by Ola Wegner
She strode to the window to admire the garden once again. Then she walked to the bed, and perched herself on the edge of it.
"Do you wish to take a nap?"
He shook his head. "No."
She locked her eyes with his. "What do you wish to do then?"
He sat on the bed next to her. "It depends on you."
"I do not wish to anticipate our vows," she admitted, staring down at her hands placed neatly on her lap.
He cupped her face so she looked at him. "Neither do I," he assured. "It should not be done in a hurry. I wish to have all time needed to love you the first time."
She nodded, swallowing.
He took her hand in his. "There are other things we can do, though."
"Very well," she lay down compliantly on her back, and then she remembered herself and sat up to remove her shoes, putting them neatly next to the bed.
Darcy removed his shoes as well and stretched out beside her.
For a long moment, he only stared at her, before he pulled her closer.
"You smell so good today," he whispered, putting his nose into her hair.
She wanted to explain that it was a special brand of soap which her uncle imported, a combination of vanilla and lavender, but then she decided not to divulge this information. It was unnecessary, and hardly romantic.
"Thank you," she whispered.
She gasped when he rolled on his back and pulled her over him, so she was spread flat over his body.
"Can you let your hair free?" he asked.
"I will not be able to put it back the same later on my own. My aunt will notice…"
"Does it matter?" he asked.
He was right. It was such a little thing he was asking of her, and he had done so much for her
She sat up on his stomach, her knees bent on his sides. "Am I not heavy?"
His hands wandered on the top of her thighs, keeping her firmly in place. "Perfect."
With quick fingers, she removed all the pins from her hair, putting them on the bedside table. The heavy mass of dark hair fell down her torso, around her shoulders, and down her back. Before he could take time to admire it, she leaned forward and kissed him.
He returned the kiss instantly, one of his hands in her hair, the other stroking her back. She was so concentrated on the kiss, that only after a minute or so, did she notice that he had begun opening the buttons down the back of her dress.
"Fitzwilliam," she whispered with warning in her voice, as the top of her dress began falling loose, and he tugged down at her sleeves.
"I only want to see more of you," he whispered soothingly. He lifted up himself, supporting his back against the headboard. She was still astride him, only now they were both sitting up.
Not taking his eyes from her face, he pushed the top of her dress down as far as it would go, revealing her stays and under clothes. Her chemise was thin and transparent, showing her skin, but it was not enough for him, because without hesitation, he lowered the straps down her arms.
Instinctively, she placed her arm against her now bare bosom.
"Do not hide," he chided, taking her hand away.
She could not look at him; she was too embarrassed. She shuddered when his hands covered her breasts, his thumbs tugging at the nipples gently.
"Beautiful, perfect," he whispered.
She remembered well how her mother said once that she would not find a husband as she was too flat, especially in comparison to Jane and Lydia. She dared to glance at Darcy's face. He did not look displeased; quite the contrary, in fact.
"Open my shirt," he blurted.
It sounded more like an order, but she did not mind. If she was naked from the waist up, he should be as well. Unbuttoning his shirt took only a few seconds. She placed her hands on his chest, and stroked it shyly. He sighed quietly, and then pulled her forward, so her bosom touched his hard chest, the hair he had there, tickling her sensitive skin in a most pleasant way.
"Perfect," he murmured again, gathering her hair to the side to kiss her neck.
The next moment, she was on her back, and he was kissing the path from her neck to the tips of her breasts. It was a feeling like nothing she'd ever felt before. There seemed to be a direct connection between her bosom and her feminine parts. The more he pulled, kissed and suckled on her, the more she had an urge to rub her thighs together.
He did not stop paying attention to her chest when his hand moved confidently under her dress. He first touched her knee, traced with his finger the end of her stocking and her garter, before placing his warm hands on the inside of her thigh. Her back lifted from the bed. She knew she needed him to do more, and she did not care how he would do it. She wanted more - a completion of sorts.
"Patience," he murmured in her ear. Suddenly the place beside her was empty and he was kneeling next to her, lifting her skirt farther up.
"What are you doing?" she exclaimed, her eyes wide.
"I told you I wanted to see more of you," he answered, distractedly, pulling her skirt and petticoats over her knees, his head bending down.
It dawned on her that he had every intention of looking at her private parts.
"No," she sat up abruptly, trying to cover herself below, forgetting that her breasts were swaying in the process. His attention was occupied with her bosom for a moment, and she managed to push her skirts past her knees.
He placed his hand on her calf. "I only wished to look."
"Why?" she asked, scandalized. "There is nothing to look at there."
"Of course there is," he pushed her on her back, covering her with his body. "Let me, Lizzy. Just one look."
She kept shaking her head. "No, it is not right to look there."
"You realize that I will have to touch you there to consummate the marriage."
"Yes, but you do not have to look," she argued.
"I will look when we are married," he informed her.
"Why?"
He looked her in the eye. "I want to. It makes me want you even more, if that is possible. My blood boils when I think about this part of you." He demonstrated what he referred to by sneaking his hand under her skirts again, and placing his hand low on her stomach where her pubic hair started and her stays ended.
