Elizabeth arched her back as he kissed her thigh just above the knee. First one leg then the other. Then he repeated the process, inching slowly higher. When he was but inches away from what she knew now was his final destination, Elizabeth gasped and reared up, trying to close her legs.
Darcy was having none of it. He slowly pried them apart again, making comforting noises in his throat as she relaxed, suddenly she felt weak and all of the fight in her departed like birds on the wing.
Elizabeth was breathing, quick hard gasps, trembling as bashfulness, craving and curiosity all combined to make her swoon. She was unable to take her eyes off him as his lips and tongue left a trail of fire along her milky thighs. When his tongue darted out, touching her sensual place in sharp, keen flicks she gasped loudly, clapping her hand over her mouth to stop a squeal and once more tried to push him away. If he didn’t stop soon she knew she would have no strength to deny him. It wasn’t to be.
He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and smiled wickedly. “Lie down Elizabeth. this won’t hurt a bit.”
She briefly looked around, entertaining the thought that they were being watched, but when Darcy’s gentle fingers spread her open like a blooming flower her worry faded to no more than a fancy. Elizabeth closed her eyes and opened her legs further, finally submitting completely as her husband’s tongue took her to such a heavenly delight that she almost wept.
Darcy’s expert tongue flicked over her, causing a strange, unfamiliar buildup of pleasure at her core. As she lay there panting, her hands entwined in his thick dark hair, she moaned unsure of the strange otherworldly feeling. It seemed with every brush of his tongue, the storm inside her grew. What was this? Should she stop him. Even as she asked herself the question, she knew the answer... Just when she thought she could bear no more, wave after wave of pleasure shook her and she unconsciously thrust herself at Darcy’s face, screaming his name until the carnal shuddering finally died away.
Later, as she lay, panting in his embrace, hazy with the pleasure he had granted her, she whispered, “What wicked thing did you do to me Fitzwilliam.”
He smiled faintly, holding her, not saying anything right then. He was still half dressed, and felt warm, almost feverish after their exertions.
“Did you not enjoy it?” he asked, when he pulled away. He kissed the hollow of her throat as she thought of an answer that wouldn’t make her sound like a wanton harlot.
“I did,” she stammered. “I have never felt a sensation like it.” She took a deep breath, seeking and not finding the words for what she was feeling. “It was heavenly…”
“I’m glad you liked it,” he said, and it seemed to her as if he would say something else, but then he said nothing. They were silent for some time and then Elizabeth broke the quiet of the glade.
“Won’t you take me now Mr. Darcy. It hardly seems fair that I have... that I have and you…”
He laughed quietly, enchanted by her coyness and pulled her to him in a tight embrace. She could feel the hard desire of him pressing against her side.
“I cannot ask it of you, my love,” he said.
“Why not?” She turned, quickly, in his embrace, burying her face against his neck. It was easier to speak of such things if she did not have to look him in the eye.
“I don’t expect that you have to reciprocate. I did what I did because I love you. If you don’t feel comfortable…”
“Oh but I do!” she protested.
He looked at her with a raised eyebrow.
“Well I admit, I wasn’t comfortable with it at first. It seems so daring to be…intimate … here in the open where anyone could come upon us.”
“Yes, daring but did you feel anything else?”
“Yes,” she admitted, her cheeks turning a bright shade of crimson. “Excited…”
This last was a whisper and he kissed her. She returned his kiss fervently and felt the fire in her loins rekindle.
“Take me Mr. Darcy,” she panted, when their lips finally parted.
“No, it’s perfectly fine Elizabeth it can wait…” Elizabeth grabbed him by the shirtfront and her hand found his manhood.
Through gritted teeth she rasped, “I said take me Husband.”
To her surprise, this time, he did not put up any resistance. In fact his face changed and he rasped. “Your wish is my command, my love.”
Instead of falling over her as she expected he rose to his knees and guided her onto her tummy and then his hands curled under her hips, pulling her up until she was on her hands and knees in front of him.
