Chapter Nine
IN THE MORNING, light streaming through the windows in her husband’s bedroom, Elizabeth lay under him, trying not to wince as he moved inside her.
He had just done this, much like last night, only this time, there had been even less buildup.
Last night, in the midst of the night, he had at least spent a bit of time touching her breasts, but this morning, he’d simply slipped a finger into her opening, declared her quite ready for him, and then climbed on her and pushed inside.
Now, it hurt.
She was trying not to let on, though. She was letting out little gasps at the sensation, and they could be taken for gasps of pleasure, so she thought it was all right. It helped to let out something, because it was uncomfortable.
The hurt feeling wasn’t a feeling of stabbing or ripping.
She’d worried about that with her maidenhead, but then, that hadn’t happened.
It was more that she was just sore, not having been used to ever having anything prodding into this part of her body, and this was the third time she’d been crammed full of his thick member.
Also, the first time, she’d been much more slippery there, because of having been so teased and tantalized, because of having climaxed.
So, the feeling was a painful, rubbing abrasion.
He worked in and out.
Despite her best efforts, she winced.
He stilled. “Lizzy?”
She had not been looking at him. She had been looking over his shoulder, up at the ceiling, at a crack on the ceiling, assuring herself in her head that it would not last forever, that he would finish soon enough. Now, she flicked her gaze to his.
“Are you all right?” he said.
She nodded. “Yes.” She tried to make her voice bright.
He resumed his movement, but now she was looking into his eyes. The intimacy of it all seemed to make it worse somehow. He was buried inside her body, pressed all up against her, and they were not wearing any clothes, and he was hurting her.
She winced again.
He stopped again. “Does this feel good to you?”
She nodded. She did not trust her voice.
“That expression you’re making tells me otherwise,” he said. “Am I hurting you?”
She bit down on her bottom lip. Suddenly, her eyes filled with tears.
He was off of her, swearing under his breath. He pulled her against his chest, kissing the top of her head. “Lord, Lizzy, don’t let me do that. I’m so sorry.”
She sucked in shaky breaths. She still couldn’t find her voice.
“You never have to do that,” he said, his voice quite firm. “You never have to endure me if you are not enjoying yourself. You must not do that, in fact. I won’t have it.”
She shut her eyes, snuggling into him, wondering at the fact that he had been the source of unpleasantness and was now the source of her comfort.
“It is not your error,” he said. “How could you have known anything? You are new to all of this. Of course you wish to please me. You would do whatever it was I asked of you. Lord, you swallowed George’s spend, for heaven’s sake.
And now, here I am thrusting myself into you at every opportunity.
” He kissed the top of her head again. “I shall do better. From now on, I shall ask, I shall make certain of you before I do anything at all. I swear it to you. I am not this sort of husband. I will not be that way.”
She found her voice. “It’s all right.”
“It’s not all right, and don’t you dare start soothing me when you are the one in distress.”
“It’s not that bad,” she said. “It wasn’t… the pain was just from too much rubbing, too much back and forth without…”
“Lubrication,” he muttered. “Because, yes, it’s all very arousing in my head to think that I have spent in you more than once and this is all you need to ease my way in and out of your passage, and in truth, I did absolutely nothing to make you ready for me, did I?”
“Well,” she said, “it was nice when you touched me last night before. I liked that touching. I would like even more of that.”
“Yes, of course,” he said. “I can do better. I’ve never been married before, you know. I’ve never had a wife.”
She rubbed his chest. “It’s all right.”
“Christ,” he said. “You do not even like me, and I go and do this.”
She pulled out of his arms to look at him. “Mr. Darcy? I have married you. Why would you say I don’t like you?”
He rubbed his forehead. “Oh, women never do. They like George. You like George. You like George’s fingers and his mouth, and he teases you senseless, and I—”
“You know it’s very funny, because you two are of the same mind about nearly everything, only opposite.”
“What?” he said, furrowing his brow.
She got up out of the bed, starting to feel furious. She found the banyan of his that she’d been wearing and shrugged into it. “He sat right over there and said to me, ‘They always fall in love with him,’ and here you are, ‘Women like him, not me.’” She pulled the banyan closed over her skin.
He let out a noise. “I like the way you look wearing my clothes.”
This startled her. She let out a laugh and focused on him.
He was gazing at her with a look on his face, a look of admiration and affection, and she wondered. Did she matter to him? Was Wickham wrong about it?
