Chapter 10:
Disclaimer: I own Marcus and Alexandra.
Author's Note: Believe it or not, Marcus and Alexandra's wedding night was one of the first scenes I ever wrote for this story. It's gone through a lot of revisions since Out of My Hands began, but it has kept its main core through all of that. I hope you all like the final product.
Rating change: M, for sexual content.
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"Oh, my," she whispered when she arrived. She turned to him, astonished at the grandeur of the building before them. This is home? She wondered, not knowing if she would ever get used to it. "My…" She look back up, staring at the towering castle. It is more manor than castle, she thought, studying the lack of battlements, gates, or murder holes. There were but two guards at the front doors, illuminated faintly by the torches held in sconces above their shoulders. "My father did not say…"
Her husband replied at once, so quickly he nearly cut her off. "No, he wouldn't have." His voice was clipped. She turned to look at him, confused when she saw how critically he eyed his own home. But it is glorious, she wanted to say. What could be amiss? Not even a single stone looks out of place to me, nor the smallest speck of dirt. Not that she could see the stones. Or the dirt. She was looking at the manor in the darkness. Who knew what might hide in the shadows that could be plain in the light of day? Who knew what she would be facing come the morrow? Alexandra shivered, feeling a chill run up her back even though the breeze had not shifted.
He noticed that, as he noticed everything. He shook off his cloak without a word and draped it over her shoulders. She felt immediately ensconced in warmth and, protected by darkness as she was, Alexandra sniffed quietly since she knew he wouldn't see her. His scent filled her nostrils and she had to close her eyes; it was so heady and potent and… seductive,almost. There was a quality about it that drew her in, and left her hungering for more. She wondered how that was possible, how a smell could be seductive. She opened his eyes and looked to him, realizing all at once that she wasn't surprised that the smell of him attracted her. Nearly every part of him attracted her, and as much as she wished she could stay impartial and uncaring, it was becoming impossible for her when it came to him. He attracted her, like a flame does a moth. She wondered when she'd start to feel the sting of the burn.
"We should go inside," was all he said.
The guards opened the doors without a word as he strode forward, with her following quickly a few paces behind. Neither man holding their respective door spared a word or a look for her, and less for their master. They stared ahead, expressionless as statues, and slammed the doors shut closed once the two were inside.
It was dim inside as well. So dim that her eyes could barely make out the shapes and outlines of the furniture decorating the front room. A sudden thought hit her. Maybe there was no furniture. She squinted, straining to see. Maybe he could afford a manor-like castle and pay for the wedding, but he had naught left to furnish his own home, not even enough for a candle to light the place… She had never understood why men seemed to always have to have the best of everything. The tallest horse, the sharpest sword, the largest castle, the prettiest bride… She frowned at that last one. Obviously he's settling for second-best with me, Father Above only knows why. She mulled over that as he led her to the side of the large room and up the stairs. Luckily, there were a few candles on the wall to light her way, however feebly. She focused on not tripping in the dark, and followed behind him, wondering why he kept it all so black inside. She had nearly forgotten what he looked like, with all this gloom surrounding them.
When the reached the crest of the stairs, he made an abrupt right, leading her down a hallway parallel to the last section of the winding stairs. The candles grew more frequent as they walked, soon it was bright enough for her to see him. But by then they had reached a door, and she knew now that this was the end of the journey. It was the beginning of another one, surely, but still… an end, nonetheless.
And I promise, I promise it'll be over quick.
Alexandra suddenly felt that fear grip her again. It rooted itself deep in her stomach and tied all of her intestines together in a painful, unbreakable knot. She held back the quietest whimper, not wanting to seem an inexperienced girl to him, even though that's what she knew she was. She would not seem it or show it, not in his presence. She wouldn't dare.
Before she could gather her thoughts or her breath, his hand was on the doorknob and he was turning it.
She had been expecting handmaidens when she entered the room, or at the very least, some type of womanly assistance. She had also expected him to retire to his own room, and for them to meet somewhere in the middle.
She stared, with her lower lip hanging down, at the sight before her.
She would get none of what she expected, it seemed.
But a little voice inside her whispered that this might be better.
.
