ady

Then the fans started up with “Hey Jude” and you had to look away quickly, blinking hard. The pride you feel swells up so huge it doesn’t fit in your chest, it spills over into these stupid tears every single time you hear the song, no matter how many times you see him do something like this.

“He looks exhausted,” Denise says quietly, her arm still hooked through yours, squeezing a little.

“I know. Bless him. I don’t know how he’s still standing out there. He gave that absolutely everything.”

You take some deep breaths with his parents, gushing over his performance as usual and wait for him to finish with everything else he has to do after the final whistle.

Soon enough, you watch him walk over showered and changed into the usual post-match tracksuits, his hood half up already like he’s already trying to shut the world out. Even from a distance you can see the heaviness in his shoulders, the way he’s moving a bit stiffer than usual, his tall frame carrying the weight of a country for ninety-plus minutes. He looks happy though. So, so happy. His dark eyes scan the stands until they find you three, and you can see the sparkle in them as soon as he spots you. 

He hugs his mum first, extra tight, murmuring something that makes her laugh and pat his back. All week she’d been saying watch your language, watch your tackles, watch your face so he wouldn’t get booked. You could see how proud she was of him, her eyes closing when they hugged. It almost made your heart burst. 

Then his dad, the two of them clapping each other on the shoulder like they always do, that quiet father-son thing that always makes your chest warm. Mark kisses his cheek, and your smile mirrors Jude’s bashful one. Only after that does he turn to you.

“There she is,” he says, voice a little rough from the game, his accent coming through even stronger when he’s tired. He smiles down at you, exhausted but sweet, and you stand up to meet him.

You cup his cheek, thumb brushing his sharp cheekbone, your other arm sliding round his broad back. He’s warm, solid, still carrying the smell of the grass mixed with fresh shower gel. “I’m so proud of you, Jude. That looked so tough out there.”

He leans down and kisses you, soft and quick. He’s never one for big PDA with the cameras hovering, but he never lets you feel unloved. Then his hand comes up, gentle as anything, tucking a bit of hair behind your ear. His eyes go all soft as he looks at you, the intense match-day fire dialled right down just for you. “Thank you, baby. Yeah… it was hard. Proper hard. But we got there. It was rough though, I’m shattered.”

You sit back down and he drops straight onto the seat next to you, no hesitation. His head finds your shoulder immediately, heavy and trusting, like he’s been waiting for this exact spot the whole night. You slide your hand up to scratch lightly at the back of his neck, the way he likes, and feel him let out a long breath, sinking further into you. The relief in his body is so obvious it makes your heart twist.

His mum and dad chat lightly for a minute — something about the referee, how proud they are, the usual post-match debrief — and Jude mumbles along, half in it, half gone. His hand finds yours in your lap, fingers threading together lazily.

After a bit he turns his head, lips brushing your ear as he lowers his voice. “Are you gonna come visit me tonight?”

You snort, playfully nudging his head away. “You look like you’ve been hit by a bus, babe.”

He laughs then, loud and bright, teeth flashing, his eyes lighting up with the loving mischief that always gets you. “What? I can’t get cuddles from my girl? After that?”

You raise an eyebrow, fighting your own smile. “Cuddles?”

His lip twitches, smirk spreading slow and dangerous. “Cuddles,” he repeats, all innocent like. “And a couple of kisses. Just three or four…”

You tilt your head, giving him a look. He’s dead on his feet, shoulders slumped, yet still managing to look at you like that. You ignore the heat pooling in your stomach from the way he's looking at you and try to think logically. The semi-finals are midweek. “You’re gonna cramp up at some point and whatever idea you’ve got of cuddles and kisses is gonna be straight out the window.”

“Can I not enjoy my recovery with my girlfriend? Is that against the law now?” He huffs dramatically, but his hands are already stroking up your sides, warm and familiar.

You huff at him, already giving in. “You’re so spoilt.”

He grins wider, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “You can never say no to me.”

And it’s true. You can’t say no to him. Not when he looks at you like that. Cuddles. Right. 

It wasn’t long before you found yourself being led by Jude back to his room in the team hotel in Miami. They’d just had a squad dinner, winding down after the match. As soon as players started to retreat he’d texted you and met you in the lobby. Other England camps weren’t like this in the past, you were so grateful the rules had been changed to let you see him, even if he should be resting.

He’d showered again, you could already tell by the cologne and body wash mix you could smell as you followed him down the quiet corridor. His hand was warm around yours, thumb brushing your knuckles every few steps. He still moved a little stiff from the game, the beautiful body of his carrying the bruises and the exhaustion, but there was this restless energy in him too, the win still buzzing under his skin.

