Nights With Fitzwilliam Darcy

by Sophia Grace

She watched as he lowered her chemise to reveal her breasts. After admiring them, he bent his head and took her nipple into his mouth. She bucked toward him, her thigh rubbing against his cock, leaving a wet trace behind. She grabbed him as he had shown her and passed her hand up and down, stroking him as he took her other nipple into his mouth and sucked.

  “This will not do,” he said. “Please, may I enter you?”

  Elizabeth nodded, her curiosity piquing to what pleasure this must give her. She enjoyed the feel of his tongue and finger in the carriage, but what of the instrument that God intended him to use?

  He pushed her legs further apart and guided himself toward her entrance. Elizabeth gasped as he slid inside. Her thoughts told her there was no room for him, but he kept pushing, then backing out and pushing inside her again and again until he was seated fully inside her. A fullness crept over her. They were joined together more now than just by ceremony. She reached up and traced the line of his cheek with her finger. “I love you, Fitzwilliam.”

  His eyes widened, and he lost all resolve. His hips moved in haste. He retreated and entered more times than Lizzy could count. She cried out, his hips bucking into her again and again. Her own ache intensified that grew more when she angled her hips toward him. He moved to his knees and moved her hips onto his thighs. The angle intensified her pleasure, and he moved quicker inside her. She grabbed the sheets of the bed in her hand as the pleasure coursed through her body.

  “Yes, Elizabeth. Yes,” Mr. Darcy said. “You are mine. Oh, how I have thought about this. You torture me so. Please.”

  Elizabeth screamed, her hands twisting in the sheets. Mr. Darcy did not relent. His attention on his target was fierce. He pounded inside her, branding her his. The building of her passions rose and rose until she was sure she was so close to release. “Yes,” she screamed. “Yes.”

  He pitched his hips forward, and she trembled in ecstasy. His movements did not cease. He charged into her, begging her to relieve his suffering. He tortured her with his cries. His cock inside her rode her waves of pleasure until she found herself building again.

  Mr. Darcy, face strained, continued with his hasty attentions. His speed and ferocity did not relent. Elizabeth could only hold on as he built his own pleasure.

  Retreating from her, he flipped her onto her stomach and entered her once again. His pace continued, and it was not long before Elizabeth again clenched around his short, quick strokes.

  He bent over her and grasped her breasts in his hand. He pulled her up, so she sat on his lap. His hips again moved in earnest and Elizabeth found she had to push down so she did not fly off him. Mr. Darcy groaned and grunted as she did so. “Elizabeth,” he said. “More.”

  She pushed down harder as he lifted his hips.

  “Yes!” he screamed. “More!”

  She did as she was instructed. With his hands full of her breasts, he finally poured his seed into her, yet he still did not cease his quick pace until he finished spilling all of it.

  Embracing his wife from behind, he kissed her neck, her ear, her shoulder. He lifted her from him and laid her on the bed. He collapsed next to her, kissing her feverishly. “I love you, Mrs. Darcy. I love you.”

  Elizabeth accepted all his attention and gave it back. She had felt like she had just been through a war with him. Her body was sore, yet satisfied. He seemed still feverish while she was spent.

  “I love you, Fitzwilliam. I believe I always have. You stole my heart, just as you have stolen my virtue.”

  He smiled into her hair, his chest rumbling with laughter against her. “I hope to again and again, Mrs. Darcy. You will not be safe from me now.”

  Though Elizabeth laughed, she could not help but feel as if she would be glad for Darcy to join her in bed every night. With his energy, she had no doubt he would.

  THE END

  A Love Requited

  A Pride & Prejudice Sensual Retelling

  Chapter 1

  It is a truth universally acknowledged that the happy occasion of a ball is the particular dream of a mother with five daughters all out. Elizabeth, as well as Mrs. Bennet, looked on the Netherfield Ball as not only a chance to dance and make merry, but become better acquainted with certain gentlemen from the neighborhood. Mrs. Bennet, determined as ever to have Mr. Bingley as a son-in-law, thought the ball was in honor of her eldest daughter, Jane. It was her wish, and though Elizabeth shared that hope for her beloved older sister, she was determined to be otherwise occupied through the course of the evening. Mr. Wickham was the man who Elizabeth had set her sights on.

