A/N: Happy Valentine's Day, cassie! You asked for romance and smut, and trust me, I was more than happy to oblige—it's the most natural setting for the beloved Branson, is it not? Also, I read your very lovely review to Kiss From A Stranger, in which you asked for a part two…well, here it is! I hope you enjoy, darling! _
She woke into warm, liquid gold like that lay heavy on the contours of the room as the taste of champagne lay heavy in her mouth. Wincing, she started to roll away along the sheets, but an arm snaked around her waist and held tight.
"Good morning." His amused voice rumbled through the shoulder cushioning her head. "And how are we feeling today?"
She groaned. "Let go, you idiot."
"Never." He pressed warm lips to the nape of her neck, setting off a trail of fireworks down her spine. "Never, never, never."
"Too bad." she grumbled into the pillow. "Cause until you do, I'm not kissing you."
"Ugggghhhhh." The arm retracted, and she threw back the sheets. "Fine."
"Trust me, you wouldn't want to kiss me with this mouth." She scraped her teeth over her tongue as she stumbled towards the bathroom, swaying as the floor tipped gently beneath her feet, and winced at the sour taste.
"A certain twenty-fifth birthday party comes to mind—"
"Oh, God."
"—and tequila tastes infinitely worse than champagne on someone else's mouth—"
"I am never doing shots with Kieran again."
"—but I don't think I've ever complained about your mouth—"
"Ever."
"—under any circumstances."
"Ah, this is freezing!" She hopped onto her toes as the cold tiles of the bathroom floor kissed her bare toes, and lunged for the tap.
"And God only knows—"
She splashed water onto her face and gulped mouthfuls from her cupped hands until she could swallow without gagging, biting back giggles as the muffled sound of his voice carried on through the bathroom door. Her reflection grinned back at her, eyes sparkling and cheeks blushing as the necklace of deep bruises around her collarbone leapt sharply to attention beneath the tastefully soft lights. Her hair was a tangled mass of curls, her fingernails elegantly painted with a French manicure, her ears still sparkling with diamond chips. She looked absolutely as she had every other morning she'd ever woken up and looked herself in the mirror, and exactly the complete opposite, at the same time.
"—and that time in the rainstorm on your doorstep, then that time in the restaurant—you remember, the one with the extra-long tablecloths?—then the day I brought home a chocolate mousse and we watched Call the Midwife for maybe six hours straight—"
Rolling her eyes, she swung her head back around the door. "What are you babbling about?"
He lifted his head from the pillow and grinned, all cheek and freckles and purple-red lovebites on his neck. "Enumerating the various occasions when I've particularly enjoyed your lovely mouth." he said with a wink.
"Tell me you didn't keep a list of all the times I've given you a blowjob, because if so, I am keeping you away from Thomas for the rest of your life." she groaned, letting the bathroom door swing softly shut behind her as she re-entered the golden hues streaming from their curtained window, smiling as the floor rocked beneath her feet.
"No, they just stick in my mind."
She snorted, pausing to appreciate the trail strewn over the floor—from a silk suit jacket that fit him very well on the floor by the door, to his pale blue waistcoat hanging over a lamp in the corner, to the matching bowtie that had caught on the bedpost, to the crisp white shirt crumpled in another corner, the black suit pants halfway under the bed, and the socks flung in opposite directions against the wall. Her own sheer silk stockings were dangling over the back of the desk chair. Her gorgeous white Louboutins were abandoned in the middle of the floor. Her silky slip and delicate lace bra lay on the bedside table, where she'd been hoisted and placed while he stripped her. Her favourite detail, though, had to be the sight of his black boxers and her own lacy white underwear hanging from the miniature chandelier over their bed.
"You're a child." she reminded him, nodding at the underwear. His smirk widened.
"What? It's a flag of victory."
"White signifies surrender, genius." She picked her way across the floor to the heap of snowy silk and lace lying in a heap at the foot of the bed.
"Monstrously unfitting—you've never surrendered to anyone in your life." he snorted. "Even when we first met, you took me on as a challenge, not a sacrifice."
She grinned at him, lifting the gown by its two delicate straps and holding it up, admiring the light playing over its surface and staining the delicate white pale gold. "God bless Thomas."
"God bless the mastermind behind that bloody 'first kiss' idea." He rolled his eyes. "That story is still getting laughs from everyone."
"You must admit it's pretty ridiculous." She pinched the soft fabric against her skin, rocking to and fro to the memory of Sinatra's voice crooning in her ear, his chest beneath her cheek, candles flickering around them, and the sea of smiling, tearful faces blurring behind the happy tears welling in her own eyes. "You just wanted tickets, I just wanted to pass my test…do you remember when Granny asked us whether our relationship was always 'strictly physical'? I thought Papa would die of catatonic shock. Or the time when Thomas told that story at the engagement, tried to say he 'just has a feeling' about meant-to-be couples? And that brunet punched him…"
She trailed off. He was leaning on one elbow, caramel-hued skin glowing against the soft white of the sheets, stubble glinting honey-dark along his jawline. His eyes were soft, and very warm as they looked at her, and his smirk had melted into a smile that made her stomach flip over and her knees tremble ever so slightly.
"The first time I ever saw you." he murmured, gaze holding hers as tenderly as his hands had wrapped around her fingers. "The first time you ever spoke to me."
"The first time you kissed me." she whispered, swallowing as her eyes stung.
"The first time I ever tasted that mouth…" A shadow of the smirk returned, but the gaze was as soft as ever.
