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After visiting London and attending ball after ball, the Stirlings were more than elated to return to their home in Scotland. The carriage ride home was quiet, Francesca basked in the calmness of the land; the only noise being the clicks of the horse’s hooves hitting the ground. Her eyes were closed and she aimlessly swayed with the carriage. However, she felt a hot gaze on her. She opened her eyes to find Michael staring at her with a heated gaze. He was smiling, legs crossed at the ankles and he appeared relaxed.
“Is there something you see that is worthy of that look on your face?” Francesca asked.
Michael shrugged. “Perhaps. Although I find it strange that the object of my interest has to question whether she is worthy to receive my gaze.”
Francesca leaned against the window. A faint smile appeared on her lips. “I question because your gaze is quite firm. Almost scrutinizing, I should add.”
“You call it scrutinizing. I call it appreciative.”
They held each other’s stare for a second; a second that held every ounce of tension in their beings. Francesca clearly saw that Michael was in a randy mood just by his eyes.
“I suppose you had a time at the last ball. You and my mother couldn’t seem to part from one another,” she said with false annoyance.
“If there is any woman I wish to be attached at the hip to, it will certainly be your mother.” His Scottish drawl sent a rush of blood throughout her chest. “Besides, she has a delightful tongue and I can’t help but be thrilled by that.”
“I thought my tongue was pleasing to you.”
Michael fought the groan threatening to escape from his throat. He gripped his kilt and inhaled deeply. Apparently, the carriage was getting hot.
He leaned forward, his gaze losing a bit of play and gaining more intensity. “Your tongue is the most titillating thing in all of England and Scotland combined. I never find myself displeased by it.”
She smiled at him. “I am glad to hear that. Your tongue is quite renowned, given that the ladies of England have been subjected to it.”
He shook his head. “No longer. Only one shall receive the full force of it. I would be more than willing to demonstrate the full talent of my tongue, if you are willing.”
“If the Merry Rake can exercise restraint until we return, then I will consider it.”
Michael leaned back in his seat and gave her a tight-lipped smile. The woman was a tease, that was for sure. Now, the sinful thought of devouring his wife completely played in his mind ad infinitum. It wasn’t entirely sinful, he rationalized. It was just a thought that would make even a priest blush and a nun clutch her rosary.
When they arrived at Kilmartin House, Francesca was filled with a sense of relief. She loved her family dearly and enjoyed her time with them. However, she needed her distance to be able to rejuvenate herself. The greenery and peace of Scotland provided that. And with Michael by her side, she felt at ease.
She was in the drawing room when the door opened to reveal Michael. He wore a black coat with a green waistcoat, adorned with a black cravat. He chose to wear a kilt (against his wishes to wear trousers due to the cold) and he never looked as delectable as he does now. He was always a handsome man, but there was something about him wearing ancestral clothing that set Francesca aflame with desire.
He gave her a light smile and approached her. He took his hand in hers and gave her knuckles a soft but heated kiss. His lips were perfectly molded, full and soft. God had given him the perfect set of lips and Francesca thanked him every day for giving them to Michael.
“Enjoying your time back?”
She nodded. “I am. More than I can possibly say.”
“I am glad. The day may be leaving us quickly but there is still much to do.” He went over to the table and sat down. He placed his legs on the table, causing the kilt to raise up and reveal a bit of his muscular thighs. Francesca witnessed this and bit her inner lip. She glanced at the table and a memory flashed in her mind. Michael noticed this and gave her a worried look.
“Is everything alright, Francesca?”
She nodded again. “I am fine. I had a memory, that’s all.”
Michael tilted his head to the side. “A penny for your thoughts?”
“I…just remembered the time we had a moment together. You asked me if I wanted another kiss.”
A slow smile spread across his face. “How can I forget? Although, I admit I was a bit too persistent in my actions. I should have been more…subtle.”
“Perhaps. But you do not have to apologize much for it.” She turned to face him.
He remained at his seat, his legs on the table while he sat with his arms crossed. He never forgot that day, coming to Kilmartin House to inform her of Colin’s marriage to Penelope and try to persuade her to marry him. He tried to suppress some of the more intolerable memories, while recalling the more important ones.
