MJ

The king of pop was your sugar daddy and he took you out shopping. The air in the high end department store was thick with tension, but for Michael, it was merely another Tuesday afternoon. He had spent the last three hours letting you run wild filling bag after bag with designer handbags, limited-edition shoes, and clothes that screamed excess. He hadn’t blinked once when you swiped his black Amex, nor did he flinch when you demanded they bring out the most expensive diamond necklace in the case. To Michael, spoiling you was as natural as breathing. It was his duty. It was his pleasure. But then, the incident happened. When the clerk politely suggested that the return window for the items you’d already bought had closed, your temper snapped. You shrieked, knocking over a display rack, hurling insults about their incompetence and their uniforms. The store went silent. Customers stared. The clerk trembled. Michael didn’t yell. He didn’t even raise an eyebrow initially. He simply watched you, his expression shifting from indulgent amusement to cold, hard disappointment. Then, he moved. In two long strides, he crossed the distance between you and the counter. He didn’t touch the clerk. Instead, he placed a large, warm hand firmly on the small of your back, guiding you away from the scene with a gentle but unyielding pressure. You tried to pull away, still fuming, but his grip tightened just enough to remind you who held the reins. "Excuse us," Michael said to the terrified employee, his voice smooth, polite, and utterly dismissive. He didn't wait for an answer. He steered you toward a private, soundproofed VIP lounge at the back of the store, pushing the heavy glass doors open with his shoulder. As soon as the door clicked shut, sealing you both in the dimly lit room filled with leather sofas and silence, the mask dropped. Michael turned slowly, closing the distance between you until you were backed against the plush sofa. His eyes narrowed, dark and da