u/rotonoscope

Written for image 19 for the April contest

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Tonight didn’t play out how I expected. Not even close. 

After a long day at work, my favorite bar called my name. I didn’t call anyone else up; I wasn’t looking for company, just something to take the edge off. The copper cup of my Moscow mule barely had any left to sip. I could’ve ordered another, but I remembered how steep the prices are here. Stopping here would be fine.

That’s when they came up to me. I’d seen them across the bar. We made eye contact at different intervals. With her. With him. Different combinations. Different spans of time.

They invited me for some fun. I assumed that meant another drink. Or a bit of dancing. The woman, Vero, mentioned their place, and my surprise must’ve shown on my face from the way she giggled. The drink I had worked wonders for my initial hesitance, but the spontaneity reeled me in. The fact that they were a good-looking couple helped too. 

I worried my giddiness was obvious when we waited on the curb for our rideshare. Vero held my hand tenderly while her arm coiled around her husband, Robbie. Whenever she glanced my way, I couldn’t believe this was happening. She was unbelievably gorgeous. Confident. Every squeeze of my hand might’ve been on my heart instead. 

My imagination ran rampant. I had no idea what tonight would entail. Would I be watching them? Was I miraculously chosen as a bull? Were Robbie and I going to take turns with Vero until the sun rises? 

“You okay, hon?” Vero’s voice tore me from my fantasies. She shot me a reassuring smile. Her lips parted when Robbie kissed her neck, and her grip on my hand tightened with every smooch. I so desperately wanted it to be me who made her moan like that.

She broke eye contact and turned to kiss Robbie deeply. They looked good together. It’s the kind of chemistry you see in movies or porn. Even as individuals, they were both striking. 

Robbie’s phone pinged, and he pulled his lips off of Vero, pointing to his phone with a grin. “Our ride is here.”

“Good thing,” she said, flashing her eyes back towards me. “I’m not sure how much longer I could’ve waited.” 

A sedan from the early 2000s pulled up, and Robbie opened the door. I wasn’t sure whether to let Vero in first or take initiative, but a gentle tap on my back and a nudge from her spurred me to slide into the far seat. Vero followed, and Robbie was last, closing the door behind him.

The car was smaller than I would’ve liked, but for how busy the night was, I don’t have much room to complain. My knees knocked against Vero’s, and she leaned over to my ear. I tensed, trying to ignore the chills that travelled through me when she spoke. Her breath tickled against my ear, and she said, “Tight, squeeze, huh?”

“No kidding,” I said, fixating on her lips. This proximity drove me wild. I wanted to try those lips for myself, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask.

She decided for me, closing in for a deep kiss. I expected short and sweet, but I was delighted by the opposite. Lengthy. Lingering. Lustful. Vero grabbed my crotch. 

I peer down, seeing her legs spread in the corner of my vision. My hand meant to find the heat between her thighs, but Robbie is faster, hiking her dress up, giving me a flash of burgundy. The loose fabric of her dress kept her concealed, but I could tell what was happening from his movements.

Robbie pulled her panties to the side until there’s enough space for his fingers to ease into her. She stifled her moans by kissing me, and we made a point to be quiet, to not alert our driver. I saw Robbie’s phone in his other hand. We were 15 minutes away from their apartment, and that was 15 minutes longer than I wanted to wait.

I kept kissing her, getting lost in her lips. They were so plump, pressed against mine. Skilled. They tasted faintly of gin. She gave me her tongue, and I accepted it eagerly. It flailed around in my mouth, only slowing when Robbie’s touch left her whimpering.

10 Minutes left.

Her hand kept kneading over my throbbing bulge. My hips slipped off the seat into her hand. I could feel her smile against my mouth. I felt so desperate for more. My free hand reached down to fiddle with my belt, and she snatched my hand away, wagging a finger before my face, grinning.

“You have to wait,” Vero whispered, looking deep into my eyes, and her breath tickled my lips, drawing me in like a magnet.

5 minutes left.

“Do you want to taste me?” she asked, and my eyes widened in response. She yanked Robbie’s fingers out of her and presented his hand to my face.

I watched both of their faces. She bit her lip, and he Robbie locked eyes with me, patiently anticipating my next action. My arousal got the best of me. I opened my mouth, easily accepting his fingers. My expectations of rough, callous skin were pleasantly debunked. Instead, I felt smooth, soft skin pressed against my flattened tongue. Vero’s taste was out of this world. My lips locked around Robbie, sucking on his fingers.

He eased in and out of my mouth. My head spun. The rhythm was hypnotizing, and my eyes closed. My tongue flicked over the pads of his fingers before he shoved the digits further into my mouth. 

“How do I taste?” Vero whispers, and my answer was far too muffled around Robbie’s fingers. Her hands gripped my cock through my pants. Tight. Deliberate. Not just teasing; full-on contact. She started to stroke. Slow, at first, but her hand glided over the fabric while she held me as tightly as she could. I could come right this second if she’d allow me.

Arriving now.

She took her hand off and fixed her dress as the car came to a stop. Robbie got out first, helping Vero out of the car, and I followed them after I untucked my shirt, letting it hang over my crotch to hide the bulge in my pants.

Every second waiting for the elevator seemed to last longer than the last. The doors opened, and after Robbie pressed the button for their floor, Vero pulled us against the back wall, wrapping her hands around my waist and Robbie’s. She kissed me first, which stroked my ego a little more than I would’ve imagined, then pulled away to steal a kiss from Robbie.

The intervals were intentional. With every ding of every floor, Vero would switch to the other man. Part of me prayed that the elevator would linger on a floor so that I could enjoy her lips even if it meant an extra second. 

The door opened wide, and we shuffled out. Vero rested a hand on her partner’s shoulder and sprang a leg back, one at a time, to unbuckle her heels. She let them hang in her hand and grabbed me, pulling me to follow her. Her anticipation must’ve been as great as mine was. She quickened into a jog, and my heart nearly melted when I saw how wide her grin got as she looked at me over her shoulder.

