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If it were up to Francesca, she wouldn’t have done a public outing for her birthday. The ideal celebration for her would take place in the comfort of her own home, surrounded by her family, maybe a few friends, and Michaela. They would gather for a few hours over drinks and appetizers, present gifts, and be on their way.
Her mother, Violet Bridgerton, absolutely rejected this.
“Over my dead body, Francesca Bridgerton, it is your twenty-fifth birthday, you will not hide!”
And so, the two prepared a compromise. Francesca would get the small dinner. Violet would be able to celebrate her daughter’s birthday in the public eye.
The final plan is dinner at a modern French restaurant near the River Thames. It’s expensive, but the seating almost grants Francesca the privacy she wanted for her special day.
The engagement is as small as a Bridgerton family gathering could be. In attendance are her mother, all eight siblings, and Michaela. The area that Violet reserves for them takes up so much space that Francesca almost feels bad. Remembering that her mother’s initial plan was to have a banquet hall party helps rid her guilt. Still, seeing her family after weeks apart thaws a part of her heart she didn’t know was frozen.
Given their size and individual ages, it was rare to see the Bridgertons all under one roof these days. Francesca savors the opportunity, letting herself be doted on by her older brothers, and engaging in banter with her sisters and Gregory. She’s especially grateful to see her mother, who despite her fussing, wants the best for her darling Francesca.
There’s one other person here that Francesca is thankful for, the stunning, remarkable Michaela Stirling. The apple of her eye, the person she looks for in every room. The woman she has an insatiable appetite for.
Francesca isn’t the same person she was before meeting her girlfriend. In fact, sometimes she doesn’t recognize who Francesca Bridgerton was pre-Michaela. She’s a lot more spontaneous and witty. Sure, she’s still shy but with a little encouragement, she knows how to asks for what she wants.
What she wants to ask for in this moment isn’t the most appropriate. She swallows it down with the glass of wine in front of her, compartmentalizing the thoughts for later.
The occasion goes by as great as it can with Francesca in a state of yearning.
The ambiance is great, the food even better, and the night goes on without bickering from the Bridgerton siblings. Michaela even joins the two youngest siblings in their effort to tease Francesca. It would be endearing, if not for the part of her that wants to kiss the joking smile off of her face.
—
To complete the meal, a series of small-plated entrées, a course of Gillardeau oysters were brought to the table—served on a bed of ice, complimented by lemon and flaky salt. They were Francesca’s favorite treat, perfectly savory and sweet, with a bit of tang. As much as she loved to end a meal with them, they were pricey, the amount on the table cost at least £200.
“Who ordered this?” Francesca asks. She’s growing buzzed from her wine, but not enough to not be aware of costs. The meal was already approaching £2,500. She waits for an answer before partaking in the appetizer. Her siblings ignore her, swarming like flies over the oysters.
Michaela notices her, of course, seated in front to her and similarly tipsy. “I did, love. Now, will you eat?”
Her mother sits at the foot of the table, watching everyone with a smile of matriarchal delight. Clearly no one there cared about costs but her.
Francesca hesitates but Michaela silently reassures her, staring into her eyes and guiding her to the platter. When she finally takes one into her mouth, her head tilting back, she temporarily forgets why she almost denied herself this pleasure. The brine activates her salivary glands, filling her mouth with water, somehow increasing her appetite.
It’s almost like when Michaela lets her—
Francesca doesn’t let herself finish that thought with her family at the table.
Instead, she snaps her head back upright and is immediately met with Michaela’s gaze. Her eyes are low, looking at Francesca with a simper. She shoots her eyebrows up and taps the space next to her mouth. Michaela’s gaze is fixated on her lips rather than her eyes. Like clockwork, Francesca feels the brine trickling down her chin.
When she brings a napkin to her face, Michaela smirk becomes a knowing smile, and then a light laugh. Francesca’s soul feels bare, but she thanks God that her family is too engaged among themselves to see this moment unfolding.
