Making love hadn’t quite been what she’d expected. Though she wasn’t quite sure what she expected. She wasn’t ignorant to the mechanics of the act, having gained plenty of insight from her years as a nurse, but she’d never quite been able to imagine what it would actually be like, feel like, to be so exposed, so consumed. The first time had been…awkward. Tom was so concerned with ensuring she was alright and she wasn’t certain what “alright” was suppose to feel like; it left them both hesitant and shy until Tom’s soft touch tickled the skin behind her knee, causing a giggle of surprise to escape her lips. He’d froze, eyes wide, until the pinked skin of his shoulders began to shake and together they laughed, breaking the spell of uncertainty. It had taken practice, patience, humor and deep love, but soon making love, exploring the intimate connection of body and heart, to worship and be worshiped, was the final piece to fall into place that forever transformed Lady Sybil Crawley into Mrs.Sybil Branson. To feel so free and so empowered, to give and receive such pleasure with her best friend, her lover, her husband, made it impossible to ever regret her choice.
She never knew the beauty of another person’s body; the slope of shoulders, the rough skin of elbows, the curve of the neck, the power of thighs, it all seemed so ordinary on anyone else, but not on her husband. Each line, scar, blemish, was a part of him, of his story, and she couldn’t get enough.
She couldn’t get enough of gazing into his eyes, seeing the same love, devotion, and fascination reflected back as they joined so intimately, moved together, in a world entirely of their own creation, to be so completely and utterly uninhibited, bound together so entirely allowing for the ultimate release: freedom.