"Dance" (part III)

Prompt by mimijag (a "S/T smut weekend" writing prompt!)

Prompt: Sybil learns about page 67...

Rating: *very* M

(This is the final drabble in this 3-part series (following "Silk" and "Book") please read those first if you haven't)

Later that day...

"Page 67…that's my favorite."

The very second she had returned to the house, Sybil all but raced up the stairs to her room, and quickly shut and locked the door, before falling atop her bed with Tom's wicked book clutched to her chest.

She lay like that for quite some time, her breathing heavy as she remembered everything she had already seen…and imagined everything there was still to see.

"…Page 67…"

She swallowed and nibbled on her bottom lip, then rolled over onto her stomach and gazed down at the closed book. Should she? The curiosity was eating her alive! What was on page 67!? What manner of erotic art would she find? Something even more salacious than what she had already seen? Or had he been teasing her? Perhaps it would an image like that one illustration, where the couple were an impossible position that only the greatest of acrobats could perform?

Oh, it would be just like him to pick something like that, she miserably thought. But then again…what if it wasn't? What if he had been in earnest? What if…when he told her about page 67…he had meant, "This is my favorite…and I want to do that with you?"

Oh God, why was she still sitting here, debating this?

With eager and determined fingers, she reopened the book and concentrated on counting the corners of the pages, doing her best not to raise her eyes to the illustrations, not wanting to be distracted by anything other than finding page 67…

"…64, 65, 66…" Sybil paused, then took a deep breath and turned the page.

That breath she had inhaled came out in a long, and somewhat shaky stream.

The man and the woman were facing each other. The woman was…sitting astride the man, her legs spread and open, leaving little to the imagination as to what was happening. Her legs seemed to frame the man, and likewise, his own legs were also spread and open, tucked beneath hers, while his arms enfolded her and brought her chest flush with his own.

She had not seen every illustration in this book, but of the ones she had seen, she had noticed that they all depicted one figure, be it the man or the woman, to be "over" the other, in a more "dominate" role. Sometimes it was the man, sometimes it was the woman; both versions excited Sybil and fueled her imagination with vivid pictures, but this illustration…this was perhaps the first one where she couldn't really tell who was in the more dominate position, and who was playing the more submissive role.

Equals. The man and the woman were equals. They were at the same height, their bodies were entwined around each other, and they needed one another to bring them together and thus, work together to bring one another pleasure.

"…That's my favorite."

Tenderness flooded Sybil's heart. Her skin was flushed, and she couldn't deny that her breath and heartbeat had quickened with desire, but what she felt was deeper than "simple lust" (if such a thing could be called "simple"). She knew she loved Tom, she knew she had been in love with him long before she had even said anything to him, but…seeing this, knowing that when he thought of her, thought of their future together, thought of when the time would come at last and they would be husband and wife in every sense of the word…knowing that he wanted her in such a way, and being reminded once again that he saw her as his true equal and partner…she fell even more deeply in love with him.

In fact…she couldn't keep her emotions contained. Even though she had just come from the garage, she needed to see him, needed to…she just needed to see him.

Carson had rung the dressing gong, which meant her parents and sisters were already in their rooms, preparing for the evening. She didn't have much time, but at least it was enough to go undetected by her family for a few minutes. Without further hesitation, she raced down the stairs, grateful that Carson and a bulk of the staff were either in the dining room or below stairs as the final preparations were being made for dinner, and ran at full speed to the chauffeur's cottage, pounding on the door as if her life depended upon it.

Tom opened the door, pale and worried based on how she had been pounding against it, but then his brow furrowed with confusion at the sight of her, though a small smile did curl at the corner of his lips. "Sybil, what—"

She pushed against his chest and shoved him into the cottage, kicking the door behind her, and before he could utter another word, wrapped her arms around his neck, and with greedy hands, pulled his head down, practically crashing their mouths together.

Tom was stunned at first, but then passion and instinct quickly took over, and his arms encircled her and Sybil gasped as she felt her feet leave the floor, his hands grasping her waist and picking her up, before crashing with her against a nearby wall, causing the furniture around them to rattle.

She remembered the first time they kissed…how it had been sweet and gentle, almost reverent. She had never been kissed before, but she knew she needed to let him know that it was alright, that he didn't need to treat her like porcelain. Basing what she had read in novels, Sybil sighed her mouth open, and Tom groaned when he realized her tongue had ventured forth and was caressing his lips. A gasp was robbed from her lips at the feel of his own tongue, tasting the sweetness of her mouth as well as drawing in her own, deepening their kiss in a way that she had only dreamed. Now, she couldn't imagine not kissing him with any less passion. Lord, how had she lived all these years without knowing the joy and pleasure that was Tom Branson's lips?

