by Ola Wegner
At last the sensations became too intense, and a wave of shattering pleasure enveloped her entire body. It could be compared only to what she had felt when he had taken her to his bedroom before their wedding and touched her intimately for the first time. Nevertheless, it was stronger now, and she clung to him, never wanting to let go, her heart pounding erratically in her chest, her legs trembling, choked sounds coming from her open mouth.
She lay lifelessly for what seemed to be a long moment after that, her limbs weak and thrown awkwardly around his body. From time to time, a pleasant current ran through her, and she did not possess the strength nor the will to lift her head or even open her eyes.
“Is it painful?” His question brought her attention back to the present moment, and she looked up into his concerned face.
“Is what painful?” she murmured, following his gaze down. The light from the fireplace had died down completely, and she could see little; only that his right hand was firmly wedged between her legs.
“This,” he said, and something moved inside of her. She sat up abruptly, now clearly seeing that one of his fingers was pushed inside of her.
“It does not hurt?” she questioned unbelievably.
He laughed in response. “It is I who should be asking.” He wrapped his free arm around her arms, kissing her forehead.
She joined him in his laughter, immense relief washing over her as they fell back together on the pillows.
Soon, his finger was replaced with his manhood, and she felt him poking hesitatingly at her.
“Do it,” she ordered impatiently, eager to see whether the feeling of his manhood inside of her would be as painless as his finger.
At last he pushed, and there was pain, but small, and of entirely different intensity. There was no burning or tearing, and she did not feel as if she was split in half. The stretching was uncomfortable - it was a dull pain, or rather discomfort, resembling nothing she had experienced before, but still perfectly bearable.
“You are well?” She heard his frantic voice asking.
“Yes,” she answered slowly.
“You are not pretending like before?” he demanded, hovering over her, his eyes staring into hers with intensity.
She shook her head. “I feel stretched, rather uncomfortable, but there is no tearing sensation like before. You can try to move, I think.”
Unlike the other two times, she did not avoid looking at him while he moved inside her. The difference in their heights was reflected even now when they were together like this, joined intimately. He was supported on his outstretched arms, his head well above hers, so when she looked directly up, all she could see was his upper chest and chiselled collarbones. She doubted that it was comfortable for him to loom over her like that.
The sensation of discomfort between her legs was still present, but less so. His pushes were gentle, but a few times, he seemed to go a bit farther or perhaps at a different angle, and then she felt a pleasant sensation, as if he managed to hit the right spot inside of her. She began to wonder how to communicate to him what made her feel good, but then his breathing and movements changed, turning fast and shallow. Once again, she felt a surge of unexpected pleasure as he drove with more force inside of her the last time, before producing a grunting sound, and trembling above her.
Her heart swelled with joy and immense pride, and she hugged his heavy, sweaty, now relaxed body, to her, using both her legs and arms, grinning wildly above his shoulder. She had managed to successfully bed her husband, or rather he bedded her. Everything went smoothly, without the searing pain, humiliation, and without asking him to stop before he even started. She indeed deserved to be called an accomplished woman tonight.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Out,” Darcy ordered, as he saw Elizabeth’s dog peeking through the crack in the door leading from the private parlour of their chamber to their bedroom.
Darcy, who had awakened to an empty and cold bed, was naturally displeased at his wife’s absence. He wondered where she could have gone so early in the morning. He had knocked at the door of her dressing room, but she was not there. Now, that he saw her dog, he knew that she must be somewhere close by.
“I do not comprehend why you always have to be so short with Brutus. He is such a darling.” He turned to the sound of his wife’s clear, singing voice as she walked into their bedroom.
She was dressed in a nightdress and robe, her hair pulled back into a low ponytail, tied with a plain white ribbon. Leaning down she patted Brutus’ head, causing him to let out a short, happy bark.
Darcy, however, was the one who had set the rule that the dog was not allowed inside their bedroom, and he had every intention of sticking to it.
“Out,” he repeated, staring down at Brutus. The pup moved behind Elizabeth’s skirts, turning his back to Darcy.
“That is enough,” Darcy grunted as he picked up the dog by its yellow fur and carried it outside into the sitting room, closing the door right before its black, wet nose could wedge back inside.
“Where have you been so early in the morning?” he asked, focusing his attention back on his wife.
“When I awoke, I remembered that yesterday I had left my letters in the library.” Only after she had spoken the words did he notice the few letters she held in her hand. “I thought I should go and collect them.”
As she offered her explanation, her eyes carefully avoided him; not once did she look at him. Instantly worried that she might feel disappointed after the events of the night, he pulled her closer and cupped her cheek.
“Will you not look at me, my love?” he asked softly, turning her face to his.
She blushed, her gaze escaping to the ceiling. “You are naked,” she murmured.
He looked down at his body in confusion. She was indeed right; until now he had failed to notice the state of his undress.
“You are shy of me?” he cried unbelievably. “After last night?”A rich laughter echoed in the room.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “There! Tease me about it, will you?” she huffed. “I cannot help but feel some embarrassment as you parade around naked in broad daylight.” She swatted his arm in a playful gesture.