At her front door, she reached her purse for her keys, fumbling as they jingled. The door opened, and I followed her into the room.

Vero pulled me by the tie, and I followed like a dog on a leash. We watched through the hallway into their bedroom. She had me sit at the edge of the bed. She took the spot next to me, and Robbie finally joined us, kicking off his shoes before sitting on the other side of her.

We picked up where we left off. She kissed me, then him, and repeat. Back and forth. Each kiss lasted longer, with no floors to keep her cadence. While waiting for my turn for her lips, the back of her hands held me closer to them. My hungry mouth found her cheeks, and she turned her head to meet my lips. She pulled away, locking eyes with me before she looked at him.

They shared a look, but her eyes returned to me. My heart skipped a beat. She started cautiously, “Before we go on, can we ask what you’re looking to get out of tonight?”

“I don’t…really know. I came here because it was just such a good change of pace from my usual night. if you’d caught me at any other time, any other day, I would’ve declined it,” I admitted.

“What made you change your mind?” Robbie asked. His smile brimmed with curiosity. 

“You’re a good-looking couple,” I answered, ignoring the blush on my cheeks. “Even if I’m just here to watch, I don’t think I would be upset. You two have such a connection that I can sense, and it still feels surreal that I’m here with you.”

“We were thinking,” Vero started, looking me up and down, “that maybe you could have more of an active role, while one of us watches.”

My hand found Vero’s thigh, hiking up her dress, and her hand on top of mine stopped it in place.

“Well, that would be what most guys we bring back want, and what most people tend to assume when we bring them here to play. But…we have something…different in mind,” Vero told me. That smile of hers was deadly. She grinned wider, and there was a drunken glisten to her eyes. “When we were at the bar, I thought you were just so, so handsome, and I just couldn’t stop imagining you with my husband.”

I looked over at Robbie, and he was blushing in his spot.

“Would you be open to that?” Vero asked, leaning closer. Her lips teased my cheek, kissing along my jaw. “I felt how big you were when you were in the car. I know you would absolutely ruin his hole.”

I nodded, and the excitement stiffened me even further. I stood up and unbuckled my pants. At the beginning of the night, I would’ve wanted Vero to kneel in front of me, but right this second, I had no complaints either way.

For his muscular build, his touches were more gentle than expected. The slow caress of the front of my thighs. The light touches on the back of my ass, inching back. The sweet kisses on my tip as he looked up at me.

“Fuck,” I said, looking down. 

Vero took a place on the side of the bed, pulling her dress up to play with herself; she smiled, watching both of us, contentedly. “Don’t mind me, boys. I’ll be here if you need me.”

Robbie swallowed me with ease, his lips wrapped around my shaft, slurping with every pass along my length. It felt this good without him using any hands; both of his were occupied, holding my ass to keep me in place so that he could take me further. God, he was so messy, and I throbbed in his mouth.

“Robbie, baby, are you ready to take him?” Vero cooed from her spot. 

Robbie removed me from his mouth, licking along the shaft, while nodding to his wife. His hand found my base, twisting and sliding along me. With a playful tilt of his head and a charming smile, he asked me, “Well? Are you ready?”

“Absolutely.” I watched Robbie get onto the bed, scooting up towards the pillows. I followed him, finding the space between his parted legs, and held his knees to push them up towards his chest.

Vero reached into her bedside drawer for a bottle of lube. A generous amount was split between both of her palms, and she took both him and me into each of her hands. She stroked fast, leaning down to kiss Robbie, then reaching over for me. Every tug pulled me closer, and my eyes shot open when I felt Robbie’s shaft along mine. Vero held us together, wrapping her hands around both of us and stroking us in tandem. Intense was an understatement.

She flashed me a look, licking her lips. “You doing okay? You’re not about to pop, are you?”

“I’m fine,” I said through a slow breath. Truthfully, I wasn’t fine. This was so different. Every touch was heightened. 

“Good, because he really likes this, so you’re in for a treat.” Vero stroked faster, gripping us harder, and Robbie’s breath picked up. I could feel his hips push gently into mine. The friction between our cocks was mind-numbing. Every pass of her hands was heaven.

He looked so desperate beneath me, and he leaned up, pulling me closer, holding me by the neck until our foreheads met. His voice was husky, and he throbbed against my hardness. “You’re fucking sexy. Can I kiss you?”

My answer took less thought than I imagined. I closed the distance between our mouths, kissing him wildly, giving him my tongue, eager to hear him moan. I put my hands behind his head, holding him to me, and his hands tugged on my hair, sending goosebumps down my nape.

“Fuuuck,” he groaned in the gaps between charged contact. Robbie whined, “Fuck, I’m gonna comeeee.”

Vero and I watched in delight as he shot thick ropes all across his chest. What a generous load. So much cum. I wondered to myself if he purely bottomed or if he ever filled Vero up; I would’ve all that cum dripping out of her pussy. 

Robbie’s moans travelled higher when Vero’s fingers found his hole. Two digits, right off the bat, curled to find his sensitive spot, and his back arched off the bed as he writhed at her touch. With a wink, Vero tossed a foil rapper towards me, and it landed at my knees. “Can you put this on for me? He’s almost ready for you.”

I reached for the rapper carefully, tearing off the corner, and slid the ring down my shaft. Lining myself up with his hole, I let my tip rest at his entrance. He was moaning already with just that much, and as I pushed in, his voice shallows as air was forced out.

A gentle hand on my back from Vero rubbed me, encouraging me, pushing me deeper. “That’s right. I want you to ruin his hole for me. Don’t be gentle. He can take it. Stretch him out.”

