DREAMS YOU DARE TO DREAM REALLY DO COME TRUE
A quarter of an hour later, Elizabeth awoke and was confused as to time and place. She was wearing a beautiful nightgown, was in a huge bed made up in fresh linens redolent with lavender; and Mr Darcy was sleeping in a chair by the fire with a cat on his lap. For a moment she wondered whether they were married as in her dreams; but then her head began to pound with the memory of hearing those awful words, her jealousy, her tears, her anger, their confrontation, and the ride. She looked around the room and realized that much within was perfectly suited to her tastes. The coverlet, curtains, and upholstered chairs were the warm earth tones – greens, rusts, ambers and browns – she preferred. There was a painting hanging on the wall of a young girl reading, that looked remarkably like her. She was even wearing a mustard-coloured dress, the same hue as the one she wore the day they read together in the library at Netherfield.
She arose from the bed and encased her feet in the slippers left beside the bed. They were just her size. A robe was hanging from the bedpost. It was a rich burgundy, and as she slipped it on, the monogram startled her… ED. Where had he brought her? Were those the initials of his mistress? Where was she? The personality of this cottage was precisely as she would have made it. Carefully, so as not to wake him, she walked around the one room.
In front of the massive stone fireplace were two very comfortable chairs with a small round table between them. On the table was an open bottle of wine with one empty glass and one partially full, as well as a copy of The Vicar of Wakefield open as if he had been reading it. She smiled with the memory of their literary debate. The tabby in his lap opened one eye but quickly returned to purring. She turned her attention to the other items in the room. The bed dominated; but there also was a dressing table with a bench, mirror, basin, pitcher and a silver hand mirror, brush and comb set. Once again, the set had been engraved with the initials ED. In an alcove was a larder; and it appeared it had recently been stocked with bread, cheese, fruit and several additional bottles of wine. A table for eating had been commandeered for writing; and was topped with an assortment of quills, an inkwell, and fine quality paper with an engraved border of twining roses and a small depiction of this cottage in the corner. A stack of books, a glue pot and a candelabrum completed the items on the table. The mantle was adorned with an earthenware jug, of roses and several silver candlesticks. The thickness of the stone walls made the cottage cool despite the afternoon summer sun streaming through the windows. Thankful for the blaze, she was pulled in the direction of the filled shelves flanking the fireplace.
The books included all of Shakespeare’s works, and she was amazed as she viewed the other titles on the shelves that the selection perfectly mirrored her taste. Every volume she opened had attached to the back of the front cover; a piece of the rose adorned paper from the table. The care he had taken to have the pages produced touched her. In his strong legible handwriting, she remembered from his ruined letter, he had penned a note. Each was a dedication dated sometime in 1812, and all expressed his love for her. Many mentioned reading the book together, but some referenced information gleaned from their discussions. When she opened the copy of Paradise Lost, she could not help but giggle and that prompted the cat to leave his lap and join her at the book shelves to sniff her feet and twine in and out of her legs. . She returned to Milton’s poetic images; he had not written of their magnificence, but instead had penned:
June 1812
For my dearest Elizabeth,
This great man also had relatives in Cheapside… in fact he was born there. I guess this is a perfect example of not judging a book by its cover.
I love you,
FD
Laughing quietly, she continued to view other volumes—greedily opening to the dedication page. With each one, she was moved by his words in one way or another. Some brought on mirth, while others caused her eyes to sting with unshed tears, and several evoked shame at her harsh rejection as well as her rush to judgment earlier today. On the table, where he had obviously been penning the inscriptions, she found a copy of Pope’s Essay on Criticism. This seemed to be one of the last he had written. It was longer than the others. With it, she got an inkling of his confession:
July 1812
To my dearest Elizabeth,
I have loved you since almost the first moment I saw you, but yet I chose to deny my feelings. Instead, I publicly demeaned you, and then compounded my malice by being arrogant enough to expect your acceptance of my proposal, despite my earlier disdain. I rarely smiled at you. I never complimented you nor defended you from Caroline Bingley’s viciousness. I said while proposing that marrying you would be a degradation. My claim that your family was inferior was said with great conviction despite your having met my aunt.
In my letter, I excused my behaviour when separating your sister from Mr Bingley by claiming I believed her indifferent. There is some truth to my belief, but I also know that my desire to rid myself of my feelings for you played a significant role in my action. My plan is to speak to Charles and tell him of both my interference and your assessment of Miss Bennet’s true feelings. I hope my gesture will not be too little too late.
