Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
ELIZABETH
William called the amazing, shuddering ecstatic state he had brought Elizabeth to, over and over again, a “pinnacle.”
She woke from a post-pinnacle slumber which—according to the clock—was less than an hour long, and she discovered that it was now fully nighttime.
It was difficult to see her lover—her husband!
—and she longed to watch him sleep; she carefully removed from the bed in order to open the heavier curtains and allow moonlight to pour in through the fine muslin window coverings.
As she went back to the bed, Elizabeth saw blood on the sheet.
She had heard from several sources—one being her well-educated and trustworthy aunt—that there might be a bit of blood the first time.
She remembered that Aunt Maddie used the words a spot of blood—and that is what Elizabeth saw, but it was a bigger spot than she had expected.
She hurried to the ewer of water and used a soft cloth to clean herself. She was satisfied that there were only traces of blood on her body; she was certainly not suddenly commencing her courses!
Going back to the bed, Elizabeth decided that it was a large enough bed for her to enter on the other side of William, where the sheets were still pure white and relatively unwrinkled.
What a luxurious feeling it was to slip between the clean, unmussed sheets!
However, Elizabeth remembered her original goal was to really see her husband’s body as he slept, and she could not see nearly enough of him.
She slowly pulled the top sheet away from William, thus uncovering the sculpted beauty of his muscles in their relaxed state.
Propping herself up on one elbow, she studied the perfection of his form.
Speaking of perfection…Elizabeth’s mind went back to the pleasure William had brought to her, and she decided that pinnacle was quite an apt word.
There was a sense in which he brought her somehow higher and higher, as if her rapture was climbing and climbing, and when the pinnacle was reached, it was as if she had tumbled over the summit and, instead of falling, she had soared.
She studied William’s hands, one of which curled on his chest, and the other was flung out to the side of the bed she had recently abandoned.
Elizabeth had loved his hands for a long time now—she remembered daydreaming over their perfection long before William had ever used them to bring her pleasure—but now she felt that she must worship them for their careful explorations, their gentle ministrations, and their ability to change in a trice from gentle to more aggressive—yet still wondrous—movements.
Next she contemplated his lips. Not just his lips, but William’s entire mouth—lips, teeth, especially his tongue—had produced so much rapture for her, for so many weeks, she had been certain that they had thoroughly canvassed their capabilities.
Now, however, looking down at the three oval marks on her breasts, she was almost bewildered at her husband’s inventiveness.
She wondered if other husbands did the same sorts of things with their wives—but then a terrible picture rose in her mind—one involving her own parents—and, oh, God, she did not wish to contemplate that!
Elizabeth decided that she would keep her thoughts about the marriage bed strictly focused on her own superb lover and herself.
She remembered a dream she had recently had; dream-Elizabeth had touched Will’s member and watched it grow, and she had enjoyed exploring it with her hands.
This scenario had not occurred, not yet—so far, William had directed their activities, and he had focused on giving her…
satisfaction. She was certain he would enjoy a turnabout… .
Elizabeth reached out to touch, to explore.
Of course, Will instantly woke up. But when she explained her dream and her current goal, he aided her in the endeavour, and….
The experiment proceeded very nicely, indeed.
Remembering her earlier thoughts—no, not the thought about her parents!—the other wondering in which she had indulged—Elizabeth decided to ask William. He was the only person in the world she felt secure in telling everything and asking about anything.
“William?” she murmured after they had recovered their breaths from their most recent performance.
“Yes, my love?”
“I was wondering if other married people do…the things that we do…. I mean, I imagine that you do not actually know—or do you? If you do not know, do you have a strong feeling from…what you have overheard? Or read?”
Her beautiful husband sat up and asked, “Oh, Lizzy love, do you regret what we did just now? Or—was there pain? Do you feel—shame?—I never wish for you to—”
“No!” She sat up, startled at how he had taken her question. “I feel wonderful about what we just did.” His expression of concern immediately cleared, although he still looked curious.
She shook her head, not precisely certain what she was asking, let alone why she was asking it. “Wait, let me think, Will.”
Less than half a minute later, Elizabeth said, “I have been sheltered from careless speech from married ladies, for the most part, and I have not read anything that remotely touches on the subject of activities of the marriage bed. However…I still have overheard a few comments and teases from one married lady to another.”
“And…?”
“And I had come to have the idea—as I mentioned to you earlier—that most wives do not like what they refer to as their husbands’ attentions. I was just wondering if that was really true, or just a little joke among matrons.”
Will took time to think about her question.
“Obviously, I am farthest from an expert on this topic as anyone could be; however, I too have received the impression from things men say to other men that their wives do not like such activities. I feel that they say this as an excuse to visit courtesans or keep a mistress. So I suppose that I have the same general feeling as you do.”
Elizabeth nodded, but she said, “My mother insisted on giving me a little talk about such things, of course, and she made the marriage bed sound truly terrible, and she emphasised that, though it was uncomfortable or even painful, I had to grit my teeth and bear it. But I little credited her words, because when we were up on Oakham Mount, you always made me feel so splendid. And Aunt Maddie assured me that I should trust you, that men know what to do, and that she was certain you would be gentle. And then that thing about it being wonderful for both men and women.”
William nodded and said, “Aunt Maddie is certainly a gem, but that bit about ‘men know what to do’ is part of why I have been relentlessly teased for years. I know that I am supposed to know….”
“It may be to your benefit that you do not know all that much about what husbands do. Because then you just dream up anything and everything, and we try all of the ideas and see which we like.”
“All of them, so far,” he growled into her ear.
“I agree. But still—I am inclined to believe that these things you have thought up may be extraordinary.”
“To be honest,” William said as he curled his body around Elizabeth’s, drawing her closer but in such a way that she could no longer see his face, “over the years I have heard some crude terms that some vocal braggarts have used—terms I did not, of course, ask them to define—but at times, I have to admit, a mere word or two would fuel my imagination to be even more creative. But I believe that those men were referring to acts for which they paid.”
“So with wives….”
“I do not know what men do with their wives, and honestly, I do not care. Do you?”
Elizabeth turned about within the circle of his arms so that she could kiss him again. “I care a little bit. I just feel sad for all the ladies, if they are missing out on so much.”
He chuckled.
She continued, “If people really are not at least trying the things we have done, I feel that they could not begin to fathom what they are missing.”
“Oh, my love, I very much feel as if you and I may be quite unique in many ways, but I too hope for other people’s sake that we are not unique in this particular way. But…I hope you do not…I would wish that you would not….” He floundered to a stop.
“Are you struggling to ask me not to share with others the details of our lovemaking?”
William shot her a look of surprise and appreciation. “Yes.”
“Do not worry about that. I never will share such private joys. I must thank you for not making me embarrassed to speak with you about this and every other subject. It is so important that I am able to speak to someone about such things without embarrassment!”
“I concur. Elizabeth, you are my treasure in part because we might share everything and ask anything. Honestly, I never thought this was possible, and I do feel that we are very lucky to have found one another.”
“And to have recognised our perfect fit.”
They exchanged more kisses, their bodies proving once again their perfect fit. Eventually, Elizabeth murmured, “As we grow, and if our family grows, as I dearly hope it will, we will change. Will we still fit each other perfectly?”
“I believe that, if we remember to keep on speaking, telling each other our true feelings, sharing our concerns as well as our joys—I believe that we will fit together despite our growth as individuals and, as you said, hopefully as parents.”
“I believe that, too.”
“And I know, deep down, that I will always love you.”
“I know that, too—I love you and always will.”