Sorry for the delay with this one. We have one more chapter left after this! But until we reach the end, here's the essence of mimijag's prompt, set on the night before Tom goes to war. And in case you're wondering...this chapter is rated M ;o)

Chapter Eight

Silence filled the space between them.

They had both stopped walking (nothing seemed to have changed around them; they were still in that foggy, muddy trench), and Tom turned his eyes at last to William, to gage his reaction to his revelation of just how exactly he had come to be here. "Now you know…" he murmured at last, to which William nodded, his expression unreadable.

"Indeed I do," his friend replied. "And now I understand why you told me this story in the manner that you did, starting with that last Servant's Ball where you and Lady Sybil stole a dance…the two of you growing closer, eventually admitting your love for her to yourself, before confessing it out loud to her…and she returning it."

"And receiving my summons…asking her to marry me…being caught kissing her and thrown into prison," Tom continued, his tone cold and his eyes growing sadder with each passing word.

"And being offered a choice," William concluded, though at this, Tom snorted.

"What choice? There was no 'choice', not really; I could either stay in prison and be separated from her for the rest of my life…or go to war and be separated from her for all eternity." Which is what had happened, he bitterly thought. Oh God…would they tell her? How was Sybil to know? He could see Lord Grantham keeping such news from her; perhaps creating a lie that he had left her, either found another woman to warm his bed, or had abandoned her completely for a new life without her. Though Sybil would know better, surely? She would not give him up, she had told him she wouldn't, she had told him how valiantly she fought against her father, how she shamed him for what he did.

But who would tell her? Would she be left to learn the sad truth on her own? That thought broke his heart more than any other; Sybil waiting for him to return…forced to search for the truth when no one else would tell her…and then facing her grief completely on her own, without family to support her when she needed it most. Damn Robert Crawley, Tom bitterly thought.

"What happened after you agreed to his Lordship's offer?" William asked, breaking through Tom's thoughts.

Tom sighed, his mind going back to that night once again. "The next day I went straight to medical; then a car took me directly to Richmond, driven by someone I didn't know, and who refused to answer any questions I had about Sybil."

William's eyes widened at that. "So you didn't see her before you left Downton?"

Tom shook his head. "No…though I kept hoping she would come. I stayed awake that entire night, hoping and praying she would come bursting in, that she had somehow managed to escape Downton. And when I was taken for my medical, I kept looking around, my heart racing at every nurse that passed, hoping one of them was her…" he let out a long, weary sigh. "But Lord Grantham was sure to keep us separated, I have no doubt. I feared that maybe he hadn't told her what had happened to me, that maybe she thought I had gone back to Ireland without saying anything to her, or that…or that his Lordship had 'paid me off' to leave them alone."

"But you must have seen her," William insisted. "Earlier you said that the last time you had seen her was February…yes?"

February. Tom's face burned hotly at that particular memory. "Aye," he whispered. "We did see each other…just before I left," he explained. On the night before I was shipped off.

William smiled at this revelation, though he also looked a bit hesitant. "Was this also the first time the two of you had seen each other since you left for Richmond?"

Tom nodded. He had spent a month and a half in his training; the army was eager to send all of their newest recruits to the front lines as soon as possible. And unlike most of the lads with whom he trained with (boys, really, who didn't have a great deal of experience when it came to loading and reloading guns by themselves) he was pushed to the front of his group, which meant they could send him sooner rather than later.

"How did that happen?" William asked, sitting down on a stone that just seemed to appear out of the fog. "She must have come to you in Richmond; after everything you told me, I can't imagine his Lordship letting you back at Downton."

Tom did chuckle at that…before his face softened at the memory of the last time he had seen Sybil.

…The last time he would ever see Sybil.

"She did come to Richmond," Tom whispered, his eyes looking off into the distance as the memory painted itself to life before his eyes. "It was a complete surprise too…"

A complete and wonderful surprise…

February, 1917
Richmond

Tom entered the pub, his eyes wide and desperate as he looked around. The place was crowded, most of the patrons being soldiers like himself, men in uniform, some of whom would be leaving tomorrow like him; leaving for France and quite possibly, never returning.

