by Delaney Jane
That was fine with Lizzy. Like her father, who had sat at the head of the table in quiet observation until he had finished his meal, Lizzy was happy to keep to herself. Mr. Bennet hadn’t waited for dessert, and had instead taken off to retire to his library. Mrs. Bennet and Kitty chatted and gossiped, Mary sipped her wine, a book hidden beneath the table in her lap, and Bingley and Jane talked at the other end of the table.
To his credit, Colonel Fitzwilliam had kept up a polite conversation with her, never mentioning last night and instead talking of the coming spring, his wedding this summer, and of books.
“Are you reading anything new, Miss Bennet?” he asked while they sipped wine and nibbled on lemon tarts.
Her cheeks flushed slightly. She was reading something new, but it wasn’t dinner table friendly. “Yes, actually,” said she. “But I doubt you have read it.”
He contemplated a moment. On her other side, she felt Darcy turn, his eyes on her now for perhaps the first time that night. While they had said no more than a polite hello, she had been acutely aware of his body so close to hers all through dinner.
After his abrupt departure last night, she was frankly surprised he had come to dinner tonight. He didn’t seem pleased to be there, so she assumed his presence was more to inspire confidence in Mr. Bingley.
“Would I have read it?” he asked now, his voice deep and smooth, reaching into her belly and stirring something wicked.
The heat in her cheeks must have been very noticeable, but neither man said anything. She shrugged a shoulder. “Perhaps. It is about a woman running from a convent.” Why had she told him that? He would know which book she meant. He had leant her the damn thing!
She chanced a look at him, craning her neck to meet his eyes. They flashed a moment before he drew the mask down, hiding everything from her. Sitting perfectly still, his hands loose on the table, he made her nervous for no reason at all, and she licked her lips. His eyes darted to her mouth and back again.
“Tell me, Miss Elizabeth,” said he. “Are you enjoying Charlotte’s adventures?”
Of course he knew which book she was reading.
“I am,” she said in as dignified a voice as she could.
“It is quite a good book, Fitz,” he said to his cousin, and then to her, “Which part are you reading?”
Aware of her family just seats away, Lizzy lowered her voice slightly and said, “Charlotte is in the stables.”
“With whom?”
She swallowed, her fingers gripping the napkin in her lap. “She is with the Duke and his brother.”
She felt Fitzwilliam lean toward her, barely, as though beginning to understand what they were talking about.
“What are they doing to her?” Darcy’s voice was barely a hum, still so deep and rumbling.
Her mother laughed at something, and Lizzy peered at her family, but then Darcy moved, turning his body sideways, blocking them from her sight, and she from theirs. She sat between the men looming over her, caged.
“Perhaps this is not the best time?” she tried.
He cocked an eyebrow. “To speak of books?”
She glared at him. “To speak of this particular book.”
“When else shall we discuss this book? Shall I write you instead?”
God no, she thought. She had it in her mind to get this man out of her head, her life, her heart… It would be absolutely impossible if they were to begin writing to one another.
Hell, he was making it impossible by being here! She had thought after last night that he was gone, for good, that simply by having another man inside her would be enough to convince him to leave her alone, but then he had shown up with Bingley for dinner tonight, and she hadn’t been able to convince her mother or Jane to let her stay in bed with a headache.
How would she get over him if he kept showing up like this?
Much as she hated to admit it, she knew this man, knew the games he liked to play. Making her uncomfortable in front of her family would just be another game, and she was not going to let him win.
This was a dangerous game. But she would not back down, and he knew it.
Looking him in the eye, her voice low, she said, “They have her bent over a saddle, her hands bound, and they’re taking turns using a paddle against her ass.”
She heard Fitzwilliam’s choked sound, but she watched Darcy. His eyes darkened.
“Is she enjoying it?”
“You’ve read the book. You should know.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
“She’s wet. Dripping. Panting and begging for them to take her.” Her cheeks were hot now, but she didn’t care and she dare back down from him, despite the darkness in his eyes.
He lowered his voice further still. “Are you?”