“Fitz,” she said. “If either of you wish a woman to like you, what you might try doing is paying her more mind than you pay to each other.”
He sat up straight, startled. “What?”
She grimaced. “I am going to find the chamber pot.” She hauled up the banyan and stalked off.
His helpless laughter followed her from the bed.
WICKHAM SAUNTERED IN at breakfast, Elizabeth was surprised to see. He was wearing different clothes, and he looked combed and fresh. He winked at her and shrugged at Mr. Darcy and went to the sideboard to fill his plate.
Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy had been having a very stilted conversation about breakfast foods, one with long silences, one broken by one or the other asking of the other some very stupid question, like, “Do you like chocolate or tea in the morning?” Which was then answered in one word by the other person, and then they lapsed into silence again.
Elizabeth supposed she was pleased to see Wickham.
He sat down at the table next to her and looked back and forth between them. “Well, I suppose this is what marital bliss looks like. You two seem so very married.”
Mr. Darcy gave him a withering look. “Nice to see you this morning.”
“Yes, where am I meant to be staying?” said Wickham with a shrug. “We’ve not discussed this.”
“Here, clearly,” said Mr. Darcy.
“So, I shall have my own chamber. Where shall it be? In the attic with the servants or on the same floor as you and your wife?”
“Oh, Wickham, it’s too early for this,” said Mr. Darcy.
“I’m only curious. Am I hired help or am I something else?”
“Just answer him,” said Elizabeth, annoyed, glaring at her husband.
“He knows the answer,” said Darcy, leaning forward. “You will have a room as a guest, obviously. You have always been treated with dignity, and you have never been treated like a servant.”
“Never?” said Wickham.
“Did you know this?” said Elizabeth, rounding on Wickham. “Are you simply needling him because you want to make him react?”
Wickham blinked at her. He sighed and picked up a fork. He speared a sausage link. He brought it to his mouth, took a bite, and chewed.
Mr. Darcy smiled at her. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank her, Darcy,” said Wickham around his bite of sausage.
“Well, she’s good for us,” said Mr. Darcy to Mr. Wickham. “She’s quite good.”
Wickham gave her a smile. “She is that, of course. And radiant this morning.”
“Oh, yes, quite radiant,” said Mr. Darcy.
Wickham swallowed the sausage. “No, the truth is, Darcy, I’m not clear on what it is you want from me here. Am I meant to be here with you, during the day, during activities, afternoon walks and the like or… just at night?”
“Not at breakfast,” said Darcy. “We can discuss this, but not here, in the breakfast parlor. Heavens, Wickham.”
Wickham shrugged.
Mr. Darcy turned to his plate.
It was quiet again.
Elizabeth lifted her cup of chocolate to her lips. “Well,” she said. “Which do you prefer in the morning, Mr. Wickham? Chocolate or tea?”
“Coffee,” said Wickham, with a mischievous smile.
“That’s exactly like you, George,” said Darcy, shaking his head.
BUT THERE WAS no discussion after breakfast. Mr. Darcy said they would all go to his chamber to discuss it, but when they got there, he pulled Elizabeth onto his lap again and kissed her neck and Elizabeth felt warm and good close to him, and when her husband asked if he could lift her skirts to show her to Wickham, she flushed and smiled and acquiesced.
So, then she was perched on his lap with her legs spread and her skirts bunched up, all on display, and Mr. Darcy had his chin resting on her shoulder and one hand hooked under her knee, holding her legs open to display her, telling the other man conversationally that he had rubbed her sore.
Wickham was gazing into Elizabeth’s bare cunny, and he smirked. “Did you, Fitz? How many times were you at her last night?”
“Too often,” said her husband in a loose voice. “Kiss her better, George?”
Wickham grinned down at Elizabeth. “What do you think, our Lizzy? Would your sore little cunny like some kisses?”
She writhed, rubbing her bottom into her husband’s crotch, and she felt he was aroused and he drove himself into her, turning to kiss her jaw.
“Lick my wife’s cunny, if you please, George,” said Mr. Darcy.
Wickham undid his cravat. He took off his jacket. “Very well.” He knelt and he began to kiss Elizabeth’s inner thighs. She sighed.
He did that for a frustratingly long time, simply kissed her thighs, kissing one side and the other, using his tongue, gently dragging his teeth over her, kissing her all around, but not applying his mouth where she wanted it.