If she had actually thought about the absence of light throughout the rest of the house, she might've come to the conclusion that the candles that usually lit the lamps, the chandeliers, and the wall sconces were somewhere else. And if she had pressed her wonderings as to why there were no servants, maids, or guards within the walls, she might've come to this conclusion that he had ordered them away. But she hadn't thought about it, because she was too nervous about what was going to happen, not what had already happened.
She looked around the room in awe, not knowing what to think. She blinked several times, not able to accept that what her eyes were perceiving was reality.
There were candles strewn across the entire room, covering every flat and stable surface. It was not a simple few near the bed or the side tables or at the foot of the bed… No, they were everywhere. Everywhere Alexandra looked, there were candles. Tall ones, short ones, fat, thin… Their waxes ranged from traditional beeswax to more refined styles and colors. Yellow, white, blue, burgundy, green, purple… Near every color a painter could mix on their pallets was there, frozen in hard wax and ready to melt. Each flame burned bright and tall, proud and dancing. The glow illuminated the whole room, as if the sun had shattered into a hundred little pieces to light the space, just for them. No, Alexandra realized with a start. Not just for us. Just for me.
The thought rendered her completely speechless.
"I did not know which color you liked," he murmured from somewhere to her right. His voice shocked her back to reality, though reality seemed more like a dream, and made her jump. For some reason, she'd thought she was alone when she looked into that sea of candles. "Your father said you had no preference." He took a slow breath, surveying the room. "So I brought all I could find, and bought some too." He sounded unimpressed, and she couldn't fathom why. This simple gesture was beyond all her wildest imaginations. She had never thought he—or anyone else, for that matter—would do something like this for her. Who was he?
She stared at him, as much in astonishment at the meaning behind his words as at the spectacle before them. He did this all himself? "You…" Again, she wondered who he was, who he truly was.
"A few of the maids worried it might give rise to a great fire," he continued, ignoring her lone, solitary word and the shock on her face. "I told them I would take full blame if such happened." He almost smiled when he looked at her, but not quite. "Do not fear," he assured her. "A fire won't catch, I promise."
The candlelight flickered in his eyes when he looked at her, as, she knew, it must in hers.
His eyes fell for a moment, looking her over. She was still in her white wedding dress, still covered with his travelling cloak. She suddenly felt very self-conscious of the dust and grit around the hem. It had hung too low on her, and therefore had scraped across the ground before they'd stepped inside. She hoped she hadn't ruined it. She would have to find someone to wash it, quickly and secretly, before she returned it. She was thinking she could approach one of those maids he'd mentioned when he stepped towards her.
He leaned close, lowering himself to her level. She felt her heartbeat quicken from its usual walk to a hammering canter in her chest as she listened to him inhale and begin to learn the scent of her. Without meaning to, she felt her eyes fall closed. They flew open when his lips touched the top of her right cheek. His mouth lingered there a moment, and all the while his lips were on her, she was sure she didn't take or give a single breath.
She managed to blink her eyes as he pulled back. His looked bluer in the candlelight, though she could not say warmer. They are not colder, neither, though.
"I will give you some time alone." His voice was hushed, yet still it stirred her. He tipped his chin to the clock hanging on the wall beside the bed. "I will return when the clock strikes twelve."
She nodded shallowly, still unable to speak. He leaned forward again, and pressed another kiss to her opposite cheek. Again, his lips lingered. And again, she felt the heat flicker low in her belly. She was about to reach out to touch him, to pull him close for a kiss—a real kiss this time, finally—but before she could, he had stepped away.
The next minute, he was gone, and she was left alone with her candles. They flickered up at her, teasing and taunting and promising. She felt the sudden urge, as she stared down at them, to make a wish. She knew she should wish for fertility, for numerous and strong sons. And she did; she wished for that.
But as her eyes roamed over the candles again, she made other wishes, too, and sent out her secret hopes, as silly and stupid and meaningless as they were. She wished he would be nice to her, and gentle, if he could. She wished he would start to like her, soon, and maybe grow to love her one day. She wished they would have a long and fruitful life together, that they would bring each other joy.
And, again, she wished for sons. Many sons, strong sons.
She wished for him to plant one inside her tonight. She didn't care if she was ready or not—whether she was certainly didn't matter, so why should she worry? She knew if all her other wishes went unfulfilled save for this one, at least it would be worth it. Her duty in life would be complete, and he would be happy with her, pleased.