I gritted my teeth as I pushed in farther. He was so tight, gripping me with every pass through his hole. I sped up, and he nodded, crying out for me. I took one of his ankles, putting it on my shoulder, and the difference in tightness could’ve made me bust on the spot.

Every deep stroke rewarded me with a moan. I glanced over towards Vero. We shared a smile, and she flashed me a view of her pussy while she played with it. Part of me still wondered if sex with her was on the table, but that was greed talking. Robbie felt amazing already. 

My hands grabbed under his ass, squeezing his cheeks while I thrusted deep. I cursed under my breath, leaning down to fold his leg closer to him. His lips instantly reached up for me, and he shuddered as we kissed. His eyes rolled back as he took my tongue. I looked down at his bouncing cock, watching how it gradually stiffened. 

“Have you ever bottomed before?” Vero asked me, biting her lip as her finger swiped over her clit. After shaking my head, she flashed a crooked smile. “Are you open to it?”

My ears felt hot. I was intrigued, for sure. She had my attention, and I started to pull out of Robbie’s ass before an open palm told me to keep going. Her excitement was apparent in the way she reached into her drawer to pull out an assortment of strap-ons. Different sizes, colors, and textures.

I weighed the options in my head. There was a smooth skinny one, likely reserved for beginners. A longer, thicker, in a lovely purple-to-pink gradient. This one was more textured to be realistic, with a distinct head and balls. The last was massive and black with a variety of textures, not found on any human penis I’d seen before. That last one looked like far too much punishment than I was ready for, so I opted for the middle option.

“Good choice,” she cooed for me with a smile. She instructed me to keep fucking Robbie while she slid the strap on into the O-ring of her harness. There was so much care she put into the entire process, adjusting every strap around her waist and each of her thighs. Securing every buckle ensured the strap stayed put. Her hands glided over it to spread a heaping amount of lube, and she took her place behind me.

I felt the tip hitting against my entrance, and I puckered and excitement. One of Vero’s hands guided the colorful silicone against me while the other rested gently on the front of my neck, not to squeeze or choke, but to relax me. Slow strokes along the front of my throat calmed my muscles, and I felt soft, gentle kisses on the back of my nape.

“Easy, now. Remember to breathe,” Vero told me. Her tone was calming, and my lips parted as she started to push in. 

I stopped thrusting into Robbie, using all of my focus to accept more of the toy into my ass. I groaned as she moved deeper, and shut my eyes. My heart was racing, the pressure from behind increased, and my lips quivered as a whimper slipped out.

“Oh, that’s such a tight squeeze, darling, I’m sorry.” Every word from her lips tickled my ears. Soft lips met the side of my neck, and she kissed me so softly. Vero whispered against the goosebumps she left behind. “You can do it though, can’t you? You can take all of me.”

The lungs barely had enough air behind them to answer verbally. A nod had to do. My back arched away from her body, and her words of encouragement inspired me to push back onto her. Through the initial discomfort, I felt it at last, her hips as she bottomed me out. 

The dual sensation left my mind racing. I shallowly stroked to feel Robbie’s tight ring along my shaft, but every movement back and forth guided Vero into me. There wasn’t a movement I could make that didn’t feel good.

“Fuck,” she whispered in my ear. Moving her hands to rest on my hip bones. “You’re doing so well. But don’t get too greedy, okay? You still have to fuck Robbie.”

“I know,” I whined, picking up my pace. Whether I was against her or him, bliss burned through my body. My legs shook under me, but Vero’s firm grasp kept me up. She pressed against my sweet spot, curling my toes. I grunted as I pushed all the way into Robbie. “God, you’re so fucking tight.”

He breathed deeply, flashing me a grin. He pushed up to kiss me and broke it to put his head on my shoulder. I heard their lips meet just by my ear. The passion and connection between them was something enviable. They were crazy about each other. Happy to share me, and that alone made me feel so needy. Turning my head towards theirs, I kissed the corners where their lips met. Delighted by my willing participation, they turned slightly, welcome me in, and all three of our tongues collided, coiling, as we took turns exploring each other’s mouths.  

As Vero thrusted deeper, I followed suit, pushing into Robbie. My thighs clapped against his ass, getting louder with each thrust. Vero stuck her fingers in my mouth, and I sucked them forcefully. Her fingers rubbed back and forth along my tongue, going deeper while her other hand reached down to stroke Robbie rapidly.

I watched the speed of her hand and thrusted to match her pace. Robbie’s breath picked up, rendered high and dainty. He was ready to break and burst any second now.

Heaving through gritted teeth, I refused to let up, going faster. Harder. As deep as I could. I watched his tip pulse, and with a few more quick strokes, he sprayed violently, sending thick, white spurts up his torso, even reaching up to his face.

“Oh fuck,” I said. It was a sight to see. His body, covered in his thick cum. It unlocked a hunger I’d never felt. 

My body was ready to give out. I collapsed on top of him, but my arms threaded under his body, holding the back of his head. I kissed him, but my tongue wandered to get a taste of that sweet cum on his face. It tasted much better than I thought, and our tongues swapped it back and forth. The sultry mix of spit and seed we shared only furthered the heat in my body.

My legs gave out, flattening out under me, and my body fell flush to his. I could feel his loads, cool and sticky on his skin, on my body. I throbbed inside him. Vero’s hands shifted to my lower back, pinning me down, and I felt your knees straddle my ass.

“Oh, perfect. Just like that,” she said, thrusting deep, clapping against my ass. “Take me. Tell me how bad you want it.”

“I love how you fuck me,” I told her before locking my lips onto Robbie. “Oh, shit. Oh, god, you’re gonna make me–”

I lost track of what I was saying, reduced to incoherent babbling. I could only focus on the way she pounded my ass. Every forceful thrust hit my sweet spot, and my eyes locked shut as I groaned against Robbie’s lips, expelling all air to fill his mouth.

