Chapter 12

"Oh Sybil... I love you!"

WHAT?


It sobered her up instantly, making her come down in a split second; the landing and return to Earth and reality was hard, to say the least, and she felt something icy and heavy spread suddenly in her chest and belly as her mind cleared up sorely.

But she felt absolutely stunned.

Her eyes wide opened, she stared at him, bemused. What the...? Did she hear right? She froze under him. As caught up in what he was doing as he was, he didn't notice her sudden change of demeanour; he was too far gone, too close to the brink to take notice of anything and he zealously carried on with his current task.

She was relieved that it didn't reach his conscious mind, since she really didn't want to talk; relieved that he didn't stop to ask her if something was wrong, since she didn't want to have to explain, to have that conversation. Not right now. Well, not ever, if she had her way... And after all, perhaps it just blurted out of his mouth as some kind of self-encouragement, of pep-talk, without any real meaning behind the words? Just like when he mumbled 'so good', or 'sweet Sybil', or anything that kind? A spur-of-the-moment-in-the-heat-of-action kind of meaningless words?

Or perhaps she simply didn't hear right? Perhaps he just called her a dove? Perhaps he said that he dove inside her? Perhaps he said he had a low view? No, she reflected, these last two were just pure silly nonsense.

She felt him speed up his pace even more, saw his eyes roll upward. She knew the first wave of impending pleasure was just about to hit him.

Perhaps he had only meant he enjoyed being above her? She held onto this idea, regaining some hope at that thought and relaxing a bit. Some heat even returned to her stomach and her loins.

"I love you so muuuch..." he then moaned, throwing his head backwards, "oh m'darliiing...!"

So much for hearing wrong, she realised, flabbergasted by his words. He even called her his 'darling'! The icy paralyzing something came back full force, gripping her limbs and preventing her from moving any part of herself, from even battling en eyelid. It was as though her mind too totally froze, aghast and empty, astounded and vacant.

Stunned as she was, she didn't even watch his ecstasy, a sight she usually revelled in whenever she wasn't herself overcome with the same sensations. But right now her mind was too punch-drunk for that, too knocked out. For a few seconds it was a though her mind and whole body had gone blank. Not a good and pleasant kind of blank, though, and if her body had gone limp, it wasn't from exertion or intense pleasure.

Void. She felt void. Of anything. Of anything except perhaps a very slightly queasy sense of dread. A malaise. And this icy and heavy unknown something wasn't leaving her belly: it felt as though liquid lead had been poured inside her stomach like it sometimes was inside a convict condemned to torture, but instead of it being hot molten burning lead it felt cold, very very cold. Anyway, it felt as dense and heavy as lead.

When Branson finally stopped shaking and shuddering he collapsed onto her. He too felt very heavy on her body, she reflected. She had already experienced his full dead weight lying entirely on her, though, but it had never felt that heavy before.

She simply refused the mere idea of what he just said, of what she just heard. She didn't want it, he hadn't any right to!

Denying... For a few nearly blissful seconds, denying seemed the ideal solution, the best way to deal with it. If she did as though he hadn't said anything, perhaps the disturbing thought would disappear and the awkward feeling would go away, and things would just revert to be like they were only five minutes earlier... She just wanted to bury this deep inside her pocket and shove her handkerchief over it, so that she could forget it and never think or hear about it ever again.

But somewhere in her head the logical part of her mind knew this couldn't be the solution. She needed to do some thinking, she knew that. If only to let it sink in so that she could then better deal with it. She didn't want to think about it, but she knew she had to.

Flee. She wanted to flee, to run away from there, from him. He was still sprawled over her, his slowing breathing being the only sign that he was recovering: the rest of him was still totally motionless, as unmoving as if he were sleeping, limp, still. His weight was pinning her down.

She tried to move, to get away: she couldn't. She then tried to move him off of her: impossible. She noticed that his forehead was resting – or rather had fallen down – right onto the mark he had unintentionally imprinted in her skin three days earlier when he had involuntarily bitten her shoulder while climaxing hard in the throes of searing pleasure.

And today's romp had started with Branson undoing the top five buttons of her dress so that he could ask for forgiveness with his lips to the skin he had damaged. Stopping the unbuttoning there, he had then pushed the velvet of the dress and the linen of the chemise to the side and made amend for his past behaviour by showering the slightly broken skin with soft and light kisses and caresses. But as the offended party, she had considered that this reparation wasn't satisfying enough and demanded redress – and not in the sense of 'dressing again', of course! And sure enough, the kind of compensation she claimed implied in fact a bit more undressing – mainly on his part – and a great many lot of touching and mingling. Things had then escalated quickly and soon they found themselves on the floor with hitched up clothes, moaning voices and interlocked bodies...