…And then, maybe, after their son was born, he might start to learn how to love her. Maybe, after their son was born, he would be kind and gentle to her, he would kiss her and call her sweet names, and treat her the way Derek treated Meredith.
Yes, she thought to herself, squeezing her eyes shut, and maybe after our son is born I will stop being a child and a girl, and start being a woman and a wife, and focus my prayers on real and attainable things instead of a maiden's naïve and unrealistic dreams.
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Alexandra undressed slowly, mindful of each and every candle within a three-foot radius, which happened to be very many. She slipped off his cloak and draped it over a nearby chair. Not seeing any place to hang up her dress, she decided to do the same with it. What did it matter if it got wrinkled? It wasn't like she'd ever wear it again.
Undressing took a long while. The dress wasn't complicated, exactly, but it wasn't simple, either, and it was hardly a job she could do by herself. She spent a few seconds lost in panic, if he returned and she was still dressed—what? What would he do? She didn't know and she didn't know if she wanted to know.
She struggled through the laces of her gown, breathing a huge sigh of relief when she finally felt it loosen. The corset came next, and after that, all she was dressed in were her flimsy underclothes. She looked down at herself, wondering if she was supposed to take those off too. She decided to wait until he told her, for she didn't know if she could bear standing there completely naked the moment he returned, all the while seeing the judgment in his eyes. She took out the pins in her hair next. Though she'd kept most of it down, a few pieces had been pulled from the front of her head to the back, to keep her face clear and her hair out of the way. She left the pins in a small pile on top of one of the chests by the door, not having known where else to dispose of them, and hoped he wouldn't mind.
When she finished, she just stood by the door and stared at the sea of candles before her. She found herself wondering if George would have done this on their wedding night, had they gotten the chance to fulfill their betrothal. Somehow, though she wasn't quite sure why, she doubted he would have. She crossed the room slowly, carefully placing each of her feet so as to step between the candles and not burn the lacy hem of her chemise. She sat gingerly on the bed, and glanced at the clock again. Fifteen minutes until the midnight hour. She sat idle for a few more moments, but soon her imagination got the better of her.
What was she supposed to do? Wait? Or go find him? Was there a different room she was supposed to meet him in, after all? Was just the prelude? And he gave her half an hour; why so much time? It did not take more than mere minutes to disrobe, even without ladies to help her.
A thought struck her, and she felt her stomach drop to her toes. Did he expect her to… start… without him? She'd heard of it. She'd heard of men who liked to watch women pleasure themselves. But he wasn't here to watch. Unless… Her arms jumped to cover her breasts over her underclothes as her eyes darted about the room. She rose to her feet, taking a more careful look…
Until she realized that was preposterous.
She was his wife, he was her husband… And not some overly curious peasant boy from town. If he wanted to see her without clothes, all he need do was walk in the door; he didn't need to peep. She looked to the clock again. She was dismayed to see that only a minute had passed. Why is time moving so slowly? She began to pace.
When she next looked at the door he had disappeared through nearly twenty minutes prior, he was standing in its frame. Her eyes went so wide at the sight of him, he feared they might fall out. They did not; instead, they stayed in place, and roamed over his thinly robed person. His undershirt was loose and, like hers, nearly see-through. As her eyes traced the trails his muscles made across his chest and upper arms, she found herself wishing it were tighter. She had never seen him so thinly clothed before, and she wanted to admire the way she knew such restrictive clothing would hug the curves and slopes of his muscles.
She suddenly felt very aware of her body. She was studying him, of course, but that was because he was, without question or dispute, the most handsome man she'd ever laid eyes on. He was the most handsome man anyone had ever laid eyes on, she might argue. But she… She was not the most beautiful woman anyone had ever laid eyes on. She certainly not the most beautiful woman in the village of her birth, and not even in her own family. She remembered her sister's wedding, and how he'd said something to make Meredith smile, even when she was almost shaking with nerves. No doubt he found her to be the prettiest of the Grey girls; everyone else always did.
