There was a request for quick, lustful, denial-ridden Richobel filth. And here it is.

It was rather a surprise when he arrived in London. Not an unpleasant one at all, but rather a problem also.

"I'm sorry we can't put you up," she told him gently, squeezing his hand, as they sat together on her single bed in the upstairs quarters at Grantham House, "But as you can see, we're quite full up to the rafters as it is."

"I don't care," he told her, "I will be able to find a hotel," reaching forward, kissing her cheek, lingering there to murmur in her ear, "It's enough just to be near you."

There was the slightest hint in his voice of something that distinctly discomforted her. She leant away, looking at him clearly, before she became too drawn in to the way his lips were still lingering by her ear.

"Richard, is something the matter?" she asked carefully. When he did not answer. "Don't you trust me to be away?"

"It's not you that I don't trust, my darling," he told her, and she could tell he meant it.

A smile crept on to her face as she realised who he meant.

"You mean Lord Merton?" she asked, grinning, "Oh, Richard, I wouldn't worry about him."

She gave a little laugh when he frowned at her slightly.

"I mean, he was hardly the most ardent suitor the world has ever known," she told him wryly, "It was trouble enough for him to hold my hand. There is absolutely no chance that he would want to ravish me in a spare moment."

"Good," he told her firmly, kissing her cheek again, and then her lips.

He lingered, breaking away, and did not entirely straighten up before she leant forwards and latched her lips onto his again, drawing her tongue delicately across his mouth, making him shudder.

"Whereas, you, Richard-..." she told him quietly as they broke apart, eyeing him carefully, drawing her thumb gently across his cheek, "Well, no one could say you're lacking in any ardency-..."

He let out a quiet sigh. This time it was her that frowned.

"Have I said something?" she asked when he did not explain.

"Do you think we were to quick, Isobel?" he asked.

"Sorry?"

"Do you think we made love too quickly?"

"No," she answered quietly, with a small smirk, "I didn't think there was anything wrong with the way we made love. I would have hoped you realised that at the time."

"You know what I mean!" he told her, "Do you think we should have waited? We had only been courting for-..."

"Did it seem like I thought we made love too soon?" she asked him, pointedly, "Did it seem to you like any fibre of my being wanted to wait a second longer?"

He saw a defiant flash in her eyes, she was deadly serious. This time his sigh was more contented.

"I only wondered," he told her gently, "That was the last time I saw you. Two days later you were-..."

"Yes, two days later I was on my way here, but do you know what I would have been doing if I hadn't?" she asked him, "I would have spent the days in your bed."

He raised an eyebrow at that.

"Would you indeed?"

"Yes," she replied, with absolute certainty, the light dancing in her eyes, "I would have spent the days in your bed, with you, making love quickly, and slowly, and however you wanted to."

"Isobel," he was hard pressed not to talk in a groan, "Please, don't get me excited."

"Why not?" he suspected she was biting back the most delicious smirk.

"Because we can hardly-... Here-..."

"Who says we can't?" she asked.

"I thought you said you were packed to the rafters?" he asked, "I thought you said Lady Grantham was in the next room."

"Well, she is," she told him quietly, leaning close to him, "But we'll just have to be very quiet. You can be quiet, can't you?"

Her eyes were dark as she leaned in an kissed him, nudging her parted knees over his lap and pushing him back onto the narrow bed by his shoulders.

That night they could not keep their eyes off each other. She danced with Lord Merton, intending politeness and ended up gazing over his shoulder at Richard, not taking in a word he was saying.

"Mrs Crawley, are you quite well?" he asked her.

"Sorry?" she replied quickly, snapping her attention back to him, "Did you say something?"

"I asked if you were quite well," he repeated, "You look rather flushed. Are you hot?"

"Something like that," she muttered, trying not to smile.

"Do you think you ought to sit down?" he asked.

"Yes, I'd better," she agreed, "Excuse me, Lord Merton."

Walking away, Isobel picked up a glass of champagne from a tray, heading for the edge of the room.

"What happened?" she heard a familiar voice behind her, "Did you offend his Lordship?"

"Richard, behave yourself," she told him, hearing the sarcasm in his voice, "As a matter of fact, he thought I looked rather hot and thought I should come and cool down."

"Did he now?" Richard asked, sounding a note of murder in his voice.

