This is a one-shot which is actually part of a much bigger plotline that I can't be bothered to write. This is the most interesting part, anyway. It's set in late 1700s England, and Bella is someone from present day who finds herself back there. Don't ask me how, I haven't yet worked that out :-P. Anyway, she gets rather involved with the son of the lady and lord of the manor house she ends up working in, who, shock horror, is called Edward. Preceding this are chapters and chapters of sexual tension and angst I haven't written. This excerpt is set in his bedroom. Of course. This is the part where they are left properly alone for a while and Bella discovers Edward's naivety and complete ignorance on the topic of "when a man and a woman love each other very much…" because back then people just didn't talk about it. I was reading doctors records in history with my friend and there was this case of an ex-priest and his wife who hadn't been able to concieve, because they had been trying to have sex through her bellybutton.

M rated content.

I kissed him gently on the lips, smiling to see his still-closed eyes as I pulled away. He opened them slowly and smiled back at me. "This doesn't feel wrong."

"It's not," I said, stroking his arm. "People just say it is because they're embarrassed, I think. But there's nothing to be embarrassed about. Back home, this is normal." I kissed him again, for a while longer, and I could feel him pressing against me, straining to get closer. He breathed heavily then stopped, pulled away, blushed. I wrapped my calf around his and smiled at him. "Relax, Edward," I said.

"It's not that, I'm not- I mean- I think I ought to…" He looked at the floor, his expression strained, his cheeks flushed.

I put my hand under his chin and pulled his face back to mine, kissing him again. He relaxed a little, rested his forearm against the wall and joined back in, until his hips gave a tiny involuntary jerk, and I felt it.

"Sorry-" he stopped, backed away, ran his hands through his hair and stared up at the ceiling. "Sorry."

I cocked my head to the side and waited for him to turn back to me. His eyes met mine and he looked so lost, so upset. I reached out my hand and took his, pulled him back in. He didn't resist, merely held my gaze, his breath coming heavier. "Sorry," he said again.

I shook my head, and pulled him closer. His lips met mine again, hesitant this time, but after a second he took charge, kissing my lips, cheek, forehead, running his lips down the side of my face and down my neck. My own breathing sped up, and I pressed myself into him, my hips against his, and I closed my eyes when I heard his breaths getting faster and lower and more audible.

"When do your parents get home?" I whispered, as his lips met my ear.

"Not for a while," he replied, and I laughed softly. It was almost like I was back home, only instead of behind public toilets I was in a lavishly furnished bedroom. I closed my teeth around the tip of his ear and nibbled, grinning as he shivered.

He pressed me further backwards, and my back was flat against the wall, my hair falling out of that stupid bun and curling on my shoulder. His hands met mine and he intertwined our fingers against the wallpaper, and all the time I could feel him against me and I was struggling to breathe fast enough, my body sending me distress calls.

His hips jerked against mine more vigorously now and I cried out, the pent up feeling in me reaching almost intolerable levels. He stopped, opened his eyes, looked down at me. His mouth was open. I smiled at him, my chest rising and falling, and freed my hand from his, snaked it down to his legs, worked my way slowly upwards, my eyes on his all the time. When I finally touched him, his eyelids fell and air rushed out from his lips. I kissed them but he didn't respond, and as I slid my hands down him he breathed out long and slow.

I didn't quite know how men's trousers worked here, and almost cried when I found the six or seven buttons holding them shut. It took a few seconds to loosen the ones I needed to, but once I had it was plain sailing.

I moved my hand slowly at first, and I think he was grateful for it because his face looked strained enough. He leant forward and rested his forehead on my shoulder, curving his hand around the back of my head. I sped up and he began to move with me, his breaths keeping in time. After a minute or so he was moving more rapidly and with less control, and I whispered to him to tell me when he was close.

"Close to what?" he breathed back, and I stopped, looked at the back of his head. He breathed out, his clenched fingers relaxing, and turned his head to me. "What?" he asked.

I looked at him for a second longer, and then shook my head. "Nothing." I circled my finger around the top of him and he sighed, pushing into me harder. "Are you alright?"

He nodded. "Don't…"

"What?" I whispered.

He went red and turned his head, pressed his lips gently against my cheek. "Don't stop," he said, quietly, and he sounded almost apologetic. "Please."

I grinned at him, and moved my hands to his face. He closed his eyes and sighed, and I raised my eyebrows, and slowly lowered myself to my knees. "Bella, what-" and then he broke off and pressed his forehead into the wall, groaned.

I slid my lips up and down him, and his hand fell onto my head, put he didn't press onto it. His fingers hovered, unsure, then moved away. He leant on the wall and seemed to be trying very hard to control his movements, trying to stay as still as possible. I could his sighs getting lower and deeper, and I knew it was taking a lot of effort to keep himself from responding more fiercely.

He only lost control when he came, letting out stuttered breaths and jerking against me. I swallowed quickly so the stuff wouldn't land on my tongue, and pulled away, tucking him back into his trousers. His knees had bent and he folded slowly to the floor, rested his head on mine. I listened to his breathing slow down, as his hands rested on my shoulders, his fingers twisting in my hair. It was very still and warm, and the room was quiet.