Why had his mother asked him to meet her here? Why had his mother come at all? It was a complete shock when the telegram arrived that afternoon.

Mrs. Branson is at The Knight's Heart [STOP]
Will wait for you to meet her [STOP]

He couldn't believe it; his mother was here, in England, in RICHMOND! How had she gotten the money to travel? And why hadn't she told him in her last letter that she was coming? His mother was devastated when she learned he would be fighting in the War. He had told her, and the rest of his family, that he had received his summons and there was no way to avoid it; he'd have to go. He had failed to mention that he had been "bribed" in a manner of speaking, by his former employer to join and fight. Was that why his mother was there? Had she somehow learned the truth?

Tom made his way through the crowd to the bar, where a barman busily poured drinks for a group of soldiers who were looking for some liquid courage before heading to the abyss. "Excuse me!" he called out to the barman. "Has there been a woman here? A Mrs. Branson?"

The barman looked confused by Tom's question, but upon hearing the name, his eyes widened in recognition. "Oh yes! Yes, she's been waiting for you since half-past four."

Oh God, his mother had been sitting here for that long?

"She's…ah! She's just over there," the barman pointed to a corner at the far end, a corner near the fireplace. Tom turned and peered through the crowd, thanking the barman before moving through it, trying to catch a glimpse of her.

…But it was his mother that he saw when he approached. And he thought his knees might buckle beneath him when his eyes rested upon her beautiful face.

"S-S-Sybil?" he stammered in disbelief.

She blushed and rose to her feet from the corner which she occupied. "I went ahead and ordered you a pint of Guinness," she told him, glancing at the glass beside her. "Though that was well over an hour ago…I'm not sure if it's any good," she sheepishly murmured.

He honestly couldn't care less about the Guinness. In two strides he was by her side, his arms wrapped tightly around her, lifting her off the ground and burying his face upon that place where her neck and shoulder met.

She was here. Sybil was here! This wasn't a dream, this was very real, and God, how he had missed her!

Sybil happily clutched him, her arms tightening around him, one of her hands rising up to cradle the back of his head, her fingers threading through the cropped strands of his hair. "They've cut your hair," she murmured, and then she was grasping his shoulders, pushing him away just slightly so she could look at him. "You're bigger…" she observed, which made them both blush. He was always "stocky", as his mother called him; broad and muscular, something he had inherited from his grandfather who came from cow-rearing folk. But since his training, it was true, his muscles had gotten bigger, and he bit back the pleasured groan that threatened to escape at the feel of his beloved's fingers falling down his arms and unconsciously (or perhaps quite consciously) squeezing and caressing the muscles beneath his shirt.

She bit her lip and looked up at him. "Forgive me for saying this, but…you do look rather fetching in your uniform."

Tom blinked…and then found himself laughing at her words, before taking her face in his hands and finally ending their torment and bringing their lips together at last. The kiss was long, deep, and sweet. Time did seem to slow, and the world around them did seem to fade away, even after their lips parted so that they could breathe and look at each other once again.

"Mmmm…" Sybil practically purred. "I've missed kissing you…" She closed her eyes and tilted her face up, eagerly wanting another and he would have given it to her gladly, but there were questions that needed to be answered, and so he resisted the temptation and stroked her cheeks with his fingers until her eyes fluttered open and she was looking at him again.

"How did you get here? And that was you who sent the telegram, yes? I mean…you're 'Mrs. Branson', I'm not going to turn around and find that my mother is here too, am I?"

Despite all of his questions, Sybil did smile. "Yes, I did send the telegram, and since I am going to be 'Mrs. Branson' someday, I thought it appropriate to call myself so—not to mention it will raise fewer eyebrows than calling myself 'Lady Sybil Crawley'." Her smile faded then and she looked deeply apologetic. "I'm sorry though for tricking you and making you think your mother is here."

While he did desperately miss his family, he wasn't going to waste his time and energy on being melancholy, not when she was here.

