Instead of her lips parting with her own words, her mind was screaming it. He isn't supposed to be home! How did I get involved with this kind of mess! Oh my God, he's even nake...
"Morgan?" Michael's words snapped her back to reality as she stood gape. His eyes were searching and confused.
Mo? Ohh... Meg sighed in relief. Great. So great Jesus. She was covering her dark curls. Wearing a hoodie which she decided to put on, on a second thought before grabbing her juice. A red hoodie with her hair neatly tucked behind her ear and covered carefully, and her favorite jeans. He can't know it's her. Thank God for this escape route. I'm Morgan. Mo, not Meg.
She suddenly smiled widely at him then gasping. All in pretence. Even her heartbeat warning her that she could be caught.
"Michael! Ohh, sorry...I didn't know... you're not properly dressed."
Michael looked down on his towel then chuckling. "I didn't know you were here. Wait let me put something on, but you can come in. Feel free please."
Megan hesitated as she gazed at his chuckle for a while. He's not ashamed. How could he act so cool? But then, her heart was racing. She didn't plan on seeing Michael there, let alone entering his house!
He opened the door wider for her. "Come on. I'll be right back." He said before turning and making his way up the glassy stairs, curved like a tunnel. Megan carefully stepped into the house as he was away, her heartbeat increasing with every step. Instead of her head throbbing now, it was her heartbeat.
As her heels clicked softly against the polished marble floor, stepping through the towering doors, her breath caught at the sheer grandeur that unfolded before her. The sitting room wasn't just a room — it was a statement, one that screamed power, wealth, and untouchable class. Not like the wealth was new to her, but she was astonished a he had that kind. Power intertwined. A typical type of wealth. One that commands respect.
Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across one wall, offering a sweeping view of the glittering city skyline. Automated blinds glided silently upwards, flooding the space with golden light that danced across every surface. The ceiling rose high above, fitted with recessed lights and a chandelier of hand-blown crystal that sparkled like falling stars.
The furniture was sleek and deliberate: an expansive L-shaped leather sectional in jet black, accented with plush throw pillows of deep emerald and gold. A low glass coffee table, resting on a geometric rug, displayed a neat arrangement of rare art books and a sculptural centerpiece that looked more like something from a gallery than a home.
Against one wall, a built-in electric fireplace burned with a controlled, elegant flame, its frame lined in brushed steel. The opposite wall was dominated by a massive abstract painting — bold strokes of black, white, and red — a single piece worth more than most people's entire lives.
Megan's eyes roamed, wide with disbelief, every inch of her body absorbing the atmosphere. It wasn't ostentatious in the usual sense — it wasn't cluttered, it wasn't loud — but there was something in the precision, the sheer polish of it all, that pressed down on her like an invisible force.
This wasn't just wealth. This was power, built into every corner of the room. As she walked round with marvelling grey eyes, holding a smile, a painting in particular captured her attention. It was magnanimous. Beautiful.
It hung alone on the wall, commanding the space like a silent monarch. The canvas was massive — stretching nearly floor to ceiling — but it wasn't its size that made Megan pause, it was its force.
Broad, sweeping strokes of deep crimson cut across a storm of shadowed blacks and steel grays, the colors colliding in a chaos that still somehow held harmony. At its heart, a single streak of gold tore through the violence of the paint, bold and unyielding, as if declaring triumph amid ruin.
The texture was raw; the layers of paint rose and fell like scars on the surface, rough to the eye, almost begging to be touched. In some places, the reds bled like veins across the canvas; in others, the darkness swallowed everything whole. It wasn't pretty — it was powerful, unnerving, alive.
Megan stared at it, her chest tightening with a strange pull she couldn't name. It was more than a painting. It was a statement — the kind only a man like Michael would choose. A piece that didn't just decorate a room but dominated it. As she brought forth her hand and felt the painting, it was as if her warm hands turned cold, and as if she was touching something live. A live space, the painting being so smooth.