“You never cease to amaze me, love,” he murmured, wrapping his arms tightly around her so that she was not able to move away from him, even if she wished. “Let us return to bed.” His hands moved from her back and waist down to her hips, clearly stating his intentions.
She pushed at him, shaking her head, her hands splayed flat on his chest. “It is almost seven; I should prepare myself for the day. We have a guest, and I should see to breakfast…”
“My aunt will not awaken before ten o’clock, I assure you,” he interrupted. “And when she does, she will take breakfast in her room, as she always has. We should not expect her below stairs before noon. I know her routine well.”
Their eyes met, and she held his gaze steadily for a moment before she looked away. “Still, I would wish to read my letters. I may not have time later, as we are to depart for Matlock tomorrow. Besides, I must speak with Mrs. Reynolds so that she knows exactly what to prepare for the Gardiners arrival.”
“Just a few minutes then,” he said, trying to fight back the sharp feeling of rejection aching painfully in his chest. “Please.”
As they lay down on the bed, he drew the covers over them. She quickly snuggled close to him, placing her head on his chest.
“Do you regret what happened last night, love?” he dared to ask, after a long moment of silence.
“No, of course not!” she cried instantly with feeling, looking up at him. “No,” she shook her head, “I am most pleased that we at last…” She blushed, hiding her face from him as she rubbed her cheek against his chest. “You know my meaning,” she murmured.
His hand ran down the length of her hair. “Are you sore then?”
She shook her head again. “No, not at all.”
“Do not hesitate to tell me if that is the case,” he
insisted. “It was three times, after all,” he reminded her proudly.
She shook her head once more, quite vehemently, her fingers tugging at his chest hair.
Darcy was amiss at what could possibly be the cause of her current mood. What wrong had he done? She had been so wonderful last evening, so open and uninhibited, while this morning she seemed to be an entirely different person. This marriage business was certainly a complicated one. His previous contact with women had always been so simple in its nature, shallow to be sure, but always straightforward.
He had imagined the morning after he loved his wife fully and completely for the first time in an entirely different way than his previous bumbling, that everything would be different—that she would be more willing to be his lover. He did not expect to wake up alone without her in his arms. At the least, he expected her to be resting close to him so he could reach for her at his leisure and love her as he pleased.
Darcy took a deep breath. To be sure, last night could be counted as the best night of his life thus far. He was elated with the awareness that the last barrier between them had been lifted—the last obstacle to their truly being together.
“I feel different,” she said quietly.
Surprised to hear her voice interrupting his troubled thoughts, he frowned. “Can you elaborate?”
Still playing with his chest hair, she replied. “I am not certain. I just feel as though I am not the same person I was yesterday.”
Kissing the top of her head, he had no clue as to how he should answer her; nor did he know to what she was referring. He felt exactly the same as he had yesterday, only much happier in both body and soul—especially in body. The last months, when he had had no release other than his own hand, had been trying for him.
Was she happier with things as they had been? Was that her meaning? She had said that she had not regretted their passionate night and that she was pleased with what had transpired between them. So what was her meaning?
“Are we going to do it every night now?” she asked, a slight smile gracing her lips.
“Yes, we are,” he answered without hesitation.
In his view, there was no reason why they should not. There was no physical obstacle to inhibit them. She no longer felt pain like before. Moreover, he could tell from the way her body responded to his that she derived more pleasure with each time they made love. When he touched her, there was no doubt that he had her in the palm of his hand. She was his for the taking—and take her he had. Her next words amazed him.
“I cannot wait for the night.”
Turning his head, he gazed at her in confusion. She could not wait for the night? Her last words played over in his mind several times as he tried to make sure that he understood her correctly. If she was eager for him to bed her again, then why had she just given him the speech about feeling different than before and not being the same person?! She made no sense!
“Elizabeth,” he said. “You know very well that we do not have to wait for the dark of night,” he changed their positions, shifting so that she was beneath him.
Her legs lifted and parted eagerly, wrapping around his hips. He tugged at her gown in order to see her pretty, high, perky breasts. They were perfect, so delicate, with soft, pink peaks. He knew that he could stare at them for hours, and the view would never bore him. He even toyed with the idea of asking her to keep the bodice of her dress lowered whenever they were in the privacy of their rooms—similar to the women in some of the ancient civilizations he had studied while at university.
As he pushed her skirts up to gaze between her thighs, he felt her stiffen. She no longer protested against his looking at this part of her as she had before, but he could feel the tension in her body as he examined her.
“I am not clean,” she murmured. “I should bathe.” She attempted to sit up, but he put her down with a hand firmly pressed against her shoulder.
