Work Text:
"You're far too beautiful to be looking this displeased."
Francesca Bridgerton looked up from her martini.
The woman standing beside her was, she had to admit, striking. Dark hair swept into an artfully careless knot. A dress the colour of Bordeaux. The sort of effortless confidence that came only from a lifetime of hearing yes.
A slow smile tugged at her mouth. "Tell me," Francesca says. "Do those lines usually work?" The smile widens. "No," she says. "But it was worth it just to see you smile." She tilts her head, easy. "Then again, I don't usually have to try this hard."
Francesca hums. She can understand that. The woman sits with enough self assurance to make Francesca raise an eyebrow.
"You're not going to ask first?" Francesca says.
"I don't make it a habit," she says, "of asking before going after what I want."
Francesca looks at her for a moment — the dark eyes, the ease of her, the way she takes up space like she's been there — then turns back to the bar and catches the bartender's eye, lifts her glass with two fingers, and says something in that low, economic way she has with most people, then glances at the woman's empty hands and adds a word.
"Thank you," the woman says.
"Mm," Francesca says.
The bar is the Connaught at half ten on a Wednesday, which is a specific kind of evening — the rooms deep and warm and lit with the particular amber of places that cost what this place costs and don't discuss it, the bar panelled in dark wood and hung with brass and full of the kind of people who come here because they can, and they do, and it suits them. At a corner table two men are having an argument they're making look like a negotiation. Against the far wall a woman in a green dress is laughing at something her companion has said, head back, hand over her heart. The ice in Francesca's glass is spherical and hasn't melted.
And in the middle of the room, where the floor opens up past the bar, where the hotel has installed a jazz trio on a low stage and left the rest of the space to what people do at this hour, which is: be close together, and pretend it's about the music—
There's a woman.
In gold. The dress moves when she does, which she does, which she is doing right now, slowly, with her eyes half-closed and her braids loose and all that gold thread catching and releasing the light with every turn. She's dancing with someone — a tall woman, broad-shouldered, the kind of build you feel through a shirt, and her arms are wrapped around the gold dress from behind and her hands are at her waist and she's leaning into her — and the woman in gold tips her head back, laughing, and the arms around her tighten.
Francesca’s jaw tightens and she looks at the brass fixture on the wall behind the bar.
The woman beside her is saying something about the hotel, about the bar programme, about a trip somewhere. Francesca listens and looks at the dance floor.
The woman in gold has shifted — moving now, rolling her hips back in the slow deliberate way of someone who knows exactly what they're doing, which she does, she always does, she has always known exactly what she's doing in every room she's ever walked into — and the hands tighten at her hips and the tall woman presses in, mouth close to her ear.
Francesca's fingers grip her drink.
The fingers that hook under her chin are light, just two of them, turning her face away from the dance floor and back to the bar.
"—sorry," the woman says, dark eyes amused and warm and not sorry at all. "I was saying — how long are we expected to exchange niceties before I take you back to my room?"
Francesca looks at her. At the strong jaw, the dark eyes, the smile that hasn't moved.
"Bold," Francesca says.
"Optimistic," the woman says.
Francesca holds her gaze for a moment longer. She reaches for her glass. She drains it.
She sets it on the bar. She takes her clutch. She looks, once more, at the woman beside her — the dark eyes, still trained on her, still warm, still entirely certain — and she says, "Thank you. For the company," and leaves.
She doesn't look at the dance floor on the way out.
Michaela Stirling extricates herself from her dance partner in the easy, warm way she has, the kind that leaves people feeling the evening was wonderful even when it's ending, says something light and true and moves away without hesitation, picking up her clutch from where she'd left it at the edge of the floor and going without looking back.
The corridor on the ninth floor is carpeted and quiet and amber in a different way from the bar, warmer, softer, the brass sconces on the walls doing something gentle. She walks it without hurrying. Her heels are quiet on the carpet and she can’t shake the feeling of being followed, of being observed by one person in a city of millions, which makes her bite back a smile, shaking her head. She reaches the door at the end and takes out her key card and she is, she notices, smiling wider, biting the inside of her lip against it, because it's funny, it's always been funny, the whole beautiful insane thing of it.