She walked gently to the one beside it, another soul-capturing painting. This one, a painting revealing a little boy. Lovely, cute but very sad. His eyes, however, were the center of everything — wide, glassy pools of sorrow that seemed to follow her wherever she moved.
The artist had painted them with such raw precision that they shimmered with unshed tears, their depth hinting at stories untold. A faint blush of crimson on his cheeks contrasted with the pale tone of his skin, as though life clung stubbornly to him even as sadness weighed him down. His lips curved neither in a smile nor a frown, just a subtle downturn that spoke of innocence touched too soon by grief.
Around him, faint golden strokes framed his outline, as if light itself was trying to protect him — but it was dim, fading, struggling against the storm. The longer Megan stared, the heavier her chest grew, as though the little boy's sadness had leapt from the canvas to press upon her heart. Her mind told her it wasn't just a painting. It was a wound, immortalized in color, frozen forever on Michael's wall.
I guess there is more to it. And more to know.
"Know what?" A voice queried her mutter, his deep voice sending shivers to her immediately she heard them. She didn't know she spoke out loud. As she flung round with a skip of her heartbeat, her hood came of, revealing her neatly packed black hair.
Michael gazed at her in shock. This was Megan Adams. He couldn't believe he has been deceived.
"Megan?!" The name slipped off his tongue like a scream, his eyes gleaming in shock. She felt also a tint of anger in his tone. Like he was agitated, for being lied to. She almost fell in dizziness as she tried to maintain her stance, not to fall again into his muscular arms. Her head began pounding again as she was short of words. Her cover has been blown.
"Megan, what're you doing here?" He asked again, this time around very clear and not smiling. Megan considered the question a little bit daft. Weren't you the one that gladly welcomed me in? But she was speechless. She looked directly into Michael's eyes. She stared for long without her even knowing, even when she wanted to cut the gaze and turn away in shy way. But no. As they both stared into each other's eyes, it was as if the world went silent and it was only them in a typical kind of planet. Where butterflies and glow worms wandered in glee.
"You lied to me," Michael interrupted her silly fantasy, grabbing her arm. Meg recovered and stared at him, a course of fear sweeping through her. Then she saw a smile lit up his face, like a bright light lit up in a dark cave. His lips curved in amusement.
"You deceived me claiming to be your twin, isn't that so, Megan Adams?"
Megan suddenly found her voice as she struggled free. "Let me go. Leave me..."
"I can't believe I bought that! How can you guys be so identical that I can only tell who is who only by the colour of your hairs? You're Megan!" Michael firmly continued, his grips tightening round her arms as he stepped closer. Megan widened her eyes as she felt a sweat tickle down the side of her face.
"Well, it's not my fault you didn't know!" She found herself finally speaking back. "I so much look like my twin, so I don't blame you."
"But no, I don't think I can mistake you for anyone again," Michael smiled as he gazed at her, seeming lost in her beauty. "Now, being so close to you and gazing at you this way, you've been imprinted in my brain."
Megan gazed awkwardly at him as she still struggled for her freedom. What nonsense is he saying now? Then he stepped more close, his cologne hitting her hard. That scent. This ... It was strong. Seductive. His shirt was not fully buttoned, and so her eyes reflexly drifted to his revealed bare chest. This was temptation. Like being tempted to eat a glossy cherry. It stood out broadly, muscular. And at that moment, she imagined touching it...or more.
"Come on. Feel free," Michael said, as if reading her mind. He saw how she looked at him. Her gaze on his chest. "Here, feel." He smiled as he took her hand where he was holding her arm, and placed it on his right chest. Meg stared at him in surprise and confusion. Hell, I didn't ask him for this. But then, it felt good. Really good.
It was warm, and encompassing. She stared at him, again into his eyes, and he had been staring at her the whole time, not wanting to let go. Her palm began sweating under his skin. The tension was too much. The touch of his body was sending heat and shivers down her spine. Michael felt it more. He felt very tempted.
"I didn't know you were home... I was just... just walking by." Meg began with a very low voice, but immediately regretted saying anything.