Mr Pope said,
“To err is human, to forgive divine”
If you are reading this, I have confessed my errors, and you have decided to be divine. But please, never lose your fiery spirit.
I love you,
FD
Elizabeth made her way to the dressing table and stared at her reflection. His apologetic words reverberated in her mind, and she wished he would wake soon so they could speak of his confession. She resolved to improve her dishevelled appearance while she waited. Unfortunately, there were only two pins remaining in her hair. Once removed, her hair fell about her shoulders in a cascade of unruly curls. She attempted to tame her locks with the monogrammed brush without success, and unknowingly she managed to create a look that was far from fashionable, but just as he had pictured her in his dreams.
With Mr Pope’s treatise in tow, she sat in the chair opposite him, poured herself a glass of wine and tried to read while she waited. Her mind refused to focus. All she could think of was that Mr Darcy still loved her. Refusing to acknowledge the niggling concern s for her reputation and family’s honour, she smiled with pleasure. The book was set aside so she could watch him doze while waiting to learn the meaning of all around her.
As she sipped her wine, warmth spread through her body. Despite only moments before having been cold, she now felt the need to remove the robe and replace it on the bedpost. Her boldness amazed her; and she realized at this moment she cared little for modesty, propriety or decorum. She wanted answers, and she hoped for a fresh start where both would acknowledge their mutual desires. The time for an end to their lack of candour and mistrust was now. A curl fell across his brow and without thinking she pushed it back. Her touch awakened him. She watched him blink several times as he attempted to gain his bearings.
Elizabeth could not repress her impudence, and she fixed her face in a glower of disapproval as he struggled to clear the cobwebs from his sleepy brain. When she was sure he was fully aware, she spoke. “Mr Darcy, just how compromised am I?”
His heart sank as his greatest fear seemed to have become reality; and then what to his surprise did appear but a barely perceptible smile at the corners of her mouth and a glint of humour in her eyes. Without losing a beat he said with an overly grave expression, “Totally—I fear we must find a nunnery for you.”
His response was met with a giggle from her and the reply, “So that is your intention?”
The moment had come for truth. He looked at her with all the seriousness in his being. “You know my intention. I can tell by the book in your hand, and the ones at your feet that you have read some of my dedications. Do not trifle with me. I do not want us to wed just because I have compromised you. If you are unable to love me, I will find a way to keep any from knowing what happened here this afternoon.”
Lizzy seemed to still be clinging to her anger, but he was unsure. He held his breath as he waited for her reply. “So tell me Mr Darcy, is what you wrote in Mr Pope’s book, this confession you have been insisting you needed to make?” Those fine eyes with the oft impertinent twinkle allowed him to breathe again. “And by the way, do you call your last words a proper proposal?”
In an equally grave manner as his earlier declaration about her compromised status, he said, “You could try the patience of a saint.” Rising from his chair, the books at her feet moved aside, he dropped to one knee and took her hand. “Please, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, marry me.” He rolled his eyes, just before he grinned. “Oh, and just in case you did not hear me the first time, I ardently love you. And yes, you now have written proof of my guilt; and I will never be able to deny my culpability with regard my interference between Bingley and your sister as long as you possess that copy of Mr Pope’s aptly named, Essay on Criticism.”
She returned his grin with that come-hither smile, she had given him when first they met and his doubt was quashed—at least for the moment. “Yes, Mr Darcy, I will marry you. I too ardently love you.” Now she turned to the book in question and with mischief in her voice, she added, “You need not roll your eyes at me, as I was just trying to please you by displaying some fiery spirit.”
He laughed, as he let go her hand. He stood up, and the great tall man picked up the light and pleasing woman, and sat down with her in his lap. He ended any more of the teasing banter, at which both were so adept, by taking her face in his hands and kissing her soundly.
Elizabeth was prepared to return his kiss in a way she believed would please him. She had been practicing alone in her room since April, when he had almost kissed her in the aftermath of his proposal. Despite being consumed with anger at the time, she saw the desire in his eyes and while she cursed his insulting words; she had been secretly praying he would act. The irrationality of her feelings had astounded her at the time. For months, she had wondered what would have happened had he carried out his threat to kiss her. Would it have melted her resolve, and allowed passion to overrule her righteous indignation—not to mention proper behaviour?
