Be Mine - Thomas Sharpe X Reader (Erotica)

The Fear

Nothing too untoward happens on the journey back to the Inn.
Undeniably, kissing a man who isn't your betrothed is considered scandalous behaviour in polite Victorian society, and kissing them passionately is even more so.

But compared to the sinful shenanigans of last night, the passionate clinch in the carriage is relatively tame.
Although the Baronet's curious hands wander from my waist, tracing the curve of my hips, then exploring the soft swell of my breasts, is tantalising, he doesn't touch me beneath my clothing this time. Neither do his beautiful, pillowy-lips make contact with any other part of my body.

I feel he's restraining himself, holding himself back because he's mindful of taking advantage of me. I'm both flattered and grateful that he's so respectful, but I can't deny he's so irresistible that this newly-awoken harlot in me wants him to!
His good manners are a refreshing change. Not once has he spoken down to me or made me feel like an object or possession.
I'm not exactly a high-bred lady, but I've never behaved unladylike.
Well, that is until now.

I've been kissed twice before, both times by village boys my age.
On each separate occasion I'd been hesitant, but felt I should to put an end to my friends teasing me for being a prude.
The first time was so bad it almost put me off ever wanting to do it again. The second time wasn't much better.
However, Sir Thomas' kisses are sweet and powerful. Playful but fierce. Not wet and weak, the kind that make you have to wipe your mouth afterwards with the back of your hand.
His sensuous lips light a fire in the pit of my belly, and make me tremble all over.

He's a true gentleman and that much is obvious. Even though we've done questionable things, each time he seems almost embarrassed by his loss of control. He's boyish and shy to some extent, in spite of being every inch all man.
But I can sense a simmering tension that he keeps suppressed.
I would actually quite like him to completely let go, and forget about what is deemed socially acceptable. Yet I confess, I think it would be a bit terrifying.
Terrifying because I'm still so naive and innocent.

When we were kissing in the carriage, his elegant hands caressing me with amorous enthusiasm, he moved his solid, warm body against mine lasciviously.
Twisting his dark locks between my fingers, I arched my back off the velveteen seat, bringing my hips up to meet his. Wriggling closer still....Yearning for him to sink something else into me other than just his tongue.
And that's when I felt the distinct, hardening bulge through his trousers. That steely, masculine column between his legs. To my chagrin, it startled me. Once my fevered mind registered what it was I was actually feeling, straining beneath the fabric of his trousers, I jerked a little but almost swooned.

As soon as he realised that I'd felt him though, he immediately pulled himself off me, mumbling apologies, his face reddening. If only he knew that in that moment, I was secretly cursing the entire convention of wearing clothes.

We just have time for me to readjust my rumpled dress, and him to smooth down his dishevelled hair, before the carriage pulls into the courtyard at the Cross Keys Hotel.

Thomas climbs out, thanking the driver as he offers me his hand to take.
Once we've alighted from the vehicle, we make our way inside and back upstairs.

He knocks on the door of Lucille's room, but there's no answer.

"She must still be in town." He muses, as we head across the landing to his room. But before I follow him inside, he hesitates. "You look tired (Y/N) did you not sleep well? Perhaps you ought to go and rest. The journey up North is long and tiresome."