"And as for me getting here…" she chewed on her bottom lip in a manner of one who looked a bit guilty. "No doubt by now Mama and Papa will have received a telephone call from Aunt Rosamond, expressing her sympathy for my illness which has kept me from coming to London at the last minute to visit with her, which will confuse them because as far as they know, I am in London right now, having seen me leave for the station this morning."

Tom blinked for several seconds as he took in everything she was saying. "But…but how did you know I would still be here?"

She waved a hand in the air rather dismissively. "That was the easiest part, actually. Dr. Clarkson has a record of all the soldiers who come from Downton; I simply telephoned and explained that I was a nurse from the hospital here, and needed some information for your records, and that was how I learned when you would be leaving, most likely."

She made it all sound so…natural. Clearly this was not something she thought on a whim.

To say he was impressed would be an understatement. Impressed…and rather humbled by the work she had put in to arrange this meeting.

"…I still don't care for deceit," Sybil murmured to herself, her expression changing to one of sadness. "But after what Papa has done…I don't really feel guilty about it anymore."

Her tone was harsh and bitter, especially at the mention of her father. Tom sighed and wrapped his arms a little bit tighter, wishing despite his own anger and bitterness towards the man, Sybil could be spared of such feelings. "So he told you then?" he asked her. "Told you that I had joined the army?"

Sybil sighed and leaned forward to rest her head against his shoulder. "He did, though not entirely at first. He told me that you had chosen to do 'the honorable thing' which was answer your summons to fight for 'king and country', when I knew that was utter nonsense, so I pressed further, and finally…perhaps out of irritation by my persistence, he revealed that you had given him a choice: rot in prison or go to war." He felt her body tense as she spoke, and she lifted her head and looked back at him with what he could only conclude was a bit of anger at him. "Why, Tom? WHY did you agree to do it? You said to me that night that you'd rather go to prison than fight in this war!?"

"I know," he sighed. "But…keep in mind that was when I thought I would only be dealing with the British government and not your father." Yet it was clear to him that Lord Grantham had left out a very vital piece of information. "I don't suppose your father told you that he and I struck a deal?"

Her brow furrowed at his question. "Deal? What deal?"

Just as he had suspected. Thank God Sybil did go to all this trouble; otherwise they wouldn't be having this conversation where he would reveal to her his sole reason for agreeing to do go through all this.

"Your father said that if I did this…answer my summons and go and fight…should I survive, he'd not stand in our way."

It was Sybil's turn to blink in surprise. "W-w-what?"

"He'd not stop us; he would grant the permission needed if it was needed," he explained, specifically thinking about the fact that Sybil wasn't quite yet twenty-one. However, depending on how much longer this war lasted, that wouldn't be an issue after this summer. "And I had him swear it to me, Sybil, to give me his word. I even called a guard to witness it."

She seemed to have gone numb at this revelation, and Tom inwardly cursed himself for his short-sightedness. He thought the news might make her happy, to know there was a positive outcome, but instead, Sybil whispered with a trembling lip, "This is all my fault."

Tom's eyes widened and he quickly began to shake his head. "No, love, no, this isn't your fault—"

"It is!" Sybil insisted, tears beginning to fall down her cheeks. "Because of me, you're being forced to go and fight in a war you don't support, for a cause you don't believe!"

"I made that decision, Sybil, not you—you didn't force me to do anything; I chose to do this."

Sybil snorted at that. "Life in prison or risking your life on the battlefield…I don't call that much of a choice," she muttered in disgust.

Nor did he, if he were honest with himself. But he was trying to find something positive in the midst of this nightmare, on his last night before he was to be taken to the gates of hell.

"I'll never forgive him for this…" Sybil's voice echoed after a moment, despite the growing noise in the pub around them.

Tom closed his eyes and sighed, wishing more than ever he could somehow heal this rift for her, but as much as he wished it, he knew it wasn't for him to do. Robert Crawley held all the cards in that front, he had the power to accept his daughter's choices, including her choice to love and marry the Downton chauffeur if she so wished. A part of him regretted in telling her this, but better that she know, he thought, especially since she was being purposefully left in the dark about the possibility that they could be together without further issue…

If he survived.