"And look at us now." she finished, feeling her spine sway towards him, a tree caught in a wind.
His eyes traced down the lines of her body, then slowly up again. "I can't decide," he said softly. "Whether you're more beautiful in that dress…or out of it."
She looked down at the fabric pressing close and soft and slick against the strawberry-cream-cinnamon hues of her bare skin. Trapping her bottom lip between her teeth, she looked back up into his face and let the straps slip from her fingers. The cloud of white floated once more to the floor, and he sucked in his breath between his teeth.
Slowly, she planted her hands on the mattress and crawled inch by inch up the long line of his body, hips swaying. Eyes never leaving his, she pressed her forehead to his, nudged his chin up, and pressed her mouth against his, soft, wet, warm. A groan slipped from his mouth to hers, and he reached up to tangle his fingers in her hair.
"And now what do you think?" she whispered, lips brushing his. "Hmm, husband?"
His breath snagged and his hand tightened on the back of her neck. "Call me that again?"
"Husband." She kissed him again and he moaned, flopping backwards onto the pillows and bringing her down with his fingers on her cheek. His other hand rolled down her shoulderblades and down the length of one arm, bringing it up to his cheek. She curled her tongue against the roof of his mouth, swirled it in slow, teasing circles against his, and rolled her hips down against his own. He let out a startled sound as her hot, wet centre ground down against the sheets tangled around his lap, and bit sharply on her bottom lip. She whimpered, pulling back only just far enough to roll her head to the other side before diving back in. He sucked her tongue between his lips, one hand snaking between them to pluck at a nipple. Her hips rolled, smooth and steady, against his and his cock swelled in response. Their heads twisted from side to side, both chests rising and steadily falling as they panted. His clever fingers were sliding down towards her core when she pulled away, breath rasping in her throat, and shook her head at him. She couldn't manage words, but reached to yank the sheets away and grasp him, already fully hard, in her hand. He hissed, hands snagging at her hips, as she cradled his hips in her knees and sank down onto him, taking him easily.
With a gasp, he dropped his head back onto the pillow. She moaned, head hanging down between her shoulders, and twisted her hips violently against his, feeling sparks collide behind her eyelids.
"To-oommm…" she breathed, breath hitching as she pulled back, then sank down onto him again, hitting the precise spot that made her cry out, fireworks shooting over her skin.
"God, Sybil…"He tightened his grip on her waist, guiding her hips as they rolled up, down, back, forth, side to side, until both sets of eyes were rolling in their heads. "God, you feel so good…so good for me, gorgeous…ugh, so perfect…"
She swallowed around a mouthful of air, rocking her hips back and forth over his, hips flush on his. "TOM—"
Planting his feet, he thrust up hard, knocking her slightly askew and making her keen as her skin exploded with sensation. "TOM!"
Sitting up, he wrapped both arms tight around her, thrusting up hard into her and mouthing at her collarbone. She let out a cry as his fingers tightened around her breast, rolling her nipple against the warmth of his palm, kneading the soft flesh. His hips were relentless, slamming mercilessly into that sweet spot every—single—time God
"Tom, oh God, Tom, darling, God…"
He latched his mouth around her breast and her babble choked off into a long, keening cry, broken up into staccato bursts by the force of his movements inside her. "Ah—ah—ah—ah—Go—od—Tommm—"
He moaned around her breast and planted kissed up her neck to her mouth, plunging his tongue between her lips and swiping it over her mouth in mimicry of the slide of his cock against her inner walls. She was clenching uncontrollably around him, and her skin was flushed pink from her cheeks to her nipples—close, he knew. Fumbling a little, he drew her left hand down, out from where it was tangled around the nape of his neck, and flattened her fingers over his heart. She pulled her eyes open, gasping against his lips open-mouthed, lids heavy. He settled his left hand over hers, pressing soft kisses against her jaw and guiding her head down onto his shoulder. She felt herself crying out at the combined force of his thrusts and the sight of his left hand and hers, the gold bands on their fingers clinking softly against each other. Mindless, half-blind with pleasure, she sank her teeth into his shoulder and started licking frantically at the sweat beading his skin.
"Christ," he swore, hand palming her ass and pulling her even closer, rolling her hips expertly while his cock pummeled her most tender spot, and she knew he was close, he always started swearing when he was— "God, Sybil, gorgeous, look at me…"
She rested her forehead on his, mouths panting against each other, lips brushing lightly as they moved. His brow was creased with concentration, her hair was matted to her back, she was close close close—
A cry ripped from her throat as his hips twisted perfectly against hers and tremors wracked her body. His fingers around hers tightened and she was still halfway through her orgasm, shaking and sweating and crying out as her entire body seemed to light up, when she felt him stiffen, mouth dropping open against hers, and his own hot release spilling into her.
Groaning, she collapsed sideways, chest heaving. He curled sideways around her, panting rough breaths across her skin, left hand trapped underneath her and still tangled with hers. Her skin was slick with sweat and bright pink and gold in the morning light, and the smell of sweat and skin and sex hung heavy in the air. Gulping for air, she twisted her head to one side and pressed her lips against his cheek. He was gasping, eyes closed, but a smile twisted his mouth and he pulled her closer.
"Sleep." he rasped against her head. "Honeymoon'll be there when we wake up."
She grinned and stroked a sweaty lock of hair off his forehead. He snagged her hand and pressed it to his lips. The light was soft, the bed was warm. His skin slid against hers, and their underwear dangled from overhead. She kissed the band around his finger tying him to her side, and buried her face in the sweet-smelling crook of his neck.