Once the door clicked shut behind you, he didn’t stop talking. He kicked his slides off, flopping back onto the bed as he kept going, voice low and rough but nonstop the way it always gets when he’s over-excited.

“...and then after the equaliser, I swear the pitch felt like it was moving, the humidity was mad out there. But the lads were buzzing, it was so loud on the pitch. Harry pulled me over after and was saying something about the run we’re on now, and I was just thinking the whole time about that last chance, how I nearly messed up the touch but it just fell right. Then extra time, my legs were gone but you just dig deep, don’t you? Mum’s texts were killing me the whole week about watching my face and my language, I nearly got booked just for breathing heavy at the ref at one point—”

He laughed at himself, running a hand over his damp hair, eyes bright even though his shoulders were sinking deeper into the pillows. You perched on the edge of the bed, watching him, the usual warmth spreading in your chest.

He reached out and tugged you closer by the wrist, still mid-story. “—and then I was like, nah, we’re not losing this one. You get me babe? And then I was like—”

“Jude, take a breath, love. I was there and watching the whole thing,” you chuckle, adjusting to lie next to him on the bed. His arm slipped under your head straight away, pulling you in like it was the most natural thing in the world. His thumb moved slowly across your cheek, warm and a little rough.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” he murmured, half-laughing at himself again, voice dropping lower. “I’m just… excited. I don’t know. We left everything out there and…”

He trailed off for a second, eyes half-closed, but his fingers kept moving, tracing your jaw, then down the side of your neck, like he couldn’t quite settle even though his body was heavy with tiredness. Up close like this you could see every little detail: the faint sheen of sweat still at his hairline from how warm it was in Miami, the way his chest rose and fell a bit quicker than normal, a fresh bruise along his jaw starting to darken. You breathed in his warm skin scent that always made your stomach flip.

He shifted closer, leg hooking over yours casually, voice going soft and a little rough with emotion. “It’s mad innit? One minute you’re out there thinking your legs are done, next minute the ball drops and it just… happens. And now we’re in the semis. Semis, babe.”

His grin came back, tired but bright, the one that always made your heart do stupid things. He pressed his forehead to yours for a second, breathing you in like he needed it more than air. “Couldn’t have done it without knowing you were up there. Makes it all feel different.”

“I love you,” you whisper softly, thumb brushing his cheek, “and I’m so proud of you.”

“How proud?” he beamed, raising an eyebrow, a playful spark lighting up his exhausted face.

“Very proud. Like… prouder than you can even imagine. I think I’ve cried at nearly every game—”

Jude giggles, almost giddy, the sound low and warm in his chest. He loved praise, especially from you, it always turned him soft and a little cocky at the same time. “I know, my little crybaby,” he cooed, voice teasing and fond as he leaned in, pressing little kisses all over your cheeks, the tip of your nose, the corner of your mouth. Each one gentle and sweet, like he was savouring being close after the chaos of the match.

“Shut up,” you laugh quietly, trying to sound stern but failing completely. “You need to calm down, baby. You have to sleep.”

“My body’s tired,” he mumbles against your skin, kissing your cheek again, then lingering lower near your jaw, “but the adrenaline is just making me wired, man.”

You stroke his side, up and down in a slow, steady rhythm, feeling the solid warmth of him under your palm, the faint tremor of leftover energy in his muscles. His tall frame was heavy against you, one leg tangled with yours, but his hands kept wandering. Sliding under the hem of your top to rest against your lower back, thumb tracing lazy circles there. 

After a moment he shifts, propping himself up on one elbow so he’s looking down at you properly. The lamp on the bedside table casts a soft glow over his face, his beautiful brown eyes and pink lips slightly parted. He looks unfairly good for someone who just played extra time in a stadium that felt more like a sauna.

“So…” he starts, a smirk creeping back in. “About those kisses I was promised.”

You raise an eyebrow, fighting a smile again. “I don’t remember promising anything.”

“Oi, don’t lie to me..” He leans in closer, nose brushing yours, breath warm against your mouth. “I distinctly remember talking about three or four. Minimum.” His hand slides higher under your top, palm flat and warm against your ribs, thumb stroking just under the curve of your breast. “Come on, baby. I earned them, didn’t I? Scored two, dragged us to the semis… least you can do is give your man some proper kisses.”