I bucked out of control, not knowing which way to go: deeper into Robbie or thrusting back into Vero. A mix of both left me spasming and jerking between them, milking every last drop of cum out of me, and I slowed to a stop. With how hard I came, I wondered if a condom would be able to hold everything. 

Vero was kind enough to ease out slowly, and I followed suit. Robbie scooted over, patting the middle of the bed, and I fell onto my back, staring up at the ceiling. The couple snuggled up to me, one in each of my arms, and kissed the cheek closest to them, forcing a rush of red across my face.

“How about we take five, hop in the shower, and then we can go for a round two?” Robbie suggested, wiping sweat from his brow. 

“We can even switch things up if you’d like,” Vero said. “You’re the guest of honor, so you can call the shots this time.”

They both scooted closer. The three of us barely fit on this queen-sized bed, and all I could do was smile from ear to ear. Tonight didn’t play out how I expected, but right now, I was exactly where I wanted to be. 

Written for image 04 for the April contest!

Bridgerton fans, spoilers for season 4 await, like almost right at the beginning haha

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“Countess Kilmartin, Lady Stirling is here for you. Shall I prepare a pot of tea?”

Francesca hits the wrong key on the pianoforte and her fingers freeze. The melody she was playing escapes her, and her fingertips roll atop the keys, hoping the song will come back to her. With a huff, Francesca presses down, and the chaotic, grating chord reflects her surprise. 

Michaela Stirling is a good friend of Francesca’s late husband, John, the former Earl of Kilmartin. Francesca thinks of the last time she’d seen Michaela: the celebration of John's life, nearly two years ago. She sighs. Her eyes dart to the housekeeper, whose concern grows as the angle of her brows deepens. “Yes. Yes, please. With some biscuits, perhaps? And if possible, could you procure some bonbons–the kind that Lady Michaela is fond of?”

“Of course,” the housekeeper takes her leave with a polite bow, and her company is replaced by Michaela almost immediately.

“Michaela…” Francesca greets at first, but she has not a clue what to say next. The bench below her scoots out, and she stands tall, but stiffly. Michaela is a sight for sore eyes, surely, but the tremors in Francesca’s chest say otherwise. “It is…good to see you.”

Michaela smiles, nodding her head. The grip of her hands tightens, folded in front of her, and she shifts in place. “Likewise, Countess–” 

“Please. Surely, Francesca is fine. We are friends, after all, are we not?” Francesca asks nervously. The distance between them shrinks with each anxious step Francesca takes. The muscles in her cheeks tighten, and she worries the smile she forces comes off as unnatural. 

Michaela nods, not answering directly, but also not meeting the countess’s eyes. Her lips part, and she smiles, as if to banter like usual, but no such sounds find their way into the drawing room. With a sigh, Michaela prolongs the silence. 

Silence. 

Silence is bittersweet for Francesca. Her late husband, John, was truly the love of her life. They could sit together, not saying a word, simply enjoying each other’s proximity in their shared space. That was enough. 

That same silence from Michaela is uncomfortable. Offputting. Uncanny. This is hardly the Michaela who almost always had something to say. A joke to make. An opinion to be made known. The air is far too thin. Francesca believes she’d long ago earned Michaela’s familiarity. This interaction–long and arduous–proves the opposite. Mere paces separate the two. Francesca considers taking a step closer, but to what end? Even if the physical distance between them is bridged, the emotional barrier remains. 

Francesca chokes on nothing, trying to make sense of the encounter. “How long do you intend to stay?”

“I’m sorry?” Michaela squints her eyes, tilts her head, and raises a brow. She preens her ruby-red dress. “I…apologize if I’m interrupting any obligations–”

“No, no,” Francesca nearly tramples through her words. She takes a deep breath. A seam on one of her gloves bothers her, and she fiddles with the fit, twisting along one of her fingers. “If you mean to stay long, we can certainly have your room prepared.”

“Oh, you do not need to,” Michael starts, waving her hands in front of her. “That is very kind, but I do not mean to trouble you or the staff.”

“Nonsense,” Francesca says, meeting Michaela‘s eyes resolutely. “As long as I am entrusted with the estate, you will always have a place here at Kilmartin House. John certainly would’ve had it this way as well.”

There’s a knock at the door, and the housekeeper returns with a tray of tea, a set of cups, and the promised desserts, setting the tray down on the table.

Francesca walks over, helping herself to a piece of shortbread, licking her lips of any crumbs that cling to them. Michaela eyes the tray–specifically the bonbons, a chocolate shell with a drizzle of white. An upward curl finds her lips, and her eyes flit up towards Francesca before she takes a piece.

“Please ready Lady Stirling’s room,” Francesca says after swallowing her first bite. “Fresh sheets, please. And see to it that her things can be taken up as well.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the housekeeper says before taking her leave. She shuts the door behind her, leaving them alone in silence, once again.  

Francesca watches Michaela indulge in the dessert. She stares at Michaela’s lips. Plump. Beautifully glossy. Melted chocolate clings to them.

Michaela bites into the chocolate outer shell of her bonbon, and Francesca watches–without blinking–as the woman’s tongue gathers the thick cherry liqueur that spills out. 

“Francesca?” Michaela says, bringing the countess out of her trance. “Pardon my saying this, but your dress suits you much more than black does.”

The compliment has rather morbid implications, but Francesca sees the comment for what it truly is: a means to break the ice. It’s a joke few would make, but it’s almost comforting coming from Michaela. Far better than silence. “What brings you here? Business perhaps?”

“It’s been too long,” Michaela admits, much more sentimental than Francesca would have liked. “I thought I might lend an ear or shoulder, if you should so have it. John would’ve wanted me to be here for you.”