The thought made her hang her head, and as she looked down at her feet, she was dismayed to notice she had not trimmed her toenails recently. Another failure and folly on my part. They were longer than they should've been, and he noticed everything, so he must have…
When she looked back up to meet his eyes and explain, she was surprised to find that his were not fixated on her toes. In fact, as she watched, she saw that his eyes never dipped any lower than just between the tops of her thighs. Where his eyes went, she could feel it on her body. They left a trail of fire from her face to her breasts, down her stomach to her private place between her legs, the space no one but her had seen or touched. His eyes lingered there a while, and she found that the attention made her nipples grow tight and hard. Though they poked points through her chemise, she wasn't as embarrassed as she might've been otherwise. He was standing tall and strong and confident before her… Somehow—and she didn't know how—just being in the same room as that commanding presence had made her confident, too. He had taken her over, not just mind but whole being as well, and her body's reply was simple: I want more.
When his eyes finally rose and he caught side of her pert, peaked breasts, she could see his manhood change shape beneath his smallclothes. Without meaning to, she felt that womanly place between her legs tingle with want. She clenched her thighs together, but that only made her lower belly erupt in flames. She held back a soft moan at the half-torturous half-blissful sensation, and watched him instead. She tried not to stare so obviously… But it was hard. He was hard, it seemed. And big. She wondered, suddenly panicked, if he would fit inside her. She had a feeling that that cavern between her legs was not very deep, nor very wide. Even if his entire length could slide inside her, would his girth stop him before he even began? She felt a blush creep up her cheeks for thinking such things, and she forced her eyes to lift to his. She had been looking at him for too long, she knew.
"I'm early," he finally said, breaking the tense silence. "I hope you don't mind."
"E—Early?" She had forgotten all meaning of the word. She could barely remember her own name, or her family's crest. She swallowed. But it wasn't hers anymore, was it? His was now hers. His family name, his family crest, his home, him… All hers. She closed her eyes, and her mind momentarily vacated at the thought, and then swam at the realization: He… is mine.
"I wanted to give you your time," he explained. "But the clock…" He glanced to it, and so did she. Eight minutes until midnight, it read. "It was ten before when I realized I couldn't possibly wait those last few minutes."
He wanted me. She didn't know why, but she was suddenly sure of this idea, this fact, suddenly filled with the truth of it. She felt gooseflesh prickle over her arms and legs, and her heart began hammering against her will at the thought, which she quickly amended. Not wanted. Wants. He wants me. Right here, right now. He wants me. The realization sent a shiver through her bones, and made her heart beat faster and faster.
.
He couldn't stop staring at her.
She drew his eye like the clink of spare coins would draw a beggar. And like that beggar would take those coins and never let go, he felt like holding her close, tucking her in his arms… He forced himself to take a breath, to remember who he was, who she was.
She's my wife.
That was easy enough to answer. Who he was, though, was an entirely different question.
No doubt she'd heard the tales. No doubt she knew already what sort of man he was.
He felt his heart quicken at the thought, and soon it was pounding in his chest, loud and unrelenting like a wardrum. He promised himself then, as he focused his eyes on hers, that he would show her he was different. The tales only told one side of the story, and it was not a side he was eager for her to take as his true self. Not if she was to be his wife. To be…
There was no 'to be' about it. She was his wife. It was all said and done, there was only one formality left.
He almost smiled. No doubt that was what was plaguing her—not him and his infamous reputation, but… what was about to happen between them. He almost cursed aloud for not giving it a thought. He'd brushed away Derek earlier, angrily, when he'd tried to tell him words of wisdom. Marcus suddenly wished his boyhood friend were here now, just for a moment, just to tell him the perfect way to do things. No doubt he knew. He was the kind of man who always took a woman's feelings into consideration; he was a man who cared; he was a rare man. Not for the first time—and not for the last, he was sure—did Marcus Sloan wish he were a bit more like Derek Shepherd.
He shook off the thought, though, and shook his head in the process. He didn't need Derek. What man didn't know how to deflower a maiden? There were only so many holes one could stick it in, and he had an inkling of which she might prefer above the others.
He looked over at her again, forcing all his thoughts away. Her. You should be focusing on her, not Derek. Not yourself. Her, only her. Think of her. He stared at his wife for a long moment before he finally realized what was wrong. She was shaking like a leaf. Poor thing, he thought at once, apparently having forgotten that Marcus Sloan did not think such things. Her arms were crossed over her middle; her hands clutched at her upper arms with her fingernails digging into the skin. She looked as if she might make herself bleed with how tightly she was trying to hold herself together.