It may sound odd to an outsider, but kissing Tom was very much like dancing. Their lips, their tongues, even their hearts moved as one in a beautiful dance, and so too did it seem that their bodies also moved, her own mimicking the erotic motions of his own.

Tom gasped and groaned as he felt her rub against him. Sybil had felt him before, when they had found a moment to be alone and to kiss. He had been afraid that he would frighten her, or worse, disgust her, but she was fascinated, and with a bashful giggle, mumbled something about how she was glad to know she had as much effect on him as he had on her. That thought only hardened him even more, and he wondered what it was that happened when Lady Sybil turned out the lights in her room.

"I love you," she gasped when their lips parted. "I wish I could stay, but—"

"I know," he rasped, swallowing hard and biting the inside of his cheek in an effort to gain control of his senses again. He looked into her eyes, and a lazy smile spread across his face. He wasn't sorry in the slightest, though, and he was glad to see that she felt the same. "So…I take it then that you saw—?"

"Page 67?" she demurely answered, before leaning close, her lips brushing the lobe of his ear, and whispering, "page 34."

Tom leaned back and looked at her, a dark cloud of lust and passion falling across his face. "Your favorite?"

She bit her lip in that way she knew drove him mad, and again, with playful innocence, nodded her head.

"God…" he groaned, leaning into her until their bodies were flush against one another, and she whimpered as she felt the evidence of his erection rubbing the inside of her thigh. "Mmmm…that's a very close second for me," he growled.

"You know it?" Sybil asked, though she wasn't entirely surprised that he had them memorized.

"Aye," he answered, and as if to prove it to her, he surprised her by suddenly (and shockingly) grasping her thighs, spreading her legs even further, and holding her tightly, pressing his groin against her center, and then leaning away from the wall, so that her hands had to grasp and hold tight to his shoulders to keep her balance.

"Tom!" she gasped, but soon her gasp became a whimper as she felt his lips attack her throat, kissing and nipping the delicate skin.

Sybil's eyes fluttered shut and she moaned in pleasure at the sensations, both caused by his lips, as well as the lower portions of his body. He was rubbing himself against her, in much more erotic manner than how she had been earlier. For one, her skirt was hiked so much higher, and his bare hands were beneath, sliding along the hem of her stockings, stroking the bare skin of her upper thighs before playfully plucking at the garters which held her stockings up.

Could he feel her? Feel the heat of her body? Her knickers had dampened when they had started to kiss, but they were nearly soaked now. Since her training, she understood her body so much better, but truly, no other man had ever had such an effect on her the way Tom Branson did.

"Are you wearing it?" he growled against her throat.

Sybil whimpered, confused at first. "Wearing…?"

"Your 'surprise'," he growled, and she shivered with longing, before bolding reaching up with one hand, and undoing several buttons, revealing to him what he had been asking.

"See for yourself," she hotly whispered, blushing deeply at her boldness, but also grinning for that same reason. Tom groaned at the sight of her silky, lacy brassiere, and then won another gasp from her when he leaned forward and buried his face between her breasts.

"Oh sweet Jesus, Sybil…" he groaned, and she gasped as she felt the length of him, pulsing and hard through his trousers, rub against her knickers. This had gone too far, this dangerous dance of theirs, but she didn't care, nor did she regret anything that they were doing. She loved him, and he loved her, and while she knew, despite this passionate haze, that they couldn't do that…not yet…not when there were still so many obstacles that lay before them…perhaps…perhaps they could…?

"May I touch you, love?" his voice broke through the haze. She looked at him and saw the desperation in his eyes, the need to bring her pleasure, which, he had confessed to her, brought him pleasure as well. "Please," he begged.

Sybil swallowed and nodded her head, excitement building at the thought of what would happen next. He had touched her once before, though it was a brief caress—far too brief. But she had never forgotten how it had excited her, and for many nights she dreamed about that passionate encounter.

They had sunk down into a chair, which mimicked, slightly, that illustration she had seen. She was facing him, her legs straddling either side of his body, and his arm was still wrapped tightly around her. His other hand, his free hand…was sliding up her thigh…and moved beneath her skirt, until it reached her knickers, and he sucked in a breath as he felt the damp fabric.