Francesca sputters a laugh and stands suddenly, pacing through the room. The click of her steps on the floor sounds so hollow in the drawing room. She glances towards Michaela, whose confused expression desperately searches Francesca’s for answers. A scoff exits Francesca’s throat before she can pull its reins. She grabs a piece of shortbread from the tray, staring down at the way it crumbles at her touch. “Why now, after all this time?” 

Michaela stares up at Francesca. Frowning. Speechless. Sputtering. It doesn’t suit her. 

“Why did you leave Kilmartin House two years ago? I needed you here then,” Francesca says. Her tone comes out sharply, accurate to her feelings. Her chest tightens. “The wound was fresh. And just when I thought you and I had come to understand one another…just when I believed we could be friends, you left. No note.” 

“I assumed you wanted your space,” Michaela says, plainly. “I apologize if I misread. Was your family not around to keep you company?”

“I was not alone, no,” Francesca clarifies. Her mouth twists into a scowl, but it quivers. “But you, too, were allowed to mourn with all of us. It’s not just me who lost John. We all did. He is one of your dearest friends, after all. Why would you ever believe that you were not welcome?”

Michaela stands. Her hands ball into fists. The sad expression from before turns to indignation. Her eyes mist. Her lips quiver. “Had I known you harbored such feelings of resentment, I never would have come here. Let me remedy my misstep at once.”

She turns on her heel to walk away, but a tug on her glove stops her just short of the doorway.

“Of course, I am frustrated. You think I did not wonder about where you were? Or what you were doing? I worried that you must be just as torn as I was. And just as soon as I allow myself to be honest, for once, you seek to cut me deeper by leaving. Again. How is that fair?

“Francesca, I’m sorry–” Michaela says. Her features weaken. A sharp breath barely makes its way past her throat.

“How is that fair?” Francesca repeats, quieter this time, slouching her shoulders. She steps closer, and Michaela steps away until her back hits the wall. Their eyes meet for a second, and Francesca turns her attention to Michaela’s mouth. Whatever distance sits between them, Francesca wishes to break it. The emotional one would be an uphill battle. But with Michaela here, before her, it is a completely different story. 

Her mind tells Francesca “no,” while her aching heart screams “yes.” The pendulum swings with every rapid beat of her heart. She looks all over Michaela’s face to give weight to one of the voices. But turmoil riddles Michaela’s face as well; her eyelids lower, looking down to Francesca’s mouth, and her lips pucker.

The moment gets the better of Francesca, and she leans forward until their lips clash. It’s not a chaste kiss, by any means. The prolonged peck mirrors the magnitude of their conversation; every emotion bleeds through.

Michaela’s lips are so soft, but the way she presses back is rough. Raw. Francesca‘s breath hitches when she feels Michaela’s tongue enter her mouth. She nearly loses herself, ready to succumb to the temptation, but pulls away.

Sadness spills from Francesca‘s eyes,  and she scans every feature on Michaela‘s face. Widened, shocked eyes. Brows furrowed. A blush deep enough to match her scarlet dress.

“Excuse me,” Francesca says sheepishly before opening the door and running to her room.

She licks her lips, and the mix of flavors confuses her further. Salt, from the tears she sheds: years of emotion, let loose at last. Bitter, from the harsh trace of alcohol, but also the resentment she thought she buried. Sweet, from the distinct taste of cherries. 

~

Francesca spends the rest of the day cooped up in her room. Staff members of the estate take turns checking on her, offering tea, a snack, anything they can do to improve her mood. She declines with each attempt, politely thanking them for their diligence. Before she dismisses them, she asks, without fail, “Any news of Lady Stirling's whereabouts?”

“None, ma’am” is the answer every time, much to her disappointment and misery.

To say she feels terrible is a gross understatement. The first time they’ve seen each other, and Francesca sullies their reunion over such petty reasons. She should be over it. She stares at the freshly-lit fire that one of the housemaids prepares while another helps her into her nightwear.

“Ma’am, are you absolutely certain we can’t prepare you some form of dinner? Even something small to tide you over. You’ve not eaten lunch, and I dare say the last thing you had was some shortbread from this afternoon,” a housemaid pleads. 

“Not much of an appetite,” Francesca says, forcing a smile. “It would be cruel to have the kitchen staff stay any longer for tasks they may not have to do. Please send them home early.”

“That is most gracious, ma’am,” the housemaid says before shutting the door behind her as she leaves.

Francesca sighs to herself, putting a hand out to the fire. The heat is certainly welcome.

Warmth.

Francesca‘s mind wanders back to the drawing room. The kiss, they shared. No–the kiss that she stole. What on earth was that? Francesca must’ve been out of her mind. It was far too abrupt. Far too spontaneous. And yet she didn’t hate it. She dares to admit to herself that she quite liked it, actually. For all the racing thoughts in her head, fueled by unresolved emotions, that kiss was the quiet and calm she sought.

She closes her eyes, walking her mind back to the drawing room. Francesca trails her thumb along her mouth. Even though her skin is not nearly as soft as Michaela‘s lips, she puckers, planting a kiss against the pad of her thumb. 

Francesca had declined food all evening, but this sensation on her mouth whets her appetite. Not for nourishment, but instead for Michaela. Her thumb is hardly enough to fuel her ravenous imagination. Her pointer finger finds the part between her lips, poking through, past teeth that nibble gently, and suddenly, Francesca remembers Michaela‘s tongue and how she welcomed it so easily.

The door opens suddenly, and Francesca‘s eyes shoot open. She stands up, clearing her throat. “W-were you able to locate Lady Stirling?”

Francesca’s heart nearly stops in the stillness that follows. It only pounds once more when she hears a familiar voice.

“I am here.” There’s a lightness in Michaela‘s voice that gives Francesca reprieve, but there’s also a solemnness. Regret. “I am sorry for disappearing again. Truly, it was in poor taste, given the circumstances of my last departure, Countess.” 

“Francesca,” she corrects quietly, walking carefully towards Michaela.

