A Carriage Ride
Mary was rubbing her index finger against his wrist, sending shivers up and down his body. The crescent of her nail drew tiny circles against his skin, her touch feather light. Francis tried to focus his mind on the task at hand. He had deliberately brought the treaty documents with him on this ride so he could review them, but her touch, the soft melding of her creamy skin with his own—unbeknownst to him, his breathing had increased, and as though this were a maddening dance, she removed her finger, leaving him bereft of her touch and gasping.
Her girlish sigh tempered his irritation.
"If you'll excuse me, husband. I did not mean to distract you from your work. Please go on. I shall sit quietly, and watch the scenery from the window."
A smile transformed his face. "Distract me, wife? Your finger was making short work of me." She had only touched his hand, but his mind swam with memories of the night before, all the nights before this, since their first coupling, since their marriage, since the night he had kissed the shadows of the candlelight from her skin. "Your touch," Francis discarded the paperwork to the carriage floor. The ride had been relatively smooth so far, but the farther they got from court the more rural the roads. "It could distract me from death."
Mary rolled her eyes. "Death?"
He reached out to her, touched her skin the way she had touched his. Slow, hypnotic circles. The pads of his fingers smoothing across her hand like water, his movements instinctive. Like gravity. "I could touch you like this for the rest of my life. It pains me every time I have to stop."
She leaned toward him. The carriage was close quarters to begin with, but her sudden proximity made him gasp. "Don't stop. Don't ever stop."
It was an autumn morning. The sun was high and bright but the air was crisp and cool. Beyond the carriage windows Francis could see the leaves aflame with red and purple and gold behind Mary's frame. He watched as she brought her hands up to the collar of her cloak, unfastening the silken ties, slowly. Her shy smile seemed to taunt him with need for her touch.
It was a light cloak, more for fashion than the practicality to keep her warm.
"Mary," he warned. "The footmen are just outside. The windows are large. Anyone could see us."
"Or hear us?" She brought her lips to his neck. Her words flooded his mind with visions of the night before, when she had taken him in her mouth and he had cried out, so desperately. His remembered please for release caused his skin to goosebump all over again.
"Hear us," he echoed. Her lips on his skin made his cheeks flush and his head tilted back, his bones suddenly heavy with his need for her.
Through his drooping, heavy eyelids, he watched Mary as she hiked up her skirts to her knees.
Desperately, he whispered, "Mary, we can't." His words were at odds with his actions as she reached his hands out to clasp the soft skin of her legs, drawing her nearer, even as he knew he should be pushing her away.
Mary spoke, forming words against the throbbing vein in his neck. "We must. I can't wait."
She straddled him, knees planted at either side of his hips and he groaned from the pleasure of her on top of him. She kissed him again, this time on the lobe of his ear, and he hissed.
"God help me," Francis breathed. "I can't say no to you." She ground her hips down against his lap and his mouth fell open, gasping. "I can't say no to this."
Mary began to methodically pull the drawstring of his pants up, opening the gap to pull him free. Francis' frenzy aided her in making quick work of it, and his erection sprang free and upward toward her. Leaning back, Mary watched as it jerked from side to side, free of any touch, searching for the warm comfort of her body.
"Mary, this is folly." He was grasping her hips, holding her tightly.
Still smiling, she unlaced the top portion of her bodice, loosening it enough to pull the twin globes of her breasts free. Mary loved the way he gasped when he first caught sight of her like this. She was still leaning away from him, her gaze flicking from the determination on his face, to his engorged erection, the head of it was pulsing red with need.
Mary could feel his breath coming fast, nearly gasping, his gaze locked on her breasts, his teeth clenched.
"Won't you touch me?" She asked, moving her hands up to her own breasts, cupping them lightly, and squeezing them softly. "Here?"
Francis hissed. Each movement of her hand caused the tops of her breast to topple forward. He ached for her. He still had a firm grip on her hips, but she slowly coaxed his hands upward until he was touching her as she had just been.
Mary leaned forward, taking his penis in her hand. There was a thin layer of perspiration on his upper lip and she kissed it away. "I want you to come inside of me." She sat up, positioned him, and leaned back down, slowly letting him fill her.
Francis' head fell back again, his eyes clamping tightly shut.
She said again, "I want you to come inside of me."
Her shook his head slightly. "I'm not going to last long."
"My love," she said, grinding her hips down against him, rocking up and down at a feverish pace.
"Mary," he pleaded. She starfished her palm out against his cheek, pulling him close. "Mary," he said again. She could hear the feverish plea in his voice; his desperate need. "Mary, I have to—oh god, I can't stop it."
He was trembling, his hands shaking against her back. She was looking deep in his eyes when his head flung back, mouth wide with a banished moan while he shivered around her. She continued to sway her hips while he settled, loving the way he fell against her, like a child, his arms so tight, his body alive with need for her.
"My love," he whispered. The clatter of the carriage wheels acting as symphony to their love making.
"My love," she whispered back. Knowing that no matter the destination, he would always be her home.