Hello everyone! So here, at last, is the "make-up" chapter I know many of you have been eager to read. I won't go on and on, but I will say that this chapter is dedicated to the lovely goldenminij17 as a belated birthday present. And yes, this chapter is very much an M-rated chapter ;o)

Thankyou for your patience with these updates! I'm going to take a brief hiatus with LCJ and concentrate on some of my other stories for a while, but don't worry, I'll be back to this one before you know it. Again, thank you for reading and please share your thoughts if you can!


Chapter Forty-Three

When he was fifteen, Tom walked a girl named Molly McCauley home from hotel where the both of them worked (he washed dishes, she ironed linens). He remembered the walk being a bit awkward; there were rumors floating around the kitchens that Molly liked him. He thought she was very pretty, and since Deidre wasn't giving him the time of day, he considered following the encouragement of some of his friends and asking Molly to step out with him on their next half-day off. He remembered his palms sweating, rubbing them somewhat nervously on the legs of his trousers, glancing over at her and then quickly turning his head back to the road. She seemed to be doing the same thing, her fingers twisting a thread in her apron, her own eyes focused on the ground that would every so often rise to meet his, before quickly lowering once again.

It was so painfully awkward that even now, upon the memory of that night, Tom found himself wincing. Nothing came of it; he walked Molly to her door and she turned to look at him, perhaps a little expectedly, wetting her lips and waiting…and waiting…and he finally mumbled, "goodnight" to her, before turning and practically running up the street until he found refuge in the shadows beyond the corner. Needless to say, she didn't speak to him after that.

That was practically fifteen years ago, and yet Tom once again found himself feeling like that awkward adolescent boy from his past, only his behavior was even more pathetic because he was a grown man, nearly thirty, and the girl he was walking beside was his wife.

He glanced over at her, and not too different from how he remembered Molly McCauley, Sybil was playing with something in her fingers (her wedding ring). He swallowed and watched as she twisted the simple gold band back and forth. The gesture was most likely one of complete innocence, and yet Tom couldn't help but feel his stomach drop at every turn she gave the ring.

What was she thinking? What had she been thinking upon seeing him there at the pub? Of course the best way to answer these questions was simply to ask her, and yet very much like the awkward fifteen-year-old he was back then, he found himself cowardly shrinking in the shadows of his own self-doubt.

"What time is it?"

He was startled from his thoughts by her voice, more so than her question. He looked at her, momentarily speechless as he gazed into her eyes (wide, clear, the deepest blue), then shook his head and looked down at the watch he wore on his wrist. "Um…almost half-past," he answered.

"Midnight?"

"Aye."

She nodded her head and returned her gaze to the street before them. They continued a few more steps in awkward silence, before Sybil murmured, "it's so quiet…"

Tom nodded his head. "I was thinking that to."

"Do you suppose that's because it's Tuesday?" she asked, then blushed and added, "Well, Wednesday now."

He did find himself smiling a little at her correction. "Maybe," he answered. "It would make sense…people need to rest so they can get up for work in the morning."

He noticed her face darken and she lowered her eyes. "Of course," she whispered, her voice revealing a soft tone of embarrassment for not coming to that realization.

Tom sighed and glanced over at her, his eyes softening as he looked at her and his heart bursting with desire to make things right between them once again. "Sybil, I—"

"I should have told you."

Her voice was soft, but it lingered in the air between them. He gazed at her profile, but she continued to keep her eyes downcast.

Tom swallowed and fixed his gaze at the ground for a moment, his hand stuffed in his pockets as they walked. He didn't need clarification to what she meant. "Aye," he simply answered.

Silence filled the void between them once more. Tom glanced at her again and knew that he needed to ask his question, though he was a little afraid at hearing what her answer was. Yet he also knew that as helpful as Sean had been in listening to his troubles, he would be an absolute hypocrite if he didn't share those same troubles with the person who mattered most. "Were you worried I would be upset?" he asked her, his voice soft but clear.

Sybil's steps slowed, but she continued looking ahead. "What do you mean?"

He supposed his question could have been clearer. "Were you worried I would be upset because you thought you were pregnant? Or because you weren't? Or…" he took a deep breath. "Or were you worried I would be upset because if you were pregnant…you weren't ready?"

"No," she answered, shaking her head, and she did stop walking then. Tom stopped and turned to look at her, his hands now folded behind his back as he patiently waited for her to explain, because he could tell she wanted to. "No," she repeated again. "No, I…I wasn't 'worried' as you say, that you would be 'upset', I just…" she closed her eyes and groaned, before finally looking right at him. "I do want to have children with you," she told him, her eyes holding his, her gaze penetrating. "I want us to have a family…a family of our own," she continued, and he found himself nodding back.

"But not yet…" he answered, repeating the words they had spoken the day after their wedding. "I do understand, Sybil, and…and I do feel the same way…" his hands ached to hold hers, but he held himself back, just for a little longer, knowing this was important, that they each say their piece before making peace. We are both two and one, and always will be.