“Francesca, truly, you must know I never intended to hurt you. You are dear to m–my friend, John. To hurt you is to sully his memory and wishes.”

Francesca nods. She looks at Michaela, who holds the tray from earlier, as well as a covered basket nestled into Michaela’s elbow. A smile comes easily. The weight from her chest lifts, even if only a little. “What’s all this?”

“Admittedly, I gave the kitchen staff a hard time trying to recover the leftover refreshments from this afternoon,” Michaela says with a nervous grin. “They deemed it improper and insisted that they could easily procure some new ones.”

“At this hour?” Francesca says in disbelief. Her cheeks warm, but also tighten from laughter.

“And that is precisely what I told them!” Michaela says. She grabs a bonbon, tossing it into her mouth, and bites into it.

Francesca stares, thinking again of the delicious cherry filling. She reaches down to the tray, and her hand nearly hovers towards the bonbon, but she settles on a piece of shortbread instead. She expects it to be stale, but finds it crumbles all the same, to her surprise. Michaela laughs, and Francesca joins in shortly.

Fanning herself with her hand, Michaela covers her mouth as she speaks, her mouth half full. “It’s still quite good, do you not agree?”

Francesca smiles in agreement and takes the tray from Michaela. She motions towards the sofa, grabbing a newly freed hand. Words nearly catch in her dry throat; she wishes there was tea to wash the shortbread down. “Would you care to sit with me?”

Michaela follows Francesca, and they both take a seat, taking turns picking at the tray. Michaela is the first to speak. “I didn’t interrupt you when I came in, did I?’

Francesca‘s cheeks feel impossibly warm. She wishes it were from the fire, but she knows better. This is from her fantasies and daydreams, and the fact that Michaela now sits next to her, well within her grasp. Nearly choking on a piece of shortbread, Francesca clears her throat and shakes her head. “No, I was just sitting here with my thoughts.”

“My offer to lend an ear or shoulder still stands,” Michaela says. Her grin is friendly. Supportive. Reliable.

If only those lips were offered as well, Francesca thinks to herself, but she shakes the thought. Her attention on Michaela‘s mouth lingers, and if this keeps up, she is in danger of making another hasty move. She quickly snatches a bonbon, popping it into her mouth. A firm bite breaks the shell, and her mouth floods with the cherry liqueur. The flavor is far more pronounced now that she’s indulged in one for herself, but the taste easily reminds her of Michaela.

“I was just thinking that about my behavior from earlier,” Francesca says. “I was rather harsh. Had I resolved all my feelings properly, I would not have spoken as I did to you—”

A gloved hand rests on top of Francesca‘s, and Michaela leans in, shaking her head. The grip on Francesca‘s hand tightens. “You’re not one to lash out. I know this, and if it does not hurt you deeply, you are not one to be so frivolous with your anger. To see you so impassioned was a surprise enough.”

Francesca smiles, but does not feel the short relief reach up to her eyes. “So you see me as a rather impassionate person?”

“Of course not,” Michaela corrects, giving Francesca‘s hand to squeeze. “In all my time I’ve known you, you’ve always been a sort of quiet woman. I imagine that’s what made you and John so perfect together.”

Michaela laughs to herself, shaking her head. “I was foolish to believe I could offer you the same sort of solace.”

“It was quite awkward,” Francesca remarks, offering a sincere smile. “I much prefer you when you’re talkative.”

“Oh, good”, Michaela says, reassured. Her grin fades. “Could I…perhaps confess something?”

Francesca‘s eyes widen, and her heart pounds. It's a steady rhythm, like the marching beat of soldiers. Every kick of her heart against her chest leaves her worried that her pulse is apparent to Michaela.

Unfortunately, Francesca’s stomach growls louder, and Francesca blushes. She clutches her arm across her belly sheepishly. “Apologies. I had skipped dinner.”

Michaela looks to the basket on her lap, peeling away the cloth on top of it. Bread. Francesca eyes the flakes of the crust and the steam that rises. “While I was out, my time out was spent alone in my thoughts, but my own hunger and a desire to travel down memory lane brought me to a bakery John and I used to visit.”

Michaela offers the basket, and Francesca grabs a piece. She bites into it, surprised by the warmth inside. Likely the last batch of the day before they closed. 

“The reason I left so suddenly after John left us…” Michaela starts, pausing to sniffle. “It hurt to reside in Kilmartin House. John and I had spent so many years here. Endless memories together. He was more than just my friend. He’s the closest thing I had to a brother. I told him everything, as he did to me.”

“His absence is felt by all,” Francesca says fondly.

“Even today, as I was walking through the halls, I thought to myself how the hall seemed bigger before. The doors seemed taller. Everything is so different now,” Michaela explains. “When I see how empty the hallways are. I imagine us running around as children, and I swear I can hear the echoes of his laughter.

“You bring that sort of laughter out of him,” Francesca says, “And one reason I may have been jealous of your connection to him, initially. I know he adored the quiet of our marriage, but he reveled in the loud laughs he shared with you.”

Francesca smiled sweetly. Memories and stories of John always brought a smile to her face, even if they came with the familiar yearning for his company.

“Those memories are not the only reason I felt I had to leave,” Michaela says. She stops herself, recoiling her hands back into her lap to fiddle with her gloves. “During the party, when you tried to set me up with Lord Taylor, I saw it as you finding the means to get rid of me once and for all–”

“Michaela, that’s not at all what I intended–”

“I know better, now. Water under the bridge. You made good when you chased after me that night to apologize. We both saw each other in the new light. I’ve never seen you smile like that before,” Michaela says, reaching up to play with one of her curls.

“If memory serves, that smile was to the effect of alcohol.” Francesca giggles.

“Still, Francesca, something changed that night.”

“That was the night we made the collective decision to become friends,” Francesca says. 

“No,” Michaela says. “It was more than that. Something stronger.”

