Chapter 23 #4
“My beautiful wife…” She barely understood the words of love tickling her ear as his weight suddenly took her breath away. “Please look at me.”
She obeyed instantly, though her eyelashes felt heavy. He was lying upon her, their faces merely inches apart, and his warm breath bore the scent of her own passion.
“It will be painful,” he said with soft concern; yet, what she saw in his dark eyes, more powerful than his obvious care for her, was a profound, barely restrained desire.
She knew it would be painful and had thought she would be afraid of that moment, but she was not.
His expression changed again, and his eyes caressed her face with infinite tenderness.
Elizabeth’s soul melted in it as her body opened to him.
With her own love and passion matching his, and with complete, unconditional trust in her husband, Elizabeth offered herself to him.
Whatever was to come could not but be marvellous because it would come from him! And marvellous it was.
He entered her with a tender passion, causing the sharp pain that cut her body soon to be forgotten.
He was inside her—inside her body as he had been inside her heart for so many months—and each of his moves tore through her in the most blissful, astonishing way—unbearable pleasure and unbearable pain.
Her soul was full of love and her body full of passion—his passion and hers together.
A cry—his or hers?—waves of fulfilled desire shattering their bodies, her hands embracing him with desperation, his lips covering her face with innumerable kisses, the sound of their wildly racing breaths—and nothing more. Silence and blissful happiness.
∞∞∞
Her hair smelled of jasmine and her body smelled of love—the most intoxicating blend of scents Darcy had ever experienced.
He was lying on the bed, spent and yet restless in his desire, holding Elizabeth tightly.
Her back was turned against him and her long, silky hair was caressing his chest. He would like to read in her eyes—in her soul—everything she was feeling and thinking now that she was his wife, but she was turned to face the fire and seemed to avoid his gaze. Darcy was puzzled and worried.
His body was still unsatisfied in its need and urge for her, despite the fact that he had just experienced the most exhilarating explosions of pleasure.
He still desired her and was angry with himself for this lack of control.
He knew he had not been as patient as he should have been.
He knew that his pleasure must have been a painful moment for her; he also knew he must have frightened her with his unbridled behaviour as he himself was amazed by some of his gestures.
She had already been embarrassed by their earlier interlude, and he took her distress in jest. Instead of restraining his passion, he cared for no boundaries—no rules.
To kiss her everywhere the way he did—it was something he had never considered before.
Yet, touching Elizabeth, kissing her, caressing her seemed the most natural thing to do, and he did not hesitate for a single moment; he had simply been thirsty for her passion and impulsively slaked his thirst. Was she upset?
She did enjoy herself, he was certain of that, at least for some part of their…
activities. He remembered vividly the expression of her beautiful face the moment she had reached the peak of her pleasure, and she was hurt too.
He also remembered that moment very clearly.
What was she feeling now? What was she thinking of him that very moment, lying naked in his arms, covered by bed sheets and her long, soft hair?
“Elizabeth?” He placed a kiss on her temple and felt her startling. “Please speak to me, my love.”
Hesitantly, she turned in his arms so they faced each other. Her soft skin brushing his was a sweet, painful torture, which further aroused his desire.
“Do not worry; I am well,” she assured him, still avoiding his gaze.
“You are not, my love. Were you well, I would see your sparkling eyes smiling at me. Was it very painful?”
She finally glanced at him, and her eyes were indeed sparkling—only with tears. “It is not that; do not distress yourself, I am well. I am just being silly; it is of no consequence. I shall be fine.”
She nestled to his chest and they remained in silence for a time.
“You do not trust me enough to tell me what is upsetting you? I know you are not being ‘silly’.”
“I am jealous,” she burst out nervously. He felt her stiffen and stop breathing, awaiting his reaction.
“Pardon me?” inquired a shocked Darcy, wondering what on earth she could mean. “How can you be jealous?”
“Oh, I told you I am only being silly; you should not have forced me to speak of it!”
He turned her on her back and laid her against the pillows; his inquisitive stare—mere inches away—together with a severe expression and hands holding her possessively told Elizabeth clearly enough she ought not to trifle with him or attempt to escape without a full confession.
She was not certain whether she should laugh or be angry at her own folly in raising such a preposterous subject in the middle of their wedding night.
“It is obvious that you are not…umm…inexperienced in this matter, and I cannot help wondering how many times you have done this before.” Her voice was trembling slightly, her cheeks suddenly pale as she forced herself to keep her eyes on his.
He was speechless; his countenance changed visibly as his eyes averted from hers for a moment. His tried to say something, but he hesitated; his body moved from hers, and she felt suddenly cold. “William, please forgive me. I know I had no right to start such a conversation…”
Darcy’s distress was obvious, so she easily understood she was right, and her aching heart sank.
“Elizabeth, it is true that this is a very improper conversation for a man to have with his wife, and I am at a loss as to what I should tell you. But I want to assure you that you have every right to ask me anything you want, though sometimes I might not be able to offer you the answers you expect.”
“I understand.” Elizabeth’s voice was trembling, and her long lashes could not hide a tear in the corner of an eye. She tried to smile dejectedly.
“Do you truly want me to speak of this subject?”
“Yes. . . No. . . I do not know. We should perhaps sleep now.” She turned her back to him again, facing the fire; a moment later, his arms embraced her with tender care.
She remained motionless but did not reject his attention.
More confidently, he pulled her to his chest, and his lips moved closer to her ear.