For Branson, life was wonderful at his moment. Well, it had been so since the day they shared a first kiss in this same room some months ago. Before that, he would have never dared to think she could reciprocate his feelings. But then, they kissed, and a whole new world of possibilities opened for him the instant her lips touched his... quickly followed by intense and deep disappointment a few seconds later when she expressed her regrets at what just happened...

Hearing her words he had felt his heart sink down to his heels and the bright future he had allowed himself to imagine for the two of them during these seconds of eternity suddenly crashed on his head, shattered in millions of tiny bits of broken dream, trickling down his being like a cold shower.

But a few days later, even more happened between them, something that he hadn't even let himself imagine before – hum, or almost, he had to admit, having fantasised quite a bit about her; and hope burgeoned again in his heart that she truly felt for him what he was feeling for her – after all, she wouldn't make love with him if she didn't mean it, right? –only to receive just afterwards the same cold shower as earlier.

But after a few weeks, she finally accepted to embrace this new turn in their relationship and things had been idyllic between them since then. He's been living in heaven for a few months. Or almost. And this 'almost' was taking up more and more space in his mind and heart, tinting his bliss and happiness with hints of unpleasant malaise.

Yes, things had been idyllic, but frustrating. Branson didn't lose sight and awareness of the world they were living in: they might be in love, but he still was only a servant while she was a noble lady, an earl's daughter, and his master's at that! He couldn't just go to her parents and ask for her hand in marriage, despite everything. They had to keep their love and relationship secret, and it was making him immensely sad. He was desperately trying to come up with a way for them to be together, to have a future together, but he still wasn't seeing any. That's why he had never dared talk about their future with her, about making plans or anything. They had to live only in the present, in the immediacy. To take everything they could when they could, be it pleasures of the flesh or spiritual nourishment.

And right now, all he wanted was to cuddle her, to take her in his arms and trace light circles on her back with his hands and the tip of his fingers, to gently hold her and caress her skin until the time came that she had to go back to the manor... Well, once he had recovered enough from their lovemaking to be able to move a limb, anyway!

And now all what Sybil wanted was to go away. As soon as possible. But pinned under her collapsed lover as she was – 'lover', quite the right word it seemed! – she was trapped by him and couldn't move despite her attempts. At last, as a last resort she raised her free arm and awkwardly poked a few times at his shoulder with her forefinger to get his attention.

Branson laboriously rose his head two inches up to look questioningly at her face. His eyes were still a bit glazed from his petite mort but he did his best to focus on her.

"Uh..." she hesitantly began, "could you please..."

With her hand she made a lifting motion.

The message took some time to reach his hazy brain, but he finally seemed to realise that he was completely crushing her.

"Oh..." he breathed, panting. "Sorry..."

Gathering his strength, he managed to push slightly on his legs and arms to take some of his weight off of her. In doing so, he watched her face and finally seemed to notice her flustered and unfulfilled state, as well as the lack of the very becoming rosy colour her cheeks usually took when pleasure exploded in her. He could see that her eyes were still rather piercing and not at all dazed or out of phase, even though she wasn't looking straight at him but was rather trying to avert her eyes and to avoid his gaze.

"Oh!" he gently murmured, "you didn't..."

He left his sentence unfinished when, a bit sorry, he realised that she hadn't joined him in the pleasure feast. Yet. But his sentence was the only thing he intended to leave unfinished since, thanks to her guidance, he now knew what to do to remedy that kind of situation and was improving each time he practised; after all, it wasn't the first time it happened...

"Just wait..." he tenderly breathed, slowly moving down her body, leaving a thin trail of saliva down her belly while his right hand was already making its way between her legs.

"No," she simply told him while sitting up sharply, her hand pushing him back a little bit. She looked awkward, and he was totally at a loss as to why: it wasn't the first time he offered to service her that way, and in fact the first time it had even been her initiative! But since she just told him no, he simply stopped.

"I– I must..." she stuttered, "I have to go. I..."

She swiftly slipped from under him and quickly got up.

"I must go," she repeated as she was hastily setting her state her dress in order, thrusting her left breast back inside her corsage and buttoning it up, smoothing her skirts down, and finally straightening her headdress.

"But it's still early!" Branson protested, not understanding the reason for the sudden rush.

He was still sitting on the floor, half naked, his softened intimate parts exposed; he wasn't self-conscious or embarrassed anymore now around her about nakedness. But for a reason he couldn't fathom, she suddenly avoided looking at him.

"I've promised Lady Edith I would go for a ride with her before supper," she made up.

He chuckled.

"One would think you've done enough riding for today, though," he told her cheekily, reminding her of some part of their very recent lovemaking.

For once, it didn't make her laugh. Didn't even get a smile out of her. He was puzzled. Had he been that mediocre, today?

Once she was decent, she hurriedly headed to the door and simply mumbled:

"Goodbye, Branson."

He really preferred when she called him 'Tom'.