The room was dark and putrid as if it had been weeks since it had been cleaned out. Perhaps it was the case, after all the only time Rafe got cleaned was when they tossed cold water at him to make sure he was awake. If it weren't for that, his shirt would likely be crusted by his own vomit by now.

"Please. Please kill me. I don't know anything."

The sound of leather against the cobblestones had Rafe's gut roiling again. He knew who these footsteps belonged to. It was always the Capitaine that was the worst of his interrogators. He had broken Rafe's fingers last time. He knew the questions by heart now, spoken sometimes in French, sometimes in English in an effort to make him slip his cover. He would have to respond in English just once to seal his fate.

Who is your contact?

Qui est votre contact?

What were the chances they would kill him quickly?

Infinitesimal.

'I don't know,' Rafe replied in French, his accent indiscernible from a native's. He needed to keep the charade up until they sent someone to rescue him. Or until they killed him at long last.

He wasn't sure how long he could keep holding on. Perhaps they had no reason to come for him. He had disobeyed orders to come after Thomas. They had told him that rescue was too risky, but he had gone off anyway. And he had gotten caught.

Did Thomas even manage to get out or was he lying somewhere, dead?

The Capitaine grabbed Rafe's head by fisting a hand in his hair and holding his head under the tub of water. Rafe's starved body couldn't even muster the strength to fight.

How many of you are there?

Combien d'entre vous sont ici?

'I don't know. My name is Jean-Pierre. I am from Marseilles. This is a mistake.'

This time the Capitaine held his head under until he fainted. Harsh slaps to his face brought him back to life.

You won't talk, English pig?

Tu ne veux pas parler, espèce de porc d'anglais? 

'I don't know what you are talking about. I am a civilian, please. I am French. Let me go, I won't tell anyone.'

Rafe felt his body hit the floor, his palm grazed the hilt of something. Something sharp.

A knife.

No, wait. There hadn't been a knife that day, had it? How would he have grabbed it, anyway? His fingers had been broken. No, he was dreaming again.

The Capitaine grabbed his head again, but Rafe lunged. He rolled the Capitaine under him with a sudden show of force, placing the knife at his throat, poised to drag it across the vulnerable flesh. Something dark and vindictive inside him wanted to relish the way red would spill over the Frenchman's skin. To make it slow and painful.

Reality crashed in as he took heaving breaths. He had managed to get himself in a sitting position. The softness of the mattress and the light streaming through the window brought Rafe back to the present.

He was not still in Belgium. He was back home. In England.

He was holding the knife he kept under his pillow in his hand.

He was holding it....against Sylvie's throat. 

A small line of blood welled along the edge of the knife and Rafe lost his mind entirely. An animal sound of anguish tore through him as he flung his knife away, it clattered somewhere on the floor but he was too busy cupping Sylvie's face in his hands.

"Sylvie, Sylvie, Sylvie." He chanted her name like a prayer. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please, I'm so sorry."

She stared at him, mystified, a wealth of hurt in her eyes. Her hands raised themselves so they caressed his chest right beneath his wildly beating heart. "It was just a dream. It was just a dream, Rafe. You're here. They can't hurt you. The war is over."

A drop of liquid fell on Sylvie's face. Was there a leak in the roof?

Another and then Sylvie's thumbs brushed across his cheeks, right underneath his eyes.

Ah, not a leak in the roof. His tears.

"Shhhh. I have you now. I have you." She soothed him even as he heard the tremble in her voice. She eased him into a lying position, his face buried in her neck, the rest of him in a tangle of limbs atop her. "You're safe. You're home."

Her fingers delved beneath his shirt from his low collar, he resisted a shiver of pleasure as her fingers brushed over the raised skin of his scars and then groaned when she placed a kiss atop his head. He raised himself to his knees with the very good intention of getting off of her when he spotted the thin line his blade had left on her neck.

He bent and pressed his kiss to the negligible injury with the best of intentions. One soothing kiss then he would kick her out of his room. But it was here that he had made a tactical error. Now that he had finally tasted her skin, he was unable to relinquish it. He placed another kiss, higher. Then another on her jaw. Just one more, he swore as his tongue ghosted across her soft skin in an effort to learn her taste. Just one more. And not on the lips. That's enough. And perhaps he could have fought that beast inside him that was always ravenous for her if she hadn't made that damn whimper.