She presses the card to the lock.
She puts her hand on the door.
She pushes it—
The hand that slams against the door above hers is flat and warm and it shoves the door open and then it's closing at her throat and then her feet are moving because she is being walked backward, into the room, and the door hits the frame behind them and she is slammed against the wall and the room is dark except for the city coming through the window, amber and permanent and everything.
She looks up, the smirk on her full lips utterly unrepentant.
Francesca's face is—
Ravenous is the word. Gone is another word, maybe. She tightens her hold around her throat and Michaela can barely hide the smug smile that graces her lips. All of Francesca's usual meticulous, immaculate composure is present and completely suspended, doing nothing at all, standing down, and she is just looking at Michaela with demented eyes that have gone somewhere she doesn't let them go in public, somewhere that is only ever here, only ever Michaela’s— and then she drops her face into the side of Michaela's neck and doesn't kiss it, just — presses her nose into the skin there and breathes in, delirious, primal, almost feral, like she's finding something or confirming something or both.
Francesca lifts her head from her neck and presses her face down — her cheek against her chest, then lower, her nose at the swell of her breasts, her teeth just grazing the skin there, and she breathes in again, deep, like she's going to keep it, and then she lifts her head and steps back and looks down the full length of her and something moves through her face that Michaela doesn't have a word for, a word that is equal parts possession and awe and the very particular expression of a woman who has spent all evening watching someone else's hands on what is hers.
She drops to her knees looks up at Michaela from the floor with those eyes and her hands are at her ankles and scratching up her calves and then the backs of her thighs, and Michaela can barely stop herself from laughing knowingly when she buries her face between Michaela’s legs, presses her whole face into her pussy and inhales deeply, growling against panties that are becoming increasingly soaked by the second.
"I should fucking kill you," Francesca murmurs against her, "for letting someone else touch what's mine." Her teeth find the inside of Michaela’s thigh and she bites hard enough to draw blood and Michaela all but mewls, head tipping back against the wall. Michaela's fingers fist in her hair and pull her back up, up, up, up, and she kisses her hard, moaning into her mouth at the taste of her own blood still on her lips. Then she pulls away and slaps her.
Francesca's head turns with it, cheek stinging, and for a moment neither of them moves. Then Michaela grabs her jaw, fingers digging in, forcing her gaze back.
"I should fucking kill you," she echoes, quiet and even, "for letting someone else touch what's mine."
She doesn't wait for a response and reaches down, hooks her fingers into the lace of her own underwear, and pulls them off — pushing the fabric into Francesca’s mouth in one smooth, certain motion and Francesca’s eyes roll back,making Michaela laugh, low and knowing, before she pushes her back towards the bed. She makes a quick work of Francesca’s pants, hiking up her dress, barely has the time to stroke her cock before Francesca lifts her up, one hand on either side of her waist, and though Michaela knew she should look her in the eyes as she slid inside for the first time, all she could do was stare down at her cock as it disappeared inside her body. Francesca guided her down slowly, ever so slowly, but still she lost her breath at the first breach. The moan that left her body as Francesca pushed inch after inch inside was not a human sound. She sounded like a creature being ripped in two. Her mind was far away, her body in her control, and there was nothing she could do but scream as she finally slid home.