He tried not to frown, knowing she'd take it the wrong way. He did not want to be the one to force her apart. If he had had any kind of say in the matter, he would have waited longer. He would have done as Derek did, and eased her into it… He suddenly felt like walking away. All of this was happening too fast. He didn't want a wife. He'd never wanted a wife.
But he wanted her.
And here she stood… Shaking and clawing at her own skin, waiting for him to make some sort of advance towards her. He hoped she knew what was coming. He could treat her gently, certainly, but he was unsure as to if he could sit her down and explain what was going to happen between them this night. He pursed his lips, perusing over her barely-clothed frame again. No, he decided, she is not ignorant of what is about to happen. He blinked, letting his eyes fall closed. He had felt relief at first, but now…
She is a maiden, but not a stupid one. She knows exactly what is going to happen.
He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, as if hoping that might make his next thought less true.
And yet she fears me anyway.
He opened his eyes, and watched as her gaze immediately fled from his. He frowned slightly, wishing she would trust him more. He could not understand how she found him so fearsome and threatening. He wasn't going to attack her. Some men might, but he wouldn't. He couldn't. Can't she just trust me?
But why should she? Part of him asked. He was not one to be trusted, that had been proven time and time again. He was a man of many women, and it would've been hard for her not to have heard the stories and made assumptions for herself.
But I picked her, didn't I? I picked her and now she's all I have now, all I get. He closed his eyes. And I'm all she has, poor girl. Not a very fair trade.
He began walking towards her slowly. He saw one of her feet begin to take a step back as he did so, but she caught herself and returned the limb to its proper place. She was scared, that much was obvious, but she knew better than to show it so blatantly. He hoped that by the end of the night she would not fear him anymore—or, at the very least—that she would fear him less.
Carefully, he made his way across the plush carpet to where she was standing. When he came to a stop, they were nearly toe-to-toe, and he could hear her breathe. Her breaths were shallow, and though he tried to search her face for emotion, he could see none. Her head was bent down, she was staring at her toes… or more likely, he reasoned with a half-frown, me. His hardness was one of the few things separating them. He was not even at full-mast, not nearly, but that part of him still drew her wide, worried eyes.
He lifted a hand from his side and placed it under her chin. She almost jumped at the touch, but soon let him smoothly raise her face to his. He stared into her eyes as he held her face aloft, searching their nearly unreadable brown depths for any clue of what she was thinking. He got nothing. He knew he should say something. He should soothe her, somehow, make her worries wash away like dust during a rainstorm, but his mind was blank.
Derek would know what to say.
But he wasn't Derek. He sighed, louder than he'd intended, at that fact. Something flickered across her face—some kind of emotion, sorrow, or anger, maybe—but it was gone so quick he didn't have time to place it. I'm not Derek, he thought again. Derek would know what to say. Derek would know what words to use and when, how to put her at ease.
But he wasn't Derek. So instead of thinking up the perfect assurance to tell her, he bent down, leaned forward, and brushed his lips against hers. She let out a small whimper when his mouth covered hers, and he half-worried for a moment that he'd taken his frustration out on her and hurt her… but then she leaned into him. His eyes shot open when her body came in contact with his, but hers remained closed—she looked so peaceful with her eyes closed like that, and her mouth attached to his. It almost made think—just for one second—that she wanted him like he wanted her.
His hand fell from supporting her chin to sliding down the side of her neck. From there, it rounded her shoulder and then fell even lower. She gasped quietly into their kiss when he cupped her small breast. He tested its light weight in his large hand, palming it softly. He rubbed his thumb over the already hardened nipple through the fabric, the slightest smirk appearing on his face when she squirmed in place. Good. He broke their kiss when he switched to the other breast and then leaned forward and placed his lips at her neck. He heard her let out the softest sigh as he touched her, and he kissed her skin harder in return.