You have to survive, a voice screamed inside him. You have to!

"You must come back to me," Sybil's voice echoed that one he heard screaming, and Tom looked down at her, her eyes wide and desperate and looking deeply into his, pleading as she clutched the collar of his uniform. "I know one shouldn't make promises about such things, but I don't care—promise me you'll come back, promise me that you'll survive and return? Please?"

As if he could deny her. "Oh my darlin'," he groaned, his heart heavy and his accent thick with emotion. He nodded his head, not trusting his voice right now, but silently vowed to her that he would do everything he could to make it through this, while at the same time praying that the war be over before he even arrived.

They held each other tightly then, their faces buried against each other's necks, their tears wetting the other's skin. Tom felt her lips nuzzle his neck, and likewise, his did the same. Eventually their mouths found each other at last, and both of them shared a deep, hungry kiss, their passions swelling and boiling and threatening to overflow.

"…I have a room," Sybil gasped when their lips parted so they could breathe. Tom's brow was resting against hers, but he lifted his head to look down at her, to make sure he hadn't misheard her.

"I have a room," she repeated. "Here, over the pub. I even registered myself as 'Mrs. Branson'."

Tom swallowed, his body trembling at what she was implying.

"When do you need to be back?" she asked him, glancing towards the pub at all the soldiers who were buying drinks to "celebrate" their last night in England.

He sucked in a breath. She was implying what he thought. "Love, we don't have—"

"Even before you told me about what Papa promised you, I had already made this decision," she told him, her fingers holding fast to the lapels of his shirt. "Please, Tom? Please…stay with me tonight?"

Oh God, as if he could refuse that plea? As if he wanted to? And while staying with her didn't mean that had to happen…he swallowed the somewhat nervous lump in his throat, knowing that indeed it would.

"Lead the way then, Mrs. Branson," was his answer, which did bring a smile to her face, and thus lifted his spirits, despite his initial nervousness at what lay ahead for them.

She grinned and leaned up on her toes to kiss him, before grabbing his hand, turning, and leading him away from the floor of the busy pub, leading him towards a staircase near the back that led to the rooms overhead. They both blushed as they passed a few of those rooms, the walls thin, thus revealing what was happening on the other side. Yet their steps seemed to quicken then, an eagerness filling them, and finally they reached the room which Sybil had purchased, and after fumbling with her key (he didn't help when he wrapped his arms around her, his hands caressing her waist, while his lips caressed her neck) they both stumbled inside, the door locking quickly, and Tom soon found himself pushed against it, Sybil's lips once again against his, kissing him deeply and desperately, while at the same time, tugging at the buttons of his uniform.

In his mind, he had imagined this moment countless times. Usually when he imagined it, they were both dressed quite differently; he in a good suit, her in a stunning white gown, her veil long since forgotten, lying on the floor. But there were times when he imagined the two of them like this in his cottage at Downton, or in the garage, or even sometimes in the backseat of the Renault, parked on some lonely country road that no other car passed.

He had never imagined it with him dressed like a soldier, in some pub in Richmond, on the night before he was to be shipped off to France. But no matter the setting, he was determined to be gentle, to be caring, to make this enjoyable for the both of them (please God, don't let me muck this up!)

His own hands were behind her, his left wandering up and down her spine, clutching at the fabric of her blouse, before moving down and cupping her rump, earning a delighted gasp from her lips. His right hand cradled her head, his fingers threading through her curls, freeing several from the simple bun she made (she was proud of the fact that she could dress herself and put up her own hair). Suddenly in that moment, he longed more than anything to see her hair, wild and free, flowing down and over her shoulders. She giggled against his lips as he brought his other hand up to carefully take her bun apart, more pins falling to the ground than anywhere else, but if Sybil cared, she didn't say anything.