“What of that day?” Michael asked.
“Maybe it is possible to repeat history.” Her voice came out as a whisper, a low hush that infused Michael with a rush of arousal. Francesca glanced at him, her eyes shamelessly relishing the sight of his muscled legs and face.
Michael looked back at her with equal fire. He uncrossed his legs and sauntered over to her. His hands were behind his back as he slowly grew closer to her. With each step, his heart beat faster within his chest. He also felt a great pulsing between his thighs, a feeling he was not foreign to, especially after being married to Francesca.
He angled his head and seductively narrowed his eyes. “Is this to say that you want another kiss, Francesca?”
“Is the door locked?”
Michael rushed to the door and firmly locked it. When he turned around, he found her leaning against the desk near the center window. The sky was a clear blue, a lighter shade than the gray skies Scotland was used to. Francesca’s blue dress was of a lovely shade of blue, just a little darker than the sky but beautiful nonetheless. He went over to her and placed a hand on her left thigh.
“May you part your thighs, please?” He chuckled.
She laughed. “Since you asked so nicely.”
She opened her legs and Michael stepped forward. He was consuming; the scent of him absorbing her smell, his firm body possessed the rest of her senses. His warm hand pressed on her thigh, slightly gripping the flesh. She gasped at the touch and he smiled. Their lips met for a chaste kiss. She ran her fingers through his hair as she suckled his bottom lip. He leaned into her and ran the tip of his tongue along her upper lip. The groan that escaped Francesca was nothing short of animalistic, but Michael thought she sounded melodic.
With his other hand, he placed it on Francesca’s other thigh, bunching the dress up. She pulled back and watched him with heated eyes.
“It’s a fair thought to lie between maid’s legs. A thought I’ve been waiting to make reality.”
Francesca threw her head back and smiled. “Hamlet?”
“He had a point, though.” He winked at her. “I have found myself, as of late, consumed with the most decadent imaginations. The most prevalent of them being here…” he trailed off as his finger dragged along her inner thigh.
“Michael…” she gasped as the pad of his finger slid along her skin.
He danced dangerously close to where she wanted him to touch. He then pulled back and repeated the process on the other leg. She was growing hot, and could feel a rhythmic and steady pulsing. She was aware of how sensitive to touch she was around him. It was as if a simple gesture could send her into a frenzy. The pounding in her ears was so insistent, that she didn’t even hear that Michael was talking.
“Apart from a woman’s lips, her thighs are the most delectable part to taste. There is an abundance of area for me to explore and mark with my kisses. I could even leave a small reminder of my presence right here,” he touched and she gasped at where he was touching. He was so close, probably an inch to the right, but he was holding out to extend the pleasure.
“I could kiss, lightly bite and caress them. I could turn you around and lavish kisses on that firm backside of yours.” Michael’s voice rumbled in her ears.
She wanted him to do that. She wished that he would just commence with what he was talking about. He pushed her dress past her thighs and licked his lips at the sight of her legs.
He gave her a cheeky grin. “Hold this for me?”
She did as commanded and Michael got to his knees. He took her left thigh in his hands and planted a searing kiss on it. She hissed at the contact and caressed his hair. He did as he said; he suckled at her skin and glided his hands along it, as if he were smoothing out a sculpture. He lightly nipped and dragged his teeth along her inner thigh. Francesca wanted to push his head between her thighs, but she knew that Michael would not keep her waiting long. But it felt like he was going to. Then, he transferred his attention to the other thigh, repeating the same actions. However, this time he sucked her skin a little harder.
The pulsing became unbearable. She leaned her head back to the ceiling and silently begged this man to go where she wanted. Just when she thought he would drag out the sensation, she felt something warm and wet over her flesh. She looked down to see Michael licking at her, eyes closed in bliss. She tightened her thighs around him as he feasted on her. Her breasts heaved and she applied an almost painful grip onto Michael’s hair as he savored her taste. He rubbed his nose along the sensitive bundle of nerves and this caused her to whimper.
He pulled back to watch her. His lips and chin were covered with her slickness. His eyes glinted with mischief.
