“I believe not an inkling of the lies that were told of you. It is not in your disposition to be a liar and a cheat.”
“Thank you, dear Fitzwilliam!” Then she said with even greater fervour, “Oh, how much I love you!”
“And, I you love more.” Fitzwilliam bent his head and drew his lips closer to hers.
It seemed as if could not stop himself. Elizabeth’s eyes drifted close and she drew him come closer. Her lips brushed gently across his; then her tongue darted out and he moaned; and then pulled her even closer, sending his tongue to mingle with hers. Her hand in his shirt splayed across his chest and the other dove into his hair. He pulled her onto his lap.
Her hips had a mind of their own. She twisted on his lap, grinding her posterior into his rapidly thickening member. She devoured his mouth, desperate to show him how much she loved him, how much she needed him, how much she wanted him to stay her husband for all of his days.
Fitzwilliam kissed her back with the same fervour, almost like he was trying to communicate the same thing. He drew her tighter against him. His fingers fumbled with the buttons of her nightdress and tugged at it.
She chuckled within the recess of her mind. It seemed her husband was just as heated as she was and could not get enough of her. She spread his shirt and revealed the expanse of his chest while she thoroughly kissed him. She nipped his lower lip and tugged on it. His member hardened beneath her and she wiggled against it. He moaned and squeezed her hips. She leapt off his lap, quickly slipped her under things off, pushed him deeper onto the bed and straddled him, nestling his member against her moist heat. With a groan, he lifted his hips and ground himself against her. This was going to be the worst case of unquenched lust when he finally came to his senses and made them stop. After all, they were in the guest chambers of Wickham and Lydia’s abode, not at Pemberley House.
But then again, should they concern themselves with where they sojourned at this moment in time?
Fitzwilliam kissed her neck. Licked it even. She hoped she tasted like apricot ice cream and the scent of Pears soap. Elizabeth nibbled his earlobe and palmed his chest. She ground her hips against his and she heard him draw in a sharp breath. She planned on torturing him as sweetly as she could muster despite her relative inexperience in the art of lovemaking. But her dear Fitzwilliam had awakened in her body, feelings she had never ever dreamed of before.
He filled his hands with her full breasts. Only at dusk when she was ministering to herself during her evening bath that she perceived that her breasts were already fuller than they had been on the evening of their wedding when she and her husband were consumed by lust. And her nipples! Yes, her nipples were more sensitive. A sensitivity which was heightened as he plucked one of the buds in to his lips and suckled it, and then switched to the other, lavishing them with all the attention they deserved. Elizabeth rocked her hips forward, dragging the heat of her moist depths along the full length of his hardened member.
“Elizabeth...” he groaned in prayer. “Please let me love you.”
Her head fell back and she cradled his against her breasts, as he rolled her nipple tenderly between his teeth. She stroked her hips backward, then ground them in a big circle.
“Fitz....” Her voice caught in her throat and she pushed forward again.
He clamped his hand down over her posterior and pulled her tight against the thick ridge of his member. “Please, Elizabeth, I. Need. You.”
She pulsed her hips up and down, unable to sit still while he was pressed deeply against her. She felt her warmth clench involuntarily. She was panting with need and it was obvious he needed her.
Needed her now.
“I need you too,” she whispered as she scrambled off his lap, unbuckled his pants and tugged them out from underneath him. His member stood proud in his lap and Elizabeth straddled him again, but this time as her hips lowered, she closed over the top of him. He groaned and dug his head into the bed.
Her breath stuck in her throat as he gripped the flesh of her hips, lifting and lowering her over and over. She moaned and rode him with swift, sure strokes, matching his desire and need. Her breasts swung and bounced against his face.
Pressure built fiercely inside her and with each deep stroke, she clenched and gripped him tightly. Elizabeth clung to his shoulders until her fingers bit into his muscles. She loved that he was just as awakened with lust and need as she was.
“Fitzwilliam, I cannot hold on...”
“I am holding you, my love. I am holding you.” His breath was ragged. “Just let go.”
And she did. Elizabeth threw her head back and screamed his name as the intensity of the moment gripped her. What sweet release, it was!
He pressed his cheek into her breasts and thrust his hips upward in rapid succession until he, too, exploded deep within her.
Elizabeth fell forward, her head nestled in the crook of his neck. “I don’t know what came over me. I just...I just needed that.”
He stroked her neck and back. “No requests for forgiveness. Not for that. Not ever.” He lifted her chin and kissed her gently. “Not ever.”
She gave him a smile and wrapped her arms around him. They rocked gently, back and forth.
She was never going to let him go.