When he pulled back minutes later, his mouth had left faint red spots behind around the skin of her collarbone and she was near to panting as she leaned against him. Is this how it always is? She found herself wondering, her earlier anxiety having turned to amazement as he continued to stroke and kiss her and bring life to her previously untouched and unexplored body. Does it always feel this good, each and every time? She had heard stories, she had spoken with her sister, but she never thought…
Her wonderings were cut off when he kissed her again. His lips were more commanding this time. He didn't waste time with her cheeks or neck, simply went right to her mouth and claimed it rightfully as his. She couldn't hold back the moan in her throat when his mouth took hers like that. His lips were soft and full, but combined with the sharp scratchiness of his beard… A shiver went through her, and she found herself instinctively pressing closer to him again. I want more, her body whispered to her again, more and more and more.
Though she hadn't voiced her wants aloud, he somehow knew what she had been thinking, knew what she wanted. Slowly, all the while engaging her in a deep kiss, he backed her towards the bed. She sucked in a breath when the backs of her legs hit the bedspread, but her wobbly knees were thankful for the respite as she sank onto the soft mattress gratefully. Their lips parted for but a moment as he lowered himself to her level, advancing forward and taking her with him. Her head hit the pillow at the head of the bed with a soft thwap as she laid back down for the last time. She sank into it immediately, sighing happily. She never knew cushions could be so soft. She was reaching back with a hand to discover its contents, what sort of feather, when she froze.
His hands had left her sides, slid down her stomach… And now they were resting atop her still-joined thighs. Her knees were bunched up high between them—involuntarily, Alexandra noted, for she couldn't remember forcing them up there to work as a barrier—but still she could see his arousal looming over them, long and stiff and pointed towards her as if making an accusation…or a claim. Her mouth went dry at the sight of it, and she found she had no idea what to think. Or do.
Yet he did.
"Lie back," he instructed quietly. He paused a moment, staring at her, and then added softly, "And don't be afraid."
She almost laughed. Don't be afraid? Surely easy for him to say. He was not the one losing his maidenhood to a complete stranger. An otherworldly handsome and seductive stranger, the girl in Alexandra sighed happily. But a stranger nonetheless, reality reminded her, cold and hard and wary as always.
She laid back anyway, following his instructions. She lowered her knees, as well, though he did not tell her to do so, and parted her thighs, though he said nothing of it. She knew that much was expected of her, at least. Spread out and lie back, that's all I have to do. Take it and don't complain. "I'm not afraid." She tried to sound strong and confident, but her whispery voice shook as much as her body, betraying her yet again.
He smiled in a way that told her he knew she was lying, yet still remained friendly. "Of course you're not," he murmured. She was surprised not to hear a mocking bite to his voice, and she was grateful to him for that. She couldn't not take his merciless mocking—not now, not here, not when they were about to…
"I'm going to touch you now," he murmured, interrupting her thoughts.
She swallowed, feeling her throat run dry and all the moisture in her mouth evaporate. She stared at him, watching as he took in the sight between her parted thighs. She shivered when he let out a soft groan—as deep in his throat as it had been, it sounded nearer to a noise an animal would make than a man. Her heartbeat picked up at it, whether in fear or anticipation even she couldn't say, but she couldn't remove her eyes from him.
After what seemed like an eternity, he finally looked up and met her gaze. She remembered what he'd said moments ago, and heeded those words as a warning this time around. I'm going to touch you now. She took a breath. Don't be afraid, don't be afraid, don't be afraid—
She gasped aloud when he put his finger inside her. She could feel him so completely there, she could feel him all over… She closed her eyes, willing her body to adjust to the feel of it inside her. Slowly and gently, he moved it within her, thrusting it almost. She wondered for a naïve minute why he was doing that—why that motion—and then blushed when she realized what he must be mimicking. His cock. She shut her eyes tighter at the thought, and swallowed again. She wished she would stop blushing. Her face felt afire.
After a time, he could feel her body grow loose around him, enough for him to add a second finger. By that time, she had begun whimpering softly, so he knew she must be ready. She was wet now; he could feel her essence on his fingers, sticky and no doubt sweet as honey. He withdrew his hand, smiling at the little squeak of complaint she gave when his touch was gone. He promised her silently that it would all be rectified in a moment.