“I think you’re still hungry,” Michaela suggests. “Eat up before it’s gone.” Her dark brown eyes are taking Francesca apart.
Francesca answers by grabbing another oyster to eat. She feels Michaela’s stare the entire time she eats.
Michaela doesn’t eat any at all. Instead, she watches and watches, sipping on her wine in between each oyster Francesca eats.
—
After the oysters are cleared away, a cake for Francesca is brought to the table, blazing with candles. The cake is another one of Francesca’s favorites, an opera cake, infused with coffee and rich chocolate. It’s enough to satisfy and cleanse everyone’s palates without sending them home bloated.
They don’t sing in celebration of Francesca’s birthday, a hard limit set by the birthday girl herself. It’s a happy affair, nonetheless.
When she bends to blow the candles on her cake, Michaela’s eyes follow her. Francesca tries ignore the heat that spreads through out her.
Looking at her girlfriend, Francesca finds the perfect thing to wish for.
—
Violet hides the bill from Francesca when it’s time to pay. Even worse, the bill gets split into two, her mother taking up one half and Michaela the other. As the two whisper among each other, Francesca wonders if Michaela helped plan this evening too.
She’s never felt so spoiled in her life.
—
The couple take a taxi home, still buzzed from the expensive Cabernet Sauvignon ordered for Francesca.
As soon as they enter the car, Michaela takes down her updo, curly black hair falling onto her bronzed shoulders. She lets out a grunt to project her exhaustion from the night, but it comes out closer to a whine. Francesca can’t help but look at her girlfriend after the noise slips from her lips. Michaela continues like nothing happened, making conversation with the taxi driver about the weather, of all things.
Five minutes into the ride, Francesca slumps over onto Michaela’s shoulder, a bit exhausted from dinner. She’s not tired, per se, just burnt out from the social aspect of the event. Like she can read her mind, Michaela wraps her arms around Francesca’s frame and gives her a forehead kiss.
“You okay?” She asks softly.
Francesca finds a way nuzzle into the side of Michaela’s neck despite her taller stature. She hums, preparing a joke in her mind. “Besides you and Mama plotting against me, I’m doing wonderful.”
Michaela laughs. “It looked like you enjoyed yourself,” she says, likely referring to the oyster moment. The blush that spreads across Francesca’s face is hidden by London’s night.
She doesn’t know how to respond, and so, they ride in a comfortable silence for the rest of the way. Well, comfortable for Michaela. For Francesca, the heat from earlier returns, bolder and brighter than ever, causing her to grow antsy from her own greed.
Francesca spends the last three minutes in the taxi with her head in Michaela’s lap. Her girlfriend is wearing a skirt that rides up her thighs when she sits. Francesca wants nothing more than to rub her face where Michaela’s skin is exposed.
For the sake of everyone in the car, Francesca refrains. She’ll find a way to get her birthday wish fulfilled later.
On the way out of the taxi, Francesca tips the taxi driver extra for enduring their very public display of affection.
—
Francesca and Michaela stumble into their home, sharing small, intoxicated giggles as they walk through the hallway into their room.
Michaela falls onto the bed first, immediately ripping off her heels. She releases a groan similar to the one in the taxi, guttural and wanting. Francesca feels like a bird on the receiving end of a mating call.
“Are you just going to stand there?” Michaela teases. It’s a reasonable question though, as Francesca lingers by the doorway with starvation in her eyes.
Francesca answers by rushing forward, taking Michaela’s face into her hands, and trapping her lush lips in a desperate kiss. She wants Michaela to feel what she feels, how she’s felt all night.
When Francesca pulls away, she becomes a little timid. Being bold always managed to make her shy, even if it was for good cause. The shyness is for no reason though, as Michaela looks at Francesca so fondly.
Michaela still has the half-lidded gaze she had from the restaurant when she asks Francesca a question. “What did you wish for?”
The warmth deep in Francesca’s groin becomes a wildfire. Now is the time for her to ask for she wants, just like Michaela taught her. It comes much easier than she expected, which makes her pause. Even worse, what she wants will sound forbidden and vulgar on her tongue.
