"You doing okay?" I ask Francis softly. We lie together in each other's arms in front of the fireplace in his apartments; time is nonexistent. The sun is setting outside the window as the day gradually dies to give birth to the night. "I wanted to stay with you this morning, but your mother gave me the boot. You were pretty upset."
"You don't need to worry about me, Mary," he answers. "That wasn't the first time my father's been cruel to me." The way he says it is utterly and completely casual, but there is also a deep sadness in his voice. "I'll be okay, I promise." Francis kisses my hair, gathering me closer to his body.
"Francis, darling," I begin, "I know how hard this must be for you. I'm not going to lie, sometimes I feel like I will never be able to get past what happened. You don't have to pretend that everything is okay. I want to be there for you. I want to support you, as your fiancée and as your future queen…because I love you. I love you, Francis, but I can't support you if you don't let me all the way in." My eyes find his. I clasp his hand in mine, holding it firmly. "I feel safe when I'm with you. Do you trust me?"
"With my life." No hesitation. He presses my palm to his cheek before slowly sliding it down to his mouth, planting a gentle kiss in my hand. "I love you, Mary. I love you and I hate seeing how much Tomas has hurt you."
"And I feel the same way about you," I continue gently. "Francis, there is nothing I wouldn't do for you. Nothing."
"And I you." He strokes my face tenderly. I melt into his touch, grimacing from the sore bruises on my cheeks. "Is there anything I can do to help you, Mary?" I nod slowly, taking his hand and putting it on my breast. I feel his heart race underneath me.
"Help me forget all of the times Tomas laid his hands on me," I murmur. I cover his mouth with mine slowly and gently. I can feel Francis's hesitance in his kiss, but it doesn't take long before his passion collides with mine as he pushes himself upright, running his hands down my back underneath my tank top.
"Tell me when you want me to stop," he says between kisses.
"Never." Francis claims my mouth once again; his hands caress and touch and fondle my body as if it were a delicate flower, knowing what cruelty and violence it has endured at Tomas's hand. I reach down for the hems of my tank top as his hands guide it up over my head, letting it fall to the floor and baring my breasts. I cup Francis's face in my hands as we kiss, slowly yet desperately, as though our lives depended on each other's touch. My hips grind against his, gradually building friction between us. I can feel the bulge of Francis's arousal through his jeans and I can't help but smile. I tug at the hems of his shirt, inching it over his head before tossing it to the ground. Francis grabs handfuls of my hair in his fists, gently tugging and pulling, not once breaking our kiss. Our tongues meet and interweave with one another forcefully.
I don't even remember how we make it to Francis's bedroom. He throws me down onto the bed, claiming me and ravishing me entirely. His lips seek the curve of my neck, kissing and sucking and biting as he runs a hand down my leg, swinging it around his back. "Francis, please…please!" I whimper. "Don't stop, please, don't stop!" I know that at the end of the night, I will not be completely and magically healed from the pain and trauma Tomas has inflicted upon me by Francis's lovemaking—but I want this. No, I need this. I want and need and love him. I want to surrender to him. He reaches for my jeans, unzipping them, and pulling them down and off my legs as he trails kisses down my body, leaving me in my silk, black underwear.
"Mary, you're so goddamn beautiful," he whispers huskily, and tears off my underwear. I am naked before him, my body and soul bared just for him. "You're mine, just as I'm yours." I'm surprised when he suddenly hoists my legs over his shoulders…before burying his face between my legs, his tongue rubbing against my clit, teasing and flicking at it.
"Yours…yes!" I sigh, leaning my head back onto the bed as Francis loves me with his mouth. I arch my back, screaming in ecstasy. I grip the sheets as pleasure jolts through me, hot and electric. Francis looms over me as he dominates me, his eyes filled with adoration and lust. I reach for him, but he secures my wrists to the mattress, pinning me down. I'm feverish with desire; why the hell isn't he completely naked yet? This is Francis de Valois you're dealing with, Mary, I remind myself. He's going to take his sweet time.
"Do you want me inside you, Mary?" he purrs into my ear. "Am I what you want?"
"Yes."
"I can awaken things inside you that you never knew existed," Francis whispers. I squirm beneath him; his eyes are devouring my naked form. Jesus Christ, this is a man who loves to dominate in bed. I wonder what other tricks he has up his sleeve. "All you need to do is surrender." I gasp as he slides two fingers inside of me; I'm wet between my thighs. Whether it's from my arousal or from my orgasms, I'm certain that it's from both. "You're wet for me, Mary." His eyes meet mine as he presses his wet fingers to his lips, tasting me, before running his fingers down my lips. The erotic act alone brings me to another orgasm.
