“How nice?” he asked into my ear, returning the glass to the table and sliding his hand from my knee to make its way back up my thigh, this time underneath the fabric of my skirt. I caught his hand mid-thigh.
“Not that nice,” I said sternly. There was no way I was letting any part of his body get under any part of my clothes with friends and family sitting so close. “Where’s Gigi tonight?” I asked to distract him. His hand returned to rest on my knee.
“She and some friends of hers went to see a friend of a friend’s band,” he told me with a bit of a pout. I didn’t know if this was directed at me for stopping his wandering hand or at Gigi for not wanting to spend New Year’s with her big brother. I also wondered if this ‘friend of a friend’s band’ was not actually the band her musician boyfriend was in.
Around two a.m., we were all ready to go. We had also all been drinking, and getting enough cabs for so many of us going to so many different addresses would be a nightmare. That’s when I found out Darcy had thought ahead and had hired three drivers to take us home; they were nearby and only needed to be called when we were ready.
I looked at him when he’d casually announced that he’d arranged for us to get home safely at his own personal expense. While our friends thanked him, he turned to me, probably wondering why I was staring at him so long.
“You’re a good man, Darcy,” I said, kissing his cheek.
I felt like it was such a dumb thing to say and wondered why I couldn’t just thank him like the rest of the table, but a proud smile tugged at his lips and I was happy to be the one to put it there.
“We’ll need to pair off, of course; I hope that won’t be a problem,” he said dryly. Jane and Charlie, of course, would be returning to Charlie’s place.
“I think Richard and I live near enough to each other,” Charlotte commented. She lived about ten minutes from my apartment, and while I had no idea where Richard lived, I doubted it could possibly be closer than that.
“I believe so as well,” Richard agreed readily. “We’ll take the second car.”
“I guess that leaves us,” Darcy said to me. “You don’t mind, do you?”
After Darcy had called the numbers to let them know we were all ready to be picked up, it wasn’t long before three black sedans pulled up along the curb. Charlie and Jane took the first one, Richard and Charlotte the second, and Darcy and I slid into the third.
“Where to?” the driver asked. Darcy looked to me, clearly leaving the decision in my hands. I gave him Darcy’s address.
The ride home, which took a little longer than normal as there was so much traffic, felt even longer as I discovered Darcy plus alcohol equaled dirty things being whispered in my ear; more specifically, all the things he couldn’t wait to do to me as soon as we got home.
I tried to ignore the effect his hot breath in my ear was having, but it was difficult. This was especially true as I remembered that the last time I spent the night with Darcy after a night of drinking, we had been at the hotel for the security conference and he had done all he could to drive me crazy, holding out until I was literally begging for it.
We finally made it to his place; we had barely stepped through the door before he had my top off.
“No,” I said with a hand on his chest. I loved the stricken look he gave me and the fact that he actually listened to my command. “You are getting out of control, Darcy.”
His brows furrowed, and I could tell he was trying to work out both what I meant by my words and whether I was actually serious. I wrapped his tie around my hands and tugged, turning to lead him into the bedroom. His hands grasped my waist, but I allowed it as long as he didn’t move them. When we made it to his bed, I led him to the edge and pushed him down.
“Stay there,” I instructed, pushing his hands away from me and trying not to smile when he grunted his frustration. I went to his closet and picked out two of his cheapest looking ties—not an easy task as everything Darcy owned seemed to be new and expensive.
“Back,” I instructed with a shooing motion before I could get within arm’s reach of him. He looked petulant at my commands, but he slid back onto the bed so he was sitting against the head board.
“You always have to be in control, don’t you?” I asked, as I climbed towards him. I took off his tie and added it to my collection. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, but I began slowly unbuttoning his shirt.
“Lizzy—” he began with a bit of uncertainty in his voice. I silenced him with a look and he complied. He was obeying all my commands so far and I found I was enjoying myself immensely.
“I think it’s time you got a taste of your own medicine.” I continued as I slipped first his shirt and then his undershirt off. I then showed him my arsenal of ties with a wicked grin. He seemed surprised, but I took one wrist, wrapped the fabric around it, and sat up on my knees to secure it to the bedpost before he could comment. While I was busy, his other hand roamed by body.
“Hey,” I said sternly, but he knew his time was limited and ignored me. With one hand down, I grabbed his wandering hand just as he almost had my bra off. “You are going to pay for that,” I promised him, tying his other hand to the bedpost as well.
“I need to see you,” he frowned with a bit of pleading in his voice as I took the last remaining tie and covered his eyes.
“I know,” I said sympathetically as I tied it behind his head, then sat back to admire my handiwork. “You know the magic word though, don’t you?”
“Please?” he offered, knowing that was not what I wanted to hear. I traced my finger up his thigh, stopping just before I reached anything exciting.
“Close,” I whispered in his ear, kissing his earlobe softly.
It was an impressive time later when he finally broke.
“God, Lizzy,” he panted, his arms straining against their restraints in a way that I was afraid might leave bruises. “You win,”
“Then say it,” I instructed, probably just as eager to finally be able to feel his hands on me and finish this little game of ours.