He crawled onto his hands and knees then, and covered her body with his. He lined himself up at her entrance, and after pausing for a moment, slowly began to push inside. Slowly, slowly, he cautioned himself, trying to remember that she was but a girl and this was her first time… But she was tightening around him already. She was so hot, and wet, and she gripped him so tight… that he just couldn't help himself. It's been so long, he thought, delirious with pleasure and want as he sheathed himself fully inside her not a second later. He felt like laughing at the thought and then crying at how good she felt around him.
And gods, did she feel good. He could not remember a woman's body ever feeling so magnificent wrapped around him as this woman's did. His lips flicked up, and he wondered once again, as so many had, why he didn't take more maidens. I prefer experience to innocence, was his usual answer. He was an experienced man, and he didn't like wasting time with those who could not match his skill. …But more oft than not, the fact of the matter was, he would see their big, wide eyes and nubile skin and he would know that he was taking something anyway from them, something they could never get back. So instead, he'd grab the nearest whore with a bit of Father Time etched into her skin, and fuck her hard until he forgot about the wide-eyed maidens. They could take it, he knew. The others could not, would not, and he had no desire to force them.
It was hard to imagine that the last woman he'd had beneath him that had held any meaning was Addison... But like the rest, she too, had proved to have no meaning in the end.
But not Alexandra. Not this girl. This girl had meaning. This girl was his wife.
.
His wife was crying.
She was trying to hide it, but the tears had already escaped at it was so horribly, horribly obvious. Every drop of moisture that fell down her cheeks was hot and damning, and she wished she had control of herself. He'd hate her for this. He hate her for ruining everything with her feminine tears and blood and… Oh, gods, I've stained the sheets. She bit down hard on her lower lip, trying not to think about that, trying not to think about what was inside her, trying not to think at all. She squeezed her eyes shut, ignoring the tears, and hoping he would ignore them as well, as she waited for him to pull himself out and then thrust back in. She told herself it would be less painful the second time, but only half of her—the girl that was being forced into a late exile—believed. The rest of her was certain it would only get worse.
"Is the pain really so much?"
Her eyes shot open at the sound of his voice, and she felt her heart hammer at his question as she looked into his eyes. She could see something akin to sorrow in his blue gaze, but she couldn't understand why it was there. She had heard the lamentation in his tone, too, and it made her want to laugh. Since when do men care? But then he shifted above her, bracing his weight more fully, and she sobered completely. She could feel him inside her again. It was not a good feeling. But not a bad feeling, neither.
"No," she lied, sucking in a breath. I must get this over with, she thought. Quick, it will be quick. Meredith said it would be quick. She promised. "I'm fine," she whispered, wishing her voice didn't sound so hushed and scared.
His lips formed a hard line, and staring up at him, seeing his body braced above—and knowing it was inside—hers, she suddenly felt very afraid. "It would do well for you to have learned by now, Alexandra, that I do not suffer liars."
His voice was cold and hard, and she cowed under his startlingly serious gaze. She was automatically reminded of how the first words she'd ever truly said to him were a lie, and embarrassment made her words now run together now like a common girl's would. "Yes, m'lord," she mumbled, her eyes downcast. They hovered over his chest; she couldn't look down, for his manhood was still in plain sight. And she couldn't look up, because she couldn't face his piercing eyes again. She spoke to his chest, memorizing the shape of his clearly defined muscles there. She wanted to touch them. "It does not hurt… horribly," she began, licking her lips. "But it does… hurt." She took a small breath. "It was more surprise than pain, though," she added, already realizing the truth of her words as she said them. "I hadn't expected you to…" She trailed off. But I should have expected it, she reminded herself, annoyed at her lapse in judgment. I should have expected him to take me however he pleased. She realized a second later that it was his gentility at the start that confused her and muddled her brain. That was what she hadn't expected. That was what confused everything. Why did he bring me candles?
She drew a breath now, forcing herself to finally meet his eyes. Maybe he would still be gentle if she asked nicely. "Maybe if my lord went… slower?" She suggested timidly. "Then, it might, might not be so… so… uncomfortable?"
.
Marcus sighed, closing his eyes. In all honesty, he had thought he was going slow. At the beginning, at least. He had thought he was being gentle, and caring for her side of things. He had not taken her all at once without warning like she was a bitch in heat; that had to count for something, surely?
