bakerstreet | The Smut Picture Prompt Meme

Guiding Margaret to tilt her head slightly, Cesare slides his tongue across hers as soon as her mouth parts enough to allow it. He tastes her deeply, working his lips intently, almost roughly. His thumbs stroke her cheeks before his hands slide downward, skimming for just a moment over the front of her bodice before they move to either side, finding her trim waist.

From there, he holds her close against his body. There are at the moment too many layers for the princess to be able to feel the effect she's having on him, but Cesare is fairly confident that will change. "Mmm," he says with a smile, "you taste as good as I'd hoped."

It doesn't take much to urge her to come close and stay close, nor to move in whichever way was easiest. Contrary to popular belief, Margaret isn't completely frigid - she's been kissed before. Just ... not like this. Never like this. She's almost embarrassed by the way she moans softly in response, and then decides that it's nothing to be ashamed of, and how could it be? How could enjoying herself ever be wrong?

Even though there are still far too many layers of clothing between them to be comfortable, she still leans in to his hands. As much as she craves feeling them on bare skin, she wasn't yet near the point of begging. "And what did you hope I tasted like?"

With the slightest of smiles curling at the corner of his mouth, Cesare dipped his head and kissed Margaret again. "Plum wine." Another kiss. "Cinnamon." And another kiss. "Honeysuckle." One more. "And... something... surprisingly spicy." His smiled widened. "Delicious."

His hands have been moving all the time he's been speaking, measuring the Princess' figure and finding her to be a very pleasing fit with his own frame. "I find myself feeling somewhat warm, Princess, what about you?"

If asked, Margaret wouldn't be hard-pressed to admit that that particular smile is the one that set her nerves on fire. Each kiss has her wanting to return them so that she can pay particular attention to what he tastes like as well. Each word has her eagerly wanting to hear more. "Delicious. You flatter me. But I hope that the rest of me proves ... equally pleasing."

She is well aware of his hands and the way he's been gathering her closer, the way he's splayed his palms against her hips, and she has to admit, it is nice to feel as though, finally, she belongs somewhere, even if the somewhere that she belongs is pressed up close next to him. "I - I believe that you're right. The fire is burning bright - we are wearing far too many items of clothing to be comfortable."

"On the one hand," Cesare whispers huskily, "I have no doubt that you will. On the other, I am mad with the anticipation of finding out." There are still hours before sunrise, after all, sufficient to explore Margaret and her delights at leisure.

He nods as the Princess comes to agreement, and his hands that are already at her hips begin to move, fingers curling in succession, causing her skirts to slowly climb their way up her legs.

Margaret can't hide the anticipatory shiver that wracks her body. His voice, although soft, is full of intent, and she is absolutely certain that he means everything that he says. "If you cannot wait to find out, then ... why are you waiting? Have I not given you the proper permission to continue?"

It's obvious that she's teasing, and she breathes out a soft, breathy chuckle, wondering just where to begin with his own clothing. "And you? What do I dare remove first?"

"You have indeed," Cesare drawls, "but I do find it quite pleasurable to do some things slowly. At least at first."

He glances down to where Margaret is tentatively reaching for his clothes. "The shirt you can simply pull off, the trousers might take a bit more effort. I'd suggest the former first."

And the normally composed young woman actually blushes then, a faint pink coloring her cheeks - if one looks, they can easily see that the same color extends halfway down what is exposed of her chest. "Does the anticipation make the wait well worth it, then? I am afraid I am not well-versed in such things."

She makes a small humming noise in the back of her throat, considering her options, before deciding that he's probably right. Easiest garment first, and then the rest. Besides, she's still got her dressing gown to worry about - although if he's adept at getting it off, which she thinks he might be, it won't be much of a problem at all.

"Oh, yes, it certainly does," Cesare says with a growl underneath. His slow, deliberate motions raise the gown past her knees, past her hips, up to her breasts. By that point, his breathing is short and nearly ragged. He looks up at Margaret and smiles hungrily. "Although finishing with a little quickness can also be exciting."

With that, he pulled the gathered dressing gown up sharply, divesting the princess of her garment completely.