He’s grinning again now, all cheeky and tired and completely devastating to your self-control . Before you can answer he dips his head and presses one slow kiss to the corner of your mouth, then another just below your ear, lingering there like he knows exactly what it does to you. 

“You’ve just wasted two kisses…and you look like you’re about to fall asleep.”

He groans in joking frustration, eyebrows furrowing to give you a little puppy dog look that always gets him out of trouble. “I just want cuddles and kisses before i sleep-”

He stops as you tilt your head at him, giving him another look.

“I swear, I swear! Baby, please…”

The pleading look on his face already has your stomach flipping, mouth a little dry. He’s so unfairly gorgeous like this. Tired eyes, messy damp curls,his toned body stretched out next to you, still radiating heat from the match. The way his tracksuit top has ridden up to show a sliver of toned stomach… it’s ridiculous how much you want him even when he’s half-dead on his feet.

“Fine,” you say, trying to sound stern but your voice comes out softer than you mean it to, “but you need to try and sleep too…”

He shifts slightly so you’re fully facing each other, one hand moving to your lower back, his leg still draped heavy over yours. “I can fall asleep kissing you.”

The kisses start off sweet and slow. Gentle presses of his lips against yours, his hand stroking your lower back under your top. His other hand in your hair, fingers loose and tired. Then they deepen.

Jude lets out a quiet, relieved sigh into your mouth as his lips part wider, tongue sliding in slow and warm. The kisses turn sloppy fast. Wet, lazy, unhurried in an exhausted way that somehow makes it hotter. His tongue moves heavy and deep, tangling with yours in long, messy strokes, licking into your mouth like he’s too tired to do anything but feel you. Every so often he sucks softly on your tongue or your bottom lip, pulling it between his before going back in deeper, slower, wetter. You can taste the faint mint from his post-dinner toothpaste mixed with the warm, familiar taste that’s just him. His breaths are heavier now, little groans vibrating against your lips as the kisses grow filthier. Your tongues sliding slow and slick, mouths open and messy, spit-slick lips catching every time you pull apart for air only to dive right back in.

He’s genuinely exhausted, you feel it in the heavy weight of his body against yours, the way his movements stay soft and sleepy even as they get more desperate. His hand in your hair tightens slightly, holding you there as he kisses you like he’s trying to melt into you. Deep, lazy swirls of his tongue, slow sucks, the occasional sleepy grind of his hips against your thigh. He’s half-asleep and completely turned on at the same time, and it’s doing dangerous things to you.

Your hand slides under his top to rest on his ribs, and the soft, needy sound he makes against your tongue makes you shiver hard in his arms.

“M’so hard for you,” he whispers against your lips, breathing heavily. He presses his hips forward, grinding slowly so you can feel exactly how turned on he is, the thick, heavy outline of his cock straining against his joggers.

“You need me to help you, baby?” you murmur, letting your hand trail down his stomach until your palm cups the hard bulge. He’s so warm, so fucking hard already, twitching eagerly under your touch.

Jude’s breath hitches, hips jerking up into your hand as he lets out a soft, desperate whimper. “Please…”

“But you’re so tired, Jude.” You stroke him slowly through the fabric, teasing, because you love when he gets like this…all soft, sleepy, and whiny for you.

“Baby—” he whines, the sound high and needy, forehead pressed to yours. His hand moves down to squeeze your ass, fingers digging in just a little. “M’never too tired for you… fuck, please touch me properly. I need it. Need you so bad..”

You push his joggers down just enough to free him and wrap your fingers around him. Jude’s whole body shudders, a broken moan spilling from his lips as you start stroking him. You start slow, firm pulls from base to tip, thumb swirling over the slick head every time. He’s so thick and hot in your hand, veins pulsing, leaking steadily now. You’re transfixed by the sight of him.

“Fuck… yes, just like that,” he whimpers, voice all sleepy. His head tips back against the pillow, eyes fluttering shut, mouth open as soft, desperate little sounds keep falling out of him. “Your hand feels so good, baby… don’t stop, please. I’ve been thinking about this for hours.”

You twist your wrist on the upstroke and he jolts, hips bucking lazily into your fist, chasing the pleasure even though his body is heavy with exhaustion. Every whimper is quieter, needier. He’s almost submissive in the way he lets you take control, thighs trembling, fingers clutching at your waist like you’re the only thing anchoring him.

You lift his shirt higher so you can see his toned stomach, selfishly maybe, but he looked so pretty. You keep going, stroking him faster, tighter, watching the way his abs clench and his chest rises and falls quicker. “So pretty Jude,” you whisper, and Jude lets out a broken whine, biting his bottom lip.