“’You should see how pretty you look with your cock buried in me. So gorgeous, so fucking big.” she moaned, wrapping her arms around her back and gathered her close. “Nobody can ever fuck you like I do. Nobody else can ever have you. Say it, say that aah-” she gasped, groaning as Francesca, that cheater, rolled her hips and sent a harsh thrust into her. She could hear her, whispering her name over and over and over again. She sounded just as lost as Michaela was, and it was bliss to be thrown into the void with her. She kept trying to speak and failing and it took all the strength in her to push Francesca back and pin her down, holding her wrists above her head and for a blessed second, neither of them moved before Michaela lifted herself up pushing Francesca’s cock out all the way to her tip then slamming her hips back down, trapping her effectively inside her, clenching and pulsating around her cock. She bit back a smile, watching multiple emotions go through her face before Francesca finally relented, begging really, face almost crimson, tears pooling into her eyes “Fuck! Nobody else can ever have me. I’m all yours. Always yours”. Michaela finally let herself smile unbidden, leaning slowly into her and pecked her lips softly, gently stroking her chin “Good girl. Now I need you to fuck me please daddy”
She was expecting her to flip them over and press her head down into the bed, immediately shove her cock inside her, but Francesca lifted her up like she weighed nothing and sat her on her face, her lips meeting Michaela’s pussy like she was starving for her. Her hand cupped Francesca’s jaw, fingers tangling in the hair behind her ear as her other hand moved to the top of her head, pulling her hair. She couldn’t help the moan that poured from her lips as Francesca bit her thigh and pushed her tongue inside her, exploring every inch of her she could get, digging her fingers in Michaela’s thighs and pulling her down to allow further access. It was as if Francesca was consuming her, pulling her apart piece by piece until she was nothing but exposed nerves and heat. Michaela let out a breathy, relieved sigh as Francesca pressed the flat of her tongue to her clit, swirling the bud with the tip before she latched her lips around the bundle of nerves and sucked. Her hips lifted, rocking against Francesca’s face as her hands moved from the sheets to her hair, from her hair to the sheets, to anywhere she could try and get a grip because reality was dissolving around her. She had spent the entire night imaginingthis, ignoring her pussy aching at the idea. Michaela couldn’t take her eyes off of Francesca as she set about making her shiver and shake. Fingers that were once steady between her legs have become more forceful, pulling sounds out of her that could probably be heard all the way to the hotel bar they just left. She comes apart in a rush, shivering as her orgasm moves through her. When Francesca pulled away from her clit with a wet pop, she nudged her shoulder with her foot, rolling her eyes when she looked up at her with a grin. “You taste delicious, angel.” Michaela bit back a smile, stomach flipping at how slick her lips and chin were. From her. All her.
“Kiss me,” she begged, already crawling down to meet her as her arousal dripped thick between her legs, grateful when she bridged the gap and bracketed her body with hers, sharing the taste of her between them. She could feel where Francesca was hard and throbbing against her inner thigh, and she reached down to take her cock into her hand, blinking rapidly as her mind came to remember that her fingers could never fully wrap around her.
Francesca noticed her pause, looking down at where Michaela’s hand worked over the length of her. The quiet laugh that she huffed against her skin might’ve incensed her any other day, but she only felt goosebumps rising, at the sound.
“Don’t worry. You always take me so well.”
Francesca’s hands made short work of taking off her dress, cupping her breasts as Michaela relaxed back on one elbow, her other arm absently stroking her, her movements not measured, her grip not firm enough to do more than provide some semblance of friction. Francesca laid her back, pressing kisses down the length of her throat, teeth nipping at her collarbone and leaving her panting by the time she pressed another finger, then a second, inside of her. Michaela’s body cheated to the side slightly, allowing her space to keep working her hand up and down Francesca’s length, for her grip to tighten. The full-length mirror (which totally wasn’t the reason why she picked this room. Not at all. Nope.) was pulled back just enough to keep them both in the frame. Her mind went blank as Francesca curled her fingers inside of her, found that sweet stretch of nerve endings that had her toes curling and heels pressing into the mattress to try and give her a better angle. She let her fuck herself on her fingers, watching her face as she worked herself upon his digits.
“I don’t even have to do anything, do I, pretty girl? You’ll fuck yourself on whatever I give you, won’t you?”