Sybil nibbled her bottom lip and looked down at their feet, before lifting her eyes once again to his. "So…that being said, were you ready then? If I had told you I thought I was pregnant, were you ready to become a father so soon after we married?"

He honestly wasn't sure how to answer that. Both "yes!" and "no" echoed in his mind, and to be quite honest, both sounded like the right answer.

"…Because I wasn't," she murmured, not waiting for him to answer. When he looked at her, he noticed how pale she looked, and she was biting her lower lip in a nervous fashion, her eyes searching his for a reaction to her statement. "I…I know that probably sounds horrible—"

"No," he answered, shaking his head as he did so. "No, no, it doesn't, we agreed Sybil, we agreed that we wanted to…to just be us for the moment, and…" he reached for her then, his hand gently touching her arm, his fingers sliding down the length of it until he reached her hand. "…I was surprised when you told me that you thought you might have been pregnant, not disappointed."

"But you were," Sybil softly argued. "You were disappointed—perhaps not about the truth that I wasn't pregnant in the end, but…but you…are disappointed, that I didn't say anything. I mean, you admitted that much earlier."

He sighed and nodded his head. "I was upset that you hadn't told me, yes, simply because…" he squeezed her hand, grateful that she wasn't shrinking away from his touch, even going so far as to weave their fingers together. "I remember how upset you were when came back that night…and I confess, I felt so helpless; I wanted to make things better—"

"But you can't," Sybil interrupted, a sad smile on her face. "You can't always make things better, Tom; no one can."

"I know that, but…" his other hand rose and moved to caress her cheek, brushing a few strands of hair from her face. "But I would like to try at the very least, especially for you."

Her smile changed then, and a lovely blush began to color her cheeks. It was a simple response, but it did lift his heart.

"I was upset that night, you're not wrong," Sybil sighed, turning then and moving her feet forward. Tom began walking too, though he was glad that she hadn't released his hand. "I felt horrible for Mrs. Quigley, saddened that she had endured this before, saddened that she was enduring it again, and angry at…well, not just her husband, but…but at the world!"

Tom frowned and looked at her. "At the world?"

Sybil nodded, and while she continued to gaze straight ahead, he could hear the fire in her voice, and only imagine how greatly it burned in her eyes. "Sister Claire told me how…how girls are raised to more or less see only one future for themselves: that of 'wife and mother'."

Tom frowned but didn't say anything. He was ashamed to admit he had never given the idea much thought. As a lad, he did remember the nuns and the priests telling him and other boys the importance of being a good husband and father, but there was never a sense of "this is the only future you will have". He had never given any thought to what the girls of his school—to what his sisters, were being taught.

"I…I confess, it upset me, Tom; more than that, it angered me to learn and understand that this was the 'value' a woman's life seemed to have: marry and bear children. And if she cannot bear children, then she has failed, not only in her duties to her husband, but…but with her very existence! And perhaps that sounds too harsh, but that was how it felt, and certainly what poor Mrs. Quigley seemed to believe. And I know that's not very different from England; Lord knows marriage is often seen as the only 'respectable' sort of future a woman—of any class—can have…"

He gazed at her, his heart swelling as he listened to the passion in her voice. He found himself taken back to those first weeks of his employment, to when he had first met the Earl of Grantham's youngest daughter, and quickly learned that she was thirsting for knowledge when it came to politics, especially politics affecting women.

"…I don't want my 'value' as a woman to be based simply on whether or not I have a child," she murmured.

Tom's eyes widened and he was already shaking his head before speaking. "It won't—Sybil, you—"

"I know," she interrupted, stopping and looking at him and to his glad relief, smiling up at him. She lifted their clasped hands to her lips, and brushed them against his knuckles. "More than any other person…including me…you believe I can do and be anything I wish, that I set my heart to."

Now he was nodding his head, and pulled her closer, bringing their hands to his lips now, brushing them against the back of hers. "I do, I've never doubted—"

"I know," she giggled, blushing and grinning up at him. "I know, I believe you, and I love you for that," she assured him, and once again he did feel that sense of "glad relief" wash over him. He never wanted her to doubt the love he felt for her, but he also never wanted her to doubt his belief in her; if she told him she wanted to be Prime Minister, then by God, he believed she could. That was the woman he had fallen in love with all those years ago when he was still a chauffeur; that was the woman he still loved. That was the woman he had married.

"But this isn't about me," she murmured after a moment, her expression changing once again, this time to one of concern and contemplation. "Women…of any class, shouldn't feel that their 'value' lies on whether they marry or not, on whether they have a child or not; if a woman wants to marry and have a family, as well as a career in…whatever she so desires, then she should! And the same is true if a woman simply does want to be a wife and mother—and I know there's nothing 'simple' about that, don't misunderstand me. In the short amount of time I have known them, your mother and sister have proven to me the immense work they do in running a home and a raising a family. And then of course, women who desire to focus their lives on work, whatever that work may be—but at the same time, they shouldn't feel that in order to do so, they must take holy orders as Sister Claire has done." She sighed and looked up at him. "Am I making sense?"