"Bella." He breathed, and it was neither a question nor statement, more of a thought out loud. "Bella, I…"

"Yes?" I whispered, leaning back and tucking his hair behind his ears. I smiled at him, but he just looked at me, his breath rising and falling. I waited for him to continue but he just stared at me, and suddenly his face split and he clamped his eyes shut. "What's up?" I asked, confused. "Did I do something wrong?"

He looked up at me, his eyes wet. "Did we?"

"What?"

"What just happened to me?" he asked, softly, desperately.

"Oh, Edward," I said, smiling up at him. "Nothing."

"I don't understand," he said, clenching his eyes shut. "I don't understand." He took a breath. "Was that… are we supposed to do that? Am I? Was that a sin, was that wrong?"

"No, of course not."

"Well what… Bella, please explain, please."

"That was about as natural and truthful as people get," I whispered. "My brother always said that if you want the measure of a man you see it when he's disarmed. And if that's true you've just proved yourself considerate and modest and scared. But that was normal. Every man in the world reacts in the exact same way."

"How…" he took a breath. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why does that… does it…"

I waited. He looked at me, looked away, sat back on the floor and took my hand. He ran his fingers up and down it, collecting his thoughts. "I've never felt like that before. Nobody's ever told me… I didn't know that could happen. Why does it happen?"

I stared at him. He literally was completely clueless. He was twenty and had the same knowledge of sex as a four year old; in fact, I'd met some four year olds back home who were doing messed up stuff with Barbie and Ken that would've confused Edward. I frowned, watching him as he ran his fingers up and down my hand. "Edward, that's how people…" I searched for the words. "You know. Do it. The reason you react like that is so you can…" he didn't look away from my hand, but kept moving his fingers around it. "Have a baby."

His head jerked up and he looked suddenly terrified. "We didn't just-"

"No!" I said, quickly, my eyes wide. "No, of course not, don't be stupid." He went red, and I stared at him as he looked at the floor. "Edward, surely you know this?"

"Know what?"

I stared at him, then turned my hand around and took his inside it. "I feel like a Primary School teacher. I don't know how to explain."

"I feel like a fool," he whispered. "I feel embarrassed and foolish."

"No," I said, shaking my head, kissing his hand. "No, don't. I shuffled closer to him and looked at him for a second. Then I reached down to my hem and pulled my skirt up.

His eyes darted down to my legs, then he looked away quickly. "What are you doing?" he whispered, pulling his hand away and resting them awkwardly on his own legs. "Bella, what-"

"Give me your hand," I said, softly. He looked at me then looked at the floor. You could barely even see any skin; it was only those ridiculous bloomers and some socks.

"What are you doing?"

"Hand," I said, and he slowly rested his in mine. I moved closer and guided it gently down between my legs. He moved to pull it away but I shook my head and used my other hand to guide his face closer to mine. "Ssh. There." I closed my eyes.

He was very quiet, and his hand was still in mine. Then he moved his finger and I breathed in sharply, eyes still closed. I guided his hands around, the estate agent for a very warm house on a flood plane. I opened my eyes after a minute or so and saw he was watching me carefully, his eyes staring at me like I was some new exhibition at a particularly interesting museum. "Show me what to do," he said, softly. I nodded, placing his hand where I needed it.

It was now my turn to flush, to breathe heavily, to close my eyes and concentrate on keeping control. I moved my own hand away after a while, leaving him to fumble cautiously about on his own. He watched my reactions carefully and repeated what made me move the most, breathe the heaviest. I groaned, wrapped my arms around his neck, pressed my head into his shoulder. He kissed my hair and carried on until I tensed around his fingers, cried out into his shirt, then fell limp on him.

He pulled his hand away, rested his other on my head as my breathing slowed and I curled up on his lap, closing my eyes.

We sat like that for a long while, until I was almost drifting into sleep. It would have been heaven to sit there all day and all night and just sleep, just close my eyes and feel his arms around me and drift away.

Edward ran his fingers across my forehead, down my neck, along my collarbone hidden beneath the black cotton of my dress. I was only barely aware of the soft tickle. He leant down and whispered into my ear.

"So, if I were to…" I didn't respond, just turned my head and rested it against his chest. He kissed the top of my head. "But we can't do that."

"No," I said, yawning, burying my head in his shoulder. "I'm not getting pregnant, I can't get an epidural here."

"I won't ask," he said, wrapping his arms around me. "Ssh," he said, and rested his face in my hair as I drifted off.

He moved a while later, and I slipped out of my doze. "My parents are home," he whispered quietly. I nodded, wiped my eyes, stretched. He looked down at me and smiled, and we shared a long kiss; broken only when Edward's mother called him from a few stairs below. We exchanged a glance, then I stood up and ran out of the door as quietly as I could, crossing the hallway and hurrying down the servants stairs.