A groan caught in her throat, her lips pulling back to show teeth in what she really hoped was a grimace but fuck all if she didn’t have a point. Francesca had already gotten her this worked up just with a couple of soul-sucking kisses and her fingers. It was maddening in the best, and worst, sort of way, but fuck all she couldn’t think about anything other than how she wanted more.
She rolled her wrist as she worked her hand along her length, releasing her so she could lick her palm and pay special attention to her head, pressing her thumb to the vein that ran along the underside of her cock and watching as Francesca’s eyes fluttered slightly. It didn’t take much finagling for Michaela to lean forward enough to take her into her mouth, her tongue flat to make as much room for heras possible, sucking on the tip and hollowing out her cheeks, before she started to bob her head along her cock. Francesca’s fingers faltered, thumb hardly moving over Michaela’s clit as she inhaled sharply and Michaela felt the weight of her gaze on her. She looked up at her through her lashes, hand moving down to the rest of her cock she couldn’t fit into her mouth at this angle, and teased that same vein on the underside of her with the tip of her tongue as she moved.
She heard her curse and smiled as Francesca removed her digits from inside of her and allowed her to curl herself onto her belly, allowing her a better angle to take more of her down her throat. One of Francesca’s hands fisted in her throat, grip floating just on the edge of too tight, as she worked her hips in tandem with her movements. In the absence of Francesca’s attention on her clit, she reached down between her legs, spreading them just far enough that Francesca could look in the mirror and watch her toy with her clit, rubbing it in slow circles as she let her fuck her mouth as far as they could go. She liked to press her luck, digging her nails in Francesca’s thigh to push her further than Michaela could take just yet, preening at the praise she received as she choked and gagged around her length.
“Fuck I your mouth is magic or something,”Michaela chuckled as she watched Francesca pull away, tears having leaked down her cheeks as she stared up at her, drool pooling in her mouth, before Francesca tugged her back onto her cock, hips picking up speed. Francesca pulled out as her thrusts were starting to get sloppy, and Michaela shifted, sticking her tongue out in preparation, eyes closed so as not to get any cum in her eyes.
Nothing came. No one came.
She opened her eyes to hear Francesca laugh quietly, as she reached down to kiss her, her cock shiny and wet from her saliva. “You thought I was going to be done with you that quickly? We’re just getting started.”
She shifted, hiding her face in her arms as Francesca positioned her on all fours, her toes and legs hanging off slightly. She stood just behind her, her mouth to her pussy, tongue buried nearly as deep as her fingers had been previously inside of her, Francesca’s hand on her cock as Michaela whimpered and twitched. Her toes curled and her thighs shook as Francesca worked her through again, a warm-up act to get her as wet and relaxed as possible, and she turned her head to look back at Francesca when she felt her hands spread her ass apart.
She rubbed her cheeks gently, her fingers digging slightly into the flesh. “You have the nicest ass I’ve ever seen, has anyone ever told you that?”
Michaela struggled to keep from rolling her eyes. “Every now and then.”
She wiggled said ass, and Francesca groaned as she moved her hands up to grip her hips, and pulled her back and onto her cock. There was no hiding the guttural groan that made Michaela grip the bedsheets in earnest, that had her forehead pressing against the bed as she struggled to remember how to breathe. Francesca fucked herself into her inch by inch, carving out space Michaela didn’t even know she had in her to make room for her cock. More than once she had to reach back, to grab one of Francesca’s hands where it held her hip, and ask her to give her a minute to catch her breath, cheeks so warm they burned in disbelief. This was far from her first time dealing with her wife’s size, but holy shit, even she knew when she needed a second.
Francesca just gave her the time that she needed, moving her hips slowly to ease her into the stretch, waiting for her go-ahead before she continued on. Michaela reached one of her hands to her stomach to feel as she hilted herself deep inside of her, and she was sure that if she looked into the mirror she’d be able to see the outline of Francesca’s cock in her lower abdomen.