“Well?” Michaela waits, looking upon her with so much love and power, it intimidates her.
“I didn’t make a wish,” Francesca lies, a last minute effort to preserve her dignity. Her efforts are useless, however. She’s still standing, breathing heavy, and staring Michaela down with fully blown pupils.
“I don’t believe that.”
Francesca tries to answer but the words come out in a stutter. She closes her mouth before she makes a bigger fool of herself.
“What did you wish for?”
Michaela is more stern this time, her tone like a final warning. Francesca wonders how a woman can be so dominant with such a small frame. She notices that Michaela’s breathing has mirrored hers, her shoulders rising and falling.
Francesca realizes that Michaela is just as crazed as she is. With that, she falls to her knees and finally submits.
She still hesitates to use her words when she drops to Michaela’s feet. Instead of speaking, she plants urgent kisses up Michaela’s thighs. When Francesca goes to pull up Michaela’s skirt, she’s stopped by a hand under chin, commanding her attention.
“Francesca,” Michaela says. Her voice is heavy yet airy.
She gulps, the sensation intensified with her girlfriend’s hand pressing against her throat. “Yes?”
“You didn’t answer me, love.”
The pet names and her compromising position makes Francesca salivate.
“I wished for you. To have you.”
Michaela caresses the area underneath her chin. “You know you have me.” She knows Francesca wanted more than that, and she was going to make Francesca say the words.
Francesca knows it’s now or never. She begins her confession with another kiss to Michaela’s leg.
“I want to eat you out, I want to taste you.” Another series of kisses follow. “Please, Michaela.”
Michaela responds by running her hand through Francesca’s brown hair. She looks so in love that it makes Francesca’s heart ache. “Pretty girl, it’s your birthday, you shouldn’t beg.” She bends over to give Francesca a simple kiss to the lips. “All I need was for you to say the words.”
She lifts her hips to remove her underwear, a pair of black lace briefs, letting them fall down her legs and onto the floor. Francesca remains on her knees, a dazed expression on her face. She can’t recall a longer spell of foreplay than these past three hours.
“How do you want me?”
Francesca moves as close as can without being physically under Michaela’s skin. At this point, her body is slotted in between Michaela’s knees, both women practically fully dressed. The notion of making Michaela come in this state makes her mouth and the area between her legs water simultaneously.
“This is perfect,” Francesca says under her breath. It was more than perfect. It was all she wanted, all she needed. She runs a hand up and down Michaela’s thigh, before finally taking what she asked for.
Her kisses on Michaela’s thighs aren’t really kisses anymore. They’re more so love bites, meant to leave a mark after tonight’s rendezvous. Each one is messy and quick, inching closer to Michaela’s core. She can’t see her girlfriend’s face but she can still feel her hands in her hair.
Francesca takes her free hand and pushes one of Michaela’s legs as far back as she can before going for the gold.
Michaela is already wet when Francesca’s mouth makes its landing. She starts with tiny kisses around her labia, slowing her impulses to avoid overwhelming Michaela. Francesca then uses her tongue, weaving her head as she drags it across Michaela’s vulva. When she finally wraps her lips around Michaela’s clit, the hand in her hair balls into a tight fist.
“Ah, fuck,” Michaela swears, voice high-pitched but low in volume. Mouth still on Michaela, Francesca uses her hand to push her skirt up, hoping to see that gorgeous face twist with pleasure. Michaela’s eyes are closed shut and her lips are pressed together. Francesca is grateful that her girlfriend can’t see what she’s about to do next.
Her fingers spread Michaela’s lips apart, and then she spits. Michaela’s hips buck at the contact.
Francesca uses the extra lubrication from her saliva to slick two fingers before pushing them into Michaela. Determined and famished, her mouth never leaves Michaela’s clit. She alternates between licking and sucking, creating a rhythm.
It’s hard for Francesca to describe what having Michaela in her mouth is like.
