by Delaney Jane
He swallowed her scream with a kiss, making her gasp, his tongue sliding into her mouth. She wanted desperately to drive her fingers into his hair, but the binding held fast, so she made do with wrapping her legs around him.
Darcy slid an arm around her waist, lifting her, and drove himself into her, deep and hard, making the bench creak. Elizabeth sucked on his tongue as though it were his cock. Darcy groaned and leaned back. He smacked her ass and squeezed her buttocks hard, pulling them apart.
Her breasts bouncing with his thrusts, Elizabeth was close. Darcy sensed it and slammed into her harder. He sucked two fingers into his mouth, wetting them, and then he slid them over her nub.
Elizabeth was lost. Her back arched, as her orgasm rocked her. Darcy rubbed her clit until she was bucking and jerking against him, and then he gripped her hips and drove into her until he, too, went rigid.
This time, he pulled from her and spilled his seed onto her stomach. As she came down from her climax she thought she saw the smallest trace of disappointment cross his brow, but then he was up, dipping a handkerchief into the stream, and returning to her to wash her belly. He untied her. They each dressed, and then walked to church together.
After church Darcy removed himself to Rosings with his aunt, while Elizabeth went for a walk in the warm morning sunshine with the Collinses and Darcy’s cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam. While on their walk, Charlotte and Mr. Collins took a detour, both of them giggling as they disappeared into the trees. Elizabeth enjoyed some polite conversation with Colonel Fitzwilliam.
It was not until they were nearly back to the Collins home when Elizabeth stumbled. Fitzwilliam caught her arm, looking for a rock or tree root, but it had been his words that had made her falter.
“You say Mr. Darcy saved a friend from a disastrous marriage? Would that friend be Mr. Bingley?”
“It would be,” said Fitzwilliam, oblivious to the shock on Elizabeth’s face.
“Did he say why?” They began walking again.
“He did. He told me that while the lady was decent enough, she was of low birth, and her family was quite absurd. So, he convinced him to leave Netherfield and go back to London. Been there for a few months now…”
Fitzwilliam went on, but Elizabeth’s ears were ringing.
Bingley had been in London for months, but he had yet to reach out to Jane, who had also been there for months, and who had written to Miss Bingley and told her she was in London. Jane had been miserable, though she told no one.
And Darcy was the reason for her sister’s misery. Darcy, the man she had come to—no, not love, which had been her first thought. Darcy was a man she had come to desire, that was all. He was the man she had just been with only hours before. She could still smell him on her.
Disgusted with herself, Elizabeth excused herself as soon as they arrived at the cottage and claimed a headache.
It was all she could not to pack her things, take a horse, and ride home on her own right then. But Charlotte would worry, and it was not her fault that Darcy was a horrible man. She had let his kindness, and his betrayal by Wickham cloud her judgment. But perhaps it had been Darcy all along. Was she so taken by him that she would believe anything he told her?
Elizabeth was going to clean up and write to her sister, needing to reach out to her in some way and comfort her, when there was a knock at the door. Thinking it was Fitzwilliam Elizabeth opened it right away.
It was not Colonel Fitzwilliam. It was Darcy.
She stared up at him, too shocked to form words.
“Might I come in?” he asked. He seemed nervous, but Elizabeth only nodded and stepped aside. Darcy walked into the parlor, wringing his hands.
She followed, biting her tongue before she could rain down on him all of the vile things she wished to say.
“Miss Bennet,” said he. “I know that it was never your intention to marry, and not anyone of my birth and wealth. You did not want to appear as though you married for the money, which I admire greatly. Despite your low birth and your unfortunate family, I find myself unable to keep myself from thinking about you. These past months without you have been hard. I wrote you many letters and sent none, fearing your receiving of them to be unwanted. But, I believe that you might feel as I do, and that is why I come to you today. I want—I wish to—” He cleared his throat, his dark eyes bright with energy. “I love you, Elizabeth. Marry me.”
Elizabeth’s mouth fell open. She stared at him, shock stealing words from her mouth. But then it wore off, and while she would have loved dearly to curse at him, she instead remained civilized and said, “Sir, I thought you knew me better. I cannot accept your proposal for reasons you have already stated.”
He waved a hand in the air, dismissing her answer or her reason. “If you are worried that others would think you had married for money, worry not. Or rather, care not. You are my equal where it counts. Life with you could never be boring.”
She frowned at him. “I will not marry to be a plaything.”
“Of course not. I merely meant that even for you, whom I know covets your freedom and your independence; you shall never have to worry that I would take those from you. I adore those things about you.”
“And my family?”
“What of them?”
“If we married, they would be your family as well. Does their low rank not bother you?”
He gave a shrug. “It is a small inconvenience, but I could grow to live with it.”
Elizabeth laughed, her calm breaking. “You could live with it, but you could not allow Bingley and my sister happiness because of my family?”
His eyes narrowed in thought. “Your sister’s intentions were unclear, her feelings toward Bingley never seemed more than admiring. I had thought her intentions were the same as your mother’s, the very intentions you run from.”
“My sister does not confide in even me. You ruined her happiness, sir, and for all I know, it was you who wronged Mr. Wickham, not the other way around.”