“Of course not,” she hissed, looking away from him.
“You’ve never been good at lying to me, Miss Bennet.” His beautiful mouth lifted at the corner, a smirk that only enraged her since she was actually wet.
She steeled herself and met his gaze. “The book is quite good. Very descriptive. If I am aroused at all, it has nothing to do with you, Mr. Darcy.”
“Of course not,” he mocked, his eyes flashing. “You are quite capable of being turned on by someone other than myself.”
“I am.”
He nodded. “You are your own woman. Strong. Independent. That is what you pride yourself on, is it not?” He went on, not letting her respond. “Why, I would bet that you have the utmost control over your body.”
“I do,” she said, feeling as though she were walking into a trap.
“If I touched you right now, you could keep yourself from reacting. You could keep yourself from coming at my touch.”
She said nothing, staring up at him, at the challenge in his eyes. He inched closer, leaning toward her, and laid his warm hand on her thigh. She flinched and then forced herself to relax.
There was something more than just challenge in his eyes. Anger maybe? She would not be bullied by him. Sex was their game, and she could beat him, had beat him in the past, when things between them were understood and easy. This, whatever it was, was not easy.
He gripped her dress in his hand and tugged it up, baring her thighs, and resting his bare hand on her soft skin, too high. Too close to her. His fingers pushed between her thighs.
She schooled her features into a look of boredom, while her heart raced.
On her other side, Fitzwilliam moved, leaning closer. His hand joined Darcy’s between her thighs, and they eased her legs open wide.
She could hear her family on the other side of Darcy, talking and laughing, but they sounded so far away.
Darcy and Fitzwilliam’s hands moved up the inside of her thighs. She glanced at the Colonel and found him watching his hand, his lips parted. Darcy, though, watched her face, her reactions. When her eyes met his, his fingers moved higher, sliding into her folds, and she jerked at the touch.
“You are so very wet, Miss Elizabeth,” he whispered, his fingers caressing the slick folds.
She opened her mouth to say something hopefully snarky, but then he pushed his fingers inside of her, and she gasped, the sound barely audible, and took hold of the edge of her seat.
“My, Elizabeth, are you losing control?”
She gritted her teeth.
Fitzwilliam, foolish bastard that he was, seemed as intent on making her come as Darcy. He slid his thumb up to her clit, making unhurried circles, as Darcy slowly pushed two fingers in and out of her going a little bit deeper each time.
“You’re shaking, Miss Bennet,” said Darcy, his voice silky. “You don’t want to come with me inside you. You’ve moved past that, gotten over this thing between us. Prove it. Don’t let me have this. Fight it, love.”
She was not his love. She never would be. But she did not have the breath to say so, to say anything. Her hips began to move, responding to his slow, deliberate movements, Fitzwilliam’s rubbing; the slow circles becoming faster.
She was not going to win this battle. He would make her come as easily while he touched her in front of her family. She hadn’t fought him, nor would she have, and he knew it.
But while she could not fight his touch and what it did to her, she could stop him. He would never force her. She knew that.
Putting her hands on their wrists, she met Darcy’s dark gaze.
Fitzwilliam stopped, and she was able to breathe, though her voice shook. “Well done,” said she. “You’ve proven your point.” Darcy’s fingers still moved within her, too strong for her to immobilize.
“What was my point?”
“That I have no control.”
“Oh, my Lizzy,” he said, and she flinched at his choice of words. “You have all of the control. Just not over your body.” He sank his fingers into her to his knuckles. A soft moan escaped her.
“Elizabeth?” her mother’s voice cut through the foggy haze Lizzy was in. “Are you all right, dear?”
Fitzwilliam moved away quickly, busying himself with his tart. Darcy sat in such a way that no one would know he was touching her unless they were standing directly behind them. He had not removed his fingers, though she had snapped her legs together, and instead put his thumb against her clit, barely a touch, but it made her jump.
“Yes, Mam,” she said, her voice sounding a bit strained. “I just—I still have a headache.”