Her arms snaked around his waist as she pulled herself as close to him as physically possible. She returned the pressure of his lips with fervour, and when his tongue applied to be allowed into her mouth, she did not hesitate. The sensation unleashed a hunger within her for something more; as she felt the, by now, all too familiar spasm deep within her. Amidst the mutual exploration of their mouths, she suddenly felt a renewal of the pushing… perhaps ‘poking’ as she had felt while riding with him. The insistence grew each time she moved. Needing to breathe and receive answers to some questions, she pulled away from him.
“Is what I was feeling… were you… have I been ‘poked’ Mr. Darcy?” He grinned at her, and she stiffened believing his mirth was in response to a silly query. Her enjoyment of their closeness kept her anger in control.
“No, Miss Elizabeth, you have only been 'pre-poked.' Where did you learn that expression?”
“A maid on the stairs at Pemberley said it. She said you were poking someone you loved, but who allowed you to do so without marriage. I did not understand, but it made me miserable to hear that,” Elizabeth admitted. There were no traces of derision in his face any more. His look was decidedly lascivious—or so she believed.
“Is that why you were crying… because you wanted to be the one I poked?”
“The word sounds a bit frightening. I liked the idea of ‘rubbing against’ you better. That is what the older maid said.” With that Elizabeth snuggled even deeper into his arms and rubbed his back. Her busy hands travelled to the top of his buttocks and she slipped them inside the waist of his trousers.
Darcy moaned and with a raspy voice said, “Miss Elizabeth, we must stop this. I am losing control. Propriety demands we put off what we are doing until we are wed.” He straightened and put on the serious face she had often seen him don since meeting him. “I am going to have to fire those maids. I will not tolerate disrespect from my servants.”
“Oh, please do not do that. If they had not said what they did, I would still be hopelessly mired in fear of speaking my true feelings. That is what has been truly disastrous about our interactions. We both, at different times, refused to acknowledge our… dare I say it… desires. I promise I will stop squirming, and rubbing, but I would like to sit here with you for just a little while longer. I have been dreaming of being with you like this since I met you, though your power over my body made me furious.”
He said very quietly and with awe, “I have power over your body?”
“Yes, from the first moment. There was a look in your eyes that spurred my interest.” Her cheek rested against his chest as she listened to the beat of his heart. After a few minutes, she asked the question that filled her with curiosity, “Tell me about this enchanted place.”
“This was an abandoned gamekeeper’s cottage my father had refurbished and made into a retreat for my mother soon after they married. She enjoyed painting and used it as a studio. On many days, my father would join her.” Elizabeth watched as he struggled with discomfort. It was not long before he laughed and forged ahead. “I am quite sure they made love here. I do not think she would have needed such a large bed for any other purpose.” Darcy cupped Lizzy’s face in his hands and forced her to look into his passion inflamed eyes. “Making love is the refined way of expressing what the maids were talking about. I did not know of such activities when I was a child, but over the years I have pieced together some memories that suggest that is what happened here.”
Darcy replaced Lizzy’s cheek against his chest and nuzzled her hair before continuing his story. “I found the cottage during my explorations when I was about nine. My query, as to what it was, brought the reply from my father that the cottage was my mother’s retreat. My mother told me it was her special place, and only my father was allowed to visit her here. They both asked me to respect her privacy. I was a dutiful son and obeyed them willingly.” With a grin he added, “Also, my father distracted me by having a tree house built in the woods on the left of the green as my own sanctuary. It was far from this place.”
Darcy broke into a chuckle and she shivered with delight both for the topic and her closeness which allowed for feeling the rumbling in his chest. “I also observed, numerous times, an exchange between them that took place at breakfast. My mother would say she felt she would enjoy riding that day, or my father would ask her if she was considering a ride that day. They always seemed to have sly smiles on their faces when they talked about ‘riding.’ His chuckle became laughter. “As an adult I finally realized the significance of both their request for privacy, and their frequent conversations about my mother’s equestrian plans for the day.”
His mirth seemed to dissipate in some sad aspect of this memory. Darcy said, “I believe my father often visited the cottage alone after she died.” He pulled Lizzy tighter as he began to relate the significance of the cottage to their troubled odyssey. “I returned from Hertfordshire so conflicted. You are correct; the connection was indeed there from the moment our eyes first met.”