Tom's eyes widened. "Of course!" he answered, nodding his head rather vigorously. "Both women and men should have equal opportunities, in work, in education, in whatever they set their hearts and minds to. One shouldn't have more than the other simply because Society dictates that 'this is how it's always been done'."

She squeezed his hand, and he saw her smile at his words. "Exactly. But to go back to what I was saying about Mrs. Quigley…according to what Sister Claire told me, this, meaning women should aspire to be wives and mothers, has been the dominate lesson Irish girls have been taught for…God knows how long, since the dawn of time?"

Quite possibly, Tom thought to himself.

"I mean…Siobhan reads faster than anyone I know—she could easily read four books a week if she had the opportunity. And at seventeen she's read things even now I'm too intimidated to try! Edith had brought a copy of Les Miserables—she left it for your sister, and Siobhan told me she finished it in less than week! Do you know how many pages that book is?"

Tom shook his head, but couldn't deny he wasn't surprised by this. Both he and his sister did have a mutual love for reading.

"Aileen is brilliant with numbers. Mathematics was never my best subject, though I would argue my governess gave up on teaching me anything beyond basic multiplication and division. But even though she's only fifteen, Aileen could go to university tomorrow, I am convinced, and…just think of all the things she could do, Tom! The mathematical and scientific fields she could conquer if she were given the opportunity…"

Tom pressed his lips together, deeply moved by the way Sybil spoke of his sister. He agreed with her, he knew Aileen was terribly clever when it came to numbers, and his mother knew as well. Part of the reason he had gone to England to work was because both he and his mother hoped that the money would help keep his younger sisters from having to leave school any earlier than was necessary. But the thought of his sister attending university, something no Branson had ever done before…

"And are you aware of Moira's talent for drawing?" Sybil asked him, bringing him back to the present.

He couldn't say that he was, sadly. Having been away from his family for so long, and Moira being so young when he had last seen her, his sister was in many ways a stranger to him.

"She's wonderful, Tom, truly; the wasted efforts my governess placed upon me," she groaned, shaking her head. "Moira would be the sort of student she'd have taken pride in…"

She smiled at her own words, but it wasn't missed on Tom that there was something else to her expression, some sort of "far off look", as if she were contemplating something.

"The point I'm trying to make," Sybil sighed after a moment. "Is that your sisters…like many other girls, I have no doubt…have great potential to do and be anything they wish! And they should have that chance and opportunity! And see and understand themselves as women of great worth, whatever they do with their lives!"

A harsh "shush" came from some open window, and it was then that the both of them seemed to realize how loud Sybil's voice had gotten during her passionate speech. They both blushed, but instead of looking sheepish, they both smiled and hurried their steps a little.

When they seemed to have put a good distance between themselves and the house whom they had disturbed, Sybil turned back to him and added, "I know what I say could easily be dismissed as a 'posh girl's problems'; I am aware that such changes and opportunities are easier to achieve when one has the means to do so…"

He had thought that, but he also knew that Sybil was getting better at learning and understanding the differences between the world she grew up in, and the world she now worked and lived in. And Tom was also aware that the world the both of them and his mother and siblings lived in was different to those who lived within the tenements on Grenville Street or at Neary's Court. Change of any kind takes work; to dismiss the desire for change as nothing more than "pretty idealism" opens the door to apathy, and then nothing happens.

"I should have said something, I know," Sybil repeated again, and when he looked at her, though there was an embarrassed blush on her cheek, he was pleased to see her eyes meeting his. "I…I felt overwhelmed…both in my anger and sadness for this reality that seemed to exist for women, as well as in my fear that maybe…I was pregnant, and…and yes, it is selfish I admit, I did think at first 'I'll be no different, I'll be expected to be a mother and nothing more, and I've just started working but I'll be asked to put that aside—'"

"Sybil," he interrupted, tugging on her hand and stopping the both of them from walking. "You said you believed me; that you believe in the faith I have in you, that you're aware of how strongly I love and support you."

She nodded her head, rather vigorously. "I do, I—"

"Bet on you," he interrupted again, his hand rising to caress her cheek. "I will always bet on you…and I hope and pray that you 'bet on yourself', too." He cupped her face and leaned forward then, pressing his lips to her brow, before leaning back just slightly, his forehead touching hers, his hands still caressing her cheeks. "Had you been pregnant…we would find a way to make sure you could still fulfill your dreams, for work, for…for anything you desire." He lifted his head and continued to gaze down at her, his hands never leaving her face. "I understand that you're not ready…and that's fine, truly. But please don't ever feel ashamed or afraid about…about expressing those thoughts, those concerns, anything like that with me. Because I do love you, and I will support you, and…and should that time come, whether it happens when we're both ready for it or not…no matter what, we will find a way to make it work."