“Let me touch you,” he pleaded. “I need to see you. I’m begging you,”
I slipped first one hand free and then the other. He wrenched the tie that had been blinding him all night off himself and then grabbed me forcefully, taking his precious control back once more. I gave it to him willingly, enjoying the frantic way he grabbed my hips and pushed into me. His mouth jumped around from my lips to my neck down to my chest and everywhere in between. His hands stayed firmly, almost painfully gripped to my hips, keeping complete control on our movements. After the night he’d had, I let him have his way.
“You,” he said after we had been still for quite some time, “are going to be the death of me, Elizabeth Bennet.”
I grinned.
Part Three:
Dating
“She began now to comprehend that he was exactly the man who, in disposition and talents, would most suit her. His understanding and temper, though unlike her own, would have answered all her wishes.”
Jane Austen, Pride & Prejudice
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sick Day
It was not that much later when I turned up at work to hear that Darcy had actually taken a day off. His secretary spread the word that he was sick, but that he could be reached through email if it was absolutely necessary.
In the year that I’ve known him, I had never heard of him being sick, nor could I actually picture the composed, dignified Mr. Darcy with the sniffles; it wasn’t that much more likely, but I even wondered if he was just playing hooky. I didn’t devote too much time or attention to thinking about it, however as I’d had a lot of work to get done.
The next day, Friday, we received another email with basically the same message; the boss was sick, but he could be reached through email if we absolutely needed him for something. This time I waited until lunch before texting him, asking if he needed anything. When I didn’t hear back, I texted Gigi to see if she had heard from him in the
last few days.
Sick? He never takes a sick day. Then, a little bit later, she added: He’s not answering me either. Are you going to stop by there anytime soon?
I hadn’t planned on it, but I could tell she was worried and, honestly, since he hadn’t returned my text I could admit to being a bit anxious myself.
Yeah, I’ll stop by after work and see how he is. Text you when I do.
I was able to finish up my work and was out of the building by a quarter after five. Assuming his affliction was probably a cold since one had already gone through half the office, I stopped by the convenience store and stocked up on things like cough drops, Kleenex, Vapo-Rub, Nyquil, and one of those combo decongestant fever reducers.
I also made a quick stop to the store for chicken soup and other light meals he might be tempted into eating; and, because it was always something I craved whenever I was sick, I bought a case of ginger ale and a box of saltines.
∞∞∞
When I showed up to his condo with all these bags, there was a moment of insecurity when I felt incredibly stupid. What if he had just wanted a long weekend and was fine? He could be ignoring my calls because he wanted some time to himself and who was I to demand he always answer me? It was too late to turn back, however, and if I was about to make a fool out of myself, so be it.
“Hey,” he squinted at me through the door, his voice raspy from coughing. “What are you doing here?” He moved aside, his eyes on my groceries. I didn’t answer until I had set the bags down in the kitchen.
He was wearing flannel pajama bottoms and a dark green sweater, and had a heavy blanket around his shoulders. Darcy had always been a hot-blooded guy, and the condo was usually set to around sixty-five all year long; tonight however, it felt more like eighty-five.
“Gigi was worried,” I said, not meeting his eye.
“She was?” he coughed, covering his mouth with his blanket-wrapped hands. It sounded deep in his chest and I winced in sympathy.
“I mean,” I hesitated, “you know, we both were.” I busied myself by taking things out of the bags. “I didn’t know what you had, but it’s been my experience that guys have no idea how to take care of themselves when they get sick.”
“Thanks, Lizzy,” he said softly. I glanced at him and he smiled lightly when our eyes met.
“Are you hungry?” I asked.
“You don’t have to…” he looked uncomfortable so I frowned at him.
“Darcy,” I said sternly. “Don’t waste your breath. I know I don’t have to. Are you hungry?”
“Yes,” he admitted. It was a testament to just how sick he must be that he didn’t put up more of a fight.
“Have you taken any medicine today?” I asked. He started to give me excuses, so I silenced him with a sigh of exasperation.
“No,” he finally said, looking for all the world like a sullen little boy.
“Here,” I guided him into a chair and felt his forehead. It was warm, and his hair was slightly damp with sweat. “I think you have a fever.”
“I’m freezing,” he coughed again, turning away from me and tilting his head into his blanket. I ran my hand comfortingly through his hair and down his back until it stopped. Riffling through the bags, I pulled out the cough drops and handed them to him, then got a glass of water for him to take some pills with. I chose the pills that boosted help with chest congestion and reducing fevers, and handed one to him.
After he took it, I led him out of the kitchen. I noticed that he’d made a bed out of the couch, with his pillow at one end and the TV on mute, so I guided him there. I fluffed up his pillow and took his blanket from him as he lay down, and then covered him with it. I tucked his feet in, as my mom had always done for me, and then ran a hand soothingly through his hair.
“I’ll make you some soup, okay?” I asked and he nodded. “Toast?” He nodded again. “You need anything before I go cook?”
“Cough drop?” he asked, his voice sounding so adorably pitiful I had to smile. I took the bag from where he’d laid it on the coffee table and opened one up for him, slipping it into his mouth so he didn’t have to uncross his arms from underneath the blanket.