It was Lizzy’s turn to chuckle. “You looked at me with frank admiration; but an instant later, your admiration was replaced by apprehension. My observation of both expressions caused me to give you a smile that I hoped would encourage you.” Her chuckle became a giggle. “It came from a place never explored by me before; I smugly thought I had disabused you of your fear. Imagine my disappointment with being labelled ‘tolerable’ and ‘unable to tempt’ you.” Her humour evaporated. “The emotions I felt were so raw. Though my wounded vanity ruled how I related to you, every night I dreamed of being with you like this… and more that is still unfathomable.”
Her words prompted another kiss. “You will never know how nearly successful you were in persuading me to overlook my distaste for your circumstances—particularly when you mocked me with the observation that dancing encouraged affection. Still my arrogance persisted, and I left Netherfield with the intention of forgetting you. Once back here, at Pemberley, my attempts to rid myself of your memory proved impossible. I spent hours riding in solitude but my mind was never far from imagining you riding me. With that image as inspiration, one day I ended up here. The last pieces of the puzzle tumbled into place when I realized the purpose of my mother’s secret cottage. Though they were mostly equal in rank, what made their marriage special were not their connections, their wealth, their property, or those material things they could leave their children… children that were so difficult for my mother to conceive and hold…” Sadness momentarily took him back to the past, but within a few seconds he returned to her. “Suddenly, I realized one of the most important legacies they left me was their affection, admiration and yes, even their lust for one another. I know so few marriages that have that bond. That was my epiphany; and with one of those rare moments of clarity, I understood why I wanted you. Most importantly, I knew that I must win you and share this place with you for the rest of our lives—unfortunately, I knew not how.”
His words prompted her to demand another kiss and begin another round of rubbing. His response was passionate, but more controlled than the first one. “News of you came from the most unlikely source. Lady Catherine de Bourgh wrote to tell me the parson of the rectory on her estate had married a woman who knew me from my stay in Hertfordshire. My relief was great, when I read it was Charlotte Lucas and not you. Lady Catherine continued to relate how Mr Collins had first proposed to his cousin, Elizabeth Bennet, whose acquaintance I had also made. When I read the news of your rejection, I laughed and pictured you turning down that odious man with your eyes flashing. Of course, I had no clue you would favour me with the same response.”
Lizzy could not help herself, she began to cry and he responded. “Miss Elizabeth what is wrong? Is my story distressing you?”
“No, but I am saddened by how much time we have lost due to how implacable I was. If I had accepted you, we could be doing something that I believe would be far more enjoyable right now.” Her words brought a renewal of a pre-poke from his lap.
“I was not without fault that day. My words were arrogant and demeaning. You were right to reject me. I was not that different in my assessment from my aunt’s evaluation of your rejection of Mr Collins. She thought it preposterous a young woman of your circumstances would be so particular. Her revelation made me admire you even more, because I now knew love and not security was of the utmost importance to you. The fact you would have no reason to love me never crossed my mind. Lady Catherine’s letter told of your impending visit at Easter time. I had my excuse to see you again, and I resolved to make you mine.”
“From the dedications in the books, your aunt’s letter must have spurred your refurbishing this cottage. I never knew you had been so observant of my likes. When you stared at me at Netherfield, I determined you were finding fault.”
“Far from it… you had bewitched both my mind and my body. Every night, I would dream of making love to you. Believe me, finding fault played no part—I was most likely wondering what you looked like without clothes or fantasizing about caressing you.” He rewarded her with another kiss. “After I returned to Pemberley, I would walk through the gallery and stare at a statue there of a reclining nude. I would speculate about the similarity of your bottom to hers.”
Lizzy let out a moan and blushed at his words. She remembered her own reaction to the sculpture gallery just hours before.
“Are you angry with me for being so forward?”
“No, I am, once again, overwhelmed by similar cravings, which you say must wait to be satisfied until we are married.” Her voice quivered with emotion. “It is my fault we are not already wed. We should be enjoying ourselves here as your parents did.” She pulled her cheek from his chest and looked deeply into his eyes. “My fantasies have suffered from inexperience. I demand to know if you look like the statue of Achilles.” As she feared, he, once again, laughed at her naiveté. She said forcefully, “This is not humorous. You have me at such a disadvantage. Please, make love to me now!”
“Miss Elizabeth, oh, this is so frustrating, may I please call you Elizabeth.”