She looked up at him, and his heart soared at the love he saw reflected. Love, as well as relief at the words he spoke. Granted, it was easier to say such things now, knowing that she wasn't with child, but it was a reminder that it could happen, and certainly could happen before they were ready. But he did have faith in her, in them; they had weathered storms before, and he knew deep in his soul, they possessed the strength to weather more.

"I'm sorry I doubted—"

"No, love," he shook his head and kissed her forehead again. "You made your apology and I accept and understand why you did what you did. But I also need to apologize as well; if you believe you were selfish, well I was guilty of that too. I felt sorry for myself that night, and continued to harbor self-pity as the week progressed." He winced as he recalled the harsh words spoken the previous evening, when he had learned she had a shift at the hospital. "And I shouldn't have left when I did…either Sunday or this evening—"

"You can't entirely be blamed for that," Sybil sighed, taking his hand in hers and encouraging them both to walk once more. She wrapped her arm around his, and leaned her head against his shoulder. "You thought you were doing some good on Sunday, and after how I had behaved on the days leading to it, it's no wonder the thought of 'giving me space and peace' seemed like a good idea. And then tonight…well…it was rather shocking to learn that your wife thought she was pregnant and hadn't said anything."

He did chuckle a little at that, but shook his head and moved his arm to wrap around her shoulders, drawing her body closer. "But I still shouldn't have left…at either time. You were upset, that was plain to see, and…" he groaned, not at all happy with himself or his actions.

The soft sound of Sybil's laughter drew his attention back to her. "What a pair we are…" she sighed.

He found himself smiling, and then recalling the words his brother-in-law had said to him, just before he saw Sybil. "Marriage is two people learning to be one being…"

"What did you say?"

He hadn't even realized he had spoken the words out loud. He cleared his throat and repeated, "Marriage is two people learning to be one being…it's something Sean said to me," he explained. "We will always be ourselves—unique and individual, but we must also learn how to work and think and live as 'one', as well."

Sybil didn't say anything right away, but he did notice how she seemed to nod her head in understanding to his words. "Sean is very wise," she murmured.

Tom tightened his arm around her. "He is…which was why I sought him out." He didn't want her to think he had left after their fight with the intention to lose himself in drink. He refused to become anything remotely close to the man his father had been (if one could call someone who would rather seek the company of a pint glass to the company of his wife and children a "man"). "I am glad I spoke to him, but…" he wetted his lips and glanced down at her. "…But it's also made me realize that what I told him, I should have said to you."

Sybil lifted her eyes to his, her lips parting as if to say something, but no sound came out. She lowered her eyes then, but he did notice a soft blush coloring her cheeks. "There's no harm in seeking out the advice of another," she murmured. "And Sean is a married man, so no doubt he could help you a great deal more than I could on certain matters."

Tom did chuckle at that. "Aye, perhaps, but still…" he looked back at her. "You're my wife, Sybil; and more than that, you're my best friend. And I value your thoughts and opinions more than any other. You're the one I should seek out when I need to bare my troubles, and…" he swallowed, pausing in his steps again. "And…and the truth is, I'm terrified."

Sybil looked up at him, her brow furrowed with concern, and now it was her hand that rose to touch his cheek. "Why?" she whispered. "What frightens you?"

He closed his eyes and sighed. "That…that I'll break my promise to you."

She still looked confused. "Promise? Tom, I don't understand—"

"When I proposed to you…I promised to devote every waking minute to your happiness…" he explained, looking back at her, his emotions visible for the entire world to see. "I don't ever want to give you cause to regret—"

"Hush," she stopped him, and put her fingers to his lips. "Don't speak of such things, don't even think them!" she took hold of his face in both her hands, similar to how he had done earlier with hers. "Remember how long it took me to give you an answer?"

Oh God, how could he forget? The weeks and months that he agonized what her answer might be.

"It wasn't for a lack of love, it never was for a lack of that," she emphasized. "It was because I wanted to be absolutely sure that I could do it…leave the world I had known my entire life, and go and live something completely different. So when the day finally came that I gave you my answer…" she held his gaze so fiercely he didn't even dare to blink. "I knew…with all my heart, with my entire being…that yes, not only was I making the right decision, but that I would never have any regrets for 'betting on you'," she sniffled, but also smiled back at him. "For betting on 'us'."

He sucked in a deep breath, his hands trembling as they held her waist, pulling her even closer, needing to feel her against him. Was he crying? His vision seemed to blur.

Her fingers rose and brushed his tears, and Tom smiled and closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. "You have no idea how good it is to hear you say that, love," he murmured, before opening his eyes and looking back at her. Deidre's words still echoed in his mind, words that were meant to cut to the core and put doubt into his heart.

"It's only a matter of time before she does leave you…like all the others did. She'll leave you broken hearted, Tommy, and if you don't believe that, then you're the bigger fool than I thought! But just wait…when the winter comes, if she hasn't left you by then, she will."