“I shall be as honest as possible, though I dread the thought of having this discussion.” She did not reply; her breath became shallower.
“I will confess I am not…inexperienced as you said. I have had my share of knowledge as any man of my age I imagine—certainly less than some of them.”
“I see. Thank you for your honest answer. I am aware I have no right to be interested in something that happened before you even knew me. But the mere thought of your holding another woman as you hold me was —”
“Elizabeth, I have never held any other woman as I hold you,” he interrupted her.
He pulled her to him so fiercely that she felt suffocated in his embrace. One of his arms tightened its grip around her waist and the other was stroking her shoulder and neck; his warm lips caressed her ear while speaking, and his hoarse voice sent shivers along her body.
“I have never imagined I could touch or kiss a woman as I have you. What we shared this night was equally as new for me as it was for you, though I did know more of what was to come. You said that what we shared tonight was unexpected for you. I can say that for me it was more exquisite than anything I expected, than anything I dreamed during my lonely nights thinking of you.”
He paused a moment, holding her tightly and searching for her hands; their fingers entwined, and now she was truly captive in his arms, her back crushed against his chest.
His voice was as tender as a caress. “Elizabeth, I have known other women before you, but I have never loved anyone except you—either with my heart or my body.”
He felt her breath quicken and her heart beat wildly. She moved slightly in his embrace and turned her head so he could see her face. “Thank you.”
“I love you, Elizabeth,” he said, and again there was silence for a while. Darcy was certain she had fallen asleep, but he was proved wrong a few minutes later.
“It was painful but in a pleasant way,” she confessed unexpectedly, and he startled.
“I am sorry,” he said, somehow distressed, but she chuckled.
“Do not be sorry. Becoming your wife has mirrored our relationship from the moment we met until now.”
“What do you mean?” he inquired, puzzled.
“I mean—quite painful at times, occasionally distressing, but in essentials exceptionally enjoyable. I confess I have no cause to repine.”
She laughed, hiding her head against the pillows, and he breathed in relief. Finally, she was her usual self again. He could not see her, but he could feel her smile through every fibre of his body.
“I am very glad to hear that, Mrs Darcy.” There was another moment of silence before he continued.
“May I dare hope your distress is now gone and you will finally turn to look at me?” His voice was husky, and his lips were placing soft kisses along her ear; she shivered but remained still.
“My distress is gone indeed, but I would rather not turn.”
“You would not? Are you still upset with me?” he asked, quite worried.
“No indeed, sir, quite the contrary. I would rather remain as we are only because I find it very pleasant being held like this,” she admitted.
“Oh, now I see.” He finally understood. His fingers removed the locks of her hair from her ear, baring her cheek and neck, and then continued to caress her soft skin tenderly.
“Then please do not turn around, Mrs Darcy. I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours.”
Elizabeth laughed nervously, suppressing a moan as her skin quivered beneath his kisses.
His hands started to move daringly along her body—so fully exposed to his passionate exploration.
One hand encircled her waist, stroked her belly and then slid down to her thighs, while the other possessively cupped her breasts; his fingers traced tingling circles around each of them, teasing her nipples, which hardened with desire.
Her body writhed and pushed against his, imprisoned by his possessive touches; his arms tightened their grip, pulling her closer to him and gently commanding her to obey his wishes.
She felt his chest against her back, his strong legs entwined with hers and his thighs pressing against her bottom.
She could feel his desire arousing again, and a sense of fear and passionate desire shattered her body.
“Allow me to make you a promise, Mrs Darcy.” She was not certain if he truly spoke or only the touch of his tongue made her dream it.
“Please do so, sir,” she answered breathlessly. Her head turned a little so her dry lips could finally meet his.
“You said that becoming my wife had been sometimes painful and distressing…”
“And exceptionally enjoyable…”
“I promise that being my wife will never be painful—as long as it is in my power to prevent it.”
“I do trust you in that, sir,” she replied, and that shared promise seemed awkwardly serious considering the circumstances.
“And it will also be much more enjoyable than it has been so far—as long as it is in my power to accomplish it,” he added more lightly, smiling mischievously against her lips, which he eventually captured with passion.
“I do not believe it can get much more enjoyable than what has already transpired between us.”
“You must trust me in this too, my dearest wife,” he said, barely able to speak as his lips were more agreeably engaged. “As I already said, this is quite a new experience for me as well. I can truthfully say that the more I practice, the more proficient I become. Would you not agree?”
She would laugh at his shameless promise, but she found herself crying her pleasure as his fingers daringly touched the warmth between her thighs.
The strokes—long, gentle, and tantalisingly slow at first—turned into a wild torture.
She finally turned in his arms to face him, but their eyes met only for a moment as his lips journeyed along her jaw line, briefly tasting her chin before moving to her throat until his hungry mouth reached the softness of her round breasts.
His lips closed around her nipple and she cried again while passion conquered her once more.
Moment by moment, the urge, the longing to feel him inside her again grew unbearable, defeating any remnants of fear or pain—and she pleaded with him, begged him until her longing was finally satisfied.
A brief, sharp pain and he entered her again with renewed, unleashed desire.
As she was thrown into a storm of feelings, wondering how he could be so strong and large—yet fit so perfectly within her—possessive and almost wild in his thrusts, yet so tender and caring, a single thought crossed her mind: he was right again.
Now that she was his wife, everything was less painful and more blissfully enjoyable than ever before.