Gently, she laid one of her gloved hands on his forearm, placating him in an instant.

"I was thinking of you," she murmured, "All of the time."

He was quiet, a muscle in his jaw still clenched in his jaw.

"I think about you all of the time," she whispered, her voice hot and breathy in his ear.

The muscle unclenched, as her hand trailed further up his arm. He let out a heavy sigh.

"Dear God, Isobel-..." he murmured.

"Follow me out," she told him quietly, "Count to ten and then follow me. I'll be in the library. It's tiny, it's just behind the drawing room. Count the doors or you'll miss it; it's the fourth one."

He could hardly wait, counting a quickly as he reasonably could, watching the back of her as she swayed across the room. At seven he put his glass down on the table and set off, reaching the door of the ballroom by ten. He walked quickly, slipping into the fourth door on the left.

She had been right, it was a very small library. His eyes were drawn to her instantly, standing with her back to him, her hand resting on the sturdy wooden table that took up most of the room. He stepped behind her quietly, coming closer to her. He knew she could hear him, could picture the smile on her face, but took his time, nevertheless, as much as he could before placing his feet close beside hers, and latching his lips on to her exposed neck. Reaching his hand up to cup her breast he gasped in surprise as felt that she had undone the front of her dress, and that she was not wearing a corset. Instead, he found as his hands explored, her breasts were covered in something slight and silky and light that slipped sensuously between his fingers as his fingers found her nipple.

"It's quite the fashion to wear something like this now," she told him lightly.

"Is it?" he asked, as he rolled his fingers over her nipple and squeezed lightly.

"Mmmm," she moaned her agreement, bending her head around for him to kiss her.

He kissed her deeply, moving his tongue at the same time as his fingers, making her groan again and arch back against him. He cupped her left breast, carefully lifting the material of her dress off her shoulder with his right hand so that it simply slipped down her body and pooled at her ankles, leaving her in underwear and stockings.

"You know, Isobel," he murmured in her ear, kneading her breasts, "I could just bend you over this table and have you here. Would you let me do that? Would you like that?"

"Why do you think I brought you in here?" she asked, her voice heady with passion.

"Oh, you-..." he growled, undoing his trousers with one hand so that his arousal sprang free, "You wicked, you wanton, you beautiful-..."

He found the catch on the back of her brassiere and that too fell to the floor and he cupped her breast fully, sliding her underwear to one side a second later, feeling how wet she was with his fingers.

She gasped.

"Oh, God, Richard," she gasped, as he touched her folds lightly, "Yes, yes!"

His arms around her, he gently made her lean forwards as he pushed into her. She could not help herself, she let out a strangled cry, feeling his weight on top of her, his hands trapped between the table and her breasts, the length of him inside her. Her knees had completely collapsed. She felt him kissing the back of her neck.

"Oh God, YES!" she shouted as he thrust forwards, making her feel every inch of him, exquisitely hard and tight.

His hand slipped away from her breasts, covering her mouth as he thrust into her again. She would protest, but thought it was probably for the best as he moved again and she clamoured hard, keening into his palm. He muffled his own lips by raining kisses down on her back as he thrust in and out of her, moving quickly. It was hard, and tight and hot and blissful, and she shook violently as she came, sobbing against his hand, feeling him exploding inside her, biting her shoulder to stop himself shouting the house down.

They stilled slowly, panting heavily. He took his weight off her as soon as he could, hearing with some satisfaction that she moaned as he left her, turning away to clean himself up before leaning over the table where she still lay to kiss her.

"That was amazing, Richard," she told him quietly.

"I know," he told her, "You were amazing."

"It's never been like that before," she told him, "It's never been like it is with you before. And I've never done anything like this-..."

"I know," he told her again, smiling, "For me too."

"Take me upstairs," she told him, "I don't think I can walk. Stay here tonight."

"What, in your tiny bed?" he told her, helping her to sit up, "Come on, we need to get you dressed."

"You had no complaints about my tiny bed this afternoon," she reminded him, picking her obscenely tiny garment up from the floor and putting it back on.

"It was big enough when you were on top of me," he pointed out, helping her back into the dress.

"Well," she told him, clicking the catches back together, "I'm sure that can be arranged."

End.

Please review if you have the time.