Carson sees Mrs. Hughes coming down the steps carrying something heavy, he blusters loudly at her for not asking for help, causing her to stumble and fall. He is barely able to catch her, falling himself in the process. When they come to a stop she is laying on top of him with his arms still wrapped around her. What are both of their reactions?... - Tammy33
"Really, Mrs Hughes!" He calls to her as she comes down the stairs, arms full of freshly aired linen. She has a bit of colour in her cheeks - it's warm out and the sheets had been laid out to bleach in the sharp sun - strands of hair have come loose, curling in the nape of her neck. "You shouldn't be doing that! You ought to ask Anna or one of the maids!"
She smirks at him, pulling up an eyebrow. "Really, Mr Carson, you think it would be wise to ask Anna to do this now? In her condition?" She takes another step and she is taking more notice of him than of where she is going. She stumbles, tries to find her bearings, fails and he rushes to her, catches her, but the sheets throw him off balance too.
They are sprawled amidst soft cotton and her weight is comfortable on top of him, her lips mere inches from his and she smiles widely before kissing him soundly. His arms curl around her, keeping her close, kisses her back. Playfully at first, until she lets out a soft moan.
She slides her legs over his, her knees come to rest besides his thighs and she pushes herself against him as she kisses him, her fingers running over the buttons of his shirt - he's divested of his coat and waistcoat, nobody will be calling for him, not now, the family is out for a drive (an idea from Mr Branson, Mrs Patmore had provided a hamper, the nurse is coming with them, saying the fresh air will be good for the children).
Her dress is riding up, her stockings are smooth - the thinner ones she wears during the summer months and he cannot wait for her to lose them entirely, but it's not been that warm yet. Her left garter has slid down, making her stocking fall off her thigh, the skin creamy under his fingers.
Their kisses grow heated and he isn't as uncomfortable as he might have been, his lower back cushioned by a sheet. He is kneading her bum, kissing her and she is rubbing herself against him, he is getting harder and he is a bit worried someone might walk in on the them, but not enough to stop her. He lets out a gasp when her hand travels from his shirt to the front of his trousers and wraps it around the outline of his erection.
She smiles wickedly, leans over and whispers in his ear and he growls, pushes the hem of her dress further over her thighs and her bottom and hooks his fingers under her underwear, starts dragging them down and she is accommodating, so accommodating and it's the weather, the lack of people around, he knows and she tells him it's none of that, that it's him, that she longs for him, his touch, his skin against hers, his hardness against her softness and she undoes the hooks and eyes of her dress, pushes the bodice down her arms and waist so she sits on her knees over him, her bottom bare, her upper body clad in corset and shift, her breasts spilling over the top and he thinks he wouldn't mind dying like that, with the woman he loves above him, her perfect body making him forget about everything but her.
He is certain it ends there and is shocked when she frees him from his trousers, his pants and hovers over him. He rocks his body and they are joined. She bites her bottom lip, inhales sharply, throws back her head and closes her eyes. They move together, establishing a rhythm. She has him trapped between her thighs - the best place he could possibly be - his hands are on her hips, guiding her onto him again and again as he thrusts lazily. It's too warm for more and he loves the feeling of her around him, her wetness gliding over him, he pushes and pulls at her corset, freeing her breasts and palming them, running his thumb over the nipples. She mumbles incoherent words, peppered with profanity, his name, over and over again and she shoves her fingers in her mouth before placing them just so, circling her clit.
He really can't believe they are still doing this, after all these years. He had never thought - years ago - he'd be shagging his woman at the bottom of the stairs in the backroom, surrounded by sheets, his bones and muscles protesting after a while, but he suffers it gladly, watches Elsie as a flush spreads over her chest, her pants echo against the walls and he knows she is close and he is glad because he cannot hold on too much longer. She knows exactly what makes him soar over the edge and she grabs his shirt as she presses her hand against her mouth to stifle her customary loud moan as she comes hard around him.
They are still catching their breath when she smiles widely.
"Still think I shouldn't be bringing in the laundry, Mr Carson?"
He laughs.
"No, Mrs Hughes. You'll always be welcome to bring in the laundry from now on."
Dearest Tammy, I hope you like it! I also hope other readers will enjoy! Still very sporadic internet, will be like this for another week! (also incredibly hot where we are, so not used to this!)