“Something stronger,” Francesca repeats. She struggles to keep the pace of her heart under control. Every knock against her chest is a threat to burst. A heat deep inside her, down near the pit of her stomach, ignites. Burning. Spreading through her like the warmth from the fireplace. Her lips feel dry, struggling to find the words. Her legs cross, and the shiver that runs up her leg contrasts with the rising heat. “Something like…lust?”

“Worse,” Michaela insists, staring deeply into Francesca‘s eyes. She looks away, biting the inside of her cheek, nearly losing heart. She gulps hard, and Francesca sees a burning resolve behind fiery eyes. “Love.”

Silence.

Somehow more uncomfortable than earlier in the drawing room. Tingles everywhere. Francesca‘s hands grab her dress, clutching the fabric. Her lips crave the contact of Michaela‘s. Her sex desires a touch she’s not felt in two years. Francesca takes it upon herself to remedy the silence directly. “You…loved me?”

Michaela darts her head down, staring at the clenched fists in her lap. “It was wrong. It was shameful. It was selfish.”

Wrong.

The word pierces Francesca’s heart. The longer she ruminates, the more she feels that sensation. Twisting pain with every beat. The feeling pulls the corners of her mouth down. “I do not understand… how could love be wrong?’

“You are John’s widow,” Michaela exclaims. “To bury these feelings when Jonn was alive was a chore. To keep it a secret after his passing was nigh impossible.” 

“So the distance was for you?” Francesca asks incredulously. She takes a tray on her lap and sets it aside on the table. Awaiting Michaela’s answers, she counts the ticks on the clock in the room. She loses count almost immediately.

Dreadful silence.

“It was. And for that, I am sorry. So incredibly sorry, Francesca.”

Francesca’s head is spinning. Thought after thought fills her mind like notes on sheet music. She hopes to form melodies. A sentence. A response. Something to make sense of it all. The distance between them shrinks when Francesca scoots closer to Michaela. “So if you returned, surely that means your feelings have faded?”

Her senses close off. She barely has the courage to look up at Michaela. Her hands feel numb and cold. She worries her ears are blocking off every word, but she is mistaken. Michaela remains silent, her expression twists.

Torturous silence.

“I fear these feelings are as strong as ever,” Michaela admits. Her eyes mist, and she gulps hard to force down tears that leak.

Francesca wraps her arms around Michaela, pulling the woman’s head into her bosom. Her hand travels to the back of Michaela‘s head, stroking it slowly, offering what comfort she can. She feels hands gripping the fabric at her sides before traveling to the small of her back.

“I’m sorry, Francesca,” Michaela apologizes, drying her face with Francesca‘s dress. “Should my feelings offend you, I will call upon a friend that I can stay with.”

“I do not want you to go anywhere,” Francesca insists boldly, wiping her own eyes. “It is… such a pleasure to have you back at Kilmartin House. It has been incredibly lonely.”

“I take it that is the reason why you made the folly to suddenly kiss me earlier in the drawing room,” Michaela teases, laughing nervously through a sniffle.

“It has been a while,” Francesca agrees, “but it was no folly. While John will always be my first great love, you are proof that my heart has the capacity to love another.” 

Michaela sniffles, sitting up to look Francesca in the eye. She smiles.

“Please do not leave,” Francesca begs quietly. Her voice is low, barely passing through her lips as she leans closer.

“I do not dare. Not this time,” Michaela promises, bringing her hands up behind Francesca‘s neck.

They share the softest kiss they can muster. Light. Far different than the heated one from earlier. This one is gentle. There is a mutual understanding behind it that Francesca can feel. Michaela‘s fingers find Francesca’s locks. The kisses that follow are much more indulgent. They are sated cravings. Answered feelings. Impatience after enough waiting has been endured.

A roaring, crackling, all-consuming fire. 

Michaela releases Francesca, pulling her gloves off and reaching for the hem of Francesca‘s dress. Fingers trace up Francesca’s legs, starting at her ankles. Slow caresses pass her calves and her thighs.

Muscle memory parts Francesca’s legs, but her thighs clench, and she snaps them closed, squeezing Michaela’s hand between them. She shudders before stealing another deep kiss. “Wait…”

“Is this perhaps too much?” Michaela asks, backing away.

Francesca grips the other woman’s dress, pulling her back until their lips crash again. “I want this. I love your lips on mine.”

Pulling off of Michaela‘s lips for her breath, Francesca tilts her head down, nudging down towards the space between her legs. She laughs nervously, musing aloud, “Perhaps doing… that would be a losing battle.”

Michaela chuckles. “Why ever would you say that?”

Francesca blushes. “I just mean that I would rather you not waste your time. Throughout my life, I’ve not yet experienced a, um, pinnacle.”

“Not with John?”

Francesca shakes her head.

“Not even on your own? “

Another shake of Francesca’s head. 

“Is that some sort of challenge, Countess?”

“It is my reality. I’ve long given up on the possibility—” she giggles at the feeling of Michaela‘s lips on her neck. “But if you promise to drop the formalities, then perhaps I will let you try anyway.”

Her breath catches at fingers tracing over her undergarments. Michaela‘s fingers are gentle without being timid. Experienced without being overambitious.

Even though it’s been ages, Francesca is not used to this sort of pace. She wonders why clothes remain on or why Michaela insists on taking her time. Dread usually accompanies the waiting and anticipation, but tonight is different. Her legs part, and she welcomes whatever touches Michaela offers her.

Francesca grabs Michaela‘s wrist suddenly, and Michaela pulls her fingers away, thinking Francesca means to slow down. It’s the opposite. Francesca wants more. More pressure. More fingers. More contact. Her hips grind against Michaela‘s fingers. She flusters at the thoughts of Michaela feeling the heat of her sex through whatever fabric remains between them.

