He really hates Caroline Bingley.
Every time she walks by him, she gives him a long once over, eyes unashamedly raking his form. When she finally reaches his eyes, she shoots him a little smirk that makes him redden in embarrassment. Her hand lingers a little too long on his arm when they dance, and she utters every word low, throatily, a double entendre.
But he hates her because he can't stop staring at her (hates himself too, really). His eyes catch on the way her soft red hair curls around her shoulders, the obvious curves underneath her dress, which clings to them quite pleasantly. He appreciates the low cut of her dress, how ridiculously soft her lips look.
It's immensely improper, how she's making him feel. How she's seducing him like this. She's Bingley's sister, for heaven's sake. It's not like he could talk to him about this unfortunate predicament. He tries to avoid her the best he can, and yet -
She's seated across from him at this party, and though it's a freezing, snowy night outside, her gaze from under her dark eyelashes has made the room unbearably hot.
"Is something wrong, Mr. Darcy?" She murmurs, taking a sip of wine. She runs her tongue along the rim of her glass first, and he wants to punish her so badly then, slam her on the table and fuck her until she screams.
He exhales shakily at the thought.
"Nothing at all, Miss Bingley." He reassures her, but she gives him a tiny grin like she knows that he's thinking.
The ball is packed - so many people he can't really comprehend it. There are people everywhere, but somehow Caroline seems to be a constant presence. The whole thing is really a headache, and he's ready to just fall into blissful sleep and forget about it. In fact, he's halfway up the stairs when he's stopped by Caroline Bingley herself.
"Going to bed so early, Mr. Darcy?" She questions, hand resting gingerly on the railing of the stairs.
"It's nearly midnight, and the evening has been rather exhausting." He replies tersely, turning and hoping she will let him be.
"As a matter of fact, I was headed to bed myself." She counters, stepping to his side, of course six inches closer than what is proper.
"I never knew you to leave a good party so early." He responds, and when they reach the top of the stairs he suddenly realizes that they're alone. "Surely someone will be missing you, Miss Bingley."
"I could say the same of you." She laughs lowly, teasing. "But have no fear, the ball is so large no one will have noticed our absence. We are staying with the Bathursts, after all." He stills at her words, heart pounding and he hopes a servant will walk by and add some propriety to the scene (but of course the Bathursts had sent their staff to bed early since the ball was expected to last the night, he remembers).
"This is entirely inappropriate." He comments blandly, looking away from her.
"You think I'll take advantage of you?" She laughs.
"This...onslaught of temptation has been quite improper." He says, sucking in a breath when she steps closer to him, so close he can see all the shades of blue swirling together in her eyes.
"Oh, an 'onslaught of temptation'?" She grins mischievously, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth in a way that makes him want to replace it with his own. "You'll have to tell me more about it, preferably not somewhere so public as the upstairs hall."
It's an invitation if he's ever heard one, and she's just watching him, expectantly, waiting. Her gaze is unbreakable, he can feel her warm, sweet breath on his face. And he should push her away, should run for the hills - but instead he finds himself reaching for his door, his entire body itching with desire.
"Oh no, darling. I insist on my chambers. Molly is fast asleep, but maids are much more awful gossips than footmen." Caroline whispers, pulling him by his lapels gently towards her rooms.
The moment her door is shut and firmly locked behind them, he lunges for her.
He can taste fine wine and and a hint of cherry on her tongue, with a tad bit of salty iron, he sinks her teeth into that tempting bottom lip so hard.
He's kissing her so hard it hurts, it's as entirely addictive as he imagined. "It took you long enough." She laughs, the sound making a delicious hum against his mouth.
His hands immediately pull out her elaborate twist, pins flying everywhere as red hair cascades freely over her shoulders. He winds his fingers in it, pulls hard, and she gasps, whimpers just slightly.
She returns the favor, yanking hard on his hair after she shrugs off his jacket. In response, he pulls her close enough to him so that they're flush against each other, and she's burning through the muslin of her dress, smells like something dark and heady and hellish.
He greedily pulls the laces apart on the back of her dress, eager to get his hands on the pale expanses of her soft skin. The fabric drops to the floor, and in tandem, a well oiled machine already, work off his vest and shirt. As he leans down to tug off his socks and her fingers dig slightly into his shoulders, he gets a nice view of her translucent undergarments, and her breasts are nearly spilling out of her corset with how tight it's tied, a deep groan forming in the back of his throat at the wonderful obscenity of it.
He anxiously begins unlacing the back of her corset, and she smiles slightly. "You've had a remarkable amount of practice with this, haven't you?"
In response, his hand moves down to her butt, pushing their hips furiously together and she whimpers when she notices how hard he is for her through his breeches.
He finally just rips the corset off of her, watches her hungrily as she shakily exhales, chest heaving, underdress clinging indecently to her. No, this sight would not do.
His fingers toy at the hem of it, drifting along her skin as he pulls it over her head as she slowly undoes his pants and yes, there it is, the delicious feeling of skin on skin contact. One arm is wrapped around his neck, pulling his face closer to hers but they aren't kissing just then, and he doesn't know why he hesitates.
Maybe because after this, there's no going back between them. They have been flitting around this line for some time, but there was no uncrossing it, no matter how hard they tried.
She looks a tad shy, he realizes, and finds it quite ironic.
"You have done this before." He questions bluntly, and she shoots him a glare so intense that it only serves to arouse him further.
