Love from Another (A Michael Jackson FanFic)

Ch. 14: Hey, Farewell to Sorrow (Alexandria POV)

(Alexandria's POV)

Tears stung my eyes. Why was I so emotional?

I  couldn't believe he would share a secret that big with me. Does he always trust this easily? No. There's no way. He's Michael Jackson. He wouldn't--couldn't share something so...so intimate with just anyone. Maybe I'm reading too much into it. He couldn't really like me like that.

I mean, we did spend the whole day together.  He was so helpful carting me all around downtown LA, picking up the wardrobe for the upcoming tour, gathering decorations for the children's visit later tonight at the ranch. Could he, could he maybe want more? If I was being completely honest with myself, I was absolutely one hundred percent infatuated with him. He was kind, smart, talented, masculine and gentle all at the same time. How does he not have every woman around him throwing themselves at him? He seems so unaware of the effect he has on people.

"I didn't mean to upset you. It's really no big deal!" He quipped braving a smile. His fingers nimbly buttoned his blue shirt hastily. He looked a bit embarrassed which only deepened my feelings of sadness for him. Our conversation was interrupted by Jerry inquiring about our drive thru order from KFC.

NO BIG DEAL?

This was definitely a big deal. No wonder he was such a recluse. He rarely did interviews which only added to the public eccentric mystique about him, but now--now, I get it. I totally get it. Interviews nowadays were so prying, so revealing; I couldn't imagine going through such an ordeal under the scrutiny of the press. I mean, honestly...could you?

"Say something," he huskily breathed breaking the deafening silence in the limo. I had no words. I just wanted to comfort him. Gathering all the confidence that remained, I leaned into him and grazed my fingers across his cheek, gently caressing his face. I felt the bristle of his jawline and could feel his teeth clenching as I searched his deep brown eyes for a sign.

"Is this okay?" I whispered. My body was reacting to him in a way it hadn't in a long, long time. I could feel my nipples harden under the sheer fabric of my pale pink sundress. My breathing was so hoarse and ragged you would think Jerry could hear it. That and my sex, my sex was growing increasingly ready and wet.

"It's okay not to be okay," I told him. He opened his eyes, there it was again that connection: brown eyes meet green. No one knew this better than me. I could say this to him now because I know what it feels like to feel as if you have no one to confide in. I've have my episodes of depression in the past, the only benefit was that I was able to deal with them privately. Michael, on the other hand, had to be a machine. He was constantly on display to the world.

He had to produce content, he had to perform, he couldn't take a "me day" because he was feeling blue. I can't imagine having to have that kind of burden. I mean seriously think about it. If he cancels a show, the production crew, venue personnel, band, sponsors: they don't get paid. They each have families and bills that they are responsible for. These people depend on him to be at 100%. Not only that, but the fans--they spend their hard earned money to support his craft. He must carry around so much guilt. "Let me kiss you," he damn near moaned. His sultry request seemed to be directly tied to my want, my need for him. I nodded my head in reply as he gently took my head in his hands and carefully kissed my ready waiting lips.

Time was suspended. My heart was beating so hard I was sure he could feel it in our embrace. He deepened our kiss, placing one hand on the small of my back and the other on my cheek. He was so warm. Like my own personal furnace. I could bask in his warmth forever, I was so elated to know that I wasn't imagining his feelings towards me. He wanted more too. He leaned into me until his body was pressed hard against my chest. I was so caught up in Michaels spell that I didn't feel the cool wind from the open window until it was too late. The flashing bulbs sent me hurtling back to reality as I watched Michael scramble to close the limo window.

This. Isn't. Good.

"I'm so sorry, Michael!" I sputtered. My eyes immediately filled with tears. I know how important his privacy is and here I was: ruining it. Hell, if I thought Karen hated me now, just wait until those photos were splashed across every filthy tabloid imaginable.

Michael darted across the cab towards the phone that was opposite us. He quickly dialed a number, I watched as he waited impatiently for the other person to answer. I was biting my lip, trying and failing to hide my feelings. That's when it happened. We locked eyes. Worrisome green eyes meet brown eyes on fire.

He dropped the phone on the receiver with a loud clatter and within seconds his arms snaked around my slim waist. I felt the cool leather of the seat against my exposed shoulders as I welcomed his insistent wet kiss. He tasted sweet and salty, the perfect taste. I can't remember feeling this happy with anyone. Just wanting to be close to someone, I've had my share of sorrow filled years and I could tell he had too. I matched his tempo, my slick tongue searching his, biting and nipping at his neck as his palm scaled my now exposed thigh.

The limo screeched to a sudden halt--the limo door opened pouring in warm California sunshine, and we were met with Frank, Karen and Broomhilda ...at the front doors of Sycamore Valley Ranch.