooooooood!” His drawn-out groan of misery has her trying to stifle a laugh. He rolls onto his side and clutches his heart as if he’s been stabbed. “Where is it? Where’s the dress? Please put it on, babe…pleaaaaase.”

“No. I can’t.”

“Why nooooot?” he whines.

“I took it off in the limo and gave it to Cassie to return to Janet.”

It takes him almost a full minute to decipher what she’s said and the sinful image that’s been conjured up in his mind at the same time.

Oh Lord in heaven.

“You…wait…you…”

“Yes, Michael.” She smirks again and thumbs his nose playfully. “I was wearing nothing but a mink coat all the way here.”

He sucks in a harsh breath and allows his gaze to drift down the (now annoying) bed sheet she’s still got wrapped around her. He’s unaware of how much his expression is affecting his woman until she slaps a hand over his eyes to stop him from looking any further.

“Knock it off,” she growls.

He grins; showing off perfect white teeth. “Knock what off, babe?”

“Stop looking at me like that.” He can literally hear the blush in her voice and his heart seems to melt all over again.

“But I can’t help it. You make my heart skip a beat. You make it sing with-”

“And no singing either!”

He captures her wrist and tugs her hand down to finally look her in the face, and he is rewarded with an expression that’s a mix between trying to look angry and unable to stop smiling like a giddy schoolgirl. It’s like meeting her all over again for the first time, and as his grin fades slowly, his eyes darken with a passion that makes her feel feverish.

“I love you, Stephanie,” he says quietly…firmly…as if to make sure she really understands what those three words mean to him. “I love you.”

Please don’t say it like that. Please don’t say it in that way that makes me want to steal you away from everything and everyone.

She doesn’t know when the tears begin, but she still feels them trickling down her cheeks slowly.

“I know I’ve done some pretty stupid things in my life, honey, but at the end of the day…all that matters to me is you and our boys. It’s always been you and only you. No one else can compare, and no one else is ever going to take your place until my dying day. I promise you.”

He laces their fingers tightly and moves closer until they are nothing but a breath away. “I’m so proud of you…”

Don’t…please…

But instead of speaking the words aloud, it’s the harsh sob of an emotion that’s got to be far deeper than mere love that escapes her lips. She cannot bear to look into those eyes that are now misty with his emotions, for the longer she stares, the harder it is to breathe.

“You make me so proud to be your husband…the one you chose...and that despite all the odds that’s been thrown against you, you’ve stuck through it…with me…always. I know it’s not been easy, and I’ve watched the stresses of your job and our marriage take its toll, but…honey…I can honestly say from the depths of my soul…you are the strongest person I’ve ever known.”

I’m not! No…I’m not…I’m weak…I’m so weak…

“If you’re weak, then what does that make me?” comes the breathless question against her lips. It makes her realize she must have spoken her thoughts aloud…or Michael really did have telepathic abilities.

“A fool,” she sighs in resignation. “A fool just like me…”

Because no one else can compare to you.

She finally seals the distance between them with a low moan that’s repeated with a deeper, firmer authority.

Because my love for you is more than words could ever adequately describe.

She melts into him as their tongues engage in a silent battle of domination. She is not aware of when their hands unclench from their grasp, but she does approve when she feels those familiar large ones encircle her waist…move a little higher to cradle her full, aching breasts as if weighing them.

Because I want you by my side…always…

She gasps at the tingling sensation of his thumbs flickering up to tease her already taut nipples. Beneath the bed sheet that seems to surround them in a sea of purple, she is ready…more than ready for him. She trembles and writhes with desire and he obliges by shifting positions...to lay half way across her body…pushing her slowly onto the plush carpet…until…

“Ouch.”

“Wha…what?” he pants breathlessly. His state of arousal is so acute, he’s still lost in a slight daze and not quite sure of what else is happening besides the woman beneath him.

“Broken piece of…” With a blush of embarrassment, she reminds him of her anger, thanks to the broken pieces of glass from a vase she had thrown earlier.

The cloud of lust eases a little as his brows furrow in concern. “Are you hurt, honey?” He helps her sit up gently and turns a little to study her back for any cuts or bruises. Besides some tufts of carpeting – which he brushes aside gently – she looks unscathed.