"Make love to me," I beg. "Please." Francis pulls himself upright so he can unzip his jeans. I watch him, my body begging for his. He casually discards his jeans before his lips possess mine. I welcome his kiss, wrapping my arms around his back and weaving my hair into his curls. I gasp, moaning and shuddering in bliss as he penetrates me. The pain is sharp, but brief.
"God, Mary, you're so beautiful," Francis whispers, caressing my leg. Shivers crawl up my spine. This man is mine. Francis de Valois is mine, as I am his. "I love you." I reach upward and kiss him in response, my hips grating and swaying against him. The room is filled with the crackling of the embers in the fire and our sighs and moans of passion. Francis rolls…once, twice, three times. I scream in rapture, digging my nails into his back. I'm straddling him now, looking down upon him. I caress his chest, trying to find my balance on him as he runs a hand down the spot between my breasts. His eyes are filled with awe; I am his goddess, my body his faith as he worships me. I plant my hands firmly on his chest as I slowly begin to ride him, building a steady rhythm between us. Francis puts his hands on my waist, crying out my name.
"Mary! Oh my god….Mary!" Faster, harder, now. I sit upright, still riding him, no longer needing to use his chest to support myself. I orgasm again and again and again; I know nothing but pleasure. I am hardly aware of how loud we are in the fervor of our love; all I know is Francis and the passion of our lovemaking. Red hot bliss throbs throughout my body; this time, we come together as one flesh. Francis pushes himself straight so I'm sitting in his lap, my legs around his back and our bodily rhythm still maintained. He kisses me forcefully, hungrily, ravenously. I sigh into his mouth as he thrusts into me again and again. He grabs the hair at the back of my head as he sucks at my neck, kissing and biting.
"Francis, Jesus Christ, Francis!" I moan. "Oh, oh, oh...OH!"
"That's it, Mary," he sighs between kisses. "Come to me, baby girl. Come to me." His mouth trails kisses down my neck to my breasts, his hands roaming over my bare back. I tilt my head back, holding his head to my breasts.
"Francis, Francis, Francis!" Our tempo is increasing and becoming more frantic. "Oh my god, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes! That feels…oh god, you feel so good!"
"Mary…Mary, oh god…I could love you forever," sighs Francis. "I love you. I love you."
"I love you too, baby." I break our kiss so I can look into his eyes. We're breathless and slick with sweat, but I know that he doesn't want to stop. I don't want to stop. My hand combs through his soft, silky and lush golden curls, my other wrapped around his neck for support. "I love—" Francis cuts me off with a kiss just as passionate as the last. I wish more than anything that this night could last forever so we could make love without having to think about and face the horrors and the pain that Tomas imposed upon us.
"Oh my god, Francis…Francis! Francis! Francis!" Francis suddenly rolls, enveloping me in his arms as he thrusts into me over and over again. We roll across the bed and we come together as one, screaming our release, ending with me underneath Francis, gasping.
"Are you…okay, Mary?" he asks, trying to catch his breath.
"I'm fine," I answer. "Don't stop, Francis. Oh my god, never stop." Francis covers my mouth with his, taking me again into his arms as we surrender to one another.
The first thing I'm aware of is Francis's touch, his fingers lightly tracing small circles into the small of my back. Our naked bodies are intertwined with one another after our erotic and passionate night of love; my body aches from the vigorousness of Francis's lovemaking, but I relish it. I open my eyes to see rays of sunlight pouring into the room.
"It's morning," I say in surprise. Did we really just spend the entire night making love? No wonder I'm so sore. Francis beams at me and I find myself smiling back at him as he shifts so I'm underneath him.
"I know," he replies. "If the servants are gossiping about your unmade bed, it's too late to rectify the situation." He tickles the underside of my breasts and I burst out squealing with laughter, squirming underneath him before he leans forward to kiss the hollow of my neck.
"Do you think we're being too reckless?" I ask. I have no regrets about making love with him; I'm glad we did, but it would most certainly cause a scandal if I fell with child prior to our marriage.
"I'm yours," Francis murmurs, kissing my chest. "You're mine. I hope you're pregnant."
"Francis!" I exclaim. I pull myself up so I'm sitting upright. Francis reaches for my breast, fondling it, while he slides another hand between my legs, finding the wetness between my thighs. I shudder and moan, closing my eyes as I remember how good he felt inside me.
"It would force the wedding sooner. How could my father argue it?" His fingers rub against my clit before slipping inside me. The orgasm is fast, yet white-hot as it spreads throughout me.
"So, you don't think what we're doing is wrong?" I ask, half-moaning. "As we are not wed yet?" Francis takes my hand, pulling me closer to him as he caresses my thigh with one hand and rakes a hand through my slick and sweaty hair with the other. I reach out, stroking his chest. Holy shit. He is firm and strong; power and dominance radiates off him and I can't help but grin, knowing that this man is mine.