Michaela’s nails dug into the mattress as Francesca started to pick up the pace, her hips rolling in time with hers. Every so often she’d angle herself so that the head of her cock pressed into that same soft, sensitive spot inside of Michaela, and it was like the universe was opening to welcome her home. The fullness that she’d felt lost the edge of discomfort, replaced instead by longing. For more. For her to go faster.
For this to never end, honestly.
She pushed herself up and onto her knees, leaning back and against Francesca so she could sink herself fully onto her length, taking one of her hands and pressing it to her belly so Francesca could feel herself, feel what she felt, whimpering as Francesca’s hand pressed against the intrusion.
“Jesus fucking Christ. You’re so tight but you always take me so fucking well. Were you made for me, Michaela? Your perfect little pussy created just to be filled by my cock, these tits made just for me to play with?” She rocked back against her as her hands twisted her nipples, teasing and pinching them until they ached, the sensation only adding to the fire that was growing in the pit of Michaela’s stomach.
But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to push her over the edge, and for whatever reason, she felt like Francesca was holding back. Like there was a small hesitancy that hadn’t been there, now showing up since she’d asked her to slow down slightly and let her catch her breath. It wasn’t enough just to have hot, possessive sex with her, she’d started the game because she wanted to be fucked. Hard.
Leaning back, Michaela dragged her lips across the shell of her ear, murmuring: “You know, I would’ve thought you’d be fucking me harder if you wanted me so bad to know that nobody else can fuck me like you? Or would you rather have me wondering how hard that girl at the bar would’ve fucked me?”
Francesca faltered, her hips stopping as she pulled away to stare at her. Michaela refused to look away, even as she felt her heart starting to quicken, rabbit-fast and afraid she’d pushed too far, at the look she now leveled at her. When Francesca laughed there was no humor behind it, and Michaela cried out as she pulled out of her without any warning and manhandled her onto her back on the mattress.
“Is that so?” Francesca snarled, grabbing her by the backs of her thighs and pulling her to the edge of the bed. She pressed Michaela’s legs down to her chest, before pushing her cock into her now painfully empty pussy, the angle torturous enough that Michaela threw her head back and sobbed at the intensity of the shock that went through her.
“Here I thought you were a good girl, who knew not to talk back, but it seems I was mistaken.”
She’d have bruises on her thighs from how hard Francesca gripped her, and the angle it afforded them meant that her cock hit that same spot deep inside of her on every thrust in and out of her cunt, but fuck if it wasn’t worth it.
Francesca shoved aside a segment of hair that’d fallen in her face, expression severe as Michaela thought she felt her staring right through her, into her soul. Francesca’s chest lifted and fell with her heavy breathing, though she was clearly far more in control of her body than Michaela was. “Didn’t realize I had such a bratty little slut on my hands. Seems I’ll have to fuck some manners into you.”
Michaela was caught between shaking her head and nodding, her mind a jumble, fingers scrambling to grip her biceps before Francesca caught both her wrists in one hand and forced them above her head. Tears spilled down Michaela’s cheeks at their closeness, her lips parted as air became a scarcity, salt falling on her tongue. Now this , this was what she wanted. Already she could feel her mind starting to slip, the world going a little fuzzy around her in a way that she never quite got outside of sex with Francesca.
The sound of her skin slapping against hers rang in her ears as everything else faded from existence, blurring in the background so that all she could focus on was the push and pull of Francesca's cock within her, the press of her skin against hers. She cried out, more guttural sound than any intelligent speech, as Francesca picked up the pace and forced her legs over Francesca’s shoulders so that she could wrap a hand around her throat, pressing down just enough on her windpipe.