“Oh Mr. Darcy,” she gasped, mortified. “This is so—“
“Hush,” he said, forcefully.
She obeyed and surprisingly, found herself aroused at his tone and this strange position. She gasped when she felt his hands move under her petticoat. Her back arched when his fingers parted her warm, moist folds, and suddenly she felt his manhood against her opening.
He didn’t enter her. Not yet. She felt his fingers playing around her opening and the head of his member and moaned in anticipation. She moaned and pushed back against him. Still he resisted and her desire began to build to unbearable levels.
“Oh…please… Darcy… put it in me…”
“What was that, darling?” he asked mischievously, his fingers still swirling and teasing her.
“For the love of … do you want me to beg Husband?”
“Yes, I want you to beg,” he said, pushing forward until the head of his shaft opened her but probed no further.
“Arrgh! Please,” she whispered.
“Not good enough Elizabeth. Beg for it…”
“Please put it in me…”
“Louder!”
“Put it in me Darcy!” she screamed. “Fuck me!”
It was as though the birds stopped singing, as though the very forest was shocked into silence at the crude word falling from those sweet lips. Elizabeth held her breath sure that her husband would push her away, shocked and disgusted at his wife’s words and actions…and then he slid into her and tears sprang to her eyes as he began to move in and out of her rhythmically.
“Oh Mrs. Darcy…what a wanton girl you are,” he breathed.
His words and the feeling of him in her at this strange angle drove her mad and she pushed back against him, forcing him deeper into her. Now it was Darcy’s turn to groan in pleasure and one of his hands found Elizabeth’s hair and tugged at it, drawing her even more forcefully against his rampaging manhood.
Her breathing became ragged as he pummeled her from behind, loving the harshness of his wild lovemaking. As she heard her husband’s breathing quicken she pushed back even more forcefully driving him even deeper into her and held her breath again as she felt the strange waves of pleasure wracking her body.
Darcy roared in pleasure as he climaxed and she mirrored him, arching her back at an almost impossible angle as he rode her like an animal. Finally they both collapsed to the ground, Darcy heavy upon her. She didn’t mind the weight of him. In fact she relished it. Never had she felt so warm…so safe than at that moment.
Finally he rolled off her and they fell into each other’s arms. They stayed like that a long time. Not speaking, just reveling in one another’s warmth. They may have even dozed, Elizabeth was not sure, because the whole afternoon felt like a wonderful dream.
“I suppose we have to go back,” said Darcy, eventually.
“Yes, my love,” she answered, plucking a piece of grass from his hair.
They reluctantly got to their feet, packing up the picnic and fixing up their clothes. With one final kiss Mr. and Mrs. Darcy clasped hands and walked slowly out of the clearing and back towards their home.
The End
4 – Darcy the Gardener (What if Darcy was a Commoner)
1
Lady Sarah Acton pushed her breakfast plate away and dabbed her mouth with her napkin. The twenty-year-old raven haired beauty looked through her bedroom window at the vast expanse of trimmed, green lawn
that fronted Acton manor. She looked, but did not really see. Her thoughts were again turned inward, wondering at the twist of fate that had led to her marriage to Lord Robert Acton. Whilst she had married Lord Acton, her younger sister had been courted by the very eligible Mr. Geoffrey Harbour. Both of them had swooned over Geoffrey, but for whatever reason, he had chosen Margaret over her. The day of Margaret’s wedding had been one of the bitterest that Sarah had ever endured, and unfortunately, also the day she had been introduced to Robert.
She knew it was useless to wallow in self-pity; it’s just that it was so hard, her days so empty… so very lonely. Thank goodness for her Lady’s maid, Laura and her Scotch terrier, Duchess, without the two of them to keep her company she felt sure that she would have given up by now. And, of course, there was her garden. Yes, her garden, “Lady’s Retreat”.