Just a ghost of a sound. That Rafe spoken so softly one might have missed the desperate plea behind it. But he did not miss it. And it fanned the flame in his veins to a blaze. His leash on his self-control snapped as if it were made of a singular string of thread.

The next thing he knew, he was leaving fevered, open-mouthed kisses on her neck and he had managed to settle himself between her splayed thighs. His hands were dragging her hem up her legs, the silk of her bare thighs under his palms.

Go slow.

Just kissing, nothing more.

When he could resist no longer, he finally took her mouth with a humiliatingly loud moan. She was as perfect as he remembered, sweet and just uniquely Sylvie. She kissed him back with untutored enthusiasm which nearly had him unmanning himself in his breeches. He bit her bottom lip and made her gasp, using the moment to venture into her mouth with his tongue. She whimpered and let out a small little sound of shock. He coaxed her into kissing him back, her tongue coming to play with his, hesitantly and shyly at first and then with more and more abandon as her inhibitions slipped away.

She tore her mouth away from him, leaving him hollow as her hips lifted beneath her in appeal for his touch. "Please. Rafe please, I ache. Help me, please."

"You do not know what you are asking of me," he rasped in desperation. If he touched her like that, he would go mad. He would not be able to stop touching her, ever.

"Rafe, please. I need you. Please." She was nearly sobbing with her unfulfilled desire and Rafe felt himself lose the battle with his lust.

"When you beg so prettily, how am I to refuse?" He purred as she fell back on the mattress in relief. "Now be a good girl and pull your shift down from the neck."

She wanted to be pleasured? Fine. He would pleasure her so well that she would think about it for days.

"That is not where it aches," she complained even as she complied with trembling hands. She lowered the neckline until her sweet little breasts were bared to him.

"Something for you, something for me," he gave her his best rakish grin and then blew a small gust of cold air over her adorable nipples, which were standing at attention, pouting for his touch. His hand coaxed her to spread her legs further as he debated whether or not he could survive getting her naked and taking a look at the treasure that lay between her legs.

Best not to risk it.

"Now, Sylvie, will my lovely girl do one more thing for me?"

"Yes!" She cried out as he flattened his palm against her soft, slick flesh. He held her down so she could not ride his hand even as her hips strained against his hold in protest.

"Good," he murmured in soothing tones. "Say, Please Rafe."

"Please, Rafe," she whimpered, her desperation growing with each second that passed.

"Please make it stop aching," he urged, removing his hand and watching her writhe in a futile search for the friction her body needed.

"Rafe. Please, please, please make it stop aching. Please."

He felt his cock jerk in his breeches, his underclothes likely a mess already.

Her eyes took at him with such need that Rafe felt something surge within him. A need to give her everything she could ever want. A need to make her his.

Needs he could not ever meet, but they rose up all the same.

Oh, he was well and truly fucked.

He lowered his mouth to her breast, stroking his tongue across her nipple as his fingers found her center. She was hot and slick with her own arousal, his fingers spreading her wetness over her. She was writhing beneath him, making soft, desperate mewls that spurned him on. She nearly shot off the bed when he sank his middle finger right up inside her.

"Oh!" She let out a strangled cry as her muscles became accustomed to the intrusion.

"Never tell me my curious little scientist never experimented with her own body?" He chuckled darkly as she clutched and released the bedsheet. He curled his finger inside and her eyes flew open to look at him in panic. "How was that, darling? Good?"

"G-good," she squeaked before she closed her eyes again as if she could not bear to look at him.

"And what about my other question?"

"I- yes! Sometimes!"

"Naughty, naughty Sylvie. Reading that book, petting this pretty pussy, making a mess all over your fingers," he brushed his thumb across her clit, watching her gasp in surprise. "It wasn't as good as this, though, was it?"

"Oh, Raphael!"

Relax. She is a virgin. She does not know how to play these games. Be gentle.

"You're doing so well, sweetheart. Just perfect. Will you open your eyes, darling?"

"No," she whimpered as he found her clitoris again with his other hand and began to tease it, trying to find what she liked. "It's too much."

