Chapter Seven #2
And then Wickham snatched her back. He was entirely bare above the waist now, and she took that in, his broad shoulders, his thick arms. When he kissed her again, she ran her hands all up and down the expanse of his bare chest, feeling his solid muscle beneath his warm, soft skin.
She was not used to touching other people’s skin like this.
It was never really allowed, and she thought of it, what it would be like not to have anything on, to be pressed between both of them, to rub her skin against their bare skin, and she found she could not find anything to complain about in that prospect.
Mr. Darcy plucked her back again. He kissed her neck. “Tell me, Mrs. Darcy, when Wickham touched you, did he touch your breasts?”
Wickham answered for her. “Of course I did.”
Mr. Darcy cupped her through her nightdress, one hand on one of her breasts for only a moment, and she gasped and he let go and shoved her gently at Wickham.
Who caught her, one hand around her waist and another cupping the breast that Darcy hadn’t touched. She gasped again.
Wickham kissed her, gently kneading her there, stretching her sensitive nipple in ways that felt good. When he let go, her nipple was stiff, peaked against her nightdress.
Wickham ran a finger over it.
“The other one is probably needy for your attention,” said Mr. Darcy in a hoarse voice.
“Quite,” said Wickham and stimulated her other nipple until it was stiff too.
Mr. Darcy’s voice was still hoarse. “He told me, Lizzy, you lifted your dress to show him your pretty quim before he put his mouth to it.”
“You told him that?” said Elizabeth, looking at Wickham. “Who is it who is faithfully reporting everything to him, me or you?”
Wickham shrugged. “Yes, all right, my apologies.”
“I wish him to lift your nightdress and show you to me,” said Mr. Darcy.
Elizabeth convulsed at the thought of that. She dragged her teeth over her bottom lip, looking to see if Wickham would agree or not. He pressed into her from behind, reaching down to seize a handful of her nightdress and he began to tug it upwards.
“Come closer, Fitz,” said Wickham.
“May I see your Lizzy’s cunny, then?” said Darcy. “Are you presenting it to me?”
“Aye,” said Wickham. “You’ll like it, Fitz. It’s a very nice cunny.”
Elizabeth rested herself against Wickham’s broad chest, her breath coming in gasps as the man behind her lifted her nightdress higher and higher and then she felt the air on her sex as it was bare.
Mr. Darcy was staring at her there. “I do like it, George.”
Wickham tucked her skirt into her hand and used the hand that had been holding her skirt to reach down and lift one of her thighs.
Mr. Darcy made a nose of approval in his throat. “Oh, there she is, there is all of you, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth shivered, and she felt it in her already taut nipples.
“Take it off,” said Mr. Darcy. “I want her bare now.”
So quickly?
Wickham kissed her neck and then lowered her leg to the floor. “Arms up, Lizzy,” he said as he grasped her nightdress again.
She lifted her arms and Wickham pulled the nightdress off of her.
She wasn’t wearing anything underneath, because that had sort of been the entire point, that all of her was easily accessible on her wedding night.
But now she was entirely nude, and she was the only one who was totally uncovered.
And Wickham, who had been holding her up, moved out in front of her, holding her nightdress balled up in one hand, to stand next to Mr. Darcy so that the two of them could look at her.
She didn’t quite know what to do with herself.
She sort of wanted to cover herself, to cross her legs and put her hands over her breasts, but she didn’t think they would like that, so she clasped her hands behind her back and stood on display for them both, shy but a little pleased, too, because of the expressions on their faces, how keen they were for a look at her.
Mr. Darcy advanced on her. He reached out to touch her, but he just brushed her with his fingertips. Her chin, the underside of her breast, her hip. “A vision,” he said again. He turned to look at Wickham. “Take her to the bed.”
Wickham came forward to collect her. But first, he pulled her against him, and she felt her bare breasts against his bare chest, and it made everything feel heady and unreal and too good.
He kissed her mouth, a long and thorough kiss and then he bent down and put his mouth on her nipples too, little wet kisses on each of them.
“Bed,” said Mr. Darcy, but he didn’t sound angry, just impatient. “You can do that to her on the bed.”
They went to the bed. It had been turned down, the covers turned sideways, but Mr. Darcy tugged them even further out of the way.
Wickham climbed into the bed and took her with him. He had her sit up against the headboard and he pressed into her and continued kissing her.
She was aware that Mr. Darcy was climbing onto the other side of the bed and he perched there, leaning on pillows, watching.