Lady’s Retreat had been created by the sixth Lord Acton for his sick wife, over two hundred years before and it had become something of an eccentric heirloom for each subsequent lady of Acton Manor. Sarah had loved it unreservedly from the time she had first crossed its leafy threshold, and without it, her life at Acton would have been very different indeed.
Not that her husband was unusually cruel or mean. In fact he was the very embodiment of an English peer, impeccably bred and educated. Robert also happened to be polite and considerate, but the fact was, he had little or nothing in common with his young wife, and coupled with the fact that he was over thirty years her senior, meant that the gulf between them seemed to grow wider by the day.
Sarah supposed she should be grateful that he was frequently away in London on the business of the estate; it gave her relief from the stilted conversations and pretense of love. It was almost as though they were actors in a poorly written play, the interest they displayed in things that mattered most to each other was clearly feigned, he had no more interest in her garden than she had in his shooting and God forbid he bring up the subject of the estate’s financials.
They had married over a year ago, a marriage of convenience for both her family and for his heirless estate. Unfortunately, even though he was relatively handsome and an imposing figure for his age, it had not taken her long to realize that there would never be anything between them than a warm admiration.
They had consummated their marriage on the night of the wedding and it had been an underwhelming, uncomfortable experience for Sarah, definitely not the stuff of her romantic dreams. There had only been a handful of conjugal visits in the months that followed, and Robert seemed unconcerned that they had yet to conceive an heir. Sarah prayed for it. With no other options for her, she was in this marriage to the bitter end; perhaps a baby would fill the yawning gap in her life. As the months turned into a year though, it seemed more and more unlikely to happen. In fact the Lord had not visited her bed in more than two months now and she had almost resigned herself to being in a loveless, childless marriage forever.
“Come in,” Sarah said, when Laura knocked softly on the door.
She didn’t curtsey; Sarah had broken her of that habit quite quickly and Laura came straight to the bed when she saw that her lady had finished her breakfast.
“You left quite a lot this morning my Lady, are you feeling unwell?”
“I’m fine Laura, you mustn’t fuss.”
She watched the maid pick up her tray and roused herself from bed.
“Have Rodgers bring Duchess to the kitchen, I wish to walk in my garden this morning.”
“Yes Lady Acton, would you like me to dress you?”
Sarah, in the midst of a very unladylike stretch and yawn waved her off, “no Laura, I’m a big girl now, but you may come and do my hair as soon as you take that down.”
Laura smiled at Sarah, once again marveling at her good luck in coming to Acton Manor at the same time as the new lady. Her previous engagement had been horrible, Lady’s maid to an ancient foul tempered Baroness. Laura, normally a pleasant and polite servant had shed no tears when the old hag had gone in her sleep, and had fortuitously been recommended to Lord Acton by the young Baron when he had taken the reins.
“Yes my Lady,” she nodded and went through the door.
Sarah stripped off her night clothes and washed her face in the basin atop her dresser. With her face still damp, she looked into the gilded looking glass, watching her own sad eyes staring back. She took in her fine features and porcelain like skin and pinched her cheeks to bring some color to them. A day in her garden would do her good, she thought. Naked, with the cold water trickling down her neck and onto her chest, she suddenly felt the chill of the morning. She looked down at herself as she felt her nipples harden.
Unconsciously her hands went to them and she cupped her ample breasts, feeling her stimulated nipples against her palms. She felt a familiar, warmth blossom between her thighs and dared to slowly caress her breasts. She thought back to her husband’s last visit to her bed, his fumbling attempts to arouse her and let one hand trail down her belly the way she wished his had…she snatched her hands away and up to her chin when Laura opened the door without knocking.
The maid paused in the doorway with an embarrassed look on her face, and Sarah quickly suppressed the flash of anger she felt at the interruption and smiled to cover her own discomfit.
“I decided to wait for you to dress me after all. Come, Duchess will be waiting for me.”
2
Sarah nodded and greeted the servants as she passed through their quarters and the kitchen. As much as she was comfortable with her station, and totally at ease in her position of authority, she had never been quite as comfortable in these surrounds as she had been in her family home. She couldn’t help feeling as though she was intruding in some way and never tarried on her occasional visits.