  Her cousin, Mr. Collins, leered at her from the other side of the carriage. She had not meant to look his way. The thought of sharing the first two dances with him, even now, churned her stomach like spoiled milk. Deep down, she had wished Mr. Wickham would secure her for those very same dances and if it weren’t for the extreme string of rainy days that had followed their invitation to the ball to this very moment of their making their way to the ball, she would have done anything possible to see Mr. Wickham in hopes that he would have asked her for those same dances. As it was, she only saw Mr. Collins, and since he was determined to ruin her fun this evening, he asked, and was thus granted, the precious first two.

  Kitty and Lydia whispered to one another on the far side of the carriage, their conversation sometimes broken up by the childish giggle of one or the other. Mary, who clasped her sheet music to her chest, had been out of sorts for the previous two days. Her manner, which could always be called reflecting and philosophical, was much more tedious and hateful. Jane was the only sister whose evening promised only those happy things, which one always wished for in a ball. Her night was set and the solemn smile that graced her face as they turned into Netherfield Park, did not express the abundance of pure happiness that grew inside her.

  Lanterns of small flames lined the carriage lane and Netherfield itself had never looked prettier. Elizabeth, who had spent some weeks there after an unfortunate illness with her sister kept her indoors would not have recognized the place. Her memories of that particular time were not pleasant. She only wished that its inhabitants—barring Jane’s excellent Mr. Bingley, of course—were also transformed with the exterior.

  As they were shown into the hall, all hopes were dashed. Caroline Bingley was surly as ever, and could not even barely muster enough welcome for her ‘dear friend, Jane’. Mrs. Hurst, who followed the lead of her sister was little better, and Mr. Darcy, the proud, disagreeable friend to Mr. Darcy, and astute enemy of Mr. Wickham’s, was churlish. Barely a smile was broken on their behalf and Elizabeth was happy to move past them into the hall so she could seek out Mr. Wickham’s profile in the fine red coat. His smiles and pleasantries were always given out so freely and Elizabeth admitted that she preferred that to the always calculating constitutions.

  A cursory glance of the guests did not produce Mr. Wickham. Elizabeth’s heart sank, but was then buoyed by anger as she heard Denny’s response to Lydia’s questioning his friend’s whereabouts. He was in town and did not make it back in time for the ball. If it was merely that, Elizabeth would have been able to forgive all the offending parties, Wickham most especially. Since it was not just not that, however, Denny informed them that Wickham was obliged to stay longer on account of not wanting to see a certain gentleman of the Netherfield party, her blood felt like hot red coals in her veins.

  Mary was at Elizabeth’s elbow when she heard the news and could not help but comment. “If I were a gentleman, I would not always feel obliged to be going here or there. I would much rather stay in one place than not. Travel is so tiresome, and though society is favorable in short and sparse intervals, I should infinitely prefer my own home.”

  Not trusting herself to make an appropriate comment, Elizabeth clamped her mouth shut and nodded.

  “Balls,” Mary continued, “are only enjoyable amongst those who are true friends. You, I am sure, are in raptures at being singled out by our cousin Mr. Collins. A partner such as h
im is more acceptable than a mere acquaintance.”

  “Mary, please,” Elizabeth said. “It’s Mr. Collins. I find no joy in it whatsoever. Would he have chosen someone else, I would have been more than happy to sit the first two dances out.”

  Mary turned and narrowed her eyes at Elizabeth. The slits she peered through only showed a quarter of the disdain she felt for her sister at that time. To be so flippant about Mr. Collins’s dances! “Am I to understand you do not wish to dance with him?”

  “Of course, I do not wish to dance with him. I do not know anyone who would.”

  They stared at each other with equal disbelief and disappointment in the evening until Mary asked, “Would you mind helping me over here, Elizabeth? I think there is something wrong with my shoe.”

