Thank you so much for all your reviews, favorites and follows- I can't tell you how ridiculously excited I get every time my phone buzzes with a new email notification, or how disappointed I am when it turns out to just another facebook update! I really appreciate you taking the time to let me know your thoughts and I'm so glad you like the new concept. For those of you more than ready for things to heat up, don't worry, as this will be the last chapter before we move to the M section. Hope you enjoy.
Clutching the pillow tightly between her hands, Scarlett tried and failed to push the awful thought from her mind. For what if Rhett really did share the opinion of those awful women? What if he too thought she was lacking in some way?
It was true that since moving into their new home Rhett's nightly attentions had grown more infrequent. She hadn't given it much thought up until now for marital relations were hardly something she reveled in. Indeed, during her previous two marriages she'd done her utmost to keep them at a bare minimum. While Charles and Frank had been easy men to put off though, Rhett had proven himself to be anything but. During their time in New Orleans he'd been insatiable, forever touching and kissing her as they lay in bed together and whispering heated, sinful things in her ear until she could not help but give in to his advances.
Part of her inability to refuse him stemmed from the fact she almost didn't realize what was happening until it was too late. With Charles and Frank it had always been painfully clear what was about to happen, they had both been such awkward, hesitant creatures, stumbling over their words and making their intentions so blatantly obvious that it had been the simplest thing in the world for Scarlett to head them off before they got too far.
Yet with Rhett there was no such warning, no jarring action or sudden change in demeanor, every gesture and word slipped seamlessly into the next, building her up and cocooning her in warmth so that by the time she regained her senses and realized what was about to happen, she was too relaxed to protest and couldn't have raised a hand to stop him even if she'd wanted to. He was altogether far too dangerous a creature for her liking, able to play with her emotions and cloud her senses until she lost all sense of herself, clinging to him desperately as if he were the only solid thing in a world turned suddenly upon its head.
It had been almost a week though since he had last touched her in that way. Up until now she'd been almost relieved for his advances brought forth thoughts and emotions she could never quite name or grasp but which always left her feeling confused and vaguely unsatisfied, as if she were on the cusp of something extraordinary, so close to going over, and yet somehow unable to get there. She'd never felt anything remotely close to this with either of her previous husbands and had assumed that this was as good as it could reasonably be expected to get. But what if Mamie was right? What if there was a whole host of things that she'd never known existed and so had no clue how to go about asking for?
What if she'd been doing it wrong her entire life?
Perhaps that was why Rhett's ardor seemed to be waning. Perhaps the reality simply didn't live up to his expectations. After all, he'd told her when he proposed that he was only marrying her because he wanted her more than any woman he'd ever seen and couldn't get her any other way. He'd kissed her that day too; kissed her with so much passion and heat that for a moment she'd wondered if perhaps everything would feel different with him, if the things that had once seemed like the most unpleasant of duties could morph into something quite different if only he were the one doing them to her.
To some extent that had been true, laying with him wasn't painful like it had been with Charles or mortifying like it was with Frank; indeed she had one very hazy memory of a night where she'd drunk far too much champagne, a night where she'd woken up half of New Orleans by singing at the top of her lungs on the carriage ride back to the hotel. In this memory she recalled soft, teasing touches evoking sounds unlike any she'd ever made before and a look of stunned amazement burning down upon her from eyes so black they put the moonless night's sky to shame. Try as she might though, she could not remember anything more than these few heated flashes and part of her felt resentful that she had forgotten the rest, almost as if something crucial had been snatched away from her before she'd truly had the chance to understand or enjoy it.
Maybe if she could remember the remainder of that encounter she wouldn't feel so vulnerable now, so achingly exposed, as if the women's words had stripped away the hardened shell she'd been building up ever since the day she'd first learnt of Ashley's engagement. Somehow their few comments had managed to cut into her far more deeply than any of the old cat's barbs ever had, reducing her back to a scared newlywed, trembling on the bed while she waited for Charles to come to her. She'd felt so young that night, so ill-prepared for what was to come and now she couldn't help but wonder if there wasn't more of that terrified girl lingering inside her than she'd previously have liked to believe.
