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“Francesca…Francesca” She whispered. Her voice was hoarse, barely a whisper, and she could feel her lips tracing the words on her neck. Her head was pressed against the crook of Francesca's neck, her eyelashes soft as a feather against her as she blinked slowly. She brought her head back, and made herself eye level with the woman pressed against the wall and traced the curls of hair stuck with sweat to her forehead with a gentleness that had not yet been shown tonight.
“Look at me Francesca” she breathed again. Fran was panting, still coming down from her pinnacle, looking anywhere but the woman leaning against her. The chandelier needed dusting, she thought. The candles needed replacing, she also thought. What she did not think about, was the hand between her thighs and the great heaving breaths of the woman in front of her. She did not think about the press of this woman's body against hers, or how she could feel every heartbeat against her breast.
But unfortunately for Fran, she had always had trouble ignoring what fixated her.
Michaela was like a piano and Francesca would soon learn the curve of every ivory key and the way each note had to be teased out of her.
But Francesca was not thinking about that right now, in fact she was not thinking anything about the woman looking up at her with such intensity that even a star would run for cover.
“Francesca.. Use me, hate me, I don't care, just let me in. Use my finger as your rib bone, let me cradle your heart. You already know how it feels to have me inside, so let me into your heart. Let me lie with you as the moon sends down soft kisses and the rain laps at the window panes. Let me in, and I promise you, Fran, I'll never leave again.”
It was now, and only now, that she allowed herself to look at her. She was inches away, forcing herself into Fran’s space, but she didn't want to push her away. She wanted to pull her in, into the cloud that consumed her every thought. She didn't want to be lonely anymore, didn't want to be wrong again. She wanted to hold onto Michaela and never let go, she wanted to scratch her skin and leave an imprint of teeth as unique as her fingerprint on her shoulder. She wanted her whole, she wanted her now. She wanted to worship her body and lick the sweat off her skin. She wanted to learn every thought, every inch, every movement of her body.
And she was sick, so sick of wanting. And she wanted, bad.
Surging forward, her nose crushed into Michaela’s. Her lips found hers and her hands reached up to her face. Neither of them had been expecting this, and Michaela stumbled backwards, her hand still between Fran’s thighs. They fell gracelessly and landed against a dresser. Half fallen, half standing, Fran ripped the hair pins keeping Michaela's hair off her nape. She wanted to feel the locks between her fingers, wanted to feel every part of her. The recipient of this sudden affection had recovered by now, and she reached her hands to Fran's hips, caressing the soft flesh over her bum. With the grace of a drunk ballerina, she hitched the silky fabric of her dress up, letting her hands feel the soft warmth of her skin. She dragged her hand across moles she had never known were there- she was exploring unchartered territory, and intended to map every crevice. Fran gasped into her lips at her cold touch, buzzing with want.
But she had already reached her pinnacle tonight, and as much as she wanted to push that face between her thighs and see the stars again, she could smell the hungry wanting and throbbing of desire on Michaela too.