Dislcaimer: I do not own Downton Abbey. But I so wish I did.

Thanks to everyone again for the great reviews! I'm sorry this chapter took so long to put up. It was a bit difficult to write (not to mention my Spring Break, grading, shenanigans were intruding) as I wasn't sure how far our couple should go. Let's hope the sexiness and the length of this chapter make up for the long delay. I hope you enjoy the salaciousness and would love to hear what you think.

Chapter 8

It wasn't easy being patient. The ride from Victoria Station to Ripon was a long one. The train seemed to inch home rather than speed and the minutes dripped by like a leaky faucet. Six weeks. Nearly six weeks had passed since she had headed in the opposite direction, away from Tom. Now she was going towards him.

The thought made her a little nervous. Her hands were sweaty, fidgety even. There were butterflies in her stomach and she could barely contain the secretive smiles when she thought of Tom. Smiles she knew she would need to hide to avoid any detection of a relationship with Tom.

After what seemed like years, instead of hours, the Crawleys arrived in Ripon and disembarked from the train. And Tom Branson was there to greet them. His head was bowed, he was leaning against the car, reading a newspaper. He looked…amazing. In that moment all of her love rushed back onto her, almost like her first realization of it. Unbridled, the words of his letters came into her mind…I cannot resist you….my body aches for the warmth of your skin and the softness of your lips not an hour goes by without your voice and your presence invading my head.

As if he could hear her thoughts, his eyes suddenly glanced up (his adorable reading expression, something like pouty consternation, still on his face). For a brief moment before he straightened, his eyes burned into hers. She felt…seared. Hot. Intimate. The moment was short (and well hidden) but powerful nonetheless. She was still reeling by the time they reached the car.

"Hello, your lordship, your ladyship, ladies" he said, putting particular emphasis on the last word.

"Branson. It's good to be back. I trust you weren't too bored during our trip. I'm sure my mother kept you…occupied" said Lord Grantham, the coldness gone from his address. Weeks away had cooled his anger towards Branson.

"Yes, your lordship. I was far from bored," he replied. He helped everyone into the carriage of the car, Sybil first (she wanted to be the last one out). The feel of their hands entwined, even through gloves, was as powerful as she remembered. She knew better than to let her hand linger, particularly with her family right behind, but it was difficult to let go. Six weeks. Six long weeks away from him and she couldn't even hold his hand.

The ride from the station to Downton Abbey was blessedly short. It was even more important that Sybil hide her feelings, engage in appropriate conversation, and stop looking toward the chauffer. It wasn't as hard to play the role of "Lady Sybil" with Tom away in Yorkshire. But to play the role of "Lady Sybil" under the watchful eye of her family was difficult. His presence was intoxicating.

They pulled up to the front door where the staff awaited their arrival. Tom helped everyone ascend from the carriage.

"Lady Sybil" he said, his eyes meeting hers for the first time since the train station (despite many times trying to catch his gaze in the rearview mirror). His hand grabbed hers and she felt something small pressed into her hand. She looked down-it was note.

"Branson, why thank you." she said with feeling.

Quickly, she slipped it into her pocket and rushed forward to walk in with Edith.

She smiled brightly as she chatted with her sister.

His note was the sign she had been waiting for. It was the sign that he believed her.

It was another twenty minutes before she could read the note. Alone in her room, she pulled the small note out of her pocket and read:

I do believe you.

Meet me tomorrow at 1 in the Garage. Everyone knows that I work on the cars in the afternoon and you can say you're taking a walk. DO NOT COME TO THE COTTAGE, not tonight or any night. We have to be careful and I can't be when we're alone in my home. The garage is private enough. I mean it, Sybil.

I can't wait to see you tomorrow. I've missed you so much.

Tom was fidgety the whole of Tuesday morning. While the morning itself was uneventful-he drove her ladyship to call on Lady Violet-Tom was anxious to see Sybil.

He had seen her yesterday, sure. But it was all so formal. He had looked in her eyes. He had smelt the divine scent of her body. He had even held her hand. But none of those things were the same as being with her. Like he would be today.

He ate lunch with the staff at the usual 12:30. As he hurriedly donned his jacket to rush back to the garage, Mr. Carson asked in his sternest voice, "Where are you off to in such a rush, Branson?"

"Oh nowhere, Mr. Carson. When I'm not needed in the afternoon, I work on the cars. That's been my schedule most of the summer, sir" he replied, coolly. It wasn't a lie. He would work on the cars this afternoon…eventually.

"Ah, I see. I forget that things change when I'm not around. I'll send William if his lordship needs you" he said.

Tom prayed that he wouldn't be needed. He walked briskly back to the cottage, not wanting to be late.

He loosened his collar, removed his jacket, and unbuttoned his waistcoat. Sometimes the livery of a chauffer could be rather confining. He was still properly dressed (particularly, since the last time she had been in this vicinity), but more casual. He liked to be casual with her.

He entered the garage, leaned against the car, and began to wait.