“I’m not a clean eater, as it seems.”
Even in moments like this, Michael couldn’t help but be playful. He stood up and kissed her deeply. She could taste herself; tangy and salty. He went back to his position and kissed her again. She was close to a release; the familiar feeling of pressure building up was starting to come. Michael’s hand slid up to cup her breasts and she held them. He turned his hand so that his palm was up and she grabbed it.
“Press your tongue harder, Michael.”
He hummed in understanding and he did so. His hands played with her breasts and nipples and he enjoyed the symphony of noises that escaped her lips. Soon, she felt his lips wrap around her sensitive flesh. His tongue was relentless, flicking and pressing against it. Her hips bucked against his mouth in a desperate and demanding rhythm. Michael grew harder by the second; he was painfully aroused. One of his hands came down from her chest and went to handle himself. He could feel how wet the tip was and groaned as he touched himself.
With one hand on her breast, his mouth wrapped around her flesh and his other hand pumping incessantly on his cock, he was sure that one of them would come undone. It wasn’t even a few seconds later when he heard Francesca let out a loud sigh and groan and felt her legs tighten around his neck. She had passed the edge of blissful abandon.
“Michael,” she gasped. “Stand up.”
He did so, with shocking alacrity. She came down from her place and turned Michael so that he backed up against the desk. She palmed him through his kilt and his hips bucked in response.
Francesca whispered in his ear. “I recall how I mounted you in the gardener’s cottage. I was able to keep my seat even though I was warned you were not a gentle pony.”
“You proved yourself an excellent rider that day. I scarcely knew you could ride with such vigor.”
She kissed his neck. “I had excellent practice.”
She undid his kilt and looked down to watch her hand glide up and down his shaft. He started to leak; her thumb made small circles on the tip, resulting in a hiss from him.
“I suppose I should return the favor? I was always taught to be considerate of others.”
Michael’s retort died on his lips as Francesca took him in her mouth. He stroked her cheek gently as she took more of him.
“You are very…good to me.” His voice was a gentle murmur.
Francesca went down and slowly came up, her lips slightly squeezing to increase the suction. She looked up at him and saw him staring down at her in awe. He grabbed her hair and slowly scratched it.
“Keep going. Just like that. Good girl, just like that.” His voice was a low purr that aroused her even more.
She gripped his powerful legs and felt a rush of pride surge through her at the sounds he was making. There was not a place on him that wasn’t tasted by her. Soon after, she stood up and gathered her skirts. Michael helped her up and positioned himself for her. They moaned at the sensation of coming together. Francesca grinded slowly as Michael gripped her hips. He looked up at her in reverence, admiring her flushed skin and wild hair.
He gripped and gave her backside a squeeze. She rode him masterfully, as a horseman who mastered the art of riding. His groans became whimpers and low cries as she clenched herself around him. They kissed and their tongues explored each other’s mouths and necks. Michael whispered wicked words in her ear that made her hug him tighter. They looked into each other’s eyes and smiled. To them, this was more than lust; it was a complete yearning for the other that culminated in the most profound way.
Her hips moved frantically until she reached her pleasure for the second time. A wave of shivers flowed over her body and Michael felt her contract on his cock. The sensation was too much; he had to release himself.
“May I?” He asked.
She nodded and kissed him. During their kiss, he shifted further back onto the desk and thrust up into her. She mewled in the kiss as she felt him increase the speed of his movements.
“Oh god! Fran!”
“I know. Let go.”
She kissed him as he finally reached his peak. His mouth opened and he gasped as he felt himself emptying inside of her. She could feel him pulsing and the sweet sensation of being filled. He continued his thrusts, which were now slower. He tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and kissed her forehead. She gave him a lopsided grin before planting a peck on his cheek.
“It’s nice to revisit memories, isn’t it?” She asked.
“It is. Especially when the memories are as pleasant the second time around.”
She came down and smoothed her dress. Michael wrapped his kilt back and held it together. He gave her a long stare before extending his hand.
“Perhaps we could retire and relive another memory?” He wiggled his eyebrows.
“And what memory would that be?”
He gave her a toothy smile. “Our wedding night.”