Lady in His Life || MJ Imagines Vol. 1

The Way You Make Me Feel - 2

     Monday came a lot faster than you would've liked.  When the dreaded morning finally arrived, you decided that if you were going to have to deal with bullshit, you might as well look cute doing it. You had on a pair of stretchy black athletic shorts that hugged your curves just right. After admiring yourself in the mirror one last time, you threw on a sports bra and a zip-up, grabbed a water bottle, and reluctantly trudged out the door. Outside, your limo was waiting for you. On the way over, you fidgeted with your clothes nervously, making sure nothing was out of place. You weren't sure why, though. Michael may have been the King of Pop but he was also being a huge dick to you. You knew you didn't need to look good for him, yet you couldn't stop yourself from applying some lip gloss.

You arrived at the front desk of Michael's studio. His secretary looked you up and down suspiciously, sucking her teeth. She had curly blonde hair kept in place with a baby blue headband. She was wearing a blouse, but she'd left enough buttons unbuttoned to show just the tiniest bit of cleavage. You already didn't like her.

"I'm Y/N L/N, here to dance for Mr. Jackson."

Not stopping to look up at you, she clicked away on the laptop in front of her, waved you over to look at the screen, and in a grating, valley-girl voice, shrilled, "You aren't on the schedule, hun."

You scoffed. He would forget to put me on the schedule. "Well trust me, I should be on there somewhere. Mr. Jackson's lead dancer quit and I'm filling in for her."

The secretary rolled her eyes and twirled a piece of her hair. "Yeah, I don't know anything about tha-"

"She's here for me." You spun around to see Michael leaning casually against the wall. This time, his outfit was much less flashy. He wore grey sweatpants that hung low on his waist, and a black tank top that accentuated every muscle and vein in his arms.

He sauntered over to you and draped his arm around you nonchalantly. Looking at the secretary, he said, "You'd do well to remember her. She'll be here pretty often for rehearsals."

She nodded with a frown on her face, watching in disgust as Michael led you into one of the studios, lowering his hand to rest just above your waist. It was a big spacious room with abstract artwork lining the walls with the exception of one covered by a mirror. The room had surround sound speakers. As you were ogling the room, Michael fiddled with the speakers.

"Still mad you have to be here?" he said jokingly, tinkering with a knob on the speaker.

"Annoyed would be a better adjective," you replied flatly, refusing to entertain his antics.

"Jeez," he whispered, laughing softly to himself. He pushed a button, and a familiar tune began to play. You quickly recognized the beat as 'The Way You Make Me Feel', which you would soon perform alongside Michael. For some reason, you'd been so excited at the prospect of dancing with Michael that you'd practiced every single day until your legs were sore. I mean, if you'd ever watched him perform, you'd get it. Especially if you happen to be attracted to men. If you weren't before, you would be after watching him dance. You'd imagined him behind you, moving his hips in time with yours as you ran your hand sensually down his chest.

"How well do you know the choreography?" he asked cockily.

"Well enough," you replied, crossing your arms, a slight smirk spreading across your face.

When Michael's cue came and he began to dance, that was when you knew you were in deep shit. The way he rolled his hips, the way he grabbed his crotch, it was all so sensual. You couldn't tear your eyes away from him. When your cue finally came, your mouth was practically watering. You'd never seen anyone dance so passionately before, and it was driving you crazy.

Fighting your nerves, you skipped effortlessly towards Michael in time with the song, swinging your hips. The chorus started and you felt the music begin to take over your body.

The way you make me feel.

He was closing in on you from behind, placing his hand on your hip. He reached to the front of you and put a large hand on your thigh. Blushing, you placed your hand on top of his.

"Having a hard time there, Y/N?" You scoffed and drew your hand away.

You really turn me on.

You moved your hips back and forth on his crotch, feeling his body grow stiff behind you. His grip on your side tightened and his breath grew heavy behind your ear.

You knock me off of my feet.

Following the choreography, he spun you around to face him. When he was supposed to let you go, he didn't. The doe-like quality of your eyes was pulling him in, and he couldn't contain himself. He bent down and pulled you into a kiss, gentle but full of passion. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and slightly parted your lips, giving his tongue access to your mouth. He pulled you closer to him and tilted his head, deepening the kiss. His hands slid down your body to rest on your ass, gripping tightly.

You broke the kiss and pressed your forehead against his, panting quietly. He was looking at you intently, eyes gleaming darkly with lust and pride.

"Still mad you have to be here?" he whispered.

You pulled away from him and turned to the wall, your face flushed and heart beating fast. "What exactly was that about, Mr. Jackson?" you whisper, still not facing him.

Michael walked towards you and snaked his hands around your waist, his lips hovering just next to your ear. You shivered, feeling your clothed sex pulse against your underwear.

"I'm not quite sure myself, but I sure do hope it happens again," he crooned, smiling dangerously.

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks. As much as you were turned on right now, this was still the same asshole who essentially forced you to go on tour with him. You had to focus on the endgame: your studio. Nothing else mattered. You removed his hands from your hips and turned to face him.

Your eyes went cold. "It won't," you stated, grabbing your things and walking out of the room.

"Time will be the judge of that, sweet thing," he called softly after you.

You could only stand there, hands on your chest, feeling your heart beat wildly. What the hell was that?