"After we rule for a great long while, and we leave France and Scotland to our children, and our grandchildren and our great grandchildren, and we meet our maker, you can ask him yourself." He hoists me up into his lap, planting a gentle kiss on my cheek and the side of my neck. I wrap my arms around him as he slowly, gently enters me.
"Oh!" I sigh. He rocks his hips, pushing and pulling at me. I take his face in my palms, kissing him deeply. Francis bites and tugs at my lip, moaning into my mouth. He rakes his fingernails down my back, instantly blurring the lines between pleasure and pain, but I don't care. My orgasm comes as the sharp pain of Francis's nails fires down my back.
"Jesus Christ, Mary!" he cries.
"Can we…stay here for a while?" I manage between kisses. "I…oh, oh, oh…OH!" I've reached another climax, as has Francis as we cry out for one another. "Oh, Francis…Francis!" Francis is sturdy and steady inside me as he pushes me to my bodily limits, the pressure between us instantly rebuilding itself. I entangle my fingers in his hair, pressing our foreheads together, as we rasp and moan and sigh.
"You're mine," groans Francis.
"Yours," I purr. "Only yours." He kisses me possessively as if to assert himself, pushing his tongue into my mouth as I continue to move back and forth across him, pushing into him harder and harder. "Oh…yes, Francis…yes! Oh god…please! Please, I need…"
"Tell me what it is you need, baby," he pants. "Tell…me." I kiss him before letting him bury his face in the crook of my neck.
"For…so long, I've craved this," I rasp. "You…inside me, pleasuring me…pushing me to my limits. Your hands on me…" I whimper as we continue to rock against one another. For a moment, I'm at a loss for words. How can I begin to describe what it is I want? I want him. I want Francis. I want this to last forever. "Fuck…Francis, I—"
"Shhh, take your time, Mary," he tells me.
"I…remember the first time…we danced? At the party on the evening of my return to court?" I continue. It's becoming increasingly difficult to get my words out. Francis is ravishing me and slowly unraveling me as I'm slowly becoming undone. "For…so long, I've always fantasized about what it would be like…to feel you. Wanting you…it's so, so—oh! Oh god…I want you. I want…all of you—oh, OH!" I fall back against the bed, Francis atop of me as he takes me into paradise. Our fingers interlace with one another as he drives into me over and over again, faster and harder and stronger. My legs graze his hips as he thrusts into me. Francis abruptly turns me over onto my side as he nips at and kisses my neck, his hands roaming my body, loving me from behind. I writhe and squirm before him. My body is begging for more. Begging for release. I'm not sure how much more of this I can take, but I savor it all. His lips discover my neck once again and I reach behind me, tenderly touching his face.
"Is this what you want, Mary?" Francis asks huskily.
"Yes," I murmur. I'm about to kiss him when the door swings open. Startled, we pull away from one another. Francis rolls away from me—out of me—dropping his head back onto the pillows as I cover myself with the sheets. It's one of the pages.
"I'm…uh, sorry to interrupt," the page stammers. His face is turning beet red as he speaks. "Um, Your Majesties Francis and Mary, the king wishes to speak with you."
"What about?" I press him. "Did he say why?"
"He wishes to renegotiate the marriage pact between France and Scotland."
"You wish to forge again the alliance between our countries?" I ask Henri. Francis and I take a seat at the council table with the king and queen, multiple documents spread across the surface. My fiancé is visibly tense as he glances towards his father.
"Yes, of course," he begins. "Your engagement to Tomas never came to fruition in a wedding and I know how much you and my son value your betrothal to one another."
"What about you, Catherine?" I ask pointedly. "Do you think that the alliance between our countries is worth salvaging?" She hesitates. What is it about my marriage to Francis that scares her so? I would never do anything to hurt Francis! Catherine de Medici is the Queen of France and there are some things about her that I will never know—but this is something I must know.
"Is this what you want?" She dodges the question. "Francis, do you want to marry Mary?"
"Yes, of course I do!" No hesitation in Francis's answer. Henri shoves the documents towards us; upon first glance, I know that my signature and Francis's will reseal our engagement.
"Good," the king says, "because Mary Tudor—the Queen of England—is dying. It's time you and Francis are wed."
"What?" I exclaim. Francis and I share a glance; he is just as shocked by this sudden turn of the tide as I am. Now? Henri wants us to be married now?
"Henri, don't you think it's a bit too soon considering what they've been through with Tomas?" protests Catherine. "They need time to heal. It's too early for their marriage! Is this about England—wait, don't answer that, of course it's about England!"
"The fruit is ripe for the plucking, Catherine," Henri says bluntly, rising to his feet. "Francis and Mary will be married…tonight."