Lizzy giggled hysterically at his request. “Now that is funny. Mr Darcy, we are betrothed—I believe you were serious a moment ago and not duplicitous like the squire in The Vicar of Wakefield.” She waited for him to nod before she continued. “Just seconds ago, I asked you to make love to me. Here I am, on your lap clad only in a nightgown and either you or the cat is responsible for my state of undress.” She assumed a mock accusatory look as she finished her thoughts. “Do you think I care about the propriety of what name you call me? Call me Elizabeth or Lizzy, but do not call me Eliza. I think it a perfectly fine name that has been ruined for me by Caroline Bingley.” As he was digesting her arguments, she added, “By the way, what does the ‘F’ stand for in ‘FD’?”
“Fitzwilliam.”
Elizabeth screwed up her face in contemplation. “Would you object if I called you Will in private? Fitzwilliam seems too pretentious.”
“No, of course I would not object. That is what Georgiana calls me.” He traced his finger across the tracks of the tears she had shed a moment before. “I wish I could as easily agree to your other request… but I fear you will come to regret your decision.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because once you are no longer caught up in curiosity and passion, you will wish you acted according to proper behaviour… and you will blame me for forcing you.”
Lizzy’s anger flared as she spit out, “Forcing me! Humph—how cowardly you are. Maybe, I already blame you. You removed my clothes without my permission. Who knows what things you did to me while I was unconscious?” She shook her head and rolled her eyes at him. “You are as insufferable as ever.”
She hopped off his lap and picked up one of the books from the floor and shoved it in his face. “You write all these pretty words of love, but you refuse to show me. She pulled the nightgown over her head and threw it at him. As she bent to retrieve her clothes, she was praying the view of her bare backside was enticing. She picked up her chemise, and made a show of her intention to get dressed.
She heard his heavy breathing behind her. Stifling a laugh, she realized her ploy was probably going to be successful. He grabbed her, twirled her around, and pulled her to him. Clasping her bottom, he lifted her off the ground. This time his kiss was like neither the first the second or the third. There was an insistence to this one that was a little frightening, but oh, so exciting. It had a punishing quality to it. This was the, ‘I will show you what you gave up kiss’ he had threatened to bestow in Kent. She gave back in kind… their tongues battling for dominance.
The kiss calmed, and he pulled away from her mouth and began nipping her ear. His arousal was pushing hard and insistent against her. His decision was made. As suddenly as he picked her up, he put her down on the bed. In a rough voice he said, “I will return soon. Be ready!”
She watched as he grabbed a robe, a bar of soap and a towel. As he left the cottage, she wondered why he felt the need to bathe. Perhaps he thought she was repelled by the smell of sweat and horse mixed with… she believed sandalwood. She had quite liked the scent of him when she was resting her cheek against his chest. However, a clean Mr Darcy, eh Will, was enticing as well. She arranged herself on the bed as close as she could to the statue of the reclining nude.
As Darcy walked back to the cottage, he felt invigorated after washing away the dust of his journey. He cautioned himself to go slow as it was important to their future to make her first time as pleasing as possible… and leave her wanting more. The cold water of the waterfall cascading over his body had dampened his ardour.
Upon re-entering the cottage, he saw her pose and laughed. Despite the humour, the vision of her proffered behind immediately resulted in the renewal of his erection. She had known what she was doing when she bent over to entice him. Those twin globes had long been beckoning him to make what was between them his—but that would have to wait for another time. Today he would pluck her maidenhead not her beautiful bottom. His eyes took in other parts of her anatomy. All were lovely, and unlike when he had removed her clothes, he was not being forced to respect propriety and ignore the sensuousness of her body.
While bathing, he had devised a scheme to increase her excitement as much as possible so that when his penetration untied her virgin knot she would be caught up in a swirl of heightened anticipation, and the pinch would register less. Part of his plan was to make her wait and increase those feelings of wanting something more before he delivered the inevitable pain. He slowly towelled his hair and removed his boots—watching her observing him with a hungry expression. Finally, he took a deep breath as he removed his robe. Despite her insistence, he was concerned for her reaction upon seeing him. He prayed his appearance would not frighten her—she was, after all, still naïve and totally unprepared for what was to happen—no matter what she had heard the maids say. And then he remembered her look of mischievous defiance as she had uttered, ‘My courage always rises with every attempt to intimidate me’ at Rosings. He looked at her with amusement.
Her gaze was relentless as she inspected him. Making their way down his body, her eyes settled between his legs. “You look different than Achilles.”
He decided to diffuse the tension with humour. “Lizzy, my love, how observant you are. I am sorry, but I do not keep a helmet here at the cottage. I hope you are not disappointed.”