“Baby… I— fuck, I’m so close already,” he pants, voice cracking. “Your hand is gonna make me come if you keep— ah—”

You slide down his body before he can finish, taking him into your mouth in one slow, wet glide. Jude’s back arches off the bed with a loud, guttural moan, one hand flying to your hair, holding on tight as his fingers tremble.

“Oh my god— your mouth, fuck—” He’s losing it completely now, sleepy whimpers turning into desperate, broken sounds as you bob your head, tongue swirling around him, sucking him deep. “So warm… so fucking good. Baby, please— I can’t— you’re gonna make me come down your throat if you keep sucking like that.”

His hips twitch up gently, like he’s trying so hard to be good and not fuck your mouth, but his control is slipping. Whiny, breathy moans fill the room as you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, tongue pressing along the underside. Jude’s thighs shake, hand tightening in your hair, voice hoarse.

“Baby… slow, please, I’m so sensitive— fuck, I love your mouth so much…”

You slow down and look up, making eye contact with him. His eyes are glassy, half-lidded with exhaustion and pure bliss, lips parted, chest heaving. The sight of you between his legs like this seems to ruin him even more.

“You’re so beautiful,” he moans, voice cracking, thumb stroking your cheek gently. “My beautiful girl.”

He keeps watching you with that dazed, adoring look, hips rocking up in tiny, helpless movements as you suck him slow and deep. You swirl your tongue around the head, then take him all the way again, relaxing your throat until your nose brushes his stomach. Jude’s whole body trembles.

“Fuck— baby, look at you,” he whispers, voice hoarse and reverent. “Taking me so well… even when I’m this tired. You’re perfect. So fucking perfect for me.”

His praise comes out soft and broken, each word punctuated by a shaky breath or a little whimper. You can feel how close he is, the way his cock throbs heavier on your tongue, the constant little twitches of his thighs, the way his fingers keep flexing in your hair like he’s fighting not to lose it. But he stays so good for you, letting you control everything, just moaning and whining softly every time you swallow around him or suck a little harder.

“Gonna make me come if you keep doing that…” he pants, eyes fluttering. “Your mouth is too good, love. Too warm and wet and— shit—”

You pull off with a wet pop, strings of spit connecting your lips to his cock as you stroke him slowly with your hand instead. Jude lets out a wrecked, needy sound at the loss, hips chasing your mouth for a second before he catches himself. Before you can say anything, he’s tugging at you weakly, desperate.

“Too far away… come back up here, please.”

You crawl back up his body and he immediately pulls you in, kissing you deep and messy, tasting himself on your tongue with a low groan. His hands are everywhere, sliding under your top, squeezing your waist, your hips, like he needs to feel all of you at the same time. The kiss goes on and on, lazy and filthy, tongues sliding slow while he whimpers softly into your mouth every time you stroke him.

You keep working your hand over his cock, slow and slick, and Jude’s hips rock up to meet every stroke, his breathing getting shakier. He breaks the kiss just enough to rest his forehead against yours, panting.

“You don’t want to come yet?” you whisper against his lips, still stroking him lazily.

He shakes his head, eyes fluttering. “Wanna be closer to you baby, wanna make you feel good.. wanna.. wanna— fuck.”

His sentence cuts off into a broken moan. For a long moment he just kisses you again, deeper this time, one hand cupping the back of your neck while the other slides down your body. His palm smooths over your stomach, then lower, teasing along the waistband of your shorts like he’s giving you time to feel the anticipation. His fingers finally slip under the fabric, pushing your shorts and panties down your thighs in one clumsy but eager movement. He helps kick them the rest of the way off, big hands gentle on your skin the whole time.

Once they’re gone he settles between your spread legs, still kissing you slow and deep. His fingers drag through your folds and he curses softly against your mouth.

“You’re so wet for me, fuck…” He circles your clit slowly, almost lazily, but the way his breath catches tells you how much it affects him. “All this for me? After I played like shit for half the game?”

You laugh breathlessly, rolling your hips against his hand, and he smiles a tired, crooked grin before leaning in to kiss you again. His fingers keep moving, slow circles on your clit, then dipping inside you just enough to make you gasp into his mouth. He’s still so hard against your thigh, twitching every time you moan.

Jude buries his face in your neck, kissing and sucking softly while his fingers work you open. “Need to be inside you,” he mumbles against your skin. “Please, baby. Wanna feel you around me. Wanna make you come first… then you can ride me slow while I hold you. I just— I need you close. So fucking close.”