But Deidre was wrong. Just as she had been wrong when she had "threatened" Sybil by telling her that he would tire of her. He never wanted Sybil to doubt the love he felt for her…and likewise, she didn't want him to doubt her love for him.

Don't look at what she gave up as her making a grand sacrifice for your sake. Look at it instead as her taking a bold step forward for herself…for the life she wants, which you by some blessed miracle get to be a part of. After all, what was it that he had said to Lord Grantham, that day he visited the Grantham Arms with hopes to "buy him off"? "Doesn't it occur to you that the best guarantee for Sybil's happiness lies with me?" He wasn't being over-confident or arrogant when he spoke those words, he was being quite genuine. Sybil didn't want that life anymore. She wanted a new life, working and living independently from the rules of the British aristocracy.

She wanted a life with him.

"Don't you see?" she whispered, drawing him back. "Don't you see how happy you've already made me?"

He looked down at her, a single breath hanging in the air between them. Then his arms seized her and he swiftly bent his head, his mouth covering hers and kissing her deeply, hungrily, groaning as he felt her clutch and cling to him, her nails digging into the threads of his jacket, her toes lifting her so she could meet and return his kiss with the same passion and hunger. Their bodies pressed together, hers practically molded to him. He groaned again, his arousal evident as she rubbed herself against him. He was on fire, and based on the way she was moving and whimpering and kissing him, he would say she was too.

"I want you," she gasped, before kissing him again and robbing him of a chance to respond. Not that he needed to, at least not with words. He groaned his answer, nodding his head and then grabbing her hand, and they both started to run, their passion giving way to giddiness and laughter as they made their way down the street, hands clasped. If one didn't know any better, should they see them they might think the two of them a pair of over-excited school children. And in many ways, that was exactly how he felt, like a boy all over again, running wild and free and very, very eager. And the smile that he wore only widened when he looked at his wife, her hair flying freely behind her now, a gasp and a laugh in her throat as she matched his stride and then overtook him, practically dragging him to keep up with her. They didn't stop running until they finally came to Mountjoy Square, and they were both gasping and panting from the exertion of their sprint, but that didn't stop them from laughing and reaching out to the other, his hands around her waist, hers on his shoulders, pulling him closer and grinning even as her fingers clutched the back of his neck, urging him to bend his head and kiss her again (which he was all too gladly willing). And just like before, when they had started, their passions kindled again and Tom knew they were very much in danger of being arrested for "public indecency" if they didn't get inside right now.

"Come on," he groaned, taking her hands and tugging her eagerly after him. Sybil giggled and then to his surprise, rushed past him, through the door and up the stairs, clearly showing no consideration for their neighbors. Not that he did either, as he quickly followed, his hands already going to his tie and collar buttons.

He tripped on the top step, but thankfully tumbled forward. He bit back a curse as his knees met the ground, but it didn't deter him from getting back on his feet and rushing to the door that led into their flat. Sybil was waiting for him and the second he was in sight, she reached out and grabbed him and pulled him in, the door slamming shut and his back making contact with it.

They kissed again, hard and hungry, moaning each other's names as their fingers clumsily attempted to unbutton and untuck the clothes which they wore.

"Just rip it," he growled as she seemed to be struggling with a few buttons on his shirt.

"I'm terrible at sewing, you know that," she giggled, and then laughed in triumph as she managed to loosen the buttons at last, before her hands grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and tugged it, hard, down his arms and off his body. "OH!" she gasped as he seized her once again, grabbing her about the waist, picking her up, her legs dangling and trying to wrap around him, as he carried her towards the bedroom, his mouth leaving a hot trail of kisses at her throat and collarbone.

It wasn't the most elegant of entrances; he winced and apologized when he ran Sybil's back into the doorway, though thankfully she just laughed and held his face, kissing him again as he stumbled towards the bed. The mattress springs protested at the rather hard topple, but again, they were too busy kissing and trying to divest what was left of their clothes to take notice.

Despite his urge for her to just rip the shirt from his body earlier, Sybil was a bit more impatient than himself. "Just…just push them aside," she moaned, when his hand moved beneath her skirt and made contact with her knickers. A tempting offer, he couldn't deny, and God, how desperately he wanted to be inside her and feel her all around him again; it may have only been a week, but even that had been far too long. Yet despite the urgent need and desire that had driven the both of them running back to the flat and tumbling into the bedroom, Tom wanted to savor this moment; he didn't want to rush and shove clothes aside for quick coupling, but…he wanted to peel what layers remained away, gaze upon her naked beauty and then make love to her slowly, reverently…as if it were once again, their first night.

And then there was "the other matter" as well.

His hands cupped her face and drew her back until he could look into her eyes. She seemed confused and opened her lips to say his name, but a moan came out instead as he drew her mouth to his, the kiss deep, but softer…slower…as if he were savoring the finest whiskey. "I love you…" he whispered against her lips, as his fingers gently pushed her blouse down and away from her body.