  Elizabeth followed a limping Mary into a long hall which led to many closed doors. The music and guests could still be heard from this area in the house, but the further they walked, the ball only seemed like an echoing memory.

  “Here,” Mary said, pointing to a door just to her right. “This will do.”

  Mary held the door to the foreign room open. Elizabeth peered at her sister’s feet as she walked by. “Lift your petticoat. I cannot see what is the matter.”

  Mary pushed Elizabeth further into the room and slammed the door shut. The lock twisted into place before Elizabeth could even think to return to the door. Mary had never done such a thing in her life. Lydia had once locked Kitty in her room for half a day, but not Mary. Never Mary. A raspy, venomous voice said, “You are what is the matter. You do not deserve Mr. Collins’s attentions, and he is certainly more worthy of someone who will think of his attentions what they ought.”

  “Mary? Mary, what are you doing?” Elizabeth grasped the door handle. She twisted and pulled, she rattled it with vengeance, but it did not budge. After a full minute of wrestling with the door and being met with nothing but resistance and no more philosophical soliloquies from the other side of the door, Elizabeth whispered, “Mary?”

  She received an answer, but not what she expected. A male cleared their throat from behind her. Elizabeth whirled only to find Mr. Darcy standing at the far side of the room and smirking in her direction. There was but one candle lit in the small room, creating shadows everywhere, but Mr. Darcy’s humor was evident.

  First, Mr. Wickham was not at the ball, and now she was locked in a room with Mr. Darcy. How disagreeable! If she were but alone, she may not have minded missing out on the ball since her sole reason for looking forward to this evening had not shown—even better that she would not have to spend the first two dances making nice with Mr. Collins—but now that she was here, with such a man, she had never felt more vexed in her entire life.

  She turned on her heel and continued her attempts at jiggling the door handle. Mr. Darcy’s big voice filled the room. “You may as well save your energy, Miss Elizabeth. I believe your sister has locked you in here. I might inquire as to why she would do such a thing.”

  Elizabeth slowly turned and backed up against the door. He was right about the door and since she never wanted to give him due cause to question her mind, she quit on her own justification, not his. “I might ask why you are in here by yourself when you should be out there with everyone else. At least my being here was not a conscious decision.”

  “You have been in my company enough to know that sometimes society displeases me.”

  Elizabeth wanted to question his use of the word sometimes. Society did not please him most of the time. She watched him as he moved to the window and perched himself on the small sill that jutted out from the wall.

  Since he answered her question and since he had not stopped staring at her since he last spoke, she thought it only right to answer for her appearance in the room—what she could discern from it, anyway. She had no idea that Mary had liked Mr. Collins. It was her displeasure that made Elizabeth answer with such honesty. “My sister, Mary, as you said, has locked me in here. I can only guess that it is because Mr. Collins had engaged me for the first two dances. It seems my sister would have liked those two dances.”

  “I had understood most of that from her yelling that you did not deserve his attentions. For what it’s worth, she is wrong.”

  Feeling particularly vindicated, Elizabeth smiled. Then, remembering who she was in the room with, she schooled her features back to impassive. There was no need to give Mr. Darcy any encouragement whether she agreed with him or not. Her mother had made it clear she wished Mr. Collins to propose to Elizabeth and though she did not believe her father would stand for it, she was always happy when someone thought as she did. Instead of saying as much, she said, “It seems as if my younger sister is jealous, but I can say, and would have told her as much had she given me the opportunity, that I never sought his attentions. They were the last thing I would have sought and would have happily given up those dances. You are not acquainted with Mr. Collins though. Your opinion seems fixed on him, which is just like you—to form an opinion on limited understanding.”

  She had meant it as a jab to his character, but his next words made her silent. “You are quite right. I am only acquainted with you and have based my opinion on his attentions solely on my study of you, Miss Elizabeth. You deserve any man’s attentions. It is praise for your mind, pleasant constitution, and genteel character. I could never fault a man for finding something to like in you. I have said nothing about the man, only that you are worthy of any praise you receive.”