“Is this what you meant when you said you wanted to get fucked?” Francesca asked, face contorting with the final word, more animal than human, as though a switch had gone off in her brain as soon as she’d goaded her. “Is this what you wanted? Wanted to be stuffed so full of cock you can’t walk tomorrow, want my handprints all over you so you can’t look at yourself without thinking of what I did to you? Is this what you wanted when you asked to play this game, pretty girl?” Francesca’s smile wasn’t kind, but Michaela felt herself grow all the wetter for it, her orgasm clawing at the base of her spine. “You’re gonna cum all over me again and then I’m going to spank that ass until you find your manners, Michaela.” Francesca’s hand tightened slightly around her throat, and Michaela nodded, back arching, hips hardly able to keep up with the pace that she’d set before she was shattering around her once again, her sobs broken as her throat grew tight and she lost track of herself for a moment, the world going black around her.
When she came to once again she’d been moved onto her front, her feet half propped up on the ground, as Francesca’s hand came down on her left ass cheek. She vaguely remembered her telling her to count, and choked out a one before she continued on for nine more, the pain blending, bleeding into, and curving around the edges of her last orgasm.
A smart girl might’ve regretted pushing her into this fervor, but Michaela didn’t think she could be any more thrilled.
Her third orgasm bled all thought from her mind and strength from her body, her cunt forced down onto Francesca’s mouth, her hips bucking against her lips as she teased and played with her clit and pussy. Francesca didn’t stop until she was shaking so badly that she fell forward onto her hands, thighs spasming and body flushed, back bowing as she struggled to regain control of herself. Francesca let her roll over onto her side kissing her stomach as she palmed herself and grinned, sweat beading on her brow and coating her hair, but she couldn’t have looked any more pleased with herself.
“You’ve got one more for me, darling girl. Don’t you.”
Fuck, did she? Michaela wasn’t so sure. She felt Francesca pull her back and onto her cock, her length sliding with a familiarity into her that meant she’d be walking funny out of their hotel room, but oh she felt so good like this. She felt so full. Her hair was a fucking mess, but Francesca pulled it back into her hand to give herself something to grip, pulling it out of her way and letting her look directly at the mirror, staring at the reflection of the two of them.
Michaela had hardly enough energy to move back against Francesca, her every muscle screaming, begging at her to stop, to call mercy, to admit that she was wrong , but that wasn’t in her nature. Admitting defeat wasn’t a habit Michaela let herself indulge in, and she’d be damned if she started now.
So she held on tighter to the bedspread, the sheets sweat-soaked and soiled with her come, she let Francesca drag battered whimpers from her as she worked her clit slowly with her index and middle finger, body bent over her as she pressed kisses to her spine. “You can give me one more, can’t you baby?,” Francesca urged her, even as she tried to shake her head, tried to whimper that she couldn’t. Francesca’s pace was breaking, her own patience wearing thin, and some part of Michaela wondered if she could make her cum before she did—.
But the press of Francesca’s teeth against the soft meat of her shoulder blade was the exact precipice of pleasure and pain that she needed to untether what little resolve she’d managed to maintain, her pussy clenching around her cock as she went boneless and had to rely on Francesca’s strength to keep her from collapsing onto the mattress as she groaned and spilled into her. Francesca pulled her up and into her arms, leaning back on her haunches so that she could catch sight of the cum that she felt dribbling down her thighs, gushing from Michaela as she pulled out. Francesca reached down, pressing her fingers into Michaela, stuffing it into her pussy before bringing her digits to her mouth to take a taste. Michaela wrapped her lips around them, tongue lazily cleaning them, leaning over to kiss her once she was satisfied she’d gotten every drop. She nibbled at Francesca’s bottom lip and felt her smile against her mouth just before Michaela groaned, letting herself go limp as Francesca laid her down on the bed.
“I hate to say it, baby, but you only made me cum four times.”
Francesca flopped down on the bed next to her, and Michaela couldn’t help the giggle that rose from her lips, trying to stifle it as best she could with her hands as she looked over at her with raised eyebrows.
“I don’t know,” she said, voice hoarse. She’d lose it by the end of the night. “I think you might be losing your touch my love”
Francesca flipped her the bird, though her middle finger could barely rise from her chest, as she let loose a broken laugh of her own, pulling her wife into her arms and leaning to kiss the smug grin off her lips.