Chapter Seven #3
She obeyed, because what else was she going to do? He pressed back inside her from this angle, and he felt bigger this way, but it wasn’t bad, it was good. She was quite full, and she didn’t find that she minded it. She sighed.
Wickham was undoing his trousers, taking his prick out.
“I said I should teach you, didn’t I, Lizzy?
” he murmured, his voice soft. He was free now, free and thick and hard, looking just as he had when she had taken him in her hand and stroked him, but she knew what he had said she must do, and she knew she had thought to herself she would never be able to deny him, not after he’d licked her the way he had.
She swallowed, nodding at him, at it, at his big, thick, hard prick, which he was rubbing with one of his own hands.
Mr. Darcy was behind her, stroking in and out of her, hands on her hips. “I should like to see it, you know, Lizzy, your mouth wrapped round him, if you please.”
“You don’t have to take all of it,” Wickham said, his voice very gentle, very reassuring. “Just the tip is all I need, all right? Just, as I said, a thorough kiss.”
She moved forward, lips parting, ready.
“Good Lizzy,” said Wickham, stroking her cheek, guiding himself between her lips. “Just a kiss, that’s it, just like that.”
His skin felt nice in her mouth, and she found she didn’t mind it at all, didn’t mind the way it felt to have him sliding in against her tongue. She quickly grasped she needed to do as she had with her hand, to stroke, but using her tongue and mouth, up and down against him.
Wickham brushed at her cheek, and she looked up at him to see him gazing down at her fondly. “That’s so lovely, Lizzy. You’re doing so well suckling me.”
“Yes, and you look quite pretty with George’s prick in your mouth,” said Mr. Darcy behind her, working his way into her. “Such a pretty wife, being deflowered by us both at once.”
She felt a tremor at that. She moved her mouth against Wickham, and he held her gaze and stroked her cheek, and it was…
she didn’t know what it was. Pleasant, yes, somehow, and also very intense, and there was an edge to it, something that she did not quite understand, something that told her that she should not be finding it at all pleasant, that she should be quite, quite ashamed of herself, but the look on Wickham’s face, the fondness there for her, the way they were both praising her in their hushed, affected voices, she could not complain of any of that.
But then Wickham’s gaze flicked away from hers, and she knew he was looking at Darcy now, and that the two men were holding each other’s gazes over the expanse of her naked body, each inserted into opposite sides of her, using her, but looking at each other, and she suddenly felt as if she was an interloper into some other story, some story in which she only had a bit part, some story that was theirs and theirs alone.
Her husband slammed into her, and she felt him twitching his release deep inside her body. “Not in her mouth, George, not in my wife’s mouth,” gasped Darcy.
And Wickham pulled free of her.
But he licked her, had smeared her juices against her lips, when he had pleasured her, and she managed, “It’s all right,” and tucked him back inside, and Wickham let out a surprised shout and filled her mouth with his salty spend, which she swallowed right down.
Wickham let out a long groan and a string of unintelligible words, most of which were ones that oughtn’t be repeated. He tugged free of her mouth again and slid down to claim her lips with his own, to kiss her hard and fierce.
Darcy pulled free of her body and flopped down on the pillows.
“You’re…” Wickham was between kisses. “Too good for me. I don’t—” Another blistering kiss. “Deserve you, Lizzy.”
“You do not,” said Darcy sardonically. “You do not deserve the privilege of spending in my wife’s mouth.”
Elizabeth turned to look at him.
Darcy let out a little huff and then he pushed up on one arm and kissed her firmly, using his tongue. Then, finished, he looked at Wickham. “But I don’t mind tasting you on her, George.”
Wickham sucked in a breath and regarded him. “I’m sorry, Fitz. I know you don’t like—”
“It’s all right,” said Darcy gruffly. “If we are to do this between us, it’s going to be quite ridiculous if I’m the only one who can’t bear your spend in my mouth.” He flung his arm over his eyes.
Elizabeth was a bit confused.
Wickham looked down at her, shrugging at her and then lay down next to her. He lay a hand on her body, just between her breasts, which had flattened out while she lay on her back. He nuzzled her cheek and jaw and yawned.
Mr. Darcy moved his arm away from his eyes and smiled at the two of them, a sleepy smile.
They were not both going to go to sleep were they?
Darcy kissed her shoulder. “You’re all right?” He yawned again. “You didn’t bleed, so I assume it didn’t hurt you?”
“I’m fine,” she said.
“Deeply scandalized?” He chuckled. “Ashamed of yourself?”
She shook her head.
“Good,” he said, kissing her shoulder again. “Good, because I quite liked it, and I should like to do it again.”
Elizabeth had suspected that, though.
“You liked it, too?” prompted her husband. “George is skilled with your pretty cunny, hmm?”
“Yes,” she breathed.
“Good,” he said again. Another yawn.
Wickham was already snoring gently.
Darcy gave her another sleepy kiss.
And then, there she was, lying between two sleeping men. She let out several shaky breaths.
That was it, then, she supposed.
Her marriage was consummated.