  Instead of pleasing Elizabeth as it should have done for they were pretty words, she scowled. Mr. Darcy could not be praising her. She knew how much he disliked her, and she disliked him even more. His pride, she thought, had made him particularly cruel in this instance, masquerading at trying to win her affection. No doubt he thought her an easy conquest.

  “Have I said something that offended you?” Darcy asked. His face clearly showed an expression of confusion, which only spurred Elizabeth on.

  “It is only what you do that offends me, Mr. Darcy. Whatever nefarious reason you have for praising me, please stop. I believe I have shown that I have not a silly mind like some women and will not be so easily swayed by your words since they have no foundation in your real character.”

  Mr. Darcy crossed his hands over his chest, and a dark shadow fell over his features. Elizabeth had seen Darcy look unpleasant before, but this was beyond that. “And I might ask how you have determined my real character to be one who cannot be trusted. I abhor any type of misrepresentation. If it comes from my mouth, you can believe that I truly feel it. I do not believe you have a silly mind, in fact, I said the opposite, you have a superior mind.”

  “For what it’s worth, thank you, Sir. I have a superior enough mind to know I should not welcome your praise or attentions.”

  “No doubt from Mr. Wickham, then,” Darcy said, rising to his feet. He spat his name as if it was a sin. “One might wonder whose attentions you might seek. You have refused two within a span of a few minutes. You once accused me of vanity…”

  She barely heard the end of his argument. Her mind was fixated on the way he said Mr. Wickham. “You speak his name with contempt, and yet, you are the reason for his present state.”

  Elizabeth shook with anger. Mr. Darcy was already shaking his head to argue with her on a fact she knew to be true. Mr. Wickham had told her his past dealings with Mr. Darcy. How the late Mr. Darcy had wished Wickham to enter the clergy, but when his father died, Darcy refused him the living.

  Mr. Darcy moved toward her. The taut lines of his jaw were replaced with true emotion and feeling. “You are mistaken, Miss Bennet. I do not blame you for he is an actor through and through. He also fooled my sister, Georgiana. Mr. George Wickham is not a respectable man. I can see the doubt clearly on your face, but let me explain. You have heard his story, surely you will not refuse to hear mine.”

  Elizabeth’s thoughts swirled. A passionate Mr. Darcy was more than a little alarming. He had such just and righteous conviction of
words. He held his elbow out to her, and she took it. Leading her to the other side of the room, he sat her down on the sill. Darcy stood to his full height, clasped his hands behind his back, and walked back and forth in front of her. “I know not what story Mr. Wickham has given you, but it is just that, a fabrication of the real events. We grew up together, he and I. Played together. Went to school together. Through the years, I noticed a change of character. I no longer trusted him. Through the last, my late, honorable father, was fond of him, and promised him the living at Pemberley. After my father’s death, the living became vacant, and I offered it to Wickham to honor my father’s wishes only. He refused. He expressed an interest in studying the law. We agreed on an amount for his giving up the living and he was compensated. I had hoped he would use the money to go into law, but I do not believe that happened, Miss Bennet. As you see, he is now an officer and not a lawyer.”

  Mr. Darcy was silent for a while, though his heavy footsteps still passed in front of her. This was quite a different account than what Elizabeth was told by Wickham himself. She felt a headache coming on as she tried to sort out truth from fiction.

  “If that were just the end of it, I could still see Wickham without paining me, however, that is not the case. You must have witnessed the manner of our greeting in Meryton.”

  Darcy looked to Elizabeth for confirmation. “I did.”

  “I do not wish to speak of this, but I want you to be aware of Mr. Wickham’s true character, and I also wish you to look more favorably upon my own. My sister, Georgiana, who is more than ten years my junior, was left to the guardianship of myself and my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam. If you need, he can be called upon to verify these particulars. We sent Georgiana to Ramsgate for school. I visited her there one day. She had no prior knowledge of my coming, so I surprised her. I found myself even more surprised when Wickham was there as well.” Darcy turned to Elizabeth. “She thought herself in love with him. She had agreed to an elopement.”