“You might as well take me to the bedroom,” she invites; wondering why her cheeks suddenly feel as hot as tamales. It’s not as if they’re making love for the first time, but goodness knows after what has transpired in the last few months…she might as well be a virgin all over again.

He gives her a beautiful smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”

In a swift move, he rises to his feet and holds out a hand. “My lady?”

Still blushing up a storm, she reaches out to clasp his, nearly tripping over the damn sheet again when she’s finally on her feet. However-

“Ooh my!” she gasps in surprise as she’s literally swept off her feet, and has to wrap her arms quickly around his neck to steady herself. “Michael…I-”

Whatever else she might have said is lost as he claims her lips again and begins to maneuver his way through the furniture and debris (he doesn’t dare try to think up of some excuse to give the concierge in the morning, but paying for the damage was the least of his worries right now). In the process of walking, the sheet finally manages to completely slip off her body, allowing him – for the first time all evening – to really see what she has been wearing beneath.

He stops beside the bed to smirk at the sight of her already damp lace panties. “Still can’t believe you wore only this beneath a mink coat,” he growls in approval.

“Your loss,” she replies with a smirk.

“You’ve got to make it up to me somehow, honey.”

“Oh yeah? How?”

He lays her on the bed gently; like a fragile flower he’s afraid of breaking and takes a step back to survey what awaits him. He begins to unbutton his shirt, eyes darkening as he watches the way her hair surrounds her face and shoulders in a tousled mess that’s downright sexy as hell. He tosses the shirt aside and begins to work on his belt buckle, biting his lower lip when she playfully nips on a finger with a wicked grin on her features. He nearly trips over himself when he tugs down his pants, for her other hand has moved down her chest to begin caressing her breasts…kneading them…fingertips dancing across those beautiful nipples he longs to suck long and hard on. She pinches them and closes her eyes in pleasure, arching her body as if to show just how much fun she’s deriving from her self-gratification.

“Don’t close your eyes,” he commands gently. “I want to see them, babe…let me see you…”

Obediently, she does as she’s told and she watches him begin to pull down his underwear. The sight of his erection has her subconsciously reaching to the warm and wet V between her legs to stroke gently.

His lips quirk at her antics, and as he finally kneels on the bed to claim what is his, he wraps his hand around hers and whispers thickly into her ear. “Allow me…”

“Oh God!” comes the helpless gasp of pleasure as his fingers take over what she began. Her toes dig into the sheets, her hips bucking up with the steady rhythm he is beginning to set. Through the flimsy, lacey material, he finds her already swollen clit and rubs the hard nub until she’s a squirming mass of desire.

“Like that, babe?” he asks with a grin; knowing damn well that in this state, getting Stephanie to really have a coherent conversation was next to impossible.

“Aaah…don’t…stop…fuck…”

She makes his fingers wet yet unsatisfied with this, he tugs aside the cloth to seek what he really needs. Her responding mewl of delight makes his discovery so much better. Two strong fingers find their way home as his lips and tongue make their journey from her swollen lips, down her arched neck – where the combined taste of her sweat and perfume – nearly drives him insane. He grazes her shoulder blades and nearly bites into her left breast as she bucks sharply in response to his strokes getting harder and deeper. He can feel her fingernails digging into his shoulders, but all that pales in comparison to finally capturing a nipple between his lips and savoring the swollen tip for all its worth.

(tastes so good…so sweet…)

He finally releases it with a satisfied smack, admiring his handiwork for barely a second before applying the same attention to her right. His fingers are now literally drenched, and his arousal – nothing more than a hard ache that desperately needs to find its way to its rightful place.

(can’t wait a minute longer...)

There will be plenty of time for her to pleasure him at her own pace, but for now…he wants her…needs her…all of her…every damn inch of her warmth…her love…

“Don’t…please…” she begs when he withdraws his fingers just as he feels her inner muscles beginning to quiver with her impending orgasm. “Oh baby…I want-”

“You want…?” he pants harshly against her lips as he moves into a better position and gently nudges his penis against her welcome opening. “…this?”

“Yeeeeees,” she begs with a gaze that nearly makes him come on the spot. He teases her a little more…and her low growl of impatience and craving makes him smile.