Finally, she eased her face away from his and gave her head a shake, and his breath caught in his throat at the beautiful sight of the dark waves cascading down. He groaned and threaded his fingers through the rich mahogany curls, before covering her lips with his again, his tongue sliding and curling against hers, his body rocking against hers as she pressed herself against him. "Tom…" she moaned as his lips began to descend down her jaw, smiling at the gasp she made when he caught her earlobe. "Tom, please…"

His fingers were on the move again, sliding down her body once more and pulling at her blouse, untucking it from her skirt, just as her own fingers had managed to slip inside the shirt of his uniform, before running along the seams of his undershirt beneath.

She was attempting to push his unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders, just as his fingers came around to the front of her blouse. He stilled when he reached her collar, her breasts rising and falling in anticipation. "Yes…" she whispered against his lips. He lifted his head and looked down at her, her beautiful blue-gray eyes glazed with love and passion. "Yes, you can touch me…"

The groan that rose up from his throat at her invitation was lost in the moan that escaped her lips when his right hand slipped from the buttons to cup left breast.

Sybil bit her lip and practically purred as he gave her breast a light squeeze. She's not wearing a corset, he happily realized, as he felt her nipple harden against his palm, despite the fabric that separated them. Now he was especially eager to remove her blouse! Though he was stopped short of proceeding (just momentarily) as Sybil pushed his shirt down and off his arms, leaving him in just a fitted undershirt.

Was it his imagination? Or did her eyes widen with pleasure at the sight of his exposed arms. She started to tug at his undershirt, clearly wanting to remove it, but it was his turn now; he needed to get her blouse off. So with somewhat clumsy fingers, he tugged at the buttons (losing at least two in the process), Sybil's own fingers rising to help him with the last few, and then finally, pulling the blouse away, leaving her in what he would forever think as a "most delightful undergarment".

"It's a brassiere," she explained with a deep blush, but also a beautiful smile.

He chuckled and nodded his head. "It suits you," he murmured, his eyes looking lovingly into hers, before drifting down to her new brassiere, and feeling himself harden even further at the tempting sight that waited before him.

With a blush, Sybil turned around until her back was to him. "It unhooks here," she explained, and Tom wasted no time in taking hold of the tiny hooks and loosening them, his fingers pausing to run over the creamy skin of her back (so soft), before holding his breath as she bashfully slid the straps down her shoulders…before turning and facing him once again.

She didn't cover herself. In truth, she looked rather proud to be standing before him like this. And while his eyes did widen and his mouth fall open at the beautiful and erotic sight of her bare-breasted, he couldn't help but smile tenderly at her, his eyes meeting hers again and just…feeling overwhelmed by the love he saw reflected back at him.

He pulled his undershirt up and over his head, and now they were both naked from the waist up. Tom moved first, his hands sliding around her waist, groaning at the wonderful feel of her skin beneath his fingers, before pulling her flush against him, smiling at the gasp that escaped her lips as the hairs on his chest tickled her nipples. He closed his eyes and savored the feel of her, then tilted her head back to kiss her again, groaning against her mouth as their tongues "fought" for dominance, both of them submitting to the other, their hands clumsily running over their exposed backs and chests, while stumbling further into the room until the backs of his knees hit the bed, and he happily collapsed upon it, taking Sybil with him.

She now lay atop him, and they laughed while they continued to kiss…until the laughter became moans as Tom rolled them over, his mouth moving down her throat, kissing her shoulders, moving lower, hearing as well as feeling her heartbeat quicken as he kissed the swell of her breast.

"Tom!" she gasped when his lips closed over a nipple, his tongue circling it before drawing it into his mouth and softly sucking it. He glanced up at her and smiled, glad to see she was enjoying the sensation as much as he loved doing it. He continued pleasuring her breast, before moving to the other, his actions a little rougher as he took that nipple into his mouth, his suckling more ravenous than gentle, but Sybil's fingers raked through his hair and held him to her breast, whimpering how good it felt while her hips seemed to be moving on instinct, rocking against him as if in search for something.

His own were doing the same thing, though he knew exactly what he was in search of.

He kissed down the slopes of her breasts, down her stomach, while his fingers moved under her skirt, sliding along her stockings and going higher and higher, groaning at the feel of her thighs and the heat he could feel radiating from between her legs.

