Chapter 13
She was Mrs. Darcy.
That fact, by itself, was of such monumental import in the course of her life that she scarcely believed it, even though the wedding had just happened. They married in their church in Meryton, alongside Charles and Jane. Never had she seen such happiness on her father’s face, and for once, her mother’s barely contained excitement and exclamations could not dampen her mood. They had not swayed Fitzwilliam’s esteem of her. Neither had the protestations of his aunt, Lady Catherine. Her one disappointment was the prohibition of her friend Charlotte’s attendance, which was no doubt due to her husband, Mr. Collins, following the orders of his patroness.
Charles and Jane had graciously allowed them to overnight at Netherfield in the guest rooms. Mr. Darcy’s room was next to hers, with a door in between them. The maids assigned to her were cognizant of this and of the day they had just celebrated; they lingered in the room, fussing with her hair, selecting her best nightgown, tittering and whispering while Elizabeth wrote in a journal and read part of a book.
At last, after receiving interesting bits of advice Elizabeth was fairly certain neither of the maids had had occasion to employ, she was alone. Would Fitzwilliam visit her tonight? Or were they supposed to wait to share a bed until they returned to Pemberley in a couple of days?
Elizabeth didn’t perceive the act of coupling outside of one’s home to be improper per se; there were bridal suites at inns, after all. However, there was a high chance that her mother had imparted upon her some advice concerning the act, which, while likely to be in poor taste if repeated or followed to the letter, might have contained pertinent information. She reprimanded herself for not paying full attention. The great relief of having overcome all great social obstacles to receive a second proposal from Mr. Darcy notwithstanding, she had nurtured apprehensions about the influence of Lady Catherine on their affairs until they were joined together on paper. The details of the marriage bed had felt trivial in comparison.
She settled on the bed and lay back, noting the improvement in comfort from her childhood bed to this one and remembering Mr. Darcy’s beds were just as fine. Jane was undoubtedly with Charles at this very moment. Would Jane be offended if she and Fitzwilliam had their first night together at Netherfield simultaneously?
Jane would probably not say anything if she disapproved and would only speak of it obliquely if she didn’t, Elizabeth thought. It was tempting to ask Mr. Darcy directly, but she would never allow him the power of seeing her beg to touch him. Ludicrous. If they had to wait, they would wait.
Then she heard a knocking at the door between their rooms.
“Elizabeth?” said Mr. Darcy softly. “Are you asleep yet?”
The skin on her neck tingled. Elizabeth rose from the bed and walked over to the door. She hesitated, then pulled the knob.
“I am not, sir.” With a smile, she looked him over. His nightclothes were simple with elegant ruffles of lace on the collar, hinting at the expanse of his broad chest beneath.
“May I come in?” His voice was low, uncharacteristically sultry compared to his usual demeanor.
“I do not mind, but I do not know whether it is proper.” She paused, returning his intense stare. “Is it?”
Mr. Darcy barely hesitated a second before striding forward, crossing the threshold and encroaching on her space until their chests were almost touching. “I do not care.”
There was a breath of suspended motion as both of them thrilled in the knowledge of some secret accomplishment. She didn’t know who moved first, but suddenly, their lips were meld together, and they were kissing with abandon. Mr. Darcy gathered her into his arms, and the tingling along Elizabeth’s neck spread along her spine.
She broke free, breathless, and pushed the door shut. “I have trapped you, husband. How easily you fell for my trap.”
Mr. Darcy laughed. “If wishing to touch my wife now that we are wed is a trap, I would willingly fall for it again and again.” He walked to the sofa , where the maids had laid out carafes with sweet wine and water. “Drink?”
“No, thank you. I am not thirsty enough for more water nor nervous enough for the other. But I will sit with you for a moment if you choose to partake.”
Fitzwilliam inclined his head and poured himself a small glass of wine, reclining on the cushions. “Please.”
She placed herself beside him, her arm on the top edge of the frame, turning to face him. “I am not nervous.”
Taking a sip, Mr. Darcy turned the glass in his finger, leaning forward. “No, I imagine not. You are as I knew you would be—strong, brilliant, and lovely.” The look he gave her was one of endearment and a hint of fascination. “But we do not have to consummate the marriage until we are home at Pemberley.”