“Say what you want from me, babe,” he whispers against her lips. “If you don’t…”

He tries to move away, but she captures him with her legs quickly wrapping themselves around his hips and her arms tight around his neck. She thrusts her hips in blatant invitation, and making sure her eyes are locked onto his darkened gaze, she makes her intentions as clear as she possibly can.

“Love me, babe…as hard as you can…as long as you can…as much as you want.”

Love me.

He obliges willingly and with a groan – a deep-seeded groan – of relief and pleasure. He is home again.

Love me.

They might have been apart for months, but old habits die hard. So damn hard.

Love me.

Moral failings fall to the wayside as he is enveloped by her heat. Misguided misjudgments and miscommunications shatter with each frenzied thrust that brings them closer still. He told her that no woman could be compared, and right now…in this very moment...together in this room…he knows they aren’t just empty words. It isn’t just about the act itself, but in the way she says so much with every breath she takes in his arms.

I love you, she screams as she exposes her gazelle-like neck to him.
I love you, she proclaims as the loud and wet sounds of their coupling threaten to override coherent thought.
I love you, she cries out with the digging of her fingers into his upper arms and the tightening of her legs around his waist and the aching throb in her breasts with each sensation of his chest crushed against them.
I love you, she sobs when she begins to feel it. It’s when nothing else seems to matter but him…his very core…his very soul. She can see it in his eyes and in the tears that escapes his eyes. She can feel it in the salty taste of his kiss. She can feel it in the way he shudders and trembles and begins to quicken his pace. She tries to hold back…so they can experience it together, but she can’t…it’s just too much.

OhGodohGodohGOD!

An explosion that rocks her to the core and makes her insides mimic freshly release volcanic lava. She calls out his name and sinks her fingers into his hair; releasing the rubber band that once held it in place. Her pores seem to open to release her musk into the air; a musk that permeates his senses and makes him realize he is close to his breaking point. Harder still he drives his way in until he can simply go no more, and just when he feels he will literally die with the way she clenches her inner muscles around him…

OhmyGodMybabymy…aaah.

He bursts into tears that he simply cannot control.

I love you, he says with each drop that falls on her naked flesh.
I love you, he cries with each warm spill of his seed into her womb with the hope for new life.
I love you, he whispers as she cradles him like a babe in her arms and languishes in her tender kisses.
I love you, he sobs when he sees her soul reflected in her eyes and her tears tell him that she has seen his as well.

Words are not necessary. Words were never really necessary when it came to them in this state. What words could be good enough to convey such moments anyway?

“I love you,” she finally says aloud, in a shy whisper, when they are face-to-face; basking in the sweet afterglow of their fevered communion. “I love you, Michael Joseph Jackson.”

His answer comes with a clasping of her hand to place it gently against his heart. He refuses to lower his gaze from hers, though the weariness of the day is beginning to catch up to him. He can barely keep his eyes open, and she knows her stubborn sleepy head wouldn’t want to admit it.

“I love you,” she repeats with a knowing smile, as she places a tender kiss on his forehead.

“I love you more…more than you’ll ever know,” he finally mumbles wearily. He doesn’t want to sleep…not yet…not with…

But in the next minute, his lashes drift closed and he eventually gives in with a breathless sigh of exhaustion. She caresses his swollen lips and jaw slowly, making a mental note to apply something to the bruise, that’s beginning to form, first thing later in the day.

My dearest Michael.

She brushes away the hair that threatens to fall into his mouth and rubs it gently between her fingers as if to feel its fine texture.

Thank you for finding me tonight…for believing in me…and for your honesty.

He begins to snore lightly. Gosh, he really was tired from the beginning.

Tonight was just another step, but we have so much more to do…to never have to go through something like this again. I know those bumps will still happen, but now…now I know we can talk about everything and anything…be honest…that’s all I could ever want from you.

She pokes his cheek gently and smiles as his lips twitch automatically in response to the gesture.

My dearest, beautiful Michael…

And as she reaches down to pull the heavy comforter over their bodies, she begins to recite the lines to a poem they’ve always considered their private vows to one another. It is a poem that she will be probably request to be placed on their epitaphs when that day finally comes, for never have the words had more meaning than they do in this moment of their lives…

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, --- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.