“Dear me,” said her mother, though Lizzy could not see her around Darcy. “Shall I make you a tonic?”
If she let him keep on, she was going to have an orgasm at the dinner table surrounded by her family, and that just wouldn’t do.
“No. I think I’ll just take a walk and then head up to bed.”
“Well all right, good night.” And then she was back to talking with Jane and Bingley.
Her grip on Darcy’s wrist tightened, but he only pushed deeper, against her bones. She pressed her head back against the chair a moment, closing her eyes, relishing the pain and the pleasure he was so adept at bringing her.
And then he slid his fingers from inside her, leaving her feeling empty. She fixed her dress and stood on wobbly legs.
Darcy discreetly sucked his fingers, and Lizzy could have come right there, with no one touching her. She hurried out of the dinning room with barely a glance at anyone at the table.
The night air was cool and fragrant with budding flowers and nighttime dew, with mud and hay and horse. Stars glittered overhead, the moon bright and full, lighting the way for Lizzy.
She took a path at the back of the house, into the field, and along a fence surrounding the paddocks.
Outside was a riot of sound; the night animals croaking, chirruping, and whistling in the dark woods beyond the fields. She felt them behind her, though when she looked over her shoulder she could not see them, not until they passed a lighted window in the house. The two men were following her path silently.
Hurrying her steps, Lizzy kept to the shadows, moving off of the path, sure her dark dress would hide her as she crossed the field.
The stables were quiet, the horses softly nickering in response to her sudden appearance. She slipped down the center aisle to the last stall. It was empty save for a table horse holding a saddle. The moon spilled through the windows, but in the corners it was dark. The smell of horse and hay was strong, as was the scent of the nearby pond and the trees.
She held her breath, tucked into the far corner of the stall, her heart pounding, and she waited. She would either hear them pass the stable as they made their way around the paddock and on toward Netherfield three miles away, or she wouldn’t.
She didn’t.
Though she never heard their boots on the wooden floor of the stable, she felt her stomach drop as they filled the doorway to the stall. She couldn’t see them in the dark, and they kept to the walls, to the shadows as they made their way toward her.
Feeling daring, Lizzy tried bolting from the stall, but the men converged on her. Steel arms wrapped around her, pinning her arms to her sides.
Darcy’s mouth against her ear, his breath hot. “You have all of the control,” he whispered. “This is over when you wish it to be.”
She knew he was talking about this moment, what they were doing right then, but she couldn’t help but think he also meant their relationship and whatever they were doing. It would end when she wanted it to.
She didn’t want it to.
She turned her face and kissed him, feeling his sharp intake of breath before his arms crushed her, holding her closer. He returned the kiss with fervor, his mouth open, his tongue battling hers.
He set her down, turning her to face him, still kissing her. Fitzwilliam’s warm body came up behind her, his fingers against her neck as he untied the ribbon at the back of her dress. He slid his fingers over her shoulders, pushing the dress down her arms and off of her hips.
Her shift was thin and light, and the men took it in their hands and wrenched, tearing it in half back and front. It drifted to her feet. She stood between them, naked, wanting.
Darcy’s hands covered her breasts, running his thumbs over her nipples until they were hard. Fitzwilliam cupped her buttocks, spreading them, and pressing the hard shape beneath his trousers against her.
And then the men knelt. She held onto Darcy’s shoulders, as he lifted one of her legs and put it over his shoulder. Behind her, Fitzwilliam gripped her ass and parted her buttocks, burying his face in her asshole.
She moaned, startling the horses into snickers and grunts. She’d need to keep quiet if she didn’t want the keeper to come running to see what was wrong with the horses.
Darcy kissed her belly, lavishing his tongue over her hip. He slid his hand up her thigh and found her wet. He looked up, catching her eye, and then drove his fingers into her. He wasn’t gentle, and she didn’t want him to be. He slammed his fingers into her so hard he lifted her from the ground.