Clearly visible were white, dried smudges on the creamy skin of her inner thighs, which he presumed were the remains of his seed. What he had said when he had seen her that first time in his bedroom in London before their wedding was true. She had an uncommonly pretty and delicate slit, completely symmetrical and even. Her skin was visibly reddened now though. However, as he touched her, she did not cringe in discomfort, so he had to believe her assertion that she was not sore. He truly wished to kiss her tender flesh, but was not certain whether she would welcome it. He had never done such a thing before, but naturally he had heard of it. Nor had he ever wanted to perform such an intimate act on any of the women he had known in his past, but with Elizabeth it was entirely different.
“Have you finished?” Her cranky voice reached his ears. “I cannot imagine what you find so interesting that you would be this occupied with my personal parts for any length of time. I will fall asleep if you do not end your staring soon.”
He grinned, moving up her body. A few minutes later, when he found her wet enough to accept him, he pushed inside. Focusing on controlling his pace and trying to be gentle, he took into account the great disproportion in their height and weight.
A frown appeared between her dark eyebrows. She began wriggling beneath him, shifting her hips in small sharp movements which made it very difficult for him to go slow.
At last her hands found a place on his buttocks, and she lifted herself up to meet him. “Harder,” she ordered.
Stopped in a half thrust, frozen above her, he was not sure whether he heard her correctly.
“I will not break; push harder,” she repeated, locking her eyes with his, filled with determination and burning with passion.
Shocked with her taking the initiative in such a way, he began surging into her depths as deep and quickly as he could go. And lifting to meet his each and every stroke, it was not long before she tightened rhythmically around him, gripping him in a passion such as he had never known before.
Finally, they both collapsed, utterly spent.
As he cradled her in his arms, both of them trying to catch their breath while their hearts raced, he wondered whether he would ever be able to completely understand her. She was a mystery, however he prayed that little by little her secrets would be completely revealed to him.
With a contented heart, his body finally sated, he closed his eyes in restful sleep once more. This was the best sex he had ever experienced, and he had the rest of his life to look forward to more of it.
***
It was quite late in the evening when Elizabeth found the quiet time to read her letters. Lady Eleanor had proved to be a rather demanding guest who liked to be entertained. Whether it was a simple tea or an open carriage ride around the grounds, she certainly liked to have company around her at all times.
Elizabeth released a sigh as she lifted Jane’s letter from the pile in her lap and began to read, hoping to find some explanation for her sister’s relationship with Colonel Fitzwilliam. Unfortunately, Jane was very laconic, only revealing that she and the man in question had shared a few pleasant conversations. However Jane wished to continue their friendship, asking Elizabeth to help her correspond with Darcy’s cousin.
Elizabeth could not wait to have an eye to eye conversation with her elder sister. What amazed her most about the current situation was that Jane did not appear to have completely lost her interest in Mr. Bingley, having seen him in London several times over the last few weeks. Jane wrote quite plainly that Mr. Bingley had every intention of visiting Pemberley this summer. Having a standing invitation from Darcy to come whenever he wanted, and knowing that Jane would be there together with the Gardiners, it appeared to please him to come when they would be present.
In her limited experience Elizabeth could hardly imagine how a woman could be courted by two men at the same time. Understandably, Jane was too beautiful and good to go unnoticed, and it was expected that many men would be taken with her charms. But the astonishing part of this situation was that Jane seemed to be seriously interested in both suitors equally, as if she coul
d not decide between them.
Closing Jane’s letter, Elizabeth gazed down at her husband, who was sleeping soundly with his head nestled in her lap. The rest of his body was stretched comfortably along the oversized sofa, which suited his height perfectly. Perhaps she should consider asking him about his opinion on Jane’s relationship with Mr. Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam? Darcy knew both men very well, after all. It was clear, however, that he would be more welcoming towards his cousin’s suit rather than Mr. Bingley’s. On the other hand, she concluded, it was a private matter between only three adults—her sister and the two gentlemen in question. Neither she nor Darcy had the right to interfere, though Jane had asked her to pass along her letters to Colonel Fitzwilliam. Elizabeth did not see any valid reason why she should refuse such a small favour. Above all else she wanted her sister’s happiness, and she prayed that Jane knew what she was about.
The next letter she opened was from Charlotte. She and Mr. Collins were well settled into Longbourn now, but her friend tactfully wrote very little about it—one sentence stating that they were comfortable in their new home. The rest of the letter was quite entertaining, containing all the gossip from the neighbourhood. In the last few lines Charlotte revealed that she was with child, expecting to deliver around Christmas or early in the New Year. Elizabeth was very happy for her friend. She hoped that soon she would have good news of the same nature to share with Charlotte.
In her letter, Charlotte said nothing about Mrs. Bennet, so Elizabeth was more than usually curious about the content of Mary’s letter. Nevertheless, she did not expect to gain much information from her sister concerning her mother or the younger girls. Elizabeth released a contented sigh as she unfolded the missive and began to read. Mary wrote to her regularly, every two weeks or so, contrary to the younger girls, who seemed not to know what a pen and paper were for. Nevertheless, Mary always concentrated on the same topics, mainly what books she was reading and what compositions she was currently learning to play, eager to know whether Elizabeth knew those books or played that particular music.