"It's not," he promised gently, "Open your eyes, sweeting. You are so lovely. There's nothing to be embarrassed about. I want to see your pretty eyes, Sylvie. I adore them, do you know? They're so unique."

Slowly she opened her eyes, seeking his gaze for reassurance, and damn if another one of those stirrings didn't rise up in the moment. Bloody inconvenient. But he was too busy trying to make her comfortable to focus too much on destroying it. He wanted to reward her trust, so he took her mouth in a slow, tender, adoring kiss and then returned to his task. He managed to add another finger, using his thumb to circle her clitoris. She bit her lip to prevent the whimpers from escaping, clutching at his shoulders as he continued his sensual assault.

"How does that feel, love?" He resisted a laugh as her face contorted at the intrusion of his second finger, caught in the precipice between pain and pleasure. Her hips moved fitfully, riding his fingers, trying to encourage his relentless motion.

"I don't know! It's too much!"

"Oh, dear," he chuckled darkly, "should I stop, then?"

"Raphael, don't you dare!" She cried helplessly, looking at him with such indignant fury that he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

"Then tell me it's good, Sylvie. Who is giving you pleasure?"

"You are," she gasped as he altered the angle to go even deeper. "It's good. So good."

"Who is touching you like no other man has ever dared?"

"You are!"

"Say my name, Sylvie. Who is giving you pleasure?"

"Raphael," she sobbed.

"Damn, right. And don't you dare forget it."

He curled his fingers inside her, hitting a spot that had her gasping in confusion, her body assailed by pleasure she was entirely a stranger to.

"Oh? There, Sylvie?" He grinned menacingly as she gaped at him in astonished pleasure, the flutter and clench of her on his fingers heralding her climax. "Are you close?"

"I-! Yes!"

"Should I draw it out a little longer?"

"Raphael! I feel as if I am about to combust! Please, have mercy!"

"Oh, alright," he nipped at her lips playfully, "you beg so prettily, a man is hard-pressed to resist. But you must make me a promise. If you do that, I'll let you come like you deserve for being a good girl."

"Yes! Yes, anything!" She chanted desperately trying to make him hit her in the right angle, but he just wouldn't let her reach the peak.

"Next time you open that book, think of me, touching you like I am right now. Think of how full you feel because of my fingers, hmmm? Think of how good I made you feel, Sylvie, and know that I am the only one who can ever make it this good for you. Do you promise?"

"Yes! I promise, I promise.  Please help me!"

"Well done, Sylvie. You deserve your reward for that, don't you?"

She nodded, beseeching him with her eyes, unable to say the wicked words. In another life, Raphael would have reveled in debauching her, making her forget her prim ways and teaching her how to embrace her wickedness.

He angled his fingers so they were once again hitting the most sensitive parts of her, watching her eyes for encouragement, her soft gasps spurring him on. He kept at it, gently moving his fingers inside her, worrying her nipples with his teeth and tongue, until he felt her entire body seize. Her back arched off the bed as she let out a hoarse cry and then fell back onto the bed, breathing like she'd run a marathon.

She was bloody magnificent.

"Dear heavens," she panted, "that was....."

He too was at a loss for words, just reveling in how beautifully she had come undone for him. A fierce surge of possessiveness threatened to topple him. She had given him her first. There was no one on this earth that knew what she looked like as she came. There was no other man who had pleasured her thus.

And that was the way it fucking should be.

Kissing her gently one last time as he lowered her hem and retied her bodice, he tucked her into his chest, her face buried in his shirt. He murmured praise and other nonsense to her until she stopped trembling. He ran his hand in soothing strokes down her back, pulling her as close as he was able.

"Did I give you pleasure, Sylvie?" He murmured against her hair as he received her nod in response. His poor darling was too wrung out for words, apparently. "Then say thank you, Sylvie. Where are your manners?"

"Thank you, Rafe," her words were muffled against his chest, but Raphael grinned anyway.

Ah fuck. 

How the devil was he supposed to let her go now?

"Well done, my darling."

Oh dear.

Oh dear oh dear oh dear, what had she done now?!

She had let him touch her! Nay, she had begged him to do so! And then she had thanked him for the depravity!