He curls his fingers just right and you arch into him, moaning his name. Jude whimpers in response, pressing his cock against your hip like he can’t help it. 

“Please, baby,” he breathes against your neck, voice hoarse and shaky. “I need to be inside you. Can’t wait anymore.”

You nod, pulling him up for another deep kiss as he lines himself up. “If you get tired just say, Jude,” you whisper against his lips. He looked so exhausted — eyes heavy, shoulders slumped — and part of you still felt a pang of guilt that he was going to be the one putting in all the effort tonight.

“You’re such an angel,” he whispers softly, pecking your forehead with heartbreaking tenderness, then leaning down for another deep kiss. “As if I could ever be too tired to fuck you.”

The head of his cock nudges against your entrance, hot and slick, and you both moan into each other’s mouths as he starts pushing in. He’s so slow and careful, even though you can feel how badly he wants to bury himself.

“Fuck… so tight,” he groans, forehead pressed to yours, eyes squeezed shut in concentration. Inch by inch he sinks into you, stretching you open until he’s fully seated, hips flush against yours. The sound he makes is relief mixed with pleasure, a long, broken moan that vibrates through his chest.

For a moment he just stays there, buried deep, breathing hard against your lips. His arms wrap around you, holding you close, desperate for the full body contact. You can feel how tired he is, the way his muscles are trembling from the long match and the effort it’s taking just to hold himself up. “You feel so good,” he groans. “Just for me, yeah? Tell me this pussy belongs to me. ”

“It belongs to you, baby. Only you,” you moan softly, clenching around him. “I belong to you.”

A shaky breath leaves him. He buries his face in your neck, sucking softly on your skin while he gives one slow, grinding roll of his hips. “Good girl… all mine,” he mumbles, the words slurred with tiredness. “I don’t share you with anyone.”

Then he starts moving with slow, lazy rolls of his hips, grinding deep instead of thrusting hard. Every stroke is deliberate, like he’s savouring every second even though exhaustion is weighing on him. His breaths are heavier, his arms shaking slightly as he holds you, sweat beading on his forehead and sliding down his temple. Still, he doesn’t stop. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him even deeper, and Jude lets out a soft, whiny sound again that makes you clench harder around him.

“Baby… yeah, just like that,” he pants. “Feels too good. You’re squeezing me so tight— fuck.”

His mouth finds yours again, the kiss sloppy and tired, tongues sliding lazily while he keeps that slow grind going. One hand stays gripping your hip, the other slides up to cup your breast through your t-shirt, thumb brushing your nipple almost absentmindedly, like even his hands are running out of energy but he refuses to stop touching you. He’s so vocal, whimpering your name, telling you how perfect you feel, how much he needs you.

You can feel him getting closer, his thrusts losing their steadiness, becoming a little more desperate. “I’m so close,” he whines against your mouth. “Come with me, baby. Please. Wanna feel you come around me.”

One of his hands slips between you, fingers finding your clit and rubbing slow circles. The combination of his cock dragging deep inside you, his fingers, his soft sleepy moans, pushes you over the edge first. You clench around him hard, crying out his name as pleasure crashes through you.

Jude follows right after with a broken groan, burying his face in your neck as he comes deep inside you, hips stuttering. “Fuck— love you, love you so much,” he mumbles against your skin, trembling through it.

Afterwards he collapses on top of you, heavy and warm, still buried inside. His arms wrap around you tightly, face tucked into your neck as he catches his breath. Soft kisses press against your shoulder, lazy and sweet.

“Best recovery ever,” he murmurs with a tired little laugh, voice muffled. “But I’m never moving ever again.”

You run your fingers down the muscles of his back, smiling as both of your breathing starts to even out, his body finally giving in to the exhaustion. You kiss his temple, open your mouth to respond, but he's snoring softly before you can even reply.

You believe you have never seen Lady Kilmartin this uneasy; and she is often uneasy, as even in silence, her anxiety tends to be loud—at least in front of you she is.

Not like you deem it a problem.

If you were to be honest, you would confess you find her adorable.

Cute.

Beautiful.

Breathtaking.

And it's not that you fancy her—of course you don't, she is your employer. The lady of the house. Dozens of ranks above you. Married to John Stirling, who you have known your whole life since your parents have worked for the family for around forty years and you have lived there as well. And also, she is a woman.

So, yes, it's not that you fancy her.

Except that you do.