Margaret can't help the shiver that races up and down her spine at the sound of his voice - that growl enough to make her throb in all the right places. If she were able to think properly, she might have the good graces to feel embarrassed about how quickly her breathing has become. As it was, though, she was imagining how good his hands might feel on her bare skin, and she had no room for any other thoughts. "S - so I'm finding out."

And then, she's suddenly bare, and she breathes out a gasp as she pushes her hair back and away from her face. "A - and now ... you?"

Cesare's eyes are unequivocally devouring the sight of her, his breath growing deep and rough with every time his eyes move over Margaret's body. He nearly misses her question, answering almost absently. "Me? Ah, yes."

He reaches out and puts the princess' hands on his waist, just above his trousers so she can pull at his shirt while he undoes the laces that make it as easy to pull up and away as her shift had been. Cesare starts unlacing his leggings next.

With every moment that passes that he doesn't take his eyes from her, Margaret can feel her cheeks grow redder and redder in response. But it must mean that he's pleased with her, or so she hopes. There are things that she doesn't like about her body - that no matter how hard she trains, she's still ... soft, scars from battles past - but he doesn't seem to notice, and it puts her at ease, even though she's completely naked and vulnerable before him.

Although it takes a moment for her to make her hands move, she does, working at pulling the shirt free so she can remove it. Her fingers brush against the skin of his stomach, and she knows now more than ever just how much she wants more.

He can't stop himself from looking. Far more than any other woman he's been with, it's very clear to Cesare that Margaret's body has stories to tell, and he is utterly fascinated by the possibilities.

Cesare brushes his hands over hers for a moment before unlacing his trousers, loosening them enough to make it easy for the princess to push them down. Once low enough, he kicks out of them, leaving them both naked in each others sight. He reaches out for Margaret and pulls her to him again for a kiss, his growing hardness trapped against her belly.

If he were so inclined to ask, she would not hesitate to share with him anything that he might like to know. And maybe, deep down, she is beginning to hope that that was not just a one-time dalliance.

Margaret shivers at the brief contact, barely able to keep from shaking as she does her best to help him remove his trousers. And she might glance at him, curious to see what he looks like bare in front of her, but soon, she meets his eyes once more in the moment before they come together in another kiss. "Will you be gentle? I have never known the touch of another - "

Cesare's hand rises to cup her face his thumb stroking gently over her cheek and her full lower lip. "I promise, I will make this night as comfortable and pleasing for you as I am able. All you need to do is say the word and we can stop."

Not that he wants to, and he suspects that Margaret is surely of the same mind, but he knows how important it is for her to know the choice is hers. Leaning in, his lips close over hers and Cesare slowly begins to guide her over and down to the bed.

Margaret might still be nervous, but the way that Cesare reassures her, that soft stroking of his finger against her cheek, the way that he traces her lips - it's easy to see that he could be gentle, and it's those gestures and the knowledge that she could tell him at any time to stop and he would - she breathes out, and shakes her head, wanting nothing more than to continue. "I don't want to stop."

She knows, and she appreciates having the choice to change her mind - other men wouldn't be so kind. She's glad that she's doing this with him. And she gasps into the kiss, but she doesn't stop moving, desperate to lie down, and to pull him with her, and to experience things that, thus far, she's only had the luxury to imagine in the moments when she is alone and needy.

Although the fire inside of him is already as warm as the one in the princess' hearth, Cesare knows that staying with her this night will be far more fulfilling than if he had left the Vatican to slake his thirst with some readily welcoming Roman. No, Margaret would satisfy much more than just his carnal desires, he believed.

Once Margaret was situated beside him on the bed, Cesare enveloped her with his arms, pulling her close to his body. His kisses were hungry and insistent, tasting her deeply. Below, their limbs began to tangle and wrap around one another, his length now and again grazing her center as they writhed together.

