Nights With Fitzwilliam Darcy
Page 2
Fitzwilliam smoothed back her hair so he could look her in the eyes as she worked on him. His eyes still half-lidded searched her own. “My beautiful wife,” he murmured. “I hope I shall share many moments like this with you.”
The thought of it made her close her eyes and smile. A great thing this marrying scheme was when she could spend her nights like this—sharing her husband’s bed. “I think I should like that very much.”
He cupped her face and then groaned as her movements quickened. He lifted his hips to meet her motion and she reveled in the thought that he was enjoying her. He lifted her chemise a little further revealing her breasts. She could see her tight peaks pointing toward the ceiling. He lowered his mouth to one and she could not help but stumble over her movements. How was she to take much more pleasure? Wild and unrestrained, she let her husband go and pulled her chemise up and over her head. She wanted him to see all of her. To take all of her.
Darcy’s eyes blazed before her. His gaze raked over her body. She felt no wickedness or shame, she only felt only the most enduring love for her husband. Fitzwilliam pushed the rest of his breeches to the floor and then centered himself over Elizabeth. Their chests touched and their breaths mingled. He touched her chin, gazing upon her with a softness she had yet seen him bestow upon anybody. “I love you,” he said.
“And I love you,” she breathed.
He arched his hips upward. Elizabeth felt him at her center. She opened her legs further, allowing him space. He was tentative at first. With each thrust of his hips, he reached further and further inside Elizabeth, eliciting a gasp or two from her in the process. Her need had returned and she moved with him, aching for him to fill her until his base. She peered down at the joining of their bodies. He had yet to fill her even by half. She longed for more. “Please, Fitzwilliam.”
She reached toward him with her hips and he groaned. “I am afraid of hurting you.”
She couldn’t help it, but a small laugh escaped her. “It has not hurt yet,” she said, teasingly. Then, more serious, she cupped his face, “I trust you will not hurt me.”
He pulled up to gaze down at her. His ready smirk soon fell as he pumped inside her further and further each time. At one point, Elizabeth felt a pinch, but she soldiered on for her Darcy’s face was filled with the same painful pleasure she imagined hers held. When he was fully seated, Elizabeth sighed. Complete. Full. Satiated.
Then, Darcy moved his hips. “Oh,” she murmured.
The same fierce wanting returned. He bent over her, taking her nipple in his mouth. Elizabeth bucked off the bed, meeting one of Darcy’s hard thrusts. Fitzwilliam roared. His movements became sharper, quicker. Everything was a blind furry of need. The feel of his thick, hard cock rubbing against her insides in all the right ways made her moan with pleasure continually. She grasped his buttocks and pulled him to her.
“Oh, Elizabeth,” he groaned. He thrust inside her again and again. His body quaking above her, she relished in the feeling building inside her again. He trembled. “My seed. I’m going to pour my seed into you, lovely Elizabeth.”
She pushed her knees down and met him stroke for stroke. Release was building inside her now, she recognized it. “I’m…I’m going to…”
She knew not the words to explain herself, but her Darcy understood. His lips covered her nipple, pulling and pulling, suckling and playing. He groaned into her skin in the most delightful way. Feeling cherished and able to give him his need, she met him for one more stroke until she screamed in pleasure. The world broke apart in front of her as Darcy still wildly stroked inside of her. Then, her Darcy stumbled and roared, pumping slowly into her his hot, wet seed.
Within a few moments, Fitzwilliam lowered his body onto Elizabeth’s. Their chests warred for breath as each one was lost to the satiation of pleasure. She turned her face to look at her beloved to find him looking more handsome than she had ever seen him. Raw, ungentlemanly suited him very well.
He stroked her jaw. “Are you well, Lizzy?”
She closed her eyes, remembering the rush of emotions she’d just felt. “I don’t think I’ve been more well in my entire life. I have you, and Pemberley. We have good friends, a successful marriage. To know that I could’ve been experiencing this all along, I may have even accepted your proposal in Kent.”