Rhett was a man of the world after all; he'd certainly never hidden his past from her or denied his involvement with other women. Why, he'd even admitted his connection to Belle Watling, a woman so loose and immoral that she made Mamie Bart look like the patron saint of innocence and virtue. Scarlett shuddered as she considered for the first time how laughable she must seem to Rhett in comparison, how ignorant and silly and green.
These last few nights he'd even headed out after supper, barely stopping to kiss her goodbye in his rush to get out of the door. Fury now rose up in Scarlett, white-hot and blistering, as she realized that ghastly saloon had probably been his destination all along. To think that she'd even begun missing his presence at night as she lay awake in a bed that suddenly felt too empty for comfort. That she'd spent the last few days with a persistent gnawing feeling deep in the pit of her stomach, unable to concentrate properly on her businesses while wondering what was wrong with him, when all this time he'd been under that awful woman's roof, gambling and drinking and doing God knows what else.
She wondered if he discussed her with Belle, if they'd ever laughed at her naivety together over a nightcap or spent the small hours of the morning condemning her for her inexperience.
If he had, she would never forgive him. To be pitied by the three would-be ladies downstairs was bad enough, but to have a woman like Belle sit in judgement of her? Why, she would rather divorce Rhett right now and board the first train back to Tara than allow that to continue on unchecked.
A knock at the door interrupted her dark thoughts and hurriedly she flipped over onto her back, smoothing down her dress in a bid to hide her ruffled state.
'Come in.' She croaked weakly, remembering just in time to play the part of the invalid.
'How are you feeling?' Rhett asked as he entered the room, a frown marring his face as his eyes darted worriedly over her form.
'I'm a little better, thank you.' She replied, propping herself up against the headboard.
'I brought you some water and a slice of bread.' He said as he drew nearer. 'I consulted Mammy and she thought it best not to try anything richer until you're recovered.'
Biting back a retort about Rhett's over-reliance on her most obstinate of servants, Scarlett nodded her head and reached to take the glass out of his hand.
'Thank you Rhett.' She said after she'd taken a sip. 'That was very thoughtful of you.'
'My dear,' he said, clutching his breast and adopting an expression of mock terror. 'I fear the situation is more dire than first assumed. I hardly recognize this docile woman in front of me.'
Scarlett glared up at him over the rim of the glass.
'Ah, now there's the wife I know and love. I was worried for a moment.' He said, and though he still teased her as always, Scarlett couldn't help but notice his eyes appeared softer than she had seen them in quite some time.
Staring into them she tried to decipher whether or not he had heard the women's remarks, but as always he remained an enigma, his thoughts and feelings kept deliberately away from his face, no doubt shut up somewhere deep inside that she doubted he would ever grant her access to.
On feeling her gaze, Rhett tensed up slightly, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he returned her searching stare with a cool, blank one of his own. Despite his efforts to appear unconcerned though, there seemed to be an underlying tension to his posture, almost as if he were waiting eagerly to see what the next moment would hold. Scarlett had no idea why that should be though and she cursed him soundly for his ability to hide from her so completely.
Frustrated, she broke his gaze, unnerved by the idea of sharing her life with a man she knew practically nothing about. It seemed unnatural, impossible even, that a husband could lay with his wife each night and wake with her every morning and yet reveal nothing of what was truly going on inside his head.
She remembered fondly a time before all this deception, back when they'd used to share secretive buggy rides together, idly whiling away the hours by telling takes of their childhoods and often helping the other to find resolutions to their current business problems.
She didn't know exactly when or why they had lost it, but somehow or other the intimacy they'd so unthinkingly enjoyed in those days had disappeared sometime shortly after they'd said their vows, receding further and further away until all they seemed to have left to share these days was a bed and a surname.
As if he could hear her silent thoughts, Rhett chose that moment to reach out and cup her cheek.
'Where are you wandering off to, my pet?' he asked curiously, stroking along her jawline with the tips of his fingers. The unexpectedly touch made Scarlett shiver slightly and, shutting her eyes, she found herself longing for a return to the time when his every action towards her had been this achingly tender.