"Christ, love—"

"Please," she whimpered, needing to feel him. He groaned in answer, and pushed aside the fabric, before rubbing the pads of his fingers along the slit of her sex. Sybil gasped, and sank her nails into his shoulders. Encouraged by her response, Tom allowed one finger to push gently into her…just the tip…then slowly further…the first knuckle…then the second…and then he began to slide his finger in and out of her, in and out…

"How does that feel?" he whispered, his breath hot against her cheek, his voice deep and raw with lust. "Does it feel good?"

She couldn't speak, she could only whimper and nod her head, her lip caught between her teeth.

"Let me know if it's too much," he murmured. "I never want to hurt you—God, I love you so much—you're so beautiful, Sybil, so beautiful…"

Another finger entered her, joining the first, and Sybil moaned and threw her head back at the sensation. Doing so caused her body to arch, and her blouse, which was still open, exposed her breasts and their enticing brassiere even more.

"Sybil…" he groaned, his eyes drawn to the sight. He had already asked so much of her, but he couldn't stop himself when he murmured, "May I…?"

Somehow she knew what he was asking, and she wanted it, oh God, she wanted it so badly. Without a word or a nod, she boldly reached up and grasping one of the lacy cups, pulled it down and away from her breast, exposing her flesh to his eyes for the first time.

Tom groaned her name, and his head sank down to her, his mouth capturing her nipple and drawing it between his lips, his tongue flicking the sensitive flesh, before sucking it deeply into his mouth. Sybil thought she might scream from the pleasure of the sensations, his tongue, lips, and teeth creating passionate havoc on her breasts, while his fingers continued thrusting in and out of her core.

"I love you…I love you…" he groaned over and over, his mouth dropping sweet kisses across her breasts, while the movements of his fingers grew faster.

"…I…I love you…" she panted in return, before moaning his name. He was curling his fingers, and there was something…something inside that he was stroking…oh God, what was that!? Whatever it was, she didn't want him to stop!

The motions of his hand caused her hips to move in such a way, another dance that her body seemed to understand before her mind could comprehend. She was bucking against him, and even though he remained fully clothed she could feel him respond, moving with her, practically…THRUSTING…against her.

"Sybil…" there was a warning in his voice, but he didn't stop his motions; it was like he couldn't, and in truth, she didn't want him to. "Love…I…I can't…"

"Don't hold back," she gasped, clutching his shoulders. And before he could ask her what she meant, her hand once again moved with a boldness that should surely shock her, but it didn't, because this just felt so right. She moved between their bodies and found him, hard and pulsing, and she rubbed her hand against him, cupping him, shaping him, wishing she could see and feel him without the barrier of his trousers—oh God, wishing she could feel him between her legs, where his fingers were stroking her just now.

"Love…" he choked, sweat dripping down his brow.

"Yes…yes…" she panted, her own hand rubbing and moving faster just as his fingers did likewise. A scream erupted from her throat as his thumb began to worry her clitoris, swirling and stroking it in several tantalizing circles. She was trembling, and she swore she saw white stars burst in the periphery of her vision.

Tom swore as she clutched him, squeezed him, and then she felt him go rigid. Warmth flooded her hand, and she knew that what was happening to her was also happening to him. They clung to each other, gasping and panting, their foreheads touching as the world shattered into a million pieces, before slowly putting itself back together again.

"Oh, Sybil…" he groaned, pulling her closer, his arms enfolding her and holding her close and tight.

"Hush," she whispered, raining soft kisses upon his cheeks, over his eyelids, across his brow. "I love you," she murmured, assuring him with those simple words that she had wanted this as much as he, and that she had no regrets of any kind.

He looked up at her, a bashful smile spreading across his face (Tom Branson, bashful? Who would have thought) "I…" he paused, as if trying to collect his thoughts. "I…I wish—"

"I know, Sybil answered, and she did. "Soon…"

He nodded his head and repeated the word back, before leaning forward and brushing his lips against hers in a loving kiss. "I don't want you to go," he confessed then, "but I know that you should…"

"Yes," she sighed. "I don't think I'll be joining them for dinner though; I'll tell Anna I have a headache, and take a tray in my room."

He nodded, and then a cheeky smile spread across his face. "And read your new book?"

Sybil rose from his lap and righted her clothes, doing up the buttons on her blouse. "Well of course!" she giggled and gave him a cheeky wink of her own. "As your future wife, I have a great deal to study for."