The door to the garage opened and in she came. It was a bright day (rare in Yorkshire) and the sunlight illuminated the outline of her body. The garage was dark or at least dark compared to outside. Her eyes adjusted to the sudden change of light and it took a moment for her to see him.

He straightened up and spoke her name in a whisper. She moved quickly across the small space that separated them. He thought she meant to give him a hug, his arms open for the embrace. But as always, she surprised him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she covered his lips with her own. Surprised and suddenly aroused, he pulled her even closer, his body leaning back against the car.

The kiss was just like before and yet nothing like it. Her lips were still perfect-soft, supple, and eager. And she still made the most erotic sounds in the back of her throat. But there was no hesitation. It was all fire and heat. Her hands moved to his shirt and were clutching him closer. His own hands were on the small of her back, pushing her closer to his body until they were pressed together like leaves of a book. Their tongues battled for dominance and their mouths tilted to get a deeper fit.

Kissing her was like a feast after weeks of famine. His toes curled in boots, his skin became hot and flushed. He felt himself losing control. His palms itched to touch more of her, the details of which his dreams often filled in. He was already hard and with her body pressed so intimately against his, she could clearly feel the evidence of his arousal. They needed to slow down before he started to act on his wild thoughts…

He pulled away slightly and he managed to get out, "Sybil, we should-"

"Shut up. We've done enough talking" she replied, breathless. And she pulled his head down for another soul-searching kiss. As her eager tongue began to mate with his, he thought, Maybe she's right, maybe we have talked enough.

Her hands were roaming his chest, just like she mentioned doing in her letter. She spread her palms over his pecs. The thin lawn of his shirt was little barrier between her hands and his skin-the contact set fire to his entire body. Her thumbs accidentally brushed his tiny puckered nipples and he gasped loudly.

"Did I hurt you?" she asked, breaking the kiss.

"No, God, no. It felt good…really, really good."

He didn't know such sensations existed. He thought he was supposed to be the experienced one. But Sybil was passionate. It shouldn't be a surprise that she was a natural.

He began to trail kisses down her cheek, her jaw line, and eventually came to her neck. She tilted her head to give him better access. His hands moved to her hair, dislodging her hat as his fingers sunk into the dark tresses. His mouth found the sensitive flesh of her neck, laving until her soft moans and breathless sighs filled the small garage.

Her hands suddenly framed his face and lifted it away from her neck. Their eyes locked-both sets half-lidded with passion and arousal.

"Touch me…like you said in your letter" she boldly ordered. Her voice had turned husky, erotic. The request made the fire burn even hotter in his loins. Surely she couldn't mean..

"Like my hands on your…?"

"Yes. I want you to," she responded eagerly.

"Are you sure?" he asked. The sensual haze was slightly lifted, but he was still hot. Very hot. And he wanted to. Really wanted to.

"Please" she whispered vehemently.

"If it pleases my lady," he replied with some humor. Tom switched places with her with her back pressed against the car. He checked over his shoulder that the door was closed and slowly unbuttoned her coat. Underneath she wore her a white blouse with a row of buttons in the center. It was simple, but to Tom it was the most provocative piece of clothing he'd seen. Well, aside from her nightgown. Her chest heaved with anticipation and her hands grabbed his, guiding them to her chest.

As he hesitated, she whispered, looking deep in his eyes, "Please". And he obliged.

His large hands cupped her soft breasts and her head lolled back against the car. Her sweet lips muttered, "Oh, God"

Her breasts were magnificent. Large and round, they fit perfectly, like they were made for his hands alone. He lifted her breasts with his palms and gently squeezed them. Perfect indeed. He traced the outline with his fingers while his thumbs brushed against the tip. While there were several layers between them, he could still feel the heat of her skin and her beaded nipple.

Tom looked up to watch her reaction. Soft moans spilled from her kiss swollen lips and her eyes were closed-she never looked more beautiful. He only wanted to give her more pleasure. Taking her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, he lightly pinched.

"Oh" she said breathily, her eyes shot open and met his. Their lips met again, his mouth stifling her groans. He couldn't believe this was happening. His body already hard reached new heights as he continued to pleasure her breasts.

His lips found the now familiar path down her neck. But he didn't stop at her collarbones. He needed to look at her. To see the delicious flesh he caressed. With hands shaking, he unbuttoned her shirt. He went slowly, praying she would stop him and hoping that she wouldn't. This was going far-not to the lengths of his fantasies, but farther than she knew. Yet she didn't stop him. In fact, once he peeled back her shirt, she helped him to push down her corset. He could see the dark outline of her nipples through the thin layer of her chemise. His fingers dipped to the top of the chemise about to push it down.

"Are you sure?" he said.

"Please" she said again. He grew to like that word more and more.

His fingers pushed down her chemise and finally revealed her breasts.