Not receiving an answer to his query however, Rhett pulled back, and Scarlett had to bite her lip to prevent herself from sighing at the loss.
'What are you doing?' she asked in confusion when she opened her eyes to find him pulling off his cravat while toeing off his shoes.
'Well, my dear, when a man comes home early with the express intention of spending time with his wife, he traditionally prefers to be in the same room as her. Although, if you'd prefer me to sit in the drawing room and shout up the stairs to you, then I'm sure we could try it your way too.'
Before she could think up a retort, he had rounded the bottom of the bed and was lying himself down beside her, the arm closest to her extending outwards in a silent invitation.
This at least was one gesture she could still read just fine and after a few seconds of stubbornness which only made him smirk, Scarlett relented and moved into his embrace, laying her head upon his chest as his arms came round to encircle her.
Shutting her eyes, she breathed in deeply for a moment, enjoying the heady, masculine smell that was uniquely his as the thoughts that had plagued her this last half an hour mercifully died away and let her have some peace.
'I saw Mrs. Wilkes today.'
'Did you?'
'Yes. She invited us to dinner next week.'
Scarlett frowned. 'Who else is going?'
'Atlanta's finest, more's the pity: the Meade's, your Aunt and Uncle and not forgetting dear old India Wilkes of course.'
'Do we have to go?' grumbled Scarlett, already picturing a night spent pointedly ignoring the glares being sent her way from half of the guest list.
'And risk missing one of the social events of the season?' Rhett cried in horror. 'Why, my dear, how can you even suggest such a thing? Of course we shall go! I do hate to miss a perfectly good opportunity to be looked down upon after all.'
Unwillingly, Scarlett found herself smiling against his chest, an unfamiliar flush of affection rushing through her at the thought that for once she wouldn't be alone at such a gathering, that her and Rhett could stand proudly together as two of the most unscrupulous and disliked citizens this city had ever had the misfortune to welcome into its fold.
Sensing her laughter, Rhett happily joined in, causing Scarlett to bounce lightly upon his chest as it rose and fell beneath her. Opening her eyes to shush him, her gaze fell instead upon the unexpected sight of his open collar and the short, black hairs that lay beneath.
Her earlier thoughts returning with a vengeance, part of Scarlett itched to reach out and stroke them, to discover whether they felt sharp and rough like the stubble on his chin when he kissed her first thing in the morning or whether they were soft and silky like the ones upon his head that she secretly liked to run her hands through when she was sure he was sleeping.
Looking at them, it struck her suddenly how little she truly knew of his body, how much of it she had refused to even glance at, let alone touch. In fact, in the months since their wedding she had barely gotten to know him at all in that way, preferring to lie passively under him at night before hurriedly rolling away onto her side the moment that it was all over.
She'd never given the matter a thought before, but now she couldn't help but wonder if he'd ever wished she would touch him more. For, loath as she was to admit it, few things in life had ever made her feel as good as the sensation of his hands upon her. Often she could not help but arch up into his caresses, loving the molten, tingling feeling his fingertips could evoke when they stroked along her skin, raising goose-pimples in their wake and making her sigh from the simple tactile pleasure of it all.
Did Rhett wish that she would touch him like that too? He had never mentioned it before, but then recently she had begun to suspect that there were many things he wanted but chose not to ask for.
Alone, this would not have been enough to spur her into action, for granting Rhett's wishes, unspoken or otherwise, had never been one of her primary concerns. The conversation she'd overheard earlier kept echoing in her mind though and Sylvia's words in particular just would not let her be.
She doesn't even know what it is she's missing out on, she'd said.
Missing out on, as if marital relations were a party to which Scarlett had received no invite. She had always been a jealous creature and the idea that other, lesser women had gotten to experience something that she herself hadn't made her feel decidedly aggrieved. Surely after having put up with the foolishness of three different husband's she had more right than most to enjoy this supposed pleasure. It was positively cruel of Rhett to deny it to her and, if she had her way, she would make it impossible for him to hold out on her any longer.
Fueled by her sudden righteous anger, Scarlett's usual inhibitions faded away and, squaring her jaw in determination, she reached out an unsteady hand towards him.
