France x Reader
You were cooking chicken scampi for dinner. It was your first try at it. You were an amazing chef, your skills unmatched by all in the college you went to in France. You now worked in a restaurant in France, with the best of the best. And this was your first time making chicken scampi. As you made your delectable dish, your guest, Francis, one of your childhood friends, and a waiter at a rival restaurant, walked into the kitchen.
"Mon amour, you tease me with these délicieux scents. Tell me what you are making?" He begged, placing a hand on your shoulder as you finished off the dish with a squirt of lemon.
"Close your eyes, Francey-Pants." You said, filling a fork with the food, and blowing on it softly before feeding it to your friend. Little butterflies leapt through your stomach as Francis gave your dish an erotic moan of approval, causing you to blush, and busy yourself with plating the food. Francis watched you work, watching the swaying motion of your hips as you hummed a song that had been stuck in your head all day.
"Liked it, Francis?" You ask, placing the dishes on the table.
"Oui." He said, quickly placing his hands on your swaying hips, so to stop them from swaying so freely, and to him, quite sexily. You gave him a look, and he quickly removed his hands.
"Force of habit, amour." He said, and you sighed.
"Don't do that again."
It wasn't as though you didn't enjoy it. You just wouldn't be able to contain your lust if he kept his soft hands on your sensitive hips for a second more.
Almost like he wouldn't be able to contain his own desire if you kept swinging them.
The two of you finished your dinner, your chicken scampi, and Francis stood to leave.
"Well, mon amour, I must go." He said, causing you to sigh.
"Well ok then. I suppose no dessert then?" You asked, and Francis shook his head.
"How about a hug? I haven't seen you in a while, Francis." You said, and he laughed, beckoning for you to come over. You obliged, hugging your friend tightly.
"I missed you, Francey-Pants." You mumbled into his shoulder, unknowingly breathing on his neck, and that was when he snapped. He backed you into the wall, ignoring your squeaks, grabbing your legs and wrapping them around his waist, bringing you up to his height, and he kissed you, grinding into you harshly.
"Mon amour, have you any clue how crazy you make me? With the swinging of your hips, and your sweet breath." He growled, ghosting his lips over your neck, making you moan softly.
"F-F-Francis, I... I figure this is a good," you had to pause, gasping for breath as he continued to grind into your now heated womanhood roughly,"a... A good time to say that I love you." You said, and he smiled.
"Je t'aime, mon amour." He said, before continuing to kiss you, this time forcing his way into your mouth. His tongue played with yours, and his hands swept up and down your sides, leaving you to be supported by his thrusting hips and the wall. You moaned softly as his tongue traveled down from your mouth to your neck, biting and sucking softly, every once in a while.
"Je t'aime et je te veux." (I love you and I want you.) He growled, ridding you of your top, and he of his.
"Puis me prendre." (Then take me.) You gasped out in French, turning him on more than you could ever imagine. His hands rid you of your bra, and as they tweaked and pulled at your nipples, making you moan, bucking into Francis lightly against his consistent grinding. He carried you to your bedroom, resting you on your bed as he removed your pants and panties, and his own undergarment and pants. He slowly entered you, causing you to gasp out in pain as a burning sensation spread throughout you. The burning faded to a warmth, making you gasp out a bit, bucking against your love.
"Fra~Francis~" you moaned erotically as he began thrusting slowly, leaving you both wanting more. He bucked into you quickly now, faster and harder than before, moving within you as you called his name into the night, only fueling his desire, his lust, and you when you came, he came too, and the two of you truly became one for a split second, before collapsing onto the bed, next to one another, so in love and intoxicated with one another.
"Je t'aime, mon amour." He said, and you smiled.
"I love you too, Francis."
And you did. More than he could ever imagine.