Darcy glared at her, towering over her.
“You do not frighten me, Mr. Darcy,” said she. “I may covet my freedom and independence, but you covet power. You have no power over me.”
“No?” he grinned. “What of our intimacy?” He ran his fingers over her cheek. “You gave up any chance of marriage to a decent gentleman when you let me take you that first time.”
“Ah, but I let you. It was my choice.”
“Would you have become that wild woman for any other man, or just me?”
“It would depend on the man.”
He shook his head. “Will you hear what I have to say or have you made up your mind about me?”
Elizabeth took a step toward him, craning her neck to glare into his eyes. “In public we are no more than acquaintances. Even if I were to hear you and let your story convince me of your good intentions, how could I marry you? We are not friends, we have not courted, we have only fucked. I do not know you, Mr. Darcy, and I do not wish to.”
“You know me.”
“I know you the way a whore knows a man. What I know of you, and after what you have done to my sister, I would rather be your whore than your wife.”
He glared at her. “You would still be mine.”
Before she knew she was going to do it, Elizabeth slapped him across the face. The sound cracked in the small space. It felt good, and she did it again. This time, though, he caught her wrist, squeezing painfully.
He glared down at her, his eyes burning and, for a moment, the thrill of desire coursed through her. While they had always been matched quite equally when it came to sex, she had never felt in any danger. Right then, with him towering over her, hurting her, she wanted him, wanted him to take her, possess her. She couldn’t rationalize why she felt this way.
“If you will not hear me,” said he, “we have nothing more to say to each other.” He released her wrist and turned.
He was going to leave, for good, and despite what he had done, she felt sick at the tho
ught. Elizabeth, overcome with emotion, laughed. “You are proud and you are selfish, and I could not marry you if you were to become the poorest and most socially inferior man in all of England.”
He turned, his hand on the door, his face a mask. “I suppose I am those things.”
“And you are cruel.”
“Perhaps,” said he, and he turned the lock on the door, latching them inside.
She froze, watching him come toward her once again, the fire in his eyes making her stomach curl.
“Perhaps I am cruel, and you will not marry me. But I know you, and you do know me, which is why I know that when I take you now, you will not scream, no matter how much it hurts, you’ll only want more.”
Lizzy swung at him again, and he caught her wrist, squeezing it yet again. His usual playful demeanor was gone and in its place was a ferocious need she felt deep in her bones.
Turning her away from him, he forced her forward, bending her over a small table. Pens and papers fell to the floor. Elizabeth gripped the table and planted her feet to keep from falling, all of it happening too fast for her to do more than not fall over. Darcy yanked her skirts up over her hips, baring her backside to the room.
She fought to turn around, stop him, but he pushed her down onto the table. She heard his trousers come loose and felt the hot head of his cock slide between her thighs. She was already wet, and he slid in easily, swallowed by her cunt.
Elizabeth gasped, as he filled her, pressing deep into her, his hands on her hips, pulling her backward onto him. He slammed into her, grunting with each thrust, his hips smacking into her buttocks, the sound their bodies made when they came together was indecent and drove Elizabeth toward oblivion.
She hated him and she wanted nothing more than to keep him buried inside her.
Darcy took the back of her dress in his hands and ripped and tore, the sound of fabric tearing filled the room, until there was nothing upon her body. He raked his nails up her back and around to her breasts, squeezing them and using them to anchor himself as he fucked her. It was all Elizabeth could do not to tip the table over.
His mouth was at her ear, hot and wet, his words no more than a growl. “Tell me you are mine.”
She pressed back into him, spreading her legs to take more of him. He groaned, pressing his forehead against her back.
“Tell me,” he urged.
“I am no one’s,” she spat.
He pulled from her quickly and then yanked her up from the table. He gripped her face in his hands, his lips inches from hers. She ached to feel them on her own, but he took her to the ground, yanking the remains of her dress from her arms. He knelt between her thighs, took her ass in his hands, and buried his face in her cunt.
Elizabeth gasped, driving her nails into his hair. She clung to him, pressing his face against her, moaning, as he devoured her. He slid two fingers into her, pumping them in and out, pushing them deep into her until his knuckles were nearly swallowed.
He pumped them fast, his tongue flicking over her nub. His other hand found her asshole, and he pushed his little finger just inside, the warmth and pressure making Elizabeth groan and fall back onto the hard floor.
“Please,” she begged, reaching for him, wanting to touch more of him.
He glared at her over her breasts. “Tell me.” His fingers moved inside her, slowly now, his lips whispering over her folds.
Elizabeth bit her lip, and then glared back. “I am no one’s,” she said again.
Darcy rose quickly, turning his whole body, and coming down on top of her with his cock swinging hard and wet over her mouth. She did not wait, but took hold of his cock and sucked him between her lips. Darcy groaned, pushing into her mouth, his cock deep in her throat. He fucked her mouth, pulsing in and out, her mouth sucking hard. She took his balls in her hand and fondled them over her forehead. Her jerked against her, and then planted his mouth on her cunt.