“Getting impatient, are we?” Michaela asks. There’s a smugness to her grin. “You’re quite sure this is okay with you?”

“Do not stop,” Francesca demands. Her tone comes out sharper than she means. Like a command, but to her surprise, Michaela does not flinch or waver.

Francesca lets out far too many moans for doing so little. She lifts her hips desperately for Michaela to remove her underwear, and Michaela puts an end to her torture, peeling them off. With her dress pushed up, Francesca’s legs are exposed. Heat from the fire warms her from the outside, while her own desire burns from within.

Fingers trail along the entrance of her sex, following every fold, parting the lips ever so slightly. A fingertip prods inside, tracing around the inside of her entrance. It’s slow and careful.

Michaela expertly occupies her fingers: curling, stroking, rubbing. Francesca means occupy her mouth. She cranes her neck up to kiss Michaela at last. Her lips mirror her own hunger. There’s a distinct, lingering taste of cherry.

Francesca moans as Michaela presses in deeper. Fingers work Francesca in a way she’s never been touched. Her hips roll to Michaela’s tempo, and slow strokes against Francesca‘s walls make her head spin. Fingers ease in and slip out slowly. Repeatedly. In tune with Francesca‘s breathing.

It’s her turn to be indulgent. Her tongue pokes past Michaela‘s lips, and her tongue meets Michaela‘s, pressing against it. Their lips lock, and Francesca lets a low moan loose.

Michaela withdraws her fingers, and the sudden emptiness forces a whimper from Francesca. She looks up at Michaela, needily pulling her down for a kiss, but Michaela skillfully rips away, sucking on the digits that had just been inside of Francesca.

Michaela‘s cheeks hollow as she sucks her fingers clean. She returns them to Francesca’s entrance with a grin. She leans in closer, whispering against Francesca‘s mouth. “You taste so good.”

Francesca blushes. What a lewd thought. She can’t fathom that. Her voice shakes as she acclimates to Michaela’s fingers again. Through shallow breaths, she answers, “Do I really?”

Michaela nods before leaning closer for a soft kiss. Her fingers work more vigorously, curling faster and pressing harder. She pulls away with a shallow gasp, lips curling into a sweet smile. “Would you like to try for yourself?”

Francesca stares at the woman above her. Perhaps it’s the arousal. Perhaps it’s the moment. Or perhaps, this is all she’s ever wanted, without knowing it. The word “please” barely leaves her lips as she presents her tongue, groaning when Michaela’s fingers leave her empty again.

Michaela is just as gentle with Francesca‘s mouth as she is with her sex. Her fingers press on to Francesca’s tongue, the woman’s lids lower as she gets a taste of herself.

Francesca grabs Michaela‘s wrist, holding it in place, and her lips look around Michaela‘s fingertips, taking in each knuckle, and massaging those skilled fingers with her tongue.

“Do you desire a break?” Michaela asks. A gentle touch on the back of Francesca’s neck beckons her closer, and their lips meet. 

“No,” Francesca begs, pulling Michaela‘s hand out of her mouth and bringing it back between her legs. “Give me more. I want more.”

Michaela grins at the urgency, and her fingers ease in once more. She finds a certain spot, rigid and bulbous. Deep inside her.

Her fingers hammer against that sweet spot, the same way Francesca would press on a key on the pianoforte. Though instead of a cheerful melody, it’s the same note over and over. Repeatedly. Francesca expects monotony, but it is anything but. The steady rhythm does wonders, but Michaela’s tempo speeds up.

When Michaela presses harder, Francesca‘s voice climbs. A sharp breath becomes a whiny whimper. A whimper becomes a soft moan. A moan becomes a harsh, sharp cry.

Crescendo. 

Fortissimo. 

Repeat.

Francesca puts a palm to her lips to stifle her sounds, but Michaela tears it away, pinning it on the armrest just above Francesca‘s head.

Michaela stares with such attentiveness, watching Francesca’s expression. She can see Francesca’s desperation, and she feels the same. “Please. I’ve been thinking of these moans ever since I last saw you. Do not hold back. I need to hear them.”

Francesca nods, and a hand pulls Michaela down by her hair so that their lips can meet. Gone are the soft, sweet kisses. There’s only hunger and passion to be felt on their lips.

More cries come out, and Francesca’s legs weaken. Pressure against her sweet spot throws her over the edge. Her hips buck wildly, with no steady rhythm at all. Staccato. Muscles spasm uncontrollably, and she quivers as each shaky breath barely slips out.

Heat floods her body, warming her like a blanket, consuming her from the inside. She desperately grabs for Michaela, pulling her down. Moans simmer down, but she steals a few more kisses before smiling.

“Were my efforts in vain?” Michaela asks with a knowing grin, sucking on her fingers to indulge in another taste of Francesca.

“I dare say you’ve changed my reality for the better,” Francesca answers. Lingering sensations leave residual heat deep inside her, and her heart is so full when she sees the way Michaela smiles. Her face drops when Michaela gathers her gloves and stands up, brushing wrinkles off her dress. “Do you mean to leave?”

“Only off to my chamber. I will still be here come morning,” Michaela assures. A warm smile forms. “Am I misremembering that you are particular about your bedtime? You instructed me to not keep you up past 10.” 

“Oh, I am a changed woman now,” Francesca promises. “I can stay up until at least 10:30. 

She stands to wrap her arms around Michaela, who returns the embrace. “I would greatly appreciate it if you stayed here with me. Truly, we have much to discuss.”

“Of course,” Michaela says. “What do you mean to talk about first?” 

“With two years of not seeing one another, I imagine you must have many stories to tell,” Francesca says sweetly, squeezing Michaela‘s hands. She walks them over to her bed, and kisses Michaela on the cheek. “But even if we get our fill of conversation, I am most certain that I will have an appetite for you. And if you will be so gracious as to allow me, I would very much like to taste you myself.”