"Yes, of course, but..." She hesitates. "Well, only twice, with the same man. The first time was a gross mistake, and the second time was not exactly on my terms." Her face clouds with anger and shame for a split moment, and for a moment he's wondering if they should be doing this at all. "The bastard died down fighting the French in Spain, fortunately - but talk of him is terribly unerotic, so you better kiss me quick to lighten the mood."
He grins at that, lifts her into his arms and her legs immediately hug his waist. She laughs, but it turns into a pleasurable gasp as they fall on to the bed.
Now, he exhales because they're finally just where they need to be - no seductive smirks and frantic ripping at clothes. She hums in contentment, moving her head to the side to offer him her graceful neck almost instinctively.
He nips along her jaw before drifting towards her neck, his hands moving from her hips to wander along the expanses of her creamy thighs. She whimpers when his teeth and lips mark her skin, but that is not enough - he needs for her to scream for him.
He sinks his teeth right where her neck meets her collarbone, and he needs to stop himself from taking her right there and then when she moans, so breathy and delicious.
He laughs against her skin, and she makes a small huff, hands clenching in the sheets. His hands drift up her sides, skimming her porcelain skin, silky smooth, and easily marked, he notes with pleasure, as seen by the purple and red bruises blooming already on her neck.
He begins to grope her full breasts, palming them not all that gently, playing with her already hardening nipples, and she looks amazingly obscene, skin flushed with arousal, legs moving erratically beneath him, mouth singing the most beautiful groans.
"Do you think about me, Caroline?" He asks, letting a smile creep into his voice when her hips thrust desperately against his.
"Fitzwilliam -" She complains, fingers digging into his hips.
"In the night, is it me in your mind? Hands drifting over your skin and between your legs, tangled in sweaty sheets, biting hard on your bottom lip so no one hears you coming?" His lips drift along her collarbone as he speaks, hand moving between her thighs and running his finger tantalizingly slow along her slit, and her hips jerk sharply, involuntarily.
"Yes," She groans, hands knotting in his hair and pulling hard enough to make his gasp against her soft skin.
She's trembling beneath him, so wet and ready for him, the picture of an angel.
"Stop teasing me," She murmurs, demanding.
"Really? It seems like you rather enjoy it." He counters, pressing a kiss to her cheek, nuzzling into her hair. His fingers brush on that nub just there, and she whimpers, tears nearly pricking in her eyes in frustration.
He grins, deciding to put her out of her misery. His hips shift against hers, and her legs immediately lock around him, hugging his hips. His hands grasp hers, pinning them to the sheets and fingers winding together before slowly pushing in to her.
She gasps shakily, and he exhales, enjoying the feel of how hot and tight and wet she is. It's also a nice feeling, knowing that Caroline is relatively uncontrollable, how easily she falls apart for him.
His lips brush along her jaw, inhaling her skin as he continues to thrust in to her. Her fingers tighten around his, hips angling upwards to take him in deeper.
"Harder," She orders, and he chuckles darkly against her throat. Most women, he's noticed, tended towards the soft and gentle approach, if they were determined to enjoy the encounter at all. But of course Caroline would favor something more animalistic in nature.
He obliges, pumping into her harder and faster and she groans, toes curling. And in all of his imaginings of fucking Caroline Bingley, he never thought it would feel this good. Every inch of her flawless skin was pressed, moving against his, his face buried in her long, sweet smelling hair.
"Fitzwilliam," She whimpers, voice cracking on the last syllable, and he can tell she's close, with the way she clenching and fluttering around him. He presses their hands harder into the bed, watches her eyes glaze over in arousal, pupils blown, and teeth sink into her bottom lip.
He kisses her then, surprisingly relaxed and gentle, before winding his fingers through her fiery locks. With one particularly rough thrust and a sharp tug on her hair, her entire body goes taut and flushed beneath him, hips bucking frantically to meet his and back arching off the mattress. The throaty moan she offers up is illicit at best, and she's clinging to him, hands grasping his tight as she rides through her high.
It's the most beautiful he's ever seen her, and stars explode behind his eyes a split second after as he buries himself deep in her with a long groan.
He presses a kiss to her temple as he collapses on her, and the moment is so strangely intimate that he can't help but laugh a little. She lets out a tired chuckle, too, after he moves off of her.
She pulls her messy sheets and blankets over them, and though she never explicitly states it, her eyes are asking a question: Stay.
And he does, inches closer to her and the hesitant look washes off of her face, since she was no doubt waiting for him to resume his icy countenance.
"This has certainly been an interesting development." He comments, and she bursts into another peal of laughter, hiding her smile in his shoulder, and this is the happiest he's seen her; cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling.
"Charles wants to rent a house in the country for the summer." She comments after she's calmed. "He'll no doubt invite you to come, and you must, because I might just kill someone being alone with Charles, Louisa, and our formidable Mr. Hurst."
He smirks at that, letting an arm snake around his waist and pulling her into his chest. "The country? It does not sound particularly diverting."
"Oh Fitzwilliam, the country would be especially diverting with me." Her lips quirk into an obscene smile, and a series of particularly erotic imaginings flash through his mind (Specially, an image of them in a secluded garden, and she's curled on his lap, his hands are running up her back and in her hair, peppering kisses on her face as she rides him hard, hips moving together perfectly).
"Miss Bingley, that sounds astonishingly explicit." He replies stiffly, and she bites her lip, smothering her smirk. "You simply must tell me more."
"Why tell you when I can give you examples?" She whispers, shifting on top of him. Her forehead rests against his for a brief second before their matching grins clash in a kiss.