Oh, why oh, why hadn't she learned her lesson the first time? This was so much worse than the kiss because she hadn't even known her body could feel this way. It had been so intimate and he'd been so wonderful.

Everything would be strange and awkward now. How was she supposed to face him at the breakfast table when he had had his fingers between her legs?

She would never be able to forget-

"Sylvie, stop."

"Stop what?" She squeaked, unable to lift her face off his chest.

"Overthinking."

"I can't help it!" She snapped at him, pushing off him in an attempt to make her retreat. She had made it halfway across the bed when his surprisingly strong fingers closed around her hips hauling her backward until her back met his chest and his arms were wrapped around her stomach.

"If you think you're stealing off in the middle of the night, you're mistaken! You are going to bloody stay here until I know you're safe!" He grumbled at her. He pulled the counterpane over them until she was cocooned and then buried his nose in her neck. 

He breathed her in, deeply, as if gathering himself and he finally let the tension in his body ease.

"Sylvie, you're alright?"

"Yes, it was rather nice, actually," she admitted, glad he could not see how her face flamed at the memory of her wanton behavior.

"Sylvie, I'm not-" He broke off in disbelief. "I'm not bloody talking about the-! I had my knife to your bloody throat fifteen minutes ago, you addlepated fool! Never, never, never wake me from a nightmare."

"Oh? Why are you kicking up a fuss about that? You would never hurt me."

"Sylvie!' The horror was evident in the fact that his voice had gone up several octaves. 'You cannot know that, are you mad?!"

'Rafe, please don't be tiresome. You were having a nightmare and I shouldn't have tried to wake you like that. You wouldn't have hurt me, please be serious.'

"I am being serious. You're insane," the rest of his complaints were muffled as he pulled the counterpane over both of them and pulled her close once more. At her back, she could feel something hard prodding into her bottom. And if the anatomy books she had read were anything to go by, she had an idea of what it was.

And well....he was certainly not like the anatomy books.

After a few minutes of silence, her curiosity won out.

"Rafe, if I ask you a very straightforward question, will you be offended? Or scandalized?"

"Scandalized? Me? Offend away, Sylvie."

She gathered the courage to say the words, almost giving up.

"What is it, Sylvie?" He asked impatiently.

"Well, you see, I've read several anatomy books, so I am not entirely ignorant of the male physique."

"I see."

"I understand that the male....part tends to -ummm- swell? Swell. When it is prepared for the act of intercourse."

".....Yes," came the suspicious reply.

"Well, in the books, the drawings that were depicted were not altogether noteworthy, however, you feel somewhat.....significant."

He let out a strangled sound that could have been laughter or pain.

"And well, what I wanted to know is....how does it fit? The ones in the book seemed more likely to do so, but you...not so much."

"It would fit," he said with much difficulty.

"Yes, naturally, I am aware you are rather experienced. What I mean to ask is that, is there perhaps a special position you have to assume? Or perhaps some trick you use to-"

Raphael got out of the bed muttering a litany of curses under his breath but Sylvie didn't have the heart to correct his language. She had offended him, she realized in dismay.

"No, Rafe! I will leave! This is your bed!" She protested.

"I will be back in a few moments, don't you dare move an inch," he snapped at her.

"Where are you going?"

"To relieve myself before I give you a damn demonstration of how well I can bloody fit in all the bloody positions in your book, a few others besides!" And with that, the door slammed shut and Sylvie sank dejectedly into the bed. Now that he had been holding her, she had grown rather fond of the sensation of his warm body. However, she did not have to wait long for Raphael came back in a few short minutes muttering about disgracing himself. He climbed back into bed and pulled her back to their old position.

"Rafe?" She asked hesitantly. "I have one more question, if you would permit."

"What is it now, Sylvie?" He said with a long-suffering sigh.

"Do you- do you kiss all your women like you kiss me?"

He was silent for a moment before he asked softly, "And how do I kiss you, Sylvie?"

And she must have been feeling rather brave for she answered, "Like you would rather do that than breathe. Like you are barely holding yourself together."

She felt him stiffen behind her, she could feel him debate about whether or not to lie to her.

"No, Sylvie. Those kinds of kisses are only for you," he said finally on a disappointed sigh, as if he were annoyed with himself. "Now go to sleep."