His lips curved into a smirk. “Yes, I think we shall be the happiest of couples. We shall always have your playful wit.”
Slowly, he pulled away from her and wrapped them in sheets from the bed. She snuggled into him. “Fitzwilliam, how often are we to do this?”
“Hmm. I say, as often as we want as long as we aren’t in public.”
She thought of her mother’s words and how she described it as Elizabeth doing her duty to her husband. It didn’t seem like a duty to Elizabeth. It felt more like Lydia described it—like good fun--though the thought of her agreeing with her silly sister on something such as this made her doubt herself. Did she always have to wait until her husband wanted it? What if she wanted his touches? Could she bring herself to ask for it?
Fitzwilliam touched the wrinkling between her eyes. “Pray tell me, what’s the matter?”
She laughed at herself and hid her face in the bed sheets to hide her embarrassment.
This piqued her new husband’s curiosity tenfold. “You simply must tell me now, Elizabeth.”
“It is nothing. Just the musings of a new wife, I suppose. I was merely thinking of how these things might happen in the future. My mother spoke of this as duty, which makes me think you would need to come to me. However, and I feel so silly for saying this, but I was half wondering if I might broach the subject with you if ever I should want to.”
Darcy smiled slowly, his eyes lowering to take his wife in. “I cannot tell you how happy it makes me to hear you say you enjoyed yourself. I hope that you will always feel comfortable talking to me, whether if it is about this or a business matter to the estate. You have my promise that if you come looking for me to share my bed, I will be more than happy to acquiesce to you, my love.” He kissed her softly on the lips. “I’ve met my match in every single way.”
THE END
An Offer of Impropriety
A Pride & Prejudice Sensual Retelling
Chapter 1
It is a truth universally acknowledged that when a lady receives an unwanted offer, she must find another, more agreeable one, as soon as can be managed.
When Elizabeth heard her mother and Mr. Collins whisper conspiratorially, she knew she was done for. Her attempts to skirt away from them were all for naught. Both Mr. Collins and her mother had marriage on the mind, and whilst Lizzy would love to get married, she wanted to attach herself to someone she could at least respect, and further still, she wished to marry for love.
In all ways, an attachment to Mr. Collins would be an abhorrent one. He was a simpering fool with little good breeding. If she were to be stuck under one roof with him for the rest of her life, let alone share his bed, her spirit would be taken from her immediately. This was too much for even Lizzy to acquiesce to.
Mrs. Bennet caught Elizabeth with a cold look after she’d attempted to flee and ignore the whole abominable situation. “I insist upon your staying and hearing Mr. Collins,” her mother cried, her voice terse.
With that, the drawing room door shut behind them and Mr. Collins and Elizabeth were left alone. The former wasted no time in addressing his cousin, and making his declaration. “You can hardly doubt the purport of my discourse, however your natural delicacy may lead you to dissemble; my attentions have been too marked to be mistaken. Almost as soon as I entered the house I singled you out as the companion of my future life.”
Almost as soon as he entered the house? Lizzy thought. What a time to speak in such a way. It was no secret his attentions lay toward Jane at first. She was almost happy to take Mr. Collins’ feelings—such as they were—from her dear sister for if Mr. Collins proposed to Jane before Mr. Bingley, who knew what her kind-hearted
sister might do in an instance such as this.
While Mr. Collins ran away with his feelings, telling Elizabeth his reasons for marrying, including the most silly one that his patroness Lady Catherine de Bourgh wished it, she studiously ignored him. Every time she listened to his exclamations, she thought sure she would be thrown into a fit of laughter.