Her laugh was deep and throaty. “No, my betrothed. That was not what I was contemplating.” Her eyes twinkled as she explained. “You are not smooth and white like he is, but I rather like the way the hair grows on your chest… and then down your belly and beyond. It makes me think of an arrow directing my eye to notice…” she paused a moment before chuckling and pointing to his arousal. “And when I do, I see you are so much bigger and stiffer.”
“The better to ‘poke’ you my dear. Besides, Achilles is looking at his heel, and I am looking at you. That makes a world of difference. I am certain if he saw you as you are now, with that luscious rear enticing me to explore—despite his being made of marble, you could provoke a rise out of him.”
Darcy positioned himself to be able to begin their erotic adventure by fondling her posterior. His finger drew a light as a feather trail down her back until it arrived at those luscious orbs. Once at his destination, his hands delighted in the silky softness of her skin and his mouth followed. She shivered as his tongue followed the same course down the valley of her back to those heavenly hills. He revelled in her little gasps expressing delight when he covered them with kisses and followed with a few nips. He imagined punishing her for implying he was not a gentleman and the vision of her bottom covered with the hand imprints of her penance caused him to grow. Instead, he whispered words comparing her bottom to a ripe peach… velvety soft, juicy and begging to be savoured and they were met with first a giggle and then a sigh.
As his mouth and fingers explored her body, his lush voice expressed the depth of his love. He knew her pleasure was dependent on his ability to contain his own needs… and desires. He kept repeating to himself… slow hand, slow hand. Keeping his touch light and caressing and his kisses soft and warm on her flesh was his mission at the moment. They would have a lifetime to experiment with more demanding lovemaking.
He returned to paying homage to her ears. She met his nuzzles and kisses by arching her neck and favouring him with a softly moaned observation. “I never imagined anything as heavenly as this.” In return, he whispered agreement, “Oh, Lizzy, my dreams of you are nothing compared to the taste of your sweet succulent flesh.” ”She purred with catlike contentment, at his words, but her next utterance convinced him her impertinence was not diminished by the throes of ardour. “You have tasted my peaches, but, please sir, try my raspberries… my raspberries want you to sample them.” Lifting her torso, she pointed to her breasts.
Dutifully, he placed a final battery of kisses on her beautiful behind and followed with a spur of the moment slap. Her startled cry and the passion filled expression on her face as she looked at him in surprise spoke volumes about possibilities for their future.
He turned her over, but before he could begin his adoration of this side of her body, she surprised him by pressing her bosom and belly against his chest. He smiled as she wriggled against him in a rubbing motion and encircled his torso so her hands could snake their way down his back toward his buttocks. Her caresses, though naive, were threatening to ruin his plan for a slow sensuous seduction. Fortuitously, her fingers became distracted and moved from his backside and suddenly became fascinated by his curls. An exploration of his buttocks at this time could have caused him to rush and take her without a thought for her pleasure in the wake of the months he and his hand had spent imagining her.
He wanted his next kiss to be filled with a passionate promise of the things to come. He remembered something Belly had told him she enjoyed when they had been young and together experimented with all manner of earthly delights. Just before his tongue entered Elizabeth’s mouth, he used it to leisurely trace the curve of her lips. She sighed a bit from his gesture and, once inside, she followed his lead and their tongues slowly danced with patterns as elaborate as the cotillion they had performed together at Netherfield.
His kisses and nibbles travelled down her neck, in anticipation of reaching the lush fruit of her teasing words. When he had removed her wet clothes, he had marvelled at her breasts. They were not overly large, but oh so lovely—a perfect handful of pert beauty—creamy white globes with pale pink circles crowned by a shade darker nipple. He had imagined himself taking them into his mouth at the time and had been pleased his fantasies would be enhanced by remembering the reality of his Lizzy. In his wildest imagination, he had not believed an hour later he would be doing just that. As he applied his lips and tongue to the task of feasting on her bosom, his hands began an exploration of her hips, her belly and below. Pulling back to observe the impact of his initial foray, he noticed on closer inspection that her nipples, did indeed, look like raspberries. They were round dimpled balls, now engorged by her arousal to a bright ripe red. His tongue licked each delicately, but soon he was moved to alternately pull them into his mouth and gingerly graze each with his teeth. The noise she made was animal-like—somewhere between a whimper and a bleat. Fingers replaced tongue and he pulled and twisted her nipples as though he was plucking the fragile fruit from their canes. In the next instant, he began pinching them. With each escalation of his demands, they hardened. Her eyes grew large and luminous as she warily watched him punish her ‘raspberries.’ When the panting began he knew she was deriving pleasure from his torture. He smiled as he felt her body shudder. He took that as a sign and, once again, began planting kisses as he traversed the plains, valleys, meadows to arrive at her mound. When his mouth reached the divide between her thighs, Elizabeth’s pants had become growls.