Mr. Rodgers the butler was seated at the head of the large wooden table polishing silver as she entered the kitchen itself and he stood immediately.
“Good morning Rodgers, please don’t get up, I am just on my way to the garden with Duchess. Is she ready?”
The immaculately attired Rodgers slowly eased back onto his seat. He had doleful eyes and a stern no-nonsense manner in keeping with his position.
“Yes milady,” he said in a rich voice. “Miller is keeping her company just outside the door for you. Is there anything you will require?”
She was about to say no, but caught herself. “Well yes as a matter of fact. Have Cook prepare a picnic lunch for me, I will take it in my garden at 12:30. Fresh lemonade if you please.”
As though unable to help himself, he stood again and nodded, “Yes milady, I will see to it.”
“Thank you Rodgers,” she said and walked out through the door to the yard.
As usual the kitchen yard was in shade and the smell of poultry and freshly dug vegetables assaulted her nose.
Duchess came running to her dragging the hapless Miller behind her. The page stood stiffly at attention as Sarah, in a very unladylike fashion dropped to her knees on the hard packed and slightly damp earth and gathered up the furry little ball of enthusiasm.
“That’s a good girl!” she said to her pet, allowing the dog to lick her face in welcome.
She noticed the widening of Miller’s eyes and put her hand out to take the leash.
“Thank you Miller, that will be all for now.”
She walked briskly through the gate in the stone wall onto the well-worn path that threaded its way through the emerald grass and white bordered gardens towards Lady’s Retreat. The sunlight on her shoulders and the fact that she was headed towards what was now her favourite place in England, or anywhere really, put a spring in her step.
Sarah placed Duchess on the path and they walked contentedly towards the distant folly, a pillared architectural ornament that marked the entrance to the garden. It reminded Sarah of the acropolis, but seemed far from gaudy, half hidden by juniper trees and in the surrounds of the impeccable gardens of Acton.
“Hello Johnson!” she called when the estate’s grey
haired gardener emerged from a stand of conifers. He was carrying a hoe in one hand and wiped his hand on his grimy overalls as he approached.
“Good mornin’ Mistress,” he said in his thick York accent.
It was at this point that a second figure that Sarah didn’t recognize emerged from the shadows pushing a wheelbarrow. He was tall and well-built, with dark hair, a seductive wave of which was falling over his perspiring brow. Duchess gave a small bark of surprise, then a comical low growl. The stranger spied her, and a rakish grin crossed his dirty but handsome face. Sara was instantly intrigued, such a fetching fellow for a gardener, and here he was looking boldly at her. Lady Acton couldn’t help feeling a prickle of self-consciousness and also, she hated to admit it, attraction. She wasn’t used to servants…or anyone looking at her like that. She glared at him challengingly, suddenly angry that he would have the nerve to look at his better in such a rude manner. For his part, the strongly made gardener seemed unfazed by her heated regard as he came to a halt in front of them. He looked to be in his late twenties.
Sarah’s voice changed as she addressed Johnson again, refusing to look at the man. “Who is this bold fellow, Johnson?”
“This be my new assistant, Lady Acton, Fitzwilliam Darcy…” he turned and noticed the admiring way the new employee was looking at the mistress and whipped his hat off his head and slapped the younger man over the shoulder with it. “Mind your manners boy, this is Lady Acton.”
Still grinning, the handsome newcomer swept the wave of hair out of his eyes and bent at the waist in a reasonable impression of a courtly bow.
“Forgive me my lady; I was blinded by your beauty…my humble apologies for any offence.”
His smirk and the look in his brown eyes said he was anything but apologetic, but she felt her anger slip away. Up close he was even more handsome…manlier. Even in a homespun shirt and trousers, and as grimy as he was, he emanated confidence and power and she felt her heart flutter in her chest as he gave her an appraising look. Again, she looked to Johnson.
Darcy's Dark Desires Page 4