One sentence did pull her out of her silent reverie. Mr. Collins pulled his shoulders back. “But the fact is, that being, as I am, to inherit this estate after the death of your honored father, (who, however, may live many years longer), I could not satisfy myself without resolving to choose a wife from among his daughters, that the loss to them might be as little as possible, when the melancholy event takes place — which, however, as I have already said, may not be for several years.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes to the thought of her sick father who lay in his study. He had taken ill with smallpox during a recent visit to London. Mr. Collins’ visit had been quite suspicious at first. Had he been inclined toward deviousness, Elizabeth would have continued with her original thought that he visited Longbourn only after hearing of her father’s illness. Since he was prone to pretty words and fancies, she concluded soon after his arrival that what he just explained to her was true. Instead of wishing to turn them all out of the house as soon as her father was dead, he only wished to make amends in some way by marrying one of them. The idea wasn’t entirely reprehensible. Only when she thought of it as being her who should marry him did she detest the thought. Surely her sister Mary would make him a better fit in every way.
She should have thought of that before! How tiresome that she should have to endure this when Mary was quite the obvious choice for him. Insufferable.
What was she to do now, though? Her mother supported and wished for the connection. How would her dear sisters react if she were to refuse Mr. Collins and seal their fates? Even Mr. Bennet, who thought his nephew as much of a fool as Elizabeth, might delight in such a prospect. The news may even lessen his suffering. At times when she had been caring for the sick Mr. Bennet, he spoke of his lament for not producing a son so that his daughters might be well looked after when it came to the time of his death. If Lizzy were to accept Mr. Collins’ proposal…
Her heart hung heavy in her chest. Tears threatened at her eyes as a violent swarm of emotion overcame her. Could she really refuse his offer, securing the ill fate of the rest of her family? Her heart was most definitely decided against him as soon as he entered the house, but to know what relief she might give her family if she did accept knowing that her father may not live very much longer. Even though it went against her every wish, how could she refuse him so?
Her heart broke. Interrupting the declaration of his violent affections, she stood from the chair and moved past him. She hadn’t any willpower left to keep her even countenance.
“Miss Elizabeth?” he called after her.
She choked on a sob. Then, squaring her shoulders, her hand already on the door handle, she said, “I shall return with my answer, Sir.”
As soon as she shut the door behind her, she ran from the house. Her chest heaved as she picked up her skirts and ran down the lane. Not stopping there, she took to the road. At that moment, she wanted to be as far away from her ill father and her sure fate that awaited her in the drawing room. To be Mrs. Collins, how could she endure such a thing? But she’d never been a selfish creature and to refuse his offer would be the most selfish thing she could do knowing the state of her family.
Pain ripped through her and finally she could run no more. She bent at the waist to catch her breath in between the sobs racking her body. Her figure involuntarily shook. Noticing a fence post, she walked toward it, her legs shaking with fatigue, and leaned against it.
She was so decidedly fixed in her own private discourse that she did not hear the horse approach, nor the sound of footsteps coming toward her.
“Miss Bennet?”
Elizabeth immediately stilled. She need not look up from her shoes to know who spoke. She’d only been dancing with the gentleman the night before. Refusing to look up at him, she curtsied. “Sir.”
He came toward her now. His boots moved in to her line of sight. “Pray tell me, are you well? May I do something for you?”
Her resolve shook at the earnest emotion in his words. She must have looked a fright if even Mr. Darcy was taking it upon himself to offer assistance for she knew he disliked her as much as she did him.
“I’m quite well, Mr. Darcy. Thank you for your concern.”
“Indeed, you look very ill. I hope nothing has happened to your poor father...”
Elizabeth deflated for his worry over her father only reminded her of the obviousness of her choice. It was not even a choice. There was only one way to set her path on. She’d hoped to square her shoulders and face it resolutely, but when an image of Mr. Collins appeared in her mind, she broke down again. Her shoulders shook with unchecked sobs.
Mr. Darcy’s sharp intake of breath was only heard in the background to Elizabeth’s emotions. He reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “I am very sorry to hear this news.”
“No,” Elizabeth cried, moving away from his grasp. She finally looked up and addressed him head on. His eyebrows were raised in alarm, but the concern in his face was unmistakable. “It is not my father. He still lays in his sick bed at Longbourn. It is only a terrible reminder that I have no choice in this world. You should count yourself very lucky to have your free will, Mr. Darcy. It must be of great comfort.”