She frowned. "Do other men do that as well?" she asked slowly. "Do they look between their wife's legs?"
"Yes," he answered with a straight face, even though she could see that the corners of his mouth were twitching.
"Are you certain?"
"Yes."
After another minute of coaxing, kisses, and embraces, Elizabeth lay down again, and allowed him to kneel between her legs, her skirts bunched around her waist. Not wanting to feel entirely exposed, she tugged her petticoats over her upper self. To her further mortification, he turned her on the bed so that more light could fall on her from the window. She covered her whole upper self, including her face, with her petticoat, and waited till he finished examining her, the cool air and his hot breath fawning over her privates.
"You are small," she heard him, before he murmured something quietly, clearly to himself. "…will have to be careful."
At last he allowed her to close her legs. Still embarrassed beyond any measure, she curled against his chest as he lay next to her again.
"You are perfect all over," he informed her. "I have never seen such a pretty, little…" he started, but she slapped his chest, speaking harshly. "I truly do not wish to hear that."
"Of course," he agreed quickly.
She was relieved when he returned to what she already knew well, kissing, stroking her arms and back. She again relaxed in his embrace, but did not protest as he placed his hand between her legs and began gently stroking and probing. She hid her face in his chest as he touched her.
In no time, he seemed to find what brought the most response from her. There was no discomfort, only pleasure. She expected pain on her wedding night, once he would enter her, but so far it was all very pleasurable, no matter how embarrass
ing.
As she trembled in his arms, she did not care about anything. For that short moment, she did not even think about those women he had been with before her. All reason abandoned her, and she could only cling to him, hoping to prolong the pleasure.
"You liked it, sweetheart?" he asked, putting his arm around her.
She nodded into his chest, waiting for her racing heart to slow down.
"Do you wish me to do it more often?" he crooned, cupping her face, looking in her eyes.
"Yes," she agreed quietly.
He chuckled and kissed her forehead. She did not protest when he took her hand by the wrist and directed it down his body. Only after a few second did she realize what she was touching.
Her fingers stilled, but she did not take her hand back. She was not sure what he expected her to do.
"Touch me the way I touched you," he instructed gently.
Her unsure eyes met his. "I do not know how."
"Everything will feel good to me."
He laid back as she sat up next to him. She tugged her dress up, just to cover her bosom, as she was not comfortable being so exposed in front of him. She reached to the front of his trousers. She began to palm the hard bulge, keeping in mind to be gentle and not use too much force. She felt inadequate, as truly she did not know what she was doing.
She glanced at him, as she continued with her stroking, judging his reaction. His head was thrown back, eyes closed, jaw line tense. He did not look particularly pleased, more like he was in pain.
"Am I hurting you?" she hesitated, stopping the movement of her hand.
"God, no," he breathed. With wide eyes, she observed as he reached down, impatiently tugging at the opening of his trousers.
She did not look away when he took this part of himself out. She was curious what it would look like. She expected it be ugly, but it was not. It looked oddly attractive, tall and large, just like the rest of him. She briefly wondered how this would fit inside of her. Then she remembered that a newborn baby was much bigger than this. She hoped that when the time came, and he would push inside her, it would hurt less than childbirth.
His chuckle brought her attention to his face.
"You are taking a good look," he noted.
"I have seen pictures in my father's books, but they were all black and white," she explained her staring. "It looks strange, but handsome," she decided, touching the plump, pink head with the tip of her finger.
As he hissed at her touch, she took her hand back.
"No, do not stop, please." He brought her hand back.
She shot him a doubtful look. "You look as if you are in agony."
"Oh, believe me, dearest. I am." He wrapped her fingers around his manhood. "Like this." He directed her hand up and down.
Elizabeth moved her hand up and down and soon discovered what sort of pressure seemed to please him most. His breathing changed, and at one moment, he tugged her dress down, baring her breasts again, cupping one with his hand.
She continued with her stroking, happy to be pleasing him. She sensed that the end was nearing, and he would feel the same pleasure she had experienced before from his hand.
Suddenly he pushed her hands away, shoving her on her back, so she leaned back on her elbows. Then he did something she would never have expected him to do. He took himself in his hand, tugged firmly a few times, and with what could only be his seed, emptied himself on her bare bosom.
That, she did not like. She was more than certain that it was something which he had learned at one of the brothels he must have visited in the past. Tears stood in her eyes. Would he demand such things from her? She felt degraded.
It took him a moment to notice her reaction.
"God, Lizzy… forgive me," he cupped her cheek, brushing away her tears.
She shook her head, not looking at him. She tried to readjust her dress, but her chest was still covered in his… in what he poured all over her. At least her clothes had stayed clean.
She started looking around for something to wipe herself with, and he must have guessed her intention, because he ran to the bathing room, returning shortly with the wet towel.
She took it from him without a word and cleaned herself hastily, before righting her dress. He tried to help her with buttoning the back of her gown, but she jumped away from him, doing it herself.