“I should like to ask you something.”

You tilted your head to meet her eyes in the mirror, undoing her corset unhurriedly. “Of course, my Lady.”

She cleared her throat and looked at you, hesitant and anxious, and shook her head. “No, forget it. Thank you.”

“Are you certain?” You frowned. “Because you can ask me anything you please.”

“Yes, I am certain,” she replied and curved her lips softly. “You can continue.”

You nodded.

But her curious despair was bigger than her shy nerves.

“What is a pinnacle?” She asked suddenly, the question making you drop her corset to the floor and leave her bare in front of the mirror. “In the bedroom. Do you know?”

“Oh—”

Francesca blushed and picked the nightgown to cover herself. “I apologize, this was inappropriate, was it not? I just— John asked. He asked whether I had reached it or not and I said I had but I have no clue what it is that I was supposed to reach and Penelope mentioned something and I asked my mother but she would not tell me! I— sorry. Sorry. This does not concern you, I apologize.”

“You wish to know what a pinnacle is?”

“Yes,” she confirmed after sighing heavily. “I merely want information, but I understand if you do not wish to speak of the matter with me.”

You hummed. “Lord Kilmartin does not satisfy you?”

“No, he does! I just… No, he doesn't.” She pressed her lips together. “And I do not understand. I love him! I love my husband, I truly do, I do not know what is wrong with me!”

“No, no! Do not say that, my Lady, you are not the problem.” You shook your head. “May I ask what you and Lord Kilmartin do?”

“Uhm…” She blushed and looked up, too embarrassed to meet your eye. “We kiss…, he takes off his clothes, he… touches me there and, you know, he…”

“I understand.” You smirked lightly. “Do you take off your clothes? Or just your undergarments?”

“Just my undergarments.”

You nodded. “Sometimes, a woman needs more than that to reach her pinnacle, my Lady. That does not signify that there is anything wrong with you, it just means your partner will have to do additional things so it is enjoyable for you as well, but that is not to be any sort of imposition. You deserve to enjoy it like your husband does.”

“What kind of additional things?”

“Like getting you naked and touching more of your body, kissing you in places that aren't only your mouth, uh… You could mention it to your husband, my Lady, I am certain he would be willing to help.”

“Have you reached it before? The pinnacle?”

“Yes,” you said. “It is most… delightful, I must say.”

“Is it?”

You chuckled softly. “It most certainly is.”

“How does it feel?” She raised an eyebrow and turned to face you.

“It… starts slowly. Your body starts getting warmer, your heart beats faster, and it is like everything around you is too much and not enough at the same time. It comes from between your legs and expands to your whole body, it feels like you will explode from within with how good it is sometimes.”

“Thank you for the information,” she muttered. “Can I ask you something else?”

“Of course,” you agreed and turned around to help her in her nightgown.

“Can you teach me how?”

Well.

What a question to ask someone who is on her knees in front of you.

“So I know what to tell my husband. You don't have to do it! You don't have to. Only if you… want to. Please.”

“Alright, I will help you.” You nodded and stood up, leaving her gown on the floor. “I can guide you.”

“Thank you.”

Francesca stood awkwardly in front of you, almost making you laugh at how incredibly sweet she was.

“Lay on the bed.”

She nodded quickly and rushed to the bed as if you would regret it if she took a false step.

You took a seat on the edge of the bed and gulped at the sight of her. “Close your eyes… and… touch your body. Slowly. Try to focus on the feeling.”

Francesca inhaled and exhaled calmly as she complied, brows furrowing a little in concentration.

“You could stick to your breasts for a moment,” you proposed. “You can—yes, just like that.”

Her breath caught ever so slightly as she played with her nipples, eyes darting at you as if asking for approval.

“Does that feel good?”

She nodded, looking at you as she touched herself.

She stared at you as her hands explored elsewhere, as you asked her how it felt when she reached certain places, and as she nodded in affirmation.

It physically hurt that you couldn't be the one to touch her… you know that if she was yours, you wouldn't let her go to sleep not knowing what an orgasm is.

What hurt the most, though, was that she looked at you every step of the way.

“Wait,” you stopped her when she was almost reaching her cunt. “Open your legs wider.”

She swallowed hard, watching your reaction more than anything. “Like this?”

“Yes, just like that... You are ravishing.”

A soft moan left her lips and she felt herself clench around nothing at the praise.

So this is really it? Is she about to achieve her first pinnacle?

“Am I?”

“Yes,” you confirmed, seeing how incredibly soaked she was. “You can continue.”