Sybil shivered, but he recognized that tremble and smiled as he felt her respond and press herself closer to him, her arms naked and free as they wove around his neck. Their lips met again, and as they kissed, he moved his hands to her back, running them up and down her spine, moaning at the softness of her skin before settling at the hooks of her brassiere. "God, I've missed touching you," he groaned, his lips moving down her jawline, nipping lightly at her neck as he drew the straps of her brassiere away.

"I've missed you touching me," she breathlessly answered, guiding his hands to her now naked breasts, both of them gasping with delight at the feel of her nipples hardening against his palms. He tenderly squeezed her breasts as their lips found each other again, their kisses beginning to grow intensity as her own hands began to squeeze and caress his shoulders, chest, the muscles on his arms, from bicep to forearm. Her nails dragged down flesh, scraping softly over his own nipples, then down his ribs and over his stomach, before settling at his waist and causing him to gasp when she brushed her fingers against the bulge in his trousers. Sybil giggled against his lips, before murmuring, "I've missed touching you, too."

He growled and grabbing her about the waist, rolled them over until she was on her back and he was looming over her, the yearning to go slow quickly dissipating. But as she gasped and arched her body against his, her hips rising and meeting his imprisoned erection, he remembered again the secret treasure she had brought home and revealed to him only hours earlier. "Where did you put them, love?"

She panted and looked up at him, sitting up slightly on her elbows. "Them?"

"The French letters you brought back."

Her face flooded with color, and her eyes lowered somewhat demurely, and for a moment he panicked that he had upset her by mentioning them, but that moment passed as a smile curled at the corner of her lips and she glanced towards the small wardrobe just beyond the bed, her nurse's apron hanging off one of the knobs. "In the pocket," she whispered, and he smiled at her beautiful bashfulness, leaned down and kissed her one more time, before rising and hurrying over to where she had indicated.

As he fetched the special envelopes, Sybil didn't sit and idly wait for him, but instead finished removing what was left of her clothing, discarding her skirt, slip, and kicking off her knickers, just as he turned back around. He stood and gazed at her beauty in the warm lamplight of the room, her stockings being all that remained.

Her fingers slid over the hem of one and he watched with darkening eyes as she slowly, painstakingly slid the fabric down, revealing the creamy skin of her thigh and calf. He had to bite back a curse as he watched her deliberately spread her legs, providing him more than a tantalizing glimpse of dark patch of curls between them, before proceeding to remove the remaining stocking.

His own hands fumbled with his belt as he continued to watch her, practically ripping his trousers open (he honestly wouldn't be surprised if a button or two had been lost) and pushing them down and away, along with his drawers, before he too was every bit as naked as she.

Sybil's eyes widened, her gaze floating from his face down to the place between his own legs, causing his ego to grow a few sizes, just like another portion of his anatomy. He moved towards her then, his hands gripping the mattress, crawling and prowling towards her like an animal preparing to pounce on its prey. She scooted further back onto the bed, her lips parting and her hand reaching towards him. "Tom…"

God help him, the way she said his name...

He groaned her own back, and reached for her, but before he could lower himself and taste her sweet lips again, her hands caught hold of his shoulders and much to his surprise, he felt her pushing against him. "Sybil?"

"I want to try something…"

He actually had to shake his head, to clear both his mind and his vision from the lust-filled haze that surrounded him.

"Please," she whispered, and he complied, easing away from her, though she never truly let go of his shoulders. Soon, he found their positions reversed, with him now lying on his back, and her, the one leaning over him. She continued to hold on to his shoulders, and then proceeded to run her hands over the muscles of his chest, similar to how she had explored him on their wedding, mapping out every inch of skin that she could. He groaned and let himself melt against her touch, gasping and hissing every so often when he felt her nails score his skin, before the soft pads of her fingers caressed his flesh.

He felt his breath hitch as her fingers moved lower, and lower, and he swallowed and told his body to relax and remain calm, though he wasn't sure if that would be possible, especially when every nerve-ending was on high alert after their week of abstinence.

"Where is it?" he heard her whisper, and he opened his eyes to look at her, confusion clouding his head again. Yet thankfully, she saw what it was she was looking for, and with a blushing smile, reached up and took the French letter from his hand, opening the envelope and removing the rubber from within…and then proceeding to frown as it dawned upon them both that she didn't have an idea on just how to put one on.

"Let me," he murmured, doing his best not to keep a look of indifference, when in truth it was tempting to chuckle at the beautiful pout she wore.

"Show me," she told him, her voice very matter-of-fact, with just a hint of aristocratic authority ("really, Branson, I thought I gave the orders?").

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, and trying to look and sound serious, proceeded to show her how such things were unraveled…pinching the tip of the rubber just so, and then proceeding (with rather inflamed cheeks) to ease the rubber down his cock until he was as "fully covered" as one could be with such things.