She was gasping, but her gasps began to sound like whines.
“You’re teasing her, George,” said Mr. Darcy, his voice very loose and deep.
“No, no,” said Wickham. “Just savoring her. Taking my time and enjoying myself. Maybe she wants to ask nicely though.” He planted a kiss quite close to where she wanted him.
“Oh,” said Elizabeth. “Please, George, please.”
“Please what, Lizzy?” His voice was knowing and teasing.
“Use your mouth on me,” she gasped.
“Use my mouth where?”
“My cunny,” she gasped. “Please.”
“Mmm, she asked very nicely, I thought,” said Darcy at her ear.
“Indeed,” agreed Wickham and applied his tongue gently to her clitoris.
She let out a moan of relief.
“Ah, you like that?” said her husband at her ear.
“Yes, yes,” she panted.
“Good Lizzy, then, sit here on my lap and let George bring you. Let George lick you until you come right on his tongue, that’s right.”
She let her head lull back, shutting her eyes, panting at the ceiling, and she did exactly as her husband bid her. She let Wickham’s wickedly clever tongue lap against her, each stroke a line of pleasure building inside her until she was spasming and crying out to the ceiling.
Mr. Darcy’s voice was soft and affected at her ear. “That’s very good, Lizzy, that’s exactly right.” He was fumbling at his trousers now. “I am quite eager for you, but I wish you to tell me if I am too much or if it’s uncomfortable in any way, yes?”
She was still twitching out her pleasure. She likely would have said yes to anything in that moment, and she just sighed, “Oh, yes, oh, please.”
“Please?” said Mr. Darcy. “Would you like me, then, like my prick inside you, like your husband’s cock sunk deep in your sweet, wet cunny?”
“Yes, yes,” she panted.
An he arranged them and she was just as slippery as the night before and he slipped easily into her.
She moaned again.
“All right?” said Mr. Darcy. “Not painful?”
“No,” she sighed. “No.”
Wickham was there, reaching into her stays and scooping out her breasts. He teased her nipples. She looked up at him, sighing. “Oh, George, would you like a release too?”
“Yes, sweet Lizzy,” said George, rubbing her nipples stiff. “But not your mouth. I’d like it here, if I can have permission from your husband to spill my seed on your bosom.”
She clenched at that, clenched on her husband’s intruding prick, as he fucked her, and she wanted it.
“You want to come all over my bride?” said Darcy.
“Yes,” said Wickham, freeing himself, stroking his hand over his prick. “Would you like it, Fitz, seeing her painted with my release?”
Darcy groaned. “Oh, God help me, I would, yes, very much. But not if Lizzy wouldn’t like it.”
She clenched around him again. “You must use me as you see fit, both of you,” she said, feeling wanton as Wickham teased her taut nipples this way and that.
“Oh, must we?” whispered Darcy at her ear. “Is that what makes Lizzy quite excited, then? Do you like it when we make use of you?”
She let out a sound like a sob, and she was working her hips against him, moving as he thrust into her, and Wickham had one hand on her nipples and one hand on his prick, aiming it directly at her skin, and she felt fiercely aroused and wanton and wild.
“You’re quite useful, of course,” said Wickham to her, arching an eyebrow, stroking himself.
“Am I?” she said, thrusting her breast into his hand.
“Oh, yes,” said Darcy at her ear.
“You’re quite the most arousing sight I think I’ve seen in my life,” said Wickham. “Your bare bosom out like that, being fucked by your husband, looking up at me with that look in your eyes. I shan’t last. I am going to spill on you at any moment, just spatter you all over with me.”
“Yes, come on my wife,” said Darcy, thrusting faster. “Come all over my wife’s bosom, George. Mark her with your spend.”
“Shut your eyes, Lizzy,” said Wickham, grunting.
“Yes,” said Darcy, covering her face with one hand. “You don’t want it in your eyes. It stings rather badly.”
Elizabeth felt the warmth hit her skin, then, and she couldn’t watch, and she barely saw what it looked like either, her white rounded breasts spattered with George’s release, because both men had their hands on her breasts afterward, spreading it around, rubbing it into her nipples and it was driving her wild, so she tucked her finger between her thighs and touched herself, driving herself to hit another pinnacle.
She crested and spasmed as her husband stroked into her, and he followed her over the edge only moments later.