She nodded and continued her path.

Her body jerked when she made contact with her clit and a loud whimper left her lips.

“Don't stop,” you whispered. “Rub yourself in circles. Be careful, for you are sensitive, but when your body asks for more, you could put a finger inside yourself.”

She nodded. “How do I know when my body asks for more?”

“You will know it,” you replied, suppressing the urge to join. Touch. Help. You gripped the fabric of your skirt until your knuckles hurt. “How are you feeling?”

Francesca bit her lip slightly. “I am feeling great.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, gently putting some strands of her hair behind her ears and ignoring how your touch only gave her goosebumps.

“Yes.”

“Then perhaps I should leave you to it,” you mentioned and attempted to stand up, but she gripped your forearm with her free hand.

“Stay,” she ordered, and you have never seen her this desperate. “Please.”

“Okay,” you agreed and took a more comfortable position on the bed. “I will stay.”

“Thank you,” Francesca moaned and closed her eyes, though her face was still turned to you, the filthy sounds of her making you press your thighs together. You noticed she had not let go of your arm, instead gripping it harder.

“Does it help… that I am watching?”

She opened her eyes. “Yes.”

“Is it exciting to be watched?”

“Yes.” She widened her legs more and inserted her index finger inside herself, letting out a quiet hiss. “Do you find it exciting to watch me?”

You certainly weren't expecting that question.

“I do,” but you answered honestly. “You are incredibly beautiful, my Lady. Anyone would be excited to watch someone like you.”

“I think I am close!” she cried out, breath labored. “Goodness, I— It's not enough, God, I'm—”

“Allow me,” you interrupted her and, in a matter of seconds, your hand replaced hers. “How does this feel? Is this okay?”

Francesca was dripping in pleasure, eyes closed shut and your name leaving her lips in feral whispers. “Yes, yes, please, oh, God. Please, do not stop, please.”

“You must be quiet, or someone might hear.”

“I cannot… I— I cannot be quiet, this feels so— Oh, God.”

You looked around, too worried for your own good, and there was only one way you knew to shut her up.

You kissed her.

And she returned the kiss like her life depended on it.

You felt her walls tightening impossibly hard, making it difficult for you to continue, but you would not dare stop.

She needed this. You needed this.

The way she tried to bring you closer by your neck and shoulders, how her hips thrusted forward so you could go deeper, how you could swallow her whines to silence, all until she finally reached her pinnacle, it all drove you insane.

Finally.

She writhed underneath you, thighs trapping your hand firmly, all the tension dissolving into waves that washed away her almost everlasting frustration, the residues of her pleasure being enough for her to want more.

You broke the kiss. “Was that okay?”

“That was amazing,” Francesca confessed in a sigh of bliss, still dangerously close to your lips. “Thank you.”

“You are most welcome, my—” You were interrupted by a kiss on your lips that caught you off guard but was not unwelcomed one bit.

You moaned into the kiss, diving deeper into her and letting her take you in entirely, and there she laid on her bed, her legs still shaking every few seconds but keeping your hands in place, your fingers still in and out of her softly as her pinnacle subsided.

Francesca broke the kiss barely to say “Don't leave.” and immediately kissed you again.

“As you wish.” you muttered against her lips, yours making their way to her neck to kiss her there while your other hand toyed with her nipples.

“Can I touch you?” she inquired, fingers hesitantly touching your bare cleavage with her fingertips.

You continued fingering her, gaining speed soon enough. “You would like to touch me?”

“Yes,” Francesca stated plainly, moaning as you pulled out your hand and turned to rub her clit rapidly. Her hips imitated the rhythm of your fingers and her lips let escape her cries of pleasure. “Yes, yes, yes, oh, God, yes, yes!”

“Yes, Francesca?” You, once again, shut her up with a kiss. “You would like to touch me?”

“Yes, yes!”

“Right after you give me another pinnacle?”

“Am I— Am I about to… Oh, my God, get another pinnacle?”

“I am fairly certain you…” Before you could finish that sentence, she screamed your name to announce her second pinnacle, though you interrupted her with a kiss before she could get too loud. “Shh… Be quiet, be quiet,” you cooed, pecking her lips before speaking again. “While I would love to have you all for myself and hear you scream my name as loud as you need to, you must be silent or else someone will hear and come to check if you are well.”

Francesca nodded. “Okay.”

“Now,” you purred in her ear. “I remember you mentioned you would like to touch me?”

“I would very much like that.”