“Is it improper to... have our first night together under the Bingley’s roof?” For the first time, she felt a pang of guilt. “Truly, it is Charles’ and Jane’s night, too, and their home—”
“No, no. Charles is under no illusions about the temptations of the marriage bad.” Fitzwilliam bit his lip as if he were trying not to laugh. “It is precisely why he let us use adjoining rooms: to give us the choice to wait or not.”
Elizabeth sighed. “You have lifted another burden from my mind, albeit a small one.” She sidled closer to him, the fabric of her nightgown rubbing between his leg and hers, the warmth of him seeping into the space between them. “While I know the Bingleys would never hold an unintentional faux pas against us, I would like to being our life together without the appearance of an ill omen.”
“Surely, the noble Elizabeth Bennet does not care what the world thinks of her honeymoon customs?” He ran a finger down her arm to her hand, stroking it gently.
“Dear husband,” Elizabeth replied, “You know, perhaps better than anyone, that the world can care a great deal about many things, both inconsequential and essential, regardless of their impact on a person’s character.” At the shadow crossing his face, she quickly amended, “which is why I shall endeavor to live as I have resolved to since falling in love with you—seeking wisdom, soliciting advice, and reserving my opinion until I have the good judgment of my friends and loved ones to weigh and balance.”
“And shall this love one ever live up to the standards you will set for us?” Mr. Darcy lifted her chin to meet her eyes.
“Poor Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth whispered. “He does not know that Mrs. Darcy’s good opinion weighs her husband’s before all others.”
If there was a state that combined laughing and kissing in one motion, that was the state they rushed to in a sliding of arms and limbs towards each other. He desired her to be pressed against him from face to femur, and she craved the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt and trousers, though that would not satisfy for long. Soon, her hands slid long his neck to the edges of his shirt, and he instinctively separated from her to draw it over his head and toss it on a nearby chair. Elizabeth barely had time to mourn the loss of contact before he scooped her up and deposited her on the bed, raining gentle kisses over her face.
She marveled at the feel of his naked back on her palms, how much wider his chest was than hers, and realized she had not touched another adult human being on their bare skin besides Jane and perhaps her other sisters, if an adolescent counted. Even then, bare skin that she might have touched outside of injury would have met the leather or silk of her gloves if they embraced at formal events. It was an entirely new sensation to touch someone not of her own blood on their body with her bare hands, and the thrill it evoked made her want to touch Fitzwilliam everywhere all at once.
Mr. Darcy must have noticed her fascination and returned the favor, stroking along her arms and neck until he too ventured underneath the edges of her gown, near her bosom. He tugged at the fabric, and Elizabeth was only too happy to oblige him, shuffling the hem of the gown up her body and over her head.
Once she had discarded her nightgown, Fitzwilliam paused, his eyes running across her body and back to her face.
“Am I to your liking, sir?” Elizabeth said in a teasing voice.
“Oh, yes.” He leaned closer to kiss her neck. “You are just as beautiful with your clothes off as with them on.”
“Well?” She gestured to his trousers.
Her husband laughed as he removed the offending garment and tossed it in the direction of the chair. “Better?”
“Much,” Elizabeth said, then pulled his head down for another kiss.
Hopefully, he had some idea of what was supposed to happen. She knew the basics, but the details of the movements failed to capture her imagination, perhaps because it sounded uncomfortable. If the brief embrace they had shared after Mr. Darcy’s second proposal and the touches of the last few minutes were any indication, one simply had to extend the pleasure and curiosity to evoke a physical response. Presumably, the method would follow. She hoped.
“Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy said, his breathing rapid. “May I... try something to bring you pleasure?”
Confused as to what he might mean, Elizabeth blinked and nodded. “Of course. Do I need to move?”
“Not much. Relax. I will move your limbs a little if necessary.” Bracing himself above her, he brought his lips to the tanned tip of one nipple and spread a hand over the other breasts, rolling it in his hands.
“Oh!” She could not help but cry out at the sudden assault of dual sensations. He sucked and laved at the bud on her breast until she could feel the skin tightening, and her hand reflexively slid into his hair. He made a pleased sound. How wanton she felt!