In some ways, it was rather hysterical, especially since Sybil had been watching him not so much with the eyes of a wife and lover, but more with the eyes of a nurse and medical student; he was halfway prepared for her to ask him to repeat the demonstration, before pulling out pen and paper and taking notes. But thankfully, that wasn't the case, and he a deep groan escaped his lungs as she reached forward with a curious hand, and proceeded to caress his cock, her fingers wrapping around him and sliding up and down his covered length in fascination.

"Easy, love," he gasped after several strokes. "I'm not going to last if you keep doing that."

She looked up at him…and then a bashful, and somewhat wicked smile spread across her face as she leaned in to kiss him, her hands moving to his shoulders once again, his own going to her waist…and then he gasped as he felt one silken thigh slide over and straddle his right hip, just as her other did the same with his left.

"I want to try something…"

He fell back against the pillows and looked up at her, love and lust clouding his eyes as he looked upon the goddess who hovered over him, and by the position of her body, was making it quite clear what it was exactly that she wanted to try.

"Is…is this alright?" she asked him, her voice a mixture of eagerness and timidity.

Nothing had happened yet, but his mind was already racing ahead with images of her straddling him, guiding him inside her, and then riding him—riding them both, to completion. The image itself nearly caused him to lose control, but he bit his lip and grunted, "yes!" before holding firm to her waist as the moist lips of her sex teased and brushed the tip of his cock. "Please," he groaned, his eyes holding hers and begging her to not torture either of them any longer. He needed her; he needed her so badly—

"Ffffffffffffffffuck," he swore, as she lowered herself over him, and took him into her body. God, even with the French letter, he could feel the heat, feel her slickness, and Christ, she was tight! Beautifully, wonderfully hot and tight as he remembered, and his head fell back further as she continued to take more and more of him in.

"Oooohhhhh God…" she groaned, and his eyes fluttered open and he looked up at her, concern seizing him for a moment at the possibility that he was causing her discomfort, but he soon saw, much like him, that it was quite the opposite.

Sybil gripped his arms, her fingers digging into the flesh as she settled her body over his, drawing him deeply into her from this new position. He wasn't sure what had led her to the desire to try this, but he was very glad that she wanted to! He looked at her, taking in everything about her, the way her muscles tensed as she adjusted to the sensation, to the way she bit her lower lip and squeezed her eyes shut, before letting out a pleasured gasp he felt his body quite literally "buried to the hilt" inside her.

He didn't dare look away, and his hands slid from her waist, seeking her own, groaning and smiling as he felt her fingers entwine and grip his, their palms pressing together and squeezing as they both adjusted and enjoyed the wonderful pleasure of being joined together once again.

"God, you're beautiful…" he breathlessly murmured, his heart soaring as she opened her eyes and looked back at him, her skin glowing, her cheeks pink, her hair tumbling down her shoulders and neck…

Was she real? Was it possible for someone so beautiful to be real? If she told him that she was the goddess Aphrodite, he'd believe her.

She smiled down at him and squeezed his hands, her fingers never loosening their grip. "So are you," she whispered, lowering her head then with the intention to kiss him, but the motion caused them both to gasp, and Tom felt his body tightening, demanding motion and friction, needing it desperately.

"Sybil…" he groaned, swallowing and squeezing her hands. "Ride me, love; please."

She blushed deeply at his request. "I..." she swallowed and looked down at their bodies. "I…I'm not sure—"

"Here…" he reluctantly released her hands and placed them on his chest, before placing his own on her hips. "Push against me," he told her, to which she nodded and did so…while gripping her hips, he rocked them back.

"OH!" Sybil gasped, her eyes wide and her mouth falling open at the sensation. Tom groaned and gasped as well, swearing softly under his breath, his body thrusting upwards with a need for more. It felt different to the other times he and Sybil had made love, and if it were possible, it felt even better.

"Like that," he said through gritted teeth, holding on to what he could of his control and his sanity. "Just…rock and ride me, love…do what feels good; you set the pace, you set the rhythm," he explained, hoping and praying she would do something soon, as he felt ready to explode at any second.

She pushed against his chest again, and he responded, moving with her and gasping again at the sensation of slipping even deeper inside her. He couldn't help but respond with thrusts of his own, but he did his best in trying to hold himself back from making her move as he wanted her to, because it thrilled him even more that she was in control, setting the pace and moving the both of them as she wished.

It was a bit clumsy at first, but it didn't take long before she did find a rhythm, and he happily followed it, groaning her name as they made love, delighting in the feel of her thighs squeezing his own hips while he looked up at her, watching her hair tumble and roll over and down her shoulders with every motion, her head tilted back in pleasure, her lips parting and gasping, and her breasts beautifully bouncing. He couldn't help himself, his hands moved from her hips to cup the soft, full mounds, grinning as she whimpered in pleasure at the feel, before lifting her own hands to cover his, pressing them against her breasts, even squeezing them with him.