Sybil's breath hitched as the pad of his thumb ran over the fabric of her knickers. God, she's so wet, he groaned to himself. He wanted to join her, to make their bodies one so badly, but more than that, he wanted to give her pleasure, he wanted her to find her release before he found his, so without even undoing her skirt, he grabbed hold of her knickers and managed to wriggle them down, while pushing her skirt up, gasping as he finally laid eyes on the beautiful sight of her exposed flesh.

Sybil blushed and wriggled a bit, knowing he could see all of her. He felt her tense just slightly, but she relaxed (to a point) as he kissed the inside of her thigh. He had heard stories of men pleasuring women with their mouths, though he had never done so. But with Sybil, he found himself to be quite eager, and so tentatively at first, he kissed down her leg, moving closer and closer to her core, before letting his lips graze the flesh of her outer lips, smiling at her gasp, before nuzzling closer and dipping his tongue to taste her.

God, what a feast! Nothing in this world or the next could taste as sweet. He groaned and began to make love to her with his mouth, his tongue licking and thrusting through her delicious pink folds, before moving up and circling the swollen bud of her clitoris, the action causing her hips to thrust upward and a cry to burst from her throat. He wanted more, so moved closer, his hands gripping her hips and encouraging her legs to spread further, placing them on either of his shoulders, and he hummed and groaned into her body, sending shivers through her that also ran down his spine in delight at the pleasure he knew he was giving her based on the sounds she was making.

"Oooohhh God, Tom! TOM!" she gasped, one hand falling to his head and threading her fingers in his hair, as if trying to hold him in place.

He groaned her name against her flesh, and then slid a hand between her legs, surprising her as he thrust a finger inside her…and then added a second, pumping rhythmically in an effort to prepare her for later. His lips settled over her clit, his fingers thrusting harder and faster, and he smiled to himself as he felt her tremble and heard her cry, and then tasted her orgasm as it swept over and through her. He stayed there, between her legs, his licks and kisses gentler, but he did not move until her breathing seemed to have calmed.

"Tom…" she moaned for him, and he kissed up her body, smiling at the blush on her face and the bashful yet loving look in her eyes. "I…I've never…" she tried to explain but she didn't have to. He was so happy he could do that for her, and hoped before the night was over, he could pleasure again and again.

She grasped his head then and drew him back down to her, kissing him passionately and robbing him of breath. Instead of tiring her, he seemed to have awakened a sleeping dragon, which was a perfect description as she was all fire, and her hands were clawing at his back and what was left of his clothing.

"Christ!" he swore, when her hand, which had meant to be undoing his belt, dipped beneath his trousers and cupped his cock which was screaming for freedom at this point.

"Oooohhh my," Sybil gasped, grinning as she ran her fingers over his length. She was anything but shy, and God he loved her for it. "Mmmm…your muscles aren't the only thing that appear to have gotten bigger," she saucily flirted, which earned a groan and a gasp as she gave his flesh a squeeze. He grasped her wrist, not wanting to "finish" before they had gotten started, and leaned away just long enough to finish undoing his belt and shoving his trousers and drawers down his legs, while Sybil sat up just long enough to finish removing her skirt, though her stockings remained.

They collapsed together onto the bed, her legs seeming to know what to do as they moved to wrap around his body. He held her hip and his hand slid down her thigh, caressing and squeezing the flesh while his other hand took hold of his cock and ran it along the slick lips of her core, groaning at the feel of her.

"Wait!" Sybil gasped, causing him to freeze. Had she changed her mind?

She scrambled out from beneath him and he watched with confused eyes as she hurried across the room to her suitcase and fumbled through it…before grabbing a box and withdrawing a small envelope and bringing both back to bed.

He opened his mouth to ask what she was doing, but instead he gasped as she once again, without warning, took hold of him in her hand, caressing him as she handed him the tiny envelope. "French letters," she explained, blushing but smiling. "The hospital had a supply."

He swallowed and bit back his groan as he tried to concentrate on what she was telling him. "Smart," he panted, opening the envelope. He'd not deny either of them this night together, but he would not expose her to humiliation and ridicule by leaving her with child, especially if he didn't come back.