“Whatever are you speaking of? Come, calm yourself. Let us talk this out so that I can understand you.”
Her shoulders shook again. She’d never known Mr. Darcy to be this accommodating, this gentlemanly. She wished she were in better spirits to enjoy it.
“You are cold,” he said, noticing her shiver.
Elizabeth looked down at her bare arms. She’d forgotten to throw on her coat in her hasty exit from the house—and Mr. Collins. Mr. Darcy shrugged out of his own coat.
“Please don’t trouble yourself,” Elizabeth said when he handed it to her. “I am well.”
“Nonsense,” he said. He took his coat and placed it around her shoulders. “You are shivering. Do not let your pride affect your health, madam.”
Elizabeth bit her tongue. Mr. Darcy was the last one to be speaking to her about pride as a folly. He was the most proud person she’d ever met. With ten thousand a year and great estates in London and Derbyshire, an excess of pride was to be expected. How she longed for a fortune and great estates. Then she would be free to make her own choices. She would have cut Mr. Collins off at the very beginning and not even heard him out. What an alarming realization this had all been. To not even have free will was a disgusting thought.
She bit her lip again. He placed his finger under her chin and made her look at him. His face was pained as he looked at her own pale expression and obvious distress. “If it is not your father, what is it that has troubled you so?”
Elizabeth straightened her figure and stuck her chin out even further. “My cousin, Mr. Collins, has made me an offer of marriage.”
Mr. Darcy’s eyes rounded in disbelief. His jaw set, his lips curled in disgust. “You have not accepted him?”
“Not yet, Sir. But I feel I must.”
He withdrew in alarm. Creases marred his forehead as he studied her. “Your feelings recommend him?”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “My feelings absolutely forbid it.” Losing her earlier rapture, she stared at the ground once more. “However, I do not have a choice in the matter. I need to think of my family.”
Mr. Darcy was silent for some time as he paced in front of her. His agitation shocked her. Surely everyone with half a mind thought Mr. Collins a fool, but why he should distress himself so because she might have to marry him, that she did not comprehend. She did not think Mr. Darcy gave her much thought at all. He’d even once told Mr. Bingley that she was ‘not handsome enough to tempt him’.
Tears stung her eyes once more. “I am certain of nothing, Mr. Darcy. You understand that I could never love him, nor am I in any way attracted to his simpering, fool-headed…” She trailed off and colored when she looked at her companion. “I am sorry. I should not speak like that.”
Mr. Darcy’s lips curved into a smile. “Miss Bennet, you may speak freely on the subject with me. Do not hold yourself back on my account. I believe we have similar feelings on the matter.”
She pulled his coat closer around her. “At least you will not be made to marry such a fool though. You have choices that I do not have.”
His face fell as he scrutinized her statement. Recollection had dawned on him. He understood what she faced. A loveless marriage. Dull, lecturing sermons. Ridiculous, outlandish statements. The condescension of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. The marriage bed.
She shook in abhorrence. How was it all to be tolerated?
“Miss Bennet,” he said forcefully, conjuring her from her unhappy resolve. “You must keep your wits about you.”
“It will not change anything.”
He came forward now, grasping her cheek, forcing Elizabeth to look at him. What he saw there in her eyes must have agonized him purely because what he did next was unheard of. He pulled her toward himself, crushing his lips against hers. Lizzy’s own shock was muted in an instant by the sudden desire that overtook her.
His mouth moved over hers and she kissed him back.
For surely it was not wrong to have one real kiss from a true gentleman before having to subject herself to a life of nothing.
Chapter 2
Mr. Darcy’s lips traveled over hers in their sweet pleasure. She relished the feeling even though it was all highly improper. After all, it was this society that would secure her to a man she abhorred. Why should she not rebel against it if even for a moment?