Blank. His mind went blank with pleasure. Mr. Carson himself could have walked in and Tom wouldn't have noticed. Beautiful. It seemed such an inadequate word to describe the perfection of her breasts. They were…amazing. Creamy white skin with puckered pink tips. He had to taste them. He knew he shouldn't, knew he might scare her with his passion, knew that once he tasted her he wouldn't get enough. But he couldn't care. He needed to taste her. To bring her pleasure.

Tom lifted one lovely mound and flicked his tongue softly against one turgid nipple. Sybil let out a loud moan-half surprise, half pure pleasure. Her head fell back against the car, her back arching into his waiting mouth.

"Tom" she breathed, the sound of his name like a prayer on her lips. He gentled took her nipple into his mouth and sucked. Again, her half lidded eyes shot open as she let out another throaty moan. He continued the sweet torture-licking, sucking, nibbling while she withered beneath him. Her hand stroked his hair, keeping his head firmly against her breast. As if there was a need, he could do this all afternoon.

Their bodies had only come closer as she leaned against the car and he leaned in to pleasure her with his mouth. Her hips snug against his, began to nudge gently into his. Their actions were primitive, instinctual. Their simple kiss had spun out of control, but Tom couldn't stop himself from rubbing his hardness against her. She seemed to enjoy his response, her own hips pushing back harder. His lips trailed to her other breast where he repeated the same treatment as his fingers teased her just pleasured nipple.

She was killing him. Her body was made for passion, made for him. His control was slowly slipping. He could think of little else but sliding his hand under her skirt and touching her center. He was strung tight, his body pushed to the brink.

And then she did something totally unexpected. As she squirmed under him, her body half pinned to the car, her hips pleasurably trapped by his, she removed her hand from the death grip it had on his head and slide it down his shoulder, his chest, his stomach. Until finally she grabbed his hardness pinned between them.

"Oh. My. God." he said as shock and mindless pleasure exploded in his body. He nearly came right then. Fire burned through his body and her sweet action sent him closer to the edge than he'd ever been. He didn't just want to touch her. He wanted to take her. Make her his. Thrust high into her body until she wept with pleasure.

Realizing how quickly this had gotten out of control and how little control he had left, Tom abruptly jerked and turned away from her body.

His body protested the quick curtailment of its pleasure. The blood still pounded through his veins and he knew one look at her-her bare, heaving breasts and he would lose it. The only sounds that filled the small garage were of their shared, uneven breathes.

After what seemed like an eternity, but which was really only a few minutes, she whispered, "I'm sorry".

Surprised, Tom turned back (she had thankfully restored her clothing), only to see her avoiding his gaze. He should've realized his long silence would have an adverse affect.

Taking a step back to her and cradling her face in his hands, he said "Sorry for what? You have nothing to be sorry for. I should be the one apologizing. I didn't mean for us to go so…far. You must think me some crazed fiend—"

Her finger silenced him as she said, "No, no, not at all. It was wonderful. I never knew anything could be so divine. I thought I might've hurt you or that you thought me…too wanton."

"It was wonderful for me too. And you're not too wanton. Your passion is pure and delightful. I can't seem to get enough of you. But we can't meet like this. Or at least we can't do what we just did. I could barely control myself. I don't want to do something we'll both regret" he said, leaving the words hanging. They both knew what that something would be.

"I wouldn't regret it" she whispered vehemently.

Her words sent a burst of happiness through him. He wouldn't regret it either. But she would, eventually. She would marry some rich peer someday and then her virginity would mean a great deal. She would regret throwing it away. But she would more importantly, she would regret giving it to him.

He drew her closer into the embrace of his body, her head against his shoulder, his lips ghosted over her forehead. It was a perfect fit, their bodies fit together like pieces of a puzzle.

"You may think that now, but you'll change your mind. You won't have wanted to be ruined by an Irish chauffer" he said, sadly.

"But I—"

"Shh, don't argue, Sybil. You know it's for the best. For now, we need to be careful. I won't ruin you any more than I already have." he said, forcefully. He needed to stay strong in this regard. If not, they'd find themselves in an awful mess. He couldn't make love to her. If he did, he'd never be able to let her go. Ruin her, indeed, but he'd ruin himself in the process. If he hadn't already…

"I wasn't going to argue. Much. I was going to say 'I love you'" she said.

"I know you do, sweetheart, I know" he said, both their hearts breaking a little bit.

"Can I come here tomorrow? Please? I promise I'll behave. No seductive maneuvers. We can talk…and maybe kiss?" she said, her eyes sparkling.

He smiled in spite of himself, he really couldn't deny her "Yes, alright. Same time tomorrow, but only kisses. No inappropriate touching, minx. Understood?"

"Understood" she said, crossing her heart with her fingers.

She looped her arms around his neck, "One more kiss? You know, to seal our bargain?"

"Alright,"he said, lowering his head and placing his lips against hers. It was quick, but it was enough to reignite the dying embers of desire.

"Go" he said, setting her away from him.

She flounced away but stopped at the door and turned back. "I believe that was the nicest 'walk' I've ever had. I'll see you tomorrow, love" Smiling, she left the garage and for Tom, took all the sunlight with her.

FINIS

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