Sybil "helped" him slide the rubber on, though her "help" nearly caused him to spend before it was secure, and now that he...that they both were ready…they looked at each other…naked and trembling and lying together on a small bed, ready to cross that last bridge over the Rubicon.

"I love you…" Sybil whispered, breaking the silence at last.

He smiled back at her, and cupped her face. "Is brea liom tu," he whispered in return.

There were tears in her eyes, but he was glad to know they were tears of joy. "Make love to me, Tom; please? Please make love to me—"

He silenced her pleas with his lips, kissing her and rolling over her again, bringing his cock to her core once again, and while kissing her, joined his body at last with hers, earning a gasp and groan from both of them.

God help him, she was tight! But she felt wonderful and he thought he might cry at how good it felt. He looked down at her with concern, his lips kissing her cheeks, her eyes, her brow, hoping to soothe away any discomfort she was feeling. "Am I hurting you?" he asked. "I'll stop—"

"No!" she clutched him even tighter. "No, I'm fine…you're just…bigger than I expected," she explained, blushing deeply. "But please don't stop?"

He shook his head and kissed her again, softer, letting his lips linger, while he began to thrust his body in and out of hers, the rhythm slow at first, helping her adjust to the feel of him (and helping him from losing himself completely, which was proving to be a Herculean effort), but then h felt a hand cupping his arse and squeezing him, while her legs, which were already wrapped around his waist, tightened even more. "Mmmmm…more, Tom, please?"

"Does it…does it feel good?" he asked her, reading her face as he continued to move, and quicken his pace.

She nodded, gasping as he rolled his hips slightly. "Ooohhh yes, yes it does!"

He laughed and bent his head to kiss her, repeating the action and deepening his thrusts, his own hands falling down her body and cupping her backside, pulling her even closer as their bodies continued to rock. He was getting closer, but he didn't want to come without her. Sybil gasped as he brought their bodies up, leaning back on his haunches and she practically sitting up. He wriggled a hand between them then and found her clit and began worrying it in earnest while his lips kissed and sucked at her pulse point, his thrusts becoming more and more erratic. Come for me, darling, please, he silently begged.

"TOM!" she threw head back and screamed his name for all the world to hear, giving those couples from the other rooms a run for their money, and he gasped and felt himself go rigid as her body squeezed him while she shook with pleasure.

"SYBIL!" he grunted. "God, so good, Sybil, SO GOOD!"

He clung to her as the waves of his own orgasm claimed and crashed over him, before taking him back out to sea to drown in the love of his beautiful siren. They both held each other tightly, moaning the other's name, often paired with the Almighty's, while kissing whatever skin was exposed for their lips to kiss. And even after the last of the tremors left them, they still held each other tightly, committing this moment to memory.

She was murmuring something against his shoulder and Tom lifted his head, "what did you say love?"

She tilted her face back and he saw tears in her eyes, and for a moment he panicked, thinking he had hurt her, but then he saw the smile and knew again, that these weren't tears of pain or sadness, but pure love and joy over what they had shared together. Though her face did grow serious again as she repeated to him what he heard her mumble.

"Now you must come back," she repeated. "I refuse to be a widow before I am a bride."

A bride who had just experienced her wedding night before their wedding. At least that was how it felt to him. "I will," he vowed, lacing their hands together and bringing her fingers to his lips, kissing the place where one day her wedding ring would rest. "I will."

She nodded her head, and then pulled him back to her, kissing him again until their bodies began to tingle with the desire for more. He had never rallied so quickly with the lovers of his past, but then perhaps that was simply because those lovers weren't Sybil?

"Do you have any more?" he asked her, and she grinned, knowing exactly what he meant.

"There are nineteen left," she answered, glancing at the box which was lying somewhat haphazardly on the bedside table.

Tom swore under his breath, earning a giggle from his beloved. "Well, we best get started then," he chuckled, reaching for the very box. He'd sleep on the boat tomorrow.

To be concluded...