She’s always had a habit of keeping something in her mouth, either chewing on pen caps or obsessively chewing gum. The sensation comforted her and kept her mind quiet. Meeting Michaela, and eventually fucking her, made her oral fixation so much worse. Instead of pen caps, she had Michaela’s fingers to suck or wrap her tongue around. And who needs gum when you could have your girlfriend use your mouth to get off?
Michaela’s fist tightens again at the feeling of Francesca entering her. It doesn’t hurt, in fact Francesca finds herself liking the feeling a little too much. Francesca moves in and out of Michaela with ease, filling the room with very obscene noises. She can hear herself slurping and finger-fucking Michaela but those sounds pale in comparison to Michaela’s own. Michaela’s deep breaths had turned into full-fledged moans and curses.
“Oh my god, you’re going to fucking kill me, Fran,” Michaela whines, her tone still high. “You’re doing so good.”
The praise sends a flood of arousal through Francesca, so much that she could feel herself leak. She pauses to remove her mouth from Michaela’s clit, wanting to sit upright and get a good look at her girlfriend’s face. She makes up for the loss of her mouth by fucking her fingers deeper into Michaela.
Michaela’s hand remains in Francesca’s hair, albeit her grip loosened by her change in position. The lights in their room are on but Michaela’s eyes are so dark. Her lips are wet and slightly swollen, probably from biting when Francesca couldn’t see. During sex, Michaela always had the power but in this moment, she looks completely ruined. They lock eyes when Francesca comes up and the kneeling woman wonders what she looks like from her girlfriend’s point of view.
Michaela uses the hand not in Francesca’s hair to wipe the mess she made around Francesca’s mouth. It was so much like the scene from dinner, where Francesca’s lips and chin became wet from her appetite. She puts the fingers used to clean Francesca’s face in her mouth, letting her suck.
“Is this what you wanted?” She asks, an edge of authority returning to her voice.
Francesca moans in response around her fingers, relishing in its taste. It’s salty and slightly sweet, almost like her beloved oysters from earlier. She hopes Michaela takes her noises as a ‘yes’, then withdrawing her mouth from Michaela’s hand, returning to her favorite task.
When Francesca bends back down, Michaela is significantly wetter. The sounds from her being fingered are louder and messier. It truly is music to Francesca’s ears. Her lips and tongue capture Michaela’s clit once more, this time applying more pressure.
“I’m going to come soon if you keep fucking me like that,” Michaela warns.
Francesca doesn’t care about the warning; Michaela coming in her mouth was all she wanted for today.
Her fingers never get tired. She’s a pianist for a living and as far as she is concerned, this was now her job too. To please Michaela, to fuck her. To make her feel loved.
Much to Francesca’s delight, Michaela grinds down on her face. Not by much, but enough to increase the feeling of Francesca’s sucking and licking.
“Fran,” Michaela whines, the second final warning for the night.
Her thighs begin to quiver around Francesca, and the kneeling woman mentally braces for impact. Physically, Francesca continues to finger Michaela and eat her out. As Michaela gets closer to her orgasm, Francesca finds herself getting close to her own. It’s an unfamiliar feeling, being this aroused with no stimulation, but it feels so good. She squirms a little under Michaela, her body preparing itself to come untouched.
Michaela announces her orgasm with a breathy cry, her hand gripping Francesca’s hair. “Fuck, Francesca, I’m coming.” She rides it out, simultaneously fucking Francesca’s face and her fingers. Francesca comes soon behind her, moaning loudly as soon as she releases herself from Michaela’s clit. She’s breathing heavily herself and her face is red from the heat.
The taste of Michaela lingers on her tongue so prominently that Francesca feels like it’ll stay there forever. At last, her birthday wish is fulfilled.
Michaela gently pulls Francesca‘s hair back, tilting her head, and forcing eye contact. Despite the gesture, she looked at Francesca like she held the secrets of the universe. Her previously twisted face now has a smile on it. “Is that what you wished for?”