He stood behind her as she tried to pin her hair up with shaky fingers. She remembered that there was a mirror in the bathing room, so she walked there, and he followed her.
Silently, he handed her a comb, which she accepted. She brushed her hair, untying the knots he had made tugging at it with his fingers, and section by section, she pinned up the heavy mane. She was not able to achieve the same result as before, but it did not matter. She just wanted to leave this place as soon as possible.
"Lizzy, please." She felt his hand on her shoulder. "I apologize. I got carried away. I was in the moment. You have this effect on me."
She did not want to listen to him. What he had done felt horrible. She could not imagine enjoying such antics, ever. Would their marital relations be like that? Him making her do things she felt uncomfortable with? She shuddered. What had happened to him? He had been so gentle and considerate before.
When she finished with her hair, she turned to him, still not looking into his eyes.
"Say something," he whispered.
"I wish to return to my uncle's house."
He sighed heavily. "Of course, if it is your wish."
She moved to the door, but he stopped her, blocking her way. "Please say something. What I did… I should have not done it, especially not with a maiden like you. Perhaps later in our marriage…"
"No," she stopped him, lifting her hand. "I am not one of your whores. I did not enjoy it, and I cannot imagine I ever will."
"Of course," he looked chastised, his hand hanging down.
"I understand my duties as your wife, and I wish to fulfil them, but it was too much."
"You minded only the last part?" he wanted to know, looking intently into her face.
She nodded curtly. "Yes, only the end."
He looked so relieved with her admission that she had to fight the urge to laugh. This lifted her mood considerably.
"I want to touch you and please you," she explained, "but that… was degrading and humiliating for me."
"I will not do it again, I swear. I beg you to believe me, trust me. I do not wish to part with you in anger," he spoke quickly.
She took a calming breath. "I do believe you. I wish to make you happy but that… was too much for my comfort."
"Sweetheart, it is my last wish for you to fear me or avoid me."
She nodded, allowing herself to step into his arms.
"Am I forgiven?" he whispered in her hair, stroking her back.
"Only if you do not do it ever again," she pleaded.
"I will not," he ensured, squeezing her tightly to him.
Chapter Sixteen
Darcy finished reading the letter from his uncle, Lord Matlock, and put it in the drawer of his desk. He moved closer to the fireplace and sank into his favourite armchair, stretching out his long legs. The content of the letter was not a surprise to him. To be truthful, he had expected that the Matlocks' reaction to the news of his upcoming nuptials would be much worse. The tone of the letter was clear – they would have wished a better match for their nephew. However, as he was of age, independent, and his very own man, they had no intention of swaying him in his desire to marry whom he had chosen for himself.
He realized that to some degree, at least, he must have to thank Colonel Fitzwilliam for that unexpected leniency towards his marriage. His uncle mentioned how Richard had ensured them that Darcy’s bride, though without dowry and connections, was an admirable young lady, and would not bring shame to their family. His aunt even added a few lines at the bottom of the letter, asking him to bring his wife to Matlock so they could properly meet her.
Darcy presumed that his
aunt and uncle were somewhat relieved that he had finally found someone he wanted to take for a wife, especially after he had dismissed countless young women that Lady Matlock had introduced to him over the years. Her understanding was that, as his parents were deceased, it was her duty to recommend the right kind of candidates to fill the role of Mistress of Pemberley.
As he glanced at the clock, he saw that it was almost four in the afternoon. He expected Georgiana and Elizabeth any moment. They were to return from their shopping trip. The wedding was to take place in five days, and he was giddy with anticipation at the surprise he had for Elizabeth. She thought that they would travel to Pemberley directly, but he had planned something entirely different. Elizabeth knew nothing of it. Sensing that she felt overwhelmed with the events of the last few weeks, he wished to grant her a short holiday before she would take on the duties of Mistress of Pemberley. He had never doubted that she would do admirably, but from his own experience, he knew how long it had taken him to adjust to the role of a Master.
She was still not eating as she should, but he did not dare bring the topic back up for discussion. The last thing he wanted was to have her weeping and pushing away from him like the last time he had mentioned her lack of appetite. He would see to it himself that she ate properly once they were married, starting on their honeymoon.
They would go to the seaside, staying at the cottage he had rented, just two of them. The servants would come from the nearest village to prepare their meals and clean, but apart from that, they would be left all alone - hopefully taking long strolls, talking, sea bathing, and loving. He was not opposed to spending all day in bed with her, in addition to the nights.
At the beginning of their engagement, he had been certain that he would start his married life with separate bedrooms. He had even told her that he would wait until she was ready. His intention was sincere when he had spoken those words, even though in truth he did not want to wait a moment longer than his wedding day. However, he knew that she would be more receptive to him if she had the opportunity to make her own choice.
Elizabeth was a passionate woman. She enjoyed his touch, accepted his kisses and caresses. He prided himself that he had played his cards well. He had been very careful at first, not pushing her too hard, taking what she had been ready to give him as he slowly led her towards the marriage bed. As a result, he now had her trusting and clinging to him, whenever they had a few minutes of privacy, which was not often enough for him.