Wickham’s hands were on her breasts, and it felt lovely. He teased her and kissed her, and she sighed against him.
“I want to watch you bring her,” said Mr. Darcy, his voice dark.
Wickham turned his head to look at the other man. “It’s always what you want, I suppose.”
“What do you want?” said Mr. Darcy.
“I want to have her, really have her,” said Wickham. “You won’t allow that until she’s with child.”
Darcy reached into his banyan, rearranging himself at his crotch, letting out a low groan.
“Lord, don’t tease me, George. I want to watch you fuck her as much as you want to do it.
Right now, the idea of raising your bastards is giving me a cockstand.
Just do as I say or I shall wring your neck, please. ”
Wickham went still, as if he hadn’t been expecting that answer. He looked at Elizabeth.
Elizabeth was wide-eyed at that word. Was that what was about to happen to her? Was she to be… fucked? Why did it make things in her tighten to hear that?
Wickham scooted behind her. “Here we are, then, Lizzy, you lean back against me.”
She did that, confused.
“And spread your legs,” he said, but he had already spread his. “Perhaps bring your knees up. He wants a good view, of course. Make sure he can see you.”
Mr. Darcy was gazing at her, gazing at them both.
Wickham’s fingers were sliding between her thighs. “Oh, good girl, Lizzy, you’re so very wet for us, aren’t you?”
She gasped again. So, this was what they were doing, then?
“Relax, Lizzy,” said Wickham, having her lie against his chest, stroking her cunny, and taking one of her breasts in his other hand. “We want you to come for us, now.” His finger moved rhythmically against her.
It felt good.
She did relax. At first, she shut her eyes and simply surrendered to the way that Wickham was touching her.
But at one point, she opened her eyes and she fixated on Mr. Darcy, who was opposite her, lounging against pillows and staring into her spread legs as if it was the most interesting thing on earth.
He noticed her eyes were open and he smiled at her.
“You’re quite lovely here, Lizzy,” he told her.
“You’re all swollen now, swelling more as Georgie toys with you.
Your little clitoris is quite engorged. I love watching it get bigger and bigger as he strokes you.
There are all these colors between the lips of you, deep purples and bright reds.
You’re weeping out of your opening. I’ve been thinking about how I’m going to claim you there later. Claim you there quite soon.”
She did not know if she should find his description of her there so gratifying, but it was. She began to crest, her pleasure growing sharper and more in focus as Wickham stroked her there.
“Oh, yes,” said Mr. Darcy. “I saw that. Just a little quiver. You’re warming up for us.”
“Going to come for us, Lizzy?” said Wickham at her ear. “We want you to. Just relax and think of how nice my finger feels.”
Her pleasure folded in half and then in half again. She was moaning suddenly, and she hadn’t decided to make any noise, but she couldn’t stop.
Wickham’s finger was relentless, never changing pace, just up and down against her. It was bothersome. It was lovely.
She moaned faster and she hit a peak of pleasure, bright and intense, too good to exist. She convulsed, and Mr. Darcy made a noise as she did.
“Good girl, Lizzy, look at you. Look at those little spasms.”
“Very good,” murmured Wickham at her ear, his finger now finally slowing, pressing gently against her instead, helping to get all of her climax.
She moaned and writhed against Wickham, and then Mr. Darcy was crawling over her, slipping out of his banyan.
Darcy tugged her down, under his body, flat against the bed. He kissed her, traced the outline of both of her breasts and reached between them to slide something against her very sensitive cunny.
She moaned. Was that his prick?
Oh, yes, it was. He was big and he was just doing it.
She sucked in breath, her heart beating staccato as he slid inside her. It was easy. She was very aroused and very ready, and he fit easily. He slid all the way to his hilt and he let out a long, low moan.
She let her breath out.
His face was over hers. “There you are,” he said. “My wife.”
She panted.
He began to stroke himself in and out of her, and it felt all right, she supposed. She was sensitive there from her climax, and she didn’t mind the feel of him. It didn’t hurt and it wasn’t unpleasant, but she felt as if there had been no warning, as if this had just been done to her, too quickly.
Well, it was her wedding night, and she had come here for this, and she wasn’t sure what she had quite expected else from it. She had no notion.
Darcy said, “Don’t worry, George, I haven’t forgotten you. Just getting acquainted here.” He kissed Elizabeth again and then he pulled out.
She was stunned. Was that all? Was it over?
“Turn over, Lizzy,” he said, stroking a hand over her belly. “On your hands and knees, hmm?”