“Alright,” you accepted but, before taking off your dress, you surprised her with your actions: you sucked your fingers clean.

Tentative, with intention.

Francesca's eyes flickered with something darker, sweeter, and she watched you with hunger.

When was the last time she needed something as much?

Was it two hours or two centuries ago?

She debated, she yearned, all while you undressed yourself under her curious, heavy, starved gaze.

She ached, she fantasized, all while you positioned yourself atop her and held her hand to drive it to your glistening cunt.

Francesca allowed you, touring your slit carefully—she felt her body beg for more touch, for you.

You grunted. “Francesca—”

“I like it when you say my name,” she muttered against your lips, her eyes fixed on yours like you are the last thing left on Earth. “You are really pretty.”

You bit the inside of your lower lip and kissed her again, feeling how her surprisingly skilled hands got to know the most intimate part of your body. “You as well. Oh…”

If you were to be honest, you would say you had never come as quickly as this one time—a time so different than those you have shared secretly with one of your fellow maids, mainly because this is the woman you were born to serve.

Does this count as serving her? Would this, somehow, be considered as part of your duties? If so, you have never been more glad to have this job.

Also because she is the most beautiful woman your eyes have ever laid upon. She is perfect with her long brown chestnut curls, her soft skin, and such wonderfully talented fingers that had your walls clenching in ecstasy like never before.

Francesca left you empty to then imitate your actions and suck her fingers, and then she frowned softly, the salty and unfamiliar taste of your arousal peeking her curiosity. “Do I taste similarly?”

You crawled backwards, not without kissing your way south, and definitely not without taking a little of your time to suck her nipples, latching onto them with some delicious sort of despair. Francesca whined with no stop, hands gripping the bedsheets as she felt her heartbeat reach places she never believed possible for it to. “I know of one way to find out.”

Francesca squirmed and watched you intensely, a soft gasp of complaint when your mouth let out her tits, taking back all the attention, left her flushed lips. “How?”

“Open up,” you instructed, hands separating her knees delicately. She covered herself, embarrassed. “Do not shy away, Francesca. Nothing here I am yet to see.”

“I just—” She blushed, the red sprawling from her ears to her chest. “I am slightly embarrassed, that is all.”

You hummed, encouraging her to open her legs. “How could you be embarrassed? Do you not know how incredibly beautiful you are?”

“Sorry,” She huffed out a shy chuckle. “I apologize.”

“Do not ever apologize,” you told her, feeling her open her legs with hesitation. “We could stop if you so wish.”

Francesca widened her eyes and shook her head. “No! No, no, let's… continue.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded eagerly. “Yes.”

You curved your lips, comforting, as she gave you the much needed space.

“You are perfect,” you told her and kissed the inside of her thigh. “You are so wet. That means you are enjoying this. You are?”

“I am,” She breathed out heavily. “And you?”

You drove her legs to your shoulders and dove in, leaving a slow kiss on her clit. You licked your lips, eyes fixed on her. “Sure I am. She is so pretty, is she not?”

“Who is?”

“She is.” You smirked and started kissing her, enjoying her taste as if you hadn't drunk anything for months. “And she tastes so good, too.”

Her eyes rolled back and her thighs trapped your head in place. “This feels so good…” Francesca whimpered. “Goodness…”

You pinned her hips to the bed as you continued eating her out, soft and sweet, like she is a dessert you don't want to finish. She urged you to go faster, the pleas in her moans and the placement of her hands in your hair were enough of an indication that she needed it.

“It is coming again,” Francesca shrieked. “The pinnacle. Please, please.”

Instead of words, you allowed your actions to speak for themselves, quickening your pace as a result.

Honestly, you were growing slightly tired, but you wouldn't dream of leaving her on the edge, so close that she…

“Oh, my God!”

Francesca came once again, feeling as if her soul had left her body and she was watching herself react to her most recent pinnacle from far above.

She almost hates herself for never experiencing this with her husband, but if there is something for which she can actually hate herself, it is that every time she tried to picture her husband touching her instead of you, the filthy and demanding thrill would expire and only calling your name could ground her back to this moment.

It was you.

The sight of a body like hers, that reacted like hers, and felt like hers brought her a thrilling challenge that her husband couldn't. The feeling of nimbler hands on her body and your soft, dedicated mouth on her lips was a sweeter thought.

You are a sweeter thought.

Your lips on hers that tasted like her own arousal were salty, but sweeter than all the biscuits from teatime.

And she pondered about it all until she fell asleep.