Francesca tries to nod before realizing her head and neck movement is mildly restricted. “It was.” She feels a bit embarrassed from the attention and her desperation from earlier.
Michaela releases her hand and pulls Francesca onto the bed for a series of kisses. Her hands are now at the back of Francesca’s dress, playing with its zipper.
Francesca stops her with a touch to the arm. “Michaela.”
“Yes, love.”
Francesca doesn’t know to bring this up. She’s never come untouched, especially not in her clothes.
“I, um.” She gulps before continuing. “I came already.”
Michaela stares at her, her dark eyes scanning Francesca from top to bottom. Francesca stiffens, unable to read her.
Michaela’s smile soon becomes smug. “Holy shit.”
Francesca relaxes but the embarrassment doesn’t leave. “Michaela, please.” The last thing she wants is to be laughed at.
Michaela doesn’t laugh at her though. Instead, she leans back in for another kiss and says something Francesca never expected.
“Let me clean you up then.” The words come out thick with lust, leaving no room for misinterpretation. Her delivery sends a chill down Francesca’s spine but she’d be a liar if she said she wasn’t intrigued.
“Okay.”
They seal the deal with another kiss to the lips.
Michaela continues to unzip Francesca’s dress, one hand on the zipper, the other hand on her ass. They kiss like they need each other for air. Michaela stands up to peel her dress and soaked panties down over her legs, then climbing back onto the bed where Francesca is shyly waiting.
“You’re so beautiful today,” Michaela compliments, her palm on Francesca’s thigh. She’s lying on her stomach in front of Francesca, who’s now against the back board, legs spread barely but her knees. “I’m so proud of you.”
Michaela parts Francesca’s legs, and begins to lap up her come with her tongue. When she goes down on Francesca, she’s still sensitive from her unconventional orgasm. She whines immediately at the stimulation.
“Michaela….”
Francesca already feels like she’s going to come again. Michaela’s using her mouth like Francesca is edible, and Francesca knows herself well enough to know that she’d make a similar mess. Michaela’s mouth is so warm and she uses her tongue so well.
She feels herself preparing to ask for permission to come until she realizes Michaela’s words from earlier. It was her birthday, and she shouldn’t beg. Francesca obeys her previous order and instead tells her.
“Michaela, fuck,” she says between whimpers, “I’m going to come.”
Her second orgasm is a lot more powerful than the first. She can feel it in her core and it feels like she’s unraveling. Michaela laps her up as she comes, not giving Francesca much room to withdraw if she wanted. She feels her eyes roll back as her head hits the soft headboard. Her legs begin to tremor uncontrollably, which was Michaela’s cue to come up.
Michaela remains on her stomach, planting kisses on Francesca’s legs with love and gratitude. When she looks up at Francesca, her mouth is slick with juices like Francesca’s was twice before. She perches on her elbows and uses one hand to wipe her mouth.
Francesca watches the whole time, tempted to take Michaela’s hand into her mouth for herself. The only thing stopping her is knowing that she can’t handle even the possibility of a third orgasm—Michaela will provide if provoked.
—
Francesca was spent, and it showed in her body language. Her breathing remained heavy for two minutes after her last orgasm, and she felt so jittery. Michaela remained by her side, of course, massaging the muscles in her legs so she could walk to the shower.
At this point, the wine is gone from their systems, and the fatigue really sets in. When they return to bed, clean and freshly dressed, the time on the clock is 12:03 am. Time slipped away from them and now, Francesca’s twenty-fifth birthday had ended.
“Did you enjoy your birthday, love?” Michaela’s voice is soft and tired.
Francesca reflects on the day as best she could with a clouded mind. She had seen her family for the first time in weeks, shared an amazing meal with them and her girlfriend, and came home to have some of the most intense sex a person could have.
Her birthday was perfect.
Too sleepy to respond verbally, Francesca replies with a hum and a caress to Michaela’s skin. “Mhmm.”
“Amazing.”
—
Francesca spends the first night of her twenty-fifth year in the arms of the love of her life.