Her fingernails bit into his shoulders through his shirt. Darcy dipped his head and sucked her clit into his mouth. Her knee buckled at the sensations washing over her, Fitzwilliam gently prodding from behind, his tongue tentative and exploring, Darcy’s hungry mouth devouring her in front, his fingers driving into her to his knuckles.
Lizzy arched back, resting her hands on Fitzwilliam’s shoulders, opening herself more. She could have come this way, but Darcy sensed it, and he stood quickly. Fitzwilliam followed suit. She stood between them, panting, glaring at Darcy for stopping, her body excited for what might happen next.
He gripped her wrists in his hand, hard, and wrapped a length of silk around them. Where the ribbon had come from, she could only guess, but she didn’t care. He bent forward, so tall that he loomed over her, and whispered in her ear.
“I’m not going to gag you tonight. I want to hear you. Tell me to stop,” he said, his voice deep and rough. “Tell me to leave alone with Fitz. Tell me you hate me.”
She wanted to, but couldn’t. Because she didn’t. But she would never tell him the truth.
He watched her from dark eyes, waiting. When she said nothing, he yanked her over to the saddle and bent her over it. Fitzwilliam’s mouth immediately found her, pushing her legs wide, spreading her ass cheeks, his fingers plunging into her, two fingers, shorter than Darcy’s, but thicker. And he moved his mouth over her cunt, exploring, growing braver with each lick and suck and flick.
Standing before her, Darcy watched while she squirmed at Fitzwilliam’s touch, wishing for more, but enjoying the ride nonetheless.
But it would not be a gentle ride, not with Darcy around. He opened his trousers, showing her the hard length of him in the moonlight, stroking himself in front of her face. He did not smile, but looked savage in the bluish glow.
He came to her, cupping her chin in his hand, his other pumping slowly over his cock. And then he pressed the tip to her lips, coating them with his dewy juice.
She licked her lips, catching the tip of his cock with her tongue and was rewarded with a hiss. Taking hold of h
is trousers, Lizzy pulled him closer. He was much stronger, but he let her pull him, and watched as she took him in her mouth. She watched his reaction, feeling the power course through her as his face softened and then took on an almost pained look. His fingers went into her hair, encouraging her.
God, he tasted delicious. She sucked at him, slowly, pulling him deep into her throat and then letting him glide over her tongue. He could let his docile cousin fuck her all he wanted, but she could play his game, and holding back as she was, not giving herself over to him completely, would be just as much torture to Darcy as Fitzwilliam’s darting tongue was to her.
“Smack her ass, Fitz,” Darcy growled.
The Colonel did as he was bid, the sound sharp in the stables, making the horses snuff. Lizzy jerked at the sting, but she kept up her slow pace, glancing up at Darcy as she dragged her lips over the head of his cock.
“Harder.”
Fitzwilliam smacked her, pain ricocheting through her body.
“Again.”
His hand smacked over her ass over and over, each time gaining in strength until her ass was on fire and she was dripping. Unable to hold back, Lizzy moaned loud and wrapped her bound hands around the bottom of Darcy’s shaft, jerking him as she sucked, her saliva soaking him.
He growled his approval. Behind her, Fitzwilliam stopped his assault on her ass and she heard him stand, his clothing being torn at, and then he positioned his cock, the head hot and velvety against her asshole. He spit into his hand, and she felt him slickening his cock before he gripped her hips and drove himself inside, hard, pushing her against Darcy so that his cock pressed the back of her throat.
Darcy’s hips began to rock against her. Fitzwilliam pounded into her asshole, his hips smacking against her and shaking the table horse. She was dripping down her legs, trembling with need, but no one was touching her where she needed it most, and she couldn’t reach to relieve herself.
And she still found herself coming closer and closer to oblivion.
She sucked hard on Darcy, letting him fuck her mouth, feeling him swell. Behind her, Fitzwilliam grunted and growled, his cock growing harder inside her. And then both men came, filling her. Just feeling Fitzwilliam’s hot seed shoot into her, his fingers gripping her hips hard, almost painfully, and Darcy filling her mouth, the taste warm and salty and smooth, it was nearly enough to make her come.