"That's it, love," he grunted, his body thrusting up in time with her movements. "Keep going…keep going…" he panted, sweat pooling in the center of his chest.

"Tom…Tom…" she gasped, her pace quickening even more, become rather wild and erratic, but he wouldn't dream of stopping her, not now, not when he could see the beautiful pleasure on her face as she sought their completion. He was close—very close, but he held himself back as best he could, gritting his teeth and releasing one of her breasts, his hand falling to the space where their bodies were joined, grinning to himself as he moved his fingers to her nest of curls, finding the sweet bud hidden there and circling the pad of his thumb against it.

"TOM!" she screamed at the sensation, and he continued to circle and place even more pressure on her clit, something that this position made easier for him to do.

"Come for me, Sybil, please…please come for me," he begged, his own orgasm gripping and taking him as he spoke. "I love you…oh Christ, Sybil—SYBIL!"

"TOM!" she cried his name again, and trembled as her own pleasure finally seized and carried her away, with him alongside her.

She still kept moving, though there was no even rhythm to whatever pace she was following now. He held her, his hands now rising and moving under her arms and cupping her shoulders, drawing her down to him, needing to kiss her, needing to kiss her so desperately. "Sybil…" he panted her name, and she seemed to understand, because her hands found his face, cradling his cheeks as she kissed him deeply.

He held her, close and tight, his hands moving up and down her back as they continued to kiss. That was the best, he found himself thinking—though he had a feeling that every time with her would always be "the best". Sybil's lips fell to his chin, and then began to kiss his jaw while her body collapsed against his, their hearts still beating quickly.

"Why…?" he heard her murmur when their breathing seemed to resemble something of "normality".

"Why?" he repeated, his lips grazing the top of her head.

"Why…why did we wait so long?"

A very interesting question, simply because it could mean a great number of things. "Why did they wait so long to make love like that?" he asked her, a cheeky grin spreading across his face.

Sybil lifted her head and fixed him with a look. "If I had the strength, I would swat you," she muttered, which naturally earned a laugh from him.

"Beggin' your pardon, milady—ow," he chuckled, at her somewhat pathetic attempt.

Sybil did giggle herself and set her chin on his chest, her fingers now rising to run through his hair and sift and play with the fringe. "Why did we wait so long to…to make things right again?"

Ah, so that's what this was about. He sighed, his fingers now tracing nonsensical patterns across her back. "We're stubborn characters, for one," he began. "And…to be fair, love, you did say you were on your cycle last week."

She blushed but nodded her head, though he could tell she was still troubled. She lifted her eyes to his then and he saw the concern in their blue-gray depths. "This is more my fault than—"

"Hey," he gently interrupted, shaking his head. "You've made your apology already, you've explained yourself, you don't need to do it again, and you certainly shouldn't continuing to 'blame yourself', especially when I'm every bit as guilty with my 'standoffish' behavior last week."

She looked down at the hairs matted at the center of his chest, and one of her hands drifted down to run her fingers through them. "I suppose you could say that both of us 'were not at our best' then," she murmured, which despite the memory of those words, did bring a small smile to his face.

"Aye, you could say that," he agreed. He watched her as she played with the hairs on his chest, tangling her fingers there for a moment, before drifting her hand over his murmuring heart and caressing the skin above it. "We're not perfect, Sybil," he spoke again after a moment. "We're human; we will 'stumble' now and then." He lifted a hand then to her chin and encouraged her lift her eyes and look back at him. "But…we'll help each other back up…and find our balance…and grow stronger and closer as a result."

She looked at him…and then a smile spread across her face, and then she narrowed her eyes and said, "Sean said that, didn't he."

Tom couldn't help but laugh at her accusation. "What, can't your husband dispense 'words of wisdom' too?"

She arched a brow.

"Alright, yes, he did say something similar to that," he confessed. Maybe Sean should have been the writer?

Sybil's hand on his cheek kept him from wincing at his own self-quip. "I love you," she whispered, smiling down at him and leaning closer, her lips brushing his with the most feather-like touch. "And I'm still betting on you—always."

God, she had a gift for reading his thoughts, didn't she? And she never doubted his abilities or ambitions, whatever they may be. Never.

He took her hand—her left hand, and ran his thumb over her wedding ring. "For better or for worse…" he sighed, looking back at her.

She smiled and brushed her lips against his again. "And we'll always make the 'worse', better."

"Well, if tonight was an indication of that—ow."

He growled then and Sybil squealed as he rolled them over, pinning her down beneath him before kissing her hard and leaving her gasping. "Now…what was that vow you 'refused' to say? 'Love, honor, cherish, obey'…"

Her laughter soon became moans of pleasure, and his own voice followed likewise as they proceeded to make up for lost time.

They both knew this wouldn't be the last time they would argue and misunderstand each other. After all, with "the worse" did go alongside "the better". And as Tom had said, they were both strong and stubborn characters, stubborn to a fault at times, and no, indeed, they were not "perfect".

But they were perfect for each other.