Were her mouth not full of Darcy, she would have screamed. He moved his head back and forth so violently as to risk tearing her apart. She spread her legs wider, turning her hips to meet his mouth. He took hold of her thighs and pulled them closer to him, lifting her ass in the air, and driving his tongue down into her.
Elizabeth ran her tongue around the head of his cock, savoring the salty taste of him, and then she swallowed him again. She felt him swell in her mouth, and then he pulled from her, twisting around again, lying on top of her, their breath mingling as they panted. His dark eyes searched hers.
He held his cock against her nub, dragging it up and down, between her folds.
“Tell me,” he said once more, and then he slammed into her so that she gasped, pulled out again, and slowly dragged the tip of his cock over her hot flesh. “Tell me,” he whispered.
When she did not respond, he slammed into her, hard, rattling the bones of her hips. She grabbed his face, pulling him down and intending to kiss him, but he yanked his head from her grasp and slammed into her again. She cried out at the pain, delicious as it was, craving more, shaking with need as he drove her crazy with his deliberate slowness and his crushing thrusts.
He did this over and over, slamming into her hard and then pulling out to slowly slide his cock over her throbbing clit, each thrust was preceded by his demand, to which she refused to meet. But her resolve was weakening each time he drove into her, his thrusts bringing her closer to a climax she needed, but would not achieve unless he truly fucked her.
He dipped his head, his cock moving slowly between her wet folds, and he kissed her throat, sucking at the tender skin hard when he thrust into her. He licked up her neck, behind her ear, nipping at her earlobe as he thrust again.
Elizabeth dug her nails into his back, urging him on, gasping and moaning beneath him. Each time she did not answer his demand, he moved more slowly, until she was shaking with desire.
She could taste him in her mouth; feel him inside her, over her, all around her. It was time to stop pretending.
She lifted her head, pressing her lips to his ear and she moaned, “Yours! I’m yours, fuck I’m yours!”
And with that, Darcy drove into her, pumping his hips hard.
Her legs shook, her body aching, as her release stole over her. Elizabeth arched her back, her breath too taken to make any noise. As she came, Darcy thrust hard and fast, barely pulling free before pressing deep into her again. She could feel his balls slapping against her ass, his arms wrapped tight around her, his face pressed into her neck. She came down from her orgasm, shaking and jerking against him.
Finally, he slammed into her one last time and filled her with his hot seed. He grunted against her throat, breathing heavily. Elizabeth clung to him, tears in her eyes.
For a moment they lay there entwined and panting. But then, too soon, Elizabeth thought, Darcy lifted his head. His dark eyes searched hers, his unreadable. He dipped his head and brushed his lips against hers.
Tossing her dress to her on the floor where she lay, Darcy fixed his clothing and left.
She lay on the floor as the sun warmed the room, not moving until she heard her cousin and his wife coming. In her room Elizabeth remained, first taking a hot bath with the help of Charlotte’s only maid, and then sitting by the window looking at Rosings until the sun began to fall.
Charlotte came up before dinner with a letter in her hand. She held it out to Elizabeth, who took it with much trepidation.
“It is from Mr. Darcy,” said Charlotte, her eyebrow lifting as though she knew things.
Elizabeth clutched the letter and her hand shook.
Chapter Fourteen
The Bonding of Sisters
I do not know when I have been more shocked. Wickham so very bad! It is almost past belief. And poor Mr. Darcy! Dear Lizzy, only consider what he must have suffered.
Elizabeth did not see Darcy for the rest of her time at Hunsford. She left for London soon, bidding her friend farewell. She stayed with the Gardiners for a night, joining Jane, who would return with her to Longbo
urn in the morning. It was with a heavy heart that Elizabeth listened to Jane lie about how she felt about Bingley.
He had never come to visit her. Lizzy knew why, but she would not say. She couldn’t. That would break her fragile sister’s heart to know someone could be so cruel as to keep Bingley from her.
In the night, after Jane had gone to sleep, Lizzy read the letter again. It was all there, and yet, she could not find it in her to forgive him for destroying her sister’s happiness. For now, it was all excuses. In time, perhaps, she would see his reasoning differently. Until then, she was only concerned with Jane.
At home, things between Lizzy and Mrs. Bennet seemed slightly less hostile. Though the woman still refused to speak to her daughter unless she had to, she was at least not leaving every room into which Elizabeth walked.
Lydia spoke of noting at dinner except that the militia was in Meryton before they would head for Brighton. She begged her sisters to go with her, but Elizabeth had had enough of men for a while, and Jane, heartbroken, opted to stay back as well.
They lay in bed listening to the night animals sing. Jane turned her head in the dark, her eyes bright.
“You did not want to see Mr. Wickham?”
Elizabeth could hear her sister’s desperate need for something to take her mind off of Bingley, so Lizzy relayed the information she had on Wickham that had been tearing at her for months. Jane only gasped at the news that Wickham and Darcy had been lovers before giving it a moment’s thought.
“I suppose love can happen to anyone.”
“Not for Wickham.”
And then Elizabeth told her how Darcy caught him with another, and then how he tried to elope with Georgiana.
They occupied themselves for a time debating whether or not to expose Wickham for the scoundrel he was. In the end, they decided that he would get his comeuppance and let the matter rest.