“Thanks,” he said around the lozenge. I rubbed his shoulder, and then went into the kitchen. I started to warm up some soup and put a few pieces of bread in the toaster, and then put away the small amount of groceries I had brought over. While the soup warmed on the stove, I texted Gigi that Darcy was indeed sick, but that I was making sure he took his medicine and got some food into him.
Thank God. You know if he was left alone he would try to beat it with sheer willpower. You’re awesome, Lizzy. Keep me posted.
I promised her I would, then I looked around for a bowl and a spoon. “Darcy?” I called for his attention. “Ginger ale or water?”
“Ginger ale,” he rasped back.
When I brought him the steaming bowl of soup, a plate of toast, and the can of soda, he was already sitting up. When he saw me coming, he moved his pillow so I could join him on the couch.
“Thanks, Lizzy.” He looked at the bowl of soup, but didn’t immediately start eating.
“My mom always said feed a cold and starve a fever,” I said, fidgeting. “I’m not sure what you’re supposed to do when you have both.”
“I know I should be hungry,” he started, then picked up the bowl and took a few bites. I rubbed his back approvingly. He eventually finished about half the bowl and one piece of toast, but I was happy he ate anything at all. Before he could lie back down I rubbed a bit of the Vapo-Rub on his chest and neck, reaching underneath his sweater to do it. He shivered as my hand rubbed his torso, but I knew it was due to feeling cold from the fever rather than any delight he might have taken in my touch.
“I don’t want to get you sick,” he said with a frown, though he tilted his head up slightly so I had better access to his neck.
“I’ve got three younger sisters.” I smirked. “And plenty of experience taking care of invalids without catching their diseases.”
“Diseases,” he scoffed, feigning offense. I wiped off the excess lotion on my hand on a Kleenex, then poured him a capful of Nyquil.
“This should help you sleep. Do you want to go to your bed?” I asked. He simply shook his head, downing the liquid quickly and with a grimace, he handed me back the empty plastic cup. I had been sitting where his pillow was, so he rested his head in my lap instead, pulling the blanket around himself as best he could.
“You’ll stay, then?” he murmured as I helped him adjust the heavy material so all of his body was covered. I ran one hand through his hair and rested my other on his shoulder.
“I’ll stay,” I replied.
I unmuted the TV, which I realized was a SmartTV that was opened on his Netflix App. He had been watching Agatha Christie’s Poirot, which I felt suited him. He tried to tell me I could change it to whatever I wanted, but I shushed him and we watched the rest of the episode in silence, broken only by his occasional bouts of coughing.
One episode ended and another began, but Darcy fell asleep soon after that. I waited until that episode was almost over before I tried to slip out from underneath him. In a rare display of exceptional coordination, I was even able to wedge his pillow under his head as I shifted it off my lap, all without him waking.
Free from restraint, I took the dinner plates back to the kitchen and washed them up, then checked the medicine I had given him to calculate when the next dose would be. After that, of course, there was nothing to do but wait until he needed something.
∞∞∞
That was generally how Friday turned into Saturday for us. Darcy would wake up for a while, I would make him something light to eat, get him to take more medicine, and then he would fall back asleep on the couch while he watched something on TV. His fever broke mid-Saturday, and he began improving from then on; eating more, sleeping less, and of course, quarreling with me more.
“Darcy,” I finally lost my patience with him Saturday night.
“Do we have to go through this every single time I offer to do something for you? Do you not want me here?”
“Of course I want you here,” he said, surprise in his voice, like he had no idea how I could have gotten that idea; like he wasn’t constantly telling me I didn’t have to do this, or bring him that. “I just don’t want you to feel like you have to stay here, or wait on me.”
“Did I come here under duress?” I asked with probably more frustration than I should have. He was, after all, still pretty sick and I should have been able to keep my temper. “Did you bar the door once I came in?”
“No,” he pouted at my tone.
He was on the couch, his hair a mess, a few days’ worth of stubble on his cheek, and the large blanket around his shoulders making him look small in comparison—not an easy feat for someone who was over six feet tall. I let out a breath, my frustration easing away at the piteous picture he presented. I came to sit next to him, putting my arm around his shoulder and pulling him into me slightly.
“Save your energy,” I told him, keeping my voice light, “If I want to leave, I will leave, okay? If I don’t want to cook, or bring you water, or grab something from the other room, I promise I will tell you.”
“Alright,” he agreed, then paused. “Can I have another Ginger ale?” he asked pitifully. I smiled.
Sunday night he finally returned to his bed. While he was in the shower, I changed his sheets and put a new pillowcase on the pillow he had been dragging around the house with him. When he emerged, he put on a gray t-shirt instead of another sweater, and wore a pair of pajama bottoms more fit for summer than winter.
His few days’ worth of beard remained and he hadn’t bothered to run a comb through his hair; both evidence that while he was improving he was still not at a hundred percent. I couldn’t really say anything about his ensemble; I hadn’t exactly planned on staying the weekend and was currently wearing a mismatch of things Gigi had left here and his smallest t-shirts.
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