He began by stroking her gently between her legs. Her hand followed his and instructed his fingers to spread the folds of flesh until he found the little hooded bud buried within. Once she had forced him to pay attention to her special spot, she responded to his rubbing with a sigh of satisfaction and began purring much like Bice. Laughter bubbled out despite his attempt to stifle it, and he felt her tense. He applied his thoughts to pleasing her and reined in his mirth. This must have been what she meant when saying he had control over her body—his sweet inexperienced love must have gone exploring in the wake of one of their exchanges… was it during Netherfield or after his proposal. The more he rubbed the little nub she had been so insistent he touch, the more she responded with the tell-tale signs he knew to be the harbinger of a woman’s climax—muscular contractions, the arching of her back and a low guttural groan. He wanted more time before he provided her with a release. He forced her back from the edge by asking his own impertinent question. “Lizzy, how did you find this place?”
She replied between moans and mews. “I found it when I was looking for the source of those little spasms—the ones that happened when I secretly imagined you kissing me. Do you think me wanton?”
“No, it pleases me that you enjoy your body.”
Catching her breath she panted, “It feels ten times better when you touch me… there.”
“Ten times… Oh my, how powerful you make me feel.” He wondered how she would respond when he implemented what was next in his adoration of the virgin scenario. As was proper, he had never taken anyone’s maidenhead. In his code of proper behaviour, gentlemen should reserve that honour for their wife—just as a lady should be intact for her husband—or husband-to-be. He had heard Belly’s tale of how painful it had been for her. Her squire had just taken what he wanted without a thought for her pleasure. Susan’s experience had been even more horrific. How could a father do that to his own child? Much of his time in the pool beneath the waterfall had been spent thinking of ways to minimize the trauma for Lizzy’s first time.
Her eyes were shining with expectation and the movement of her body seemed bent on hurrying him along to the climax of their love making. From the first time their eyes met, she had been impossible to intimidate; and even today she continued to thwart his grand scheme for her delight. As his fingers leisurely explored her mound, he pondered her confessed similar explorations. She probably had at least a rudimentary understanding of how what they were doing should feel. Bella had more than once allowed him to watch as she pleasured herself. Witnessing the sensual explosion possible without a man, was quite erotic and with her not intimidating. The stakes were not as high. He felt in competition with Lizzy’s fingers. He wanted to thrill her with his love making skills, but his feisty love seemed determined to make her own pleasure using his hand—even if it meant she had to instruct him how to give her that feeling. He chuckled to himself as he remembered how that air of defiance had been the spark that first kindled his attraction.
But, it was time the woman he would spend his life with learned who was in charge. His fingers left her dripping folds and defiantly separated her legs. Kneeling between them he heard a quick intake of breath and other sounds that told him she was not pleased. Quickly bending toward her sex, he brushed it with his nose and made a show for her of inhaling deeply. She smelled delicious. His erection reacted to the knowledge that this part of her would forever belong exclusively to him.
He looked up to capture her eyes and tell her of his delight but saw instead mortification. Once again, her hands found their way to his hair. This time she was not lovingly running her fingers through his curls. Instead her hands were vigorously tugging them—trying to move his head from her sex. Her hips began twisting and turning attempting to buck his face away.
Gone from his mind was his seduction plan. In irritation, he removed her hands from his hair and said in his most commanding voice, “Miss Elizabeth, you will do as I say. Now that you have agreed to be my wife, I will brook no more questioning of my conduct. Besides, you shamefully and wantonly enticed me with your backside and demanded this! Stop wiggling and let me have my way with you.”