Epilogue
Whilst women in Elizabeth’s condition had the unenviable task of withstanding the indifference of their husbands to their physical wellbeing during childbearing, Fitzwilliam was a study of contrast. For the average man, his primary concern was that a living heir was brought forth from his wife’s womb, but not her husband! His primary interest was that his wife would be most healthy and comfortable at this time.
A mere fortnight after their night of passion at Lydia and Wickham’s abode in London, she learned she was with child. Thirty-five weeks later, imminently due to give birth, Pemberley House was disrupted as she and her husband moved to London for a short while since this city was reputed to have the most excellent doctors and was regarded by many to be the perfect place for confinement. The carriage ride to the city was challenging for Elizabeth, to say the least, but she endured the discomfort with her usual wit and good-tempered disposition.
Now, the day had arrived.
“Are you prepared to take a pain, Mrs. Darcy?” asked the midwife.
She was afeared, for this was a totally new experience for her, and childbirth was risky. She had known of two of her contemporaries who did not fare well, one during and the other immediately after child birth. Still, she nodded her head. Fitzwilliam was right beside her. Another evidence that he was a man, truly out of the ordinary. He was his own man. He was not one to conform to societal norms, at least, not since he met her.
She, by now, lay on her left side upon the bed.
“Mrs. Darcy, you may draw up your knees to your stomach,” the midwife instructed gently. Understanding and empathy revealed in her gaze.
Elizabeth had to admit that there was a strong contrast between the intensity of the contractions which were now coming every 4 or 5 minutes, and the tenderness of the midwife as she examined her.
Finding out they were with child had been such a wonderful moment. Elizabeth had gone to much trouble that nightfall making dinner and planning the perfect way to tell Fitzwilliam. It had been such a magical night and he had barely believed her when she told him they were with child.
The pregnancy had been nothing short of bliss and there was not a single complication. Their doctor had warned them that there might come a time when she would need to be in confinement, but Fitzwilliam had doted on her and allowed her to just focus on being a healthy haven for the baby. Even though she had been humongous, Fitzwilliam made her feel as if she was an exquisite rose and more precious than his financial assets.
She could not wait for Fitzwilliam’s sister, Georgiana, to get there, to share in their joy. And, of course, her parents and siblings. In one way or the other, they were a great help.
Moreover, to the extent that Elizabet
h was concerned, Lady Catherine de Bourgh and the sisters, Bingley, had caused enough trouble in their household, and she endeavoured to keep her distance from them, as far as the east was from the west. For that reason, their presence was not welcome.
Thirty-four hours later, Letitia Eleanor Darcy was born. Elizabeth’s period of confinement ended five weeks later, when she was churched, and little Letty, as she was affectionately called by her doting and ever-present father, was christened. The ceremony was moving in its simplicity. And now, after the day’s proceedings both Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam were in their bedchamber, for the last night since on the morrow, at the crack of dawn, they would be making their way back to Pemberley House.
Fitzwilliam strolled over and kissed Elizabeth softly on her lips, and grazed his forehead against hers. Then he walked across to the cart which held little Letty.
Elizabeth lifted her shirt and mentally braced herself for the sharp pain she expected, since her breasts were so sensitive to the touch. And right now was feeding time. She set the nursing pillow on her lap and gestured for Fitzwilliam to hand her the precious bundle.
She was fully cognizant of the fact that breastfeeding was frowned upon and deemed unfashionable. In fact, many new mothers of the upper classes hired wet nurses to provide the much-needed nourishment to their offspring. But not her! Her body was fully equipped and wonderfully designed to provide the milk that was just perfect for their little Letty in tint, texture and taste. Like her dear Fitzwilliam, she would not be swayed by the norms of every whim and fancy of polite society.
He positioned Letty in a cradle hold, and helped her to latch on to Elizabeth’s breast. Elizabeth looked up, and smiled when she saw the expression that crossed her husband’s face as he stared at his daughter.
It was love.
Naturally, love for the man who captured her heart, and would do so till the end of time, welled up inside her. She tilted her head up for his kiss. He planted one on her, then Letty, but not before his hungry gaze landed on her breasts. Elizabeth did not have to be an intellect to discern what he was thinking. She was having those same thoughts, too. She chuckled softly at the thought, and the anticipation. What was she thinking? Barely over a month previously, she had given birth and already she was thinking about all the decadent things she and Fitzwilliam would do a week or two from now, as per the doctor’s instructions.
She watched as Fitzwilliam dragged a chair over and settled down to watch her and their precious bundle of joy.
This was going to be the most favourite part of her day.
~THE END~
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Till the End of Time, Mr Darcy Page 8