She shouldn't do this, she really shouldn't, she shouldn't even entertain the notion of anything other than speaking to this man, but he's interested, and it would be a lie not to say the same. And now that she's felt his kisses, and felt his hands on her skin, and now her nerves are aflame with desire, and -

Margaret doesn't hesitate to allow herself to be moved into a more comfortable position - and she's very comfortable sitting this close, chest to chest. She lifts a hand to thread through his hair, and she moans happily against his lips. It seems her body has a mind of its own, and she follows his lead, snaking a leg between his, even rocking against him in the moments that she feels him, so close, not yet where she knows she's going to need him to be.

He'd come to the princess' room hoping for this exact outcome, knowing that he would be bringing a great deal more experience to the coupling than she, but Cesare was pleased and surprised to discover just how readily Margaret was giving herself over to her instincts and desires. Cesare pulled her even closer, his hardness either trapped between them or, when they shifted, slipping across her tender sex.

One of his hands slides up her side to cup a firm, full breast and lift it slightly, close enough for Cesare's mouth to closer over the tip. He suckles at her, feeling it tighten and stiffen between his lips before repeating the process on the other side.

Apparently, he'd been able to read her better than she understood herself. Because, while she knows that this is wrong, and that she should deny him what he wants, but ... she can't. Not when she wants it so badly, too. Each movement makes her gasp, and she marvels at the feel of him, every time they move, especially when he teases her, and she waits on bated breath just to see what he's going to do next.

But then he's touching her once again, and she barely has time to find that breath before he slides his mouth over that overly sensitive nipple and -

Gods, she could find her pleasure just through this alone.

Margaret's skin tastes quite delectable and so Cesare is content for the moment to continue devouring her as he is. Except for the idea that springs quickly to mind. While one of his hands remained at the Princess' chest, the other skimmed slowly over her trim stomach.

Cesare tilted his head back up to keep his eyes on Margaret's face as his hand continued to travel until there was warm, tender flesh beneath his fingertips. Once there, he began to stroke her softly.

Each kiss, and each swipe of his tongue, each time he deepens his gentle suction brings Margaret closer to bursting the ball that's beginning to grow large in the pit of her belly. And then he adds something new to the already almost overwhelming sensations that she's experiencing.

Then - as he meets her eyes, he touches her in a spot which no one other than the princess herself had touched before, and it sends shockwaves spreading from that spot all over her body.

"O - oh, I - m - more - "

"Happily," Cesare murmurs with his lips still touching her skin. His fingers play over her sex more quickly, range more widely. He explores between her thighs, listening for the sounds of gasps and moans to tell him which places to revisit and which to give more attention.

He moves back up the bed again to catch Margaret's mouth with his while he flicks his fingertips across the bud at the top of her cleft. "Don't hold back," Cesare whispered hotly, "give me your pleasure. All of it." Tentatively, he began to slip one finger inside of the Princess' entrance.

He is so good, and so practiced that it doesn't take much at all until Margaret has turned into a panting, moaning, shivering mess, and yet, she loves every moment of it. Never before has she felt such pleasure. Never before had she believed that she could feel this good.

Surely, her ladies had been wrong when she'd heard them whispering tales of clandestine meetings with stable boys and kitchen boys in dark corners, because they'd said nothing of this.

And then he's kissing her again, and she's returning each one with as much desire as she can muster, gasping out with each brush of his fingertips. And then - oh, and then he's probing at her with that long, long finger and she shudders in response, unable to keep her hips from arching up, wanting nothing more than being filled.

She's never felt so wild, and wanton, and wicked in all her life. And the truth of the matter is ... she loves it.

The trouble with Margaret's ladies' trysts is, of course, that they were tumbling with boys and not with men. And really, even if they'd chosen one of the men they were likely to have access to, those men would not have shared Cesare's... skill set. He had the same hot, wild, Spanish Borgia blood, only it was indulged more quietly, but no less frequently.

The Princess is responding to his touch and his attentions like a musical instrument in the hands of a master. Cesare finds himself completely entranced by her and her reactions, more than he ever has been.

Cesare moves his hand in circles, stroking her and stroking inside of her, wanting to drive her even wilder, to see her completely undone. "Do not fight, do not resist... take your pleasure... take it."

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Sorry! Going to the ER really puts a damper on your RP time.

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Good to hear. :0) Nobody likes going to the hospital.

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