Oddly enough that seemed to be what she needed. Passion flared in her eyes with his words and his ardour responded in kind. Returning his face to its previous position, he rubbed her gently on either side of her mound with his nose before making a renewed grand display of smelling her. The deliberate movements of his fingers as he set about exploring her folds again were enhanced by blowing softly as he uncovered each new layer. With each puff, her body relaxed and embraced the pleasure he was offering. After spending some minutes teasing the entire area, her precious hooded nub was standing up and begging for more in concert with the sounds of desire purring in her throat. As he prepared to shift his area of attention, he glanced toward her face. Her eyes were half-closed and the tip of her tongue peeked out from her lips. With a chuckle, he observed that she and Bice shared much in common when responding to his ministrations.
His tongue began slowly traversing her slit from top to bottom ending in that area leading to her other opening. He lingered for a few seconds imagining the future as he taught her all the delights their play could encompass. Dutifully he returned his fingers to her bud which was still standing at attention awaiting his next assault. He began playing with it gently—stroking, flicking, nipping with his teeth. Besides her constant purring, all he heard from her was the occasional, “Please, Mr Darcy.”
“What do you want, Lizzy?”
Her voice had a breathless quizzical quality as she replied, “poking?”
“Ah, poking. So that no longer frightens you?” He watched as her head shook no. Still, he did not immediately seize the moment. Instead, his tongue settled into a rhythmic circling and two fingers stole inside and stroked the walls of her portal. Oh my, she was wet. The humiliation of being sniffed seemed to have been completely forgotten. His erection lengthened and hardened in reaction to her enjoyment of his devotion—particularly when her hips pressed upward to drive his fingers deeper. Her purring had ended and been replaced by a gruff fierceness gurgling from her throat. He had begun to believe during their exchanges at Netherfield that she was a woman who would embrace love making with gusto—her reaction was proof he had been correct. Another chuckle threatened to escape as he remembered Caroline Bingley taunting him to take a turn about the room with her and Lizzy. He had been unable to do so because of the inconvenient bulge this woman, who now stared at him in lustful expectation, had inspired in his pants.
Fitzwilliam decided now was the time—she was dripping and he was throbbing. His rationale, if that was possible in a moment like this, was that by entering her now he would alleviate some of her discomfort. Remembering her reaction earlier, he did not convey his concern but demanded action from her. “Raise your knees and spread your legs.” No misunderstandings now, she obeyed immediately and looked at him as though he was some mythic god of pleasure.
In preparation for this moment, he had replaced his tongue with his thumb. He returned to concentrating, once again, on that little button, trying to bring her as close to the crest of her enjoyment as possible before he plunged. She begged. “Please, please, Will, make it soon… don’t hesitate.” This time he was unable to suppress a burst of laughter when he realized she was back to calling him Will. Never had he imagined what an aphrodisiac controlling this impertinent being’s passion would be for him.
The poor dear, her whole body seemed to be on edge and she looked slightly crazed in her adoration. He took pity on her and acted. As expected, she winced with pain. “Lizzy, I am so very sorry. I have been told it is only like this once.” This part of controlling her was not to his liking. He loved her too much to enjoy her pain. His kiss became tender, and he prayed it conveyed the depth of his feeling for her. Placing her legs around his neck, he began thrusting. Within seconds, the look in her eyes told him her pain had subsided. A rush of excitement shook him as he realized she was instinctually urging him deeper. He thought he heard the word ‘more’ interlaced with her pants. His considerable experience was with the practiced pleasure of professionals, but he believed it a good sign when the sounds emanating from her became cries of urgency and she comingled ‘please’ and ‘harder’ with ‘more.’ This represented a much more acceptable form of power over her. Her begging pushed him closer to his own letting go.
Though his release was building, his obligation to her denied him the right to completely lose himself in the moment. Instead he spent time gauging what was happening to his beloved. His most important decision was whether she would travel with him across the abyss or did she need a push. The noises she was making made him believe she needed some help from his thumb, so he did his duty. Her response came within seconds as a shrill shriek that reminded him again of a cat came from his dear sweet Elizabeth. Her whole body began jerking uncontrollably. He thought about withdrawing to thwart any embarrassing consequences to their action but did not want their first time to be less than it should for his wife-to-be to remember in the years to come. Besides, he would insist they marry quickly enough to squash any rumours surrounding an early issue. Before he had time for much debate on the subject, the clenching of her muscles around him hurtled him over the edge. An animal like sound of pleasure accompanied his eruption as well. With eyes widened in wonder, she stared up into his for a few seconds. Finally she donned a smile that was broader and filled with more joy than he had ever seen in another. It was as if he had given her a most precious present, and he felt it a possibility she did, indeed, consider him a god of earthly delights.