"I was tired and drove home straight. My friend, James also got an important call and had to go," Michael paused, staring at her lips. "You're beautiful."
Megan felt a flush immediately on her cheeks. They were quickly becoming red, and she cursed them in embarrassment under her breath. It was a mundane word. Not a compliment anymore, but a fact she hears almost everyday from many people. So why is his ' different?
"Thank you for saving my life the other day," She said, hoping to change the topic and avoiding his eyes. She also removed her hand quickly from his chest, like as if she suddenly remembered it was there.
Michael chuckled in amusement. Meg couldn't ever understand what it was all for.
"You're welcome. Don't worry, it won't happen again. I promise to keep you safe."
"You're not my bodyguard." Meg replied immediately.
"Oh yeah, I'm your boyfriend."
She didn't know why she smiled but she did, and it made Michael feel a little bit relaxed. So happy within.
"You're being so silly." She smiled in a hushed tone. Her voice drove him deeper in love.
"Perhaps I can move it to the next level," he said, suddenly pulling her close and running his hands through her lanky hair. Megan's heartbeats increased more than ever, wondering what he was up to. She shuddered immensely at his touch.
"Can I kiss you, Megan Adams?"
Meg shivered at the question. She stared into his deep hazel eyes. This was what her body has wanted without her knowledge. Michael's touch. His lips pressed against hers.
"Yes...kiss me Michael." She said, the words so hushed that it almost drove him wild with emotions. He quickly grabbed her waist and pressed her body against his, a hand slipped under her hair, as he violently began his wonders with his lips. Gentle yet fierce, like he has been dreaming of this act ever since. His lips went into hers, smacking, deep, then fierce. Meg had her eyes shut as she felt every bit of it. The feeling was so amazing. Something she never felt in her life.
He was a kiss-pro. Still curving his hands on her slim waist, feeling her tempting curves, he drew her more and more closer as he sent her leaning against the wall. Closer like she was something that would disappear any moment from now. He kissed her continuously, not wanting to ever let go until Megan's back ached against the wall.
"Michael... please," She pleaded softly admist the snog.
Then she felt a finger brush against her nipple, and a soft moan slipped out of her mouth. Michael kissed as he did so, now massaging her right breast with his warm hands, her nipples erect. He felt her breasts, it was very soft and would be cupping his hands, if he should get under that hoodie.
She has never felt so wet before. Unknowingly, she began pushing back her hips as she moaned. This act felt so good, a pleasure so fantastic. The way his hand pressed her breast, stroked her nipple.
"Wait... Michael, please..."
"Shh...," He interrupted her pleas as she moaned, sliding a hand finally under her hoodie. "Let me have you Meg. Goodness, please." He begged as he finally felt her fleshy breasts, and he imagined sucking down on them at that moment. He began walking her to his nearby cushion as he kissed her vigorously, wanting to pull off the disturbing hoodie. Then his fingers traced down her belly, her navel to her waist, and almost sliding inside her underwear.
Megan lost it. This feeling was unresistable, but she had to use all her strength in drawing away immediately. She was panting, looking furious.
"What do you think you're doing?"
He came again, pulling her forcefully to himself by her waist. "I want you. I want to have you. Please Meg." He pleaded seriously, his eyeballs holding both emotions and lust. Megan looked into his face.
"Well I won't allow you do that. I only wanted to give you a kiss!" She snapped, struggling to free herself from his grip. "Let me go at once!"
He hesistated as he just gazed at her, perharps to see if she really meant her words which were as dire as her tone. But her glare gave him his answer.
"Okay... okay, fine. Just stay here with me for a while. Don't go now, please."
Megan was silent as she allowed her eyes lock into his. "No, I want to go." She finally stated, forcefully releasing herself from his grip.
ℌ𝔬𝔴 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔲 𝔤𝔲𝔶𝔰 𝔢𝔫𝔧𝔬𝔶𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔶? 𝔓𝔩𝔰 𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔲𝔯 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱.