Imagine your OTP making out in an alley.
His lips flamed against the skin of her neck as the cool brick wall pressed into the delicate skin on her back, meshing against her new silk gown. The night had been long, overheated and full of laughter—as English summer nights often were—and the Earl and Countess were on their way back to Grantham House when Cora's stoic, sweet husband, as if possessed by some impetuous gust, pulled her down an unlit alley.
His breath was labored and warm from their long walk; he was the one who insisted on not calling for the car at the end of the party, and she could feel his hands gripping at the flimsy garment, as if willing it to dissipate from her body. She felt delicate and feminine in his strong embrace, and like she was the only one who could ever satisfy the urge coursing through him as his teeth nipped at her earlobe and his fingers played at her sides.
Robert…darling….people…home
Words were lost in the thick air between them and any doubt she had about allowing this to happen in an ostensibly public place died instantly when his hand finally worked its way under her dress and settled between her legs.
He'd drank too much, she'd drank too much, it was all terribly improper and would be the talk of the town if anyone happened past them. But it was a new world, now. It was the 1920's and somehow the night had conspired to make it seem like a very good idea.
He murmured her name softly between kisses, a gentle adoration sweetly juxtaposed against his almost animalistic actions. She could feel his need pressing between them, knew he was holding himself back, and was grateful for her sweet husband who even in a moment of passion always wanted to preserve her honor and keep her happy. His lips were on her again a second later and she knew he would always be able to keep her happy. Better than anyone else in the world, he knew how to keep her happy.
An aroused, or perhaps frustrated grunt from her husband pulled her out of her musings, making her focus on the dark blue eyes before her. He smiled, whispering, "you don't know what you do to me," in a low gravelly voice, and pulled her close. It was true, she could not understand the exact effect of her attentions, but just as he knew her, she knew him. And so she kissed him once more, soaking up the warm summer air and the feel of her husband against her, before taking his hand and leading them both out of the alley and toward the house—knowing full well that sleep would not be soon in coming.