That warm, pleasant feeling she had often had in bed at night while thinking about kissing Mr. Darcy surged within her just as his other hand slid lower on her belly and into the space between her thighs. His fingers stroked the slit there and the flesh around it, circling slowly from the opening to a spot above, and she felt wetness slipping between her fingers.
“You are so very lovely, dear wife,” said Fitzwilliam as he moved to the other breast. Let me bring you pleasure.”
She could only groan in assent as the fire spread within her.
Elizabeth wanted to study his member, mainly because it was an appendage entirely foreign to her knowledge, but it was difficult to see from her position, and besides, his ministrations proved too distracting. She thought she saw it, jutting out from his body, but in a few moments, she was overcome with a wave of fierce, sharp pleasure that surged through her. Elizabeth cried out and looked down at his hand, slick with moistures, rubbing a bump of flesh over and over again, and collapsed backwards, dazed.
“Extraordinary.” She meant to say more, but her mind would not cooperate.
“It was, wasn’t it?” her husband said with a hint of satisfaction as he began to move his hand away from her thigh, but she grabbed it with her own hand and brought it to her lips for a kiss.
“I think,” Elizabeth said, glancing downward, “that now is the perfect opportunity to examine you, Mr. Darcy.” She had expected it to be big, given that most men had a larger bone structure in general, but in truth, his size was still somewhat shocking, especially when it twitched under her scrutiny. “Are you ready?”
He laughed softly and moved over her again. “Elizabeth, I am a man who has just made his wife climax in a way that few women know to enjoy.”
“Oh,” she said. “Did that please you, then?”
Mr. Darcy rested on an elbow and looked at her as if he had trouble believing she really existed. “It did.” He put her hand on the member she had been scrutinizing and kissed her neck. “Go on, explore it. I would like to see it through your eyes.”
After a few hesitant strokes, Elizabeth became emboldened by the sounds coming from his mouth. Was that what she had sounded like? It was strange that an appendage could grow and shrink, bend and harden with a few light strokes. It grew larger and stiffer in her hand, and she could tell her husband was enjoying this experience.
“Elizabeth,” he gasped. “I am going to release soon. If you would allow me to enter you...”
Elizabeth looked into his eyes. She liked that he asked her, that he was not trying to force his body on hers. “I think I would like that.”
She spread her thighs and guided his member inside her, angling herself as best she could so that he found the place where he could enter. At first, she felt a pressure, a stretching, a pulling on her skin, but it was not unpleasant.
Fitzwilliam held still, braced on his elbows and gazing into her eyes. “Tell me when I can begin to move.”
It was overwhelming to have so much of her skin exposed to his. “Yes, please move, please.”
He obeyed, and Elizabeth shifted her legs so that he could surge into her center more deeply. As he withdrew and thrust back in, the sensations increased, and she could not contain her moans.
“You may leave marks on my skin if you wish, darling,” Fitzwilliam said.
She was confused by this suggestion, but allowed herself more leeway to kiss him and leave little red bruises where she sucked at his shoulder. AHer husband gripped the bedsheets, thrusting deeper and faster. She wanted this feeling to last forever, the friction between their bodies, the glorious anticipation of every new stroke, the heat building within her core. He moaned, and the heat that had been growing within her ignited, sending the core between her legs into waves of spasms again as she mewled, unable to control her own reaction.
“Elizabeth, I am coming.” He trembled and covered her mouth with his.
Elizabeth clung to him and lost herself in the sheer exhilaration of his completion, the pulsing of his organ within her, and the rushing of hot, liquid heat filling her womb.
Elizabeth felt his his vulnerability, the raw openness that they both risked in their passion as he collapsed into her arms. What bonds to share with another! No wonder their elders sought to lock this pleasure away and reserve it for those bonded for life.
In such a state, she knew she could speak freely of all things. There was no shame. There were no secrets. There was only the rushing of their lifeblood as it flowed in their veins.
They remained in place for several moments, their bodies still joined, until they disengaged and Mr. Darcy rolled over, both of them trying to catch their breath.
He moved hair off his face and turned to her, leaning on one side as he stroked her arm. “I assume from your smile that you enjoyed yourself?”
“Oh, yes.” She basked in shivers of joy that danced up and down her limbs. “Fitzwilliam?”
“Elizabeth?”
How long do we have to wait before we try it again?”
He laughed and kissed her.
The End.