He shook his head. It didn't count for anything—because he'd done just that: he'd taken her like an animal would, taken her like any other man would. He had forced himself inside her, and it hadn't mattered that he had thought she was ready at the time—she clearly hadn't been.
Why did he always do this? Why did he always let his manhood get the better of him, always let his cock control his life? If he was going to fix this at all, he had to do it now—so he started right away, by pulling himself out of her.
"No," she whimpered automatically when he began to unsheathe himself from her. "Come—Come back."
He couldn't help but smile. She had been crying from the pain of having him inside her a minute ago, but now… She didn't want him to leave. She wanted him inside her, she wanted him to fill her… And he wanted to do so as painlessly as possibly. She told me to come back. That is nothing if not a good sign, he thought. He realized he had already ruined much of her first time, but he hoped to the gods he could make up for it. If the rest of the night went smoothly, maybe she'd forget how it began. It was unlikely, he knew, but if he tried hard enough…
His eyes found hers as he began to line himself up with her slit again. "I'm not going anywhere," he murmured softly. "Never fear."
"Truly?" She looked up at him, her eyes wide and dark and full of innocence even as she laid naked beneath him. Her hands shifted from merely touching his sides to his neck and shoulders, caressing him there. He knew her question did not just concern what went on in their marriage bed.
He leaned down, lowering his mouth to hers. One hand went to her hair as the other found her breast and she moaned when he touched her there. It was long and loud; a product of his hands touching her in so many places and so many ways that she had never been touched before, she couldn't think straight. She hardly knew what the sound was that escaped her, but he delighted in it all the same. When he pulled back, her moan died away and she panted for breath instead. He stared at her lips, blood red and swollen, before replying, "Truly."
He leaned down again, determined to do things better this time, and planted his mouth on her slim shoulder. She shuddered when his beard scratched her skin; the feeling set off sparks of desire deep in her womanly core. She could feel that space between her thighs grow wetter and slicker as he continued; she could feel his hardness begin to probe her again, carefully. "My lord…" She couldn't help but moan again, and she did not hold back the noise. There was no one in the house or anywhere nearby to hear, she figured, so there was no reason to be embarrassed. And from the way she could feel his manhood grow inside her, she was sure he enjoyed her volume.
He switched to her other shoulder, kissing and scratching there as he had on the first one. Her hands were at his back now, pulling him closer. "Oh," she whispered when he trailed his lips to the center of her chest. He dragged his head down to the valley between her breasts, pausing there for a moment before leaning to the right. He gave that breast a long, wet lick and suckled her nipple into his mouth. He smiled when she let out another moan, and pushed himself a bit deeper inside of her. Her space was slicker now, and it was much easier for him to move. He watched her for signs, but not again did she gasp in pain or struggle and fail to hold back tears. He moved to her other breast, giving it the same treatment; again, he moved deeper within her. She didn't protest when he left her next; maybe she knew now that he was coming right back.
It did not take much after that. Not more than a few strokes, and a quick brush at the protruding nub above her slit, and he could feel her body fall apart around him. The floodgates opened then, and as a weak cry escaped her mouth and her back bowed up from the bed, her inner juices were released. They coated him as he was still thrusting, and mixed with the blood that had been spilled on the sheets. He released soon after that, near as fast as her, relieved that he did not have to hold out any longer. He had been strung tight all night, having to go slow, and finally, finally being able to let go had been a wondrous blessing.
He tried not to crush her when he hit his peak, but his body collapsed under him, and all he had to hold himself up was his forearms. She gasped when his hands slid out from their stanch places on either side of her, but luckily he managed to catch himself before completely crushing her. It was another minute or two before he had the strength to move and roll off of her. He heard her breath catch as his now-flaccid cock slid out of her. He fell against the bed heavily, and ended up facing her only by accident.
She smiled when she caught his eye. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice soft as a feather. "Thank you for…" She yawned, and he saw her eyes droop before she continued, "Thank you for the candles, my lord, they were beautiful."
He stared at her, surprised, and struggled to come up with a response. But by the time he thought of one—They were for you—she had already fallen asleep. She was exhausted, he was sure… But he felt wide awake, and he stayed like that, lying beside her, for many hours afterwards. He watched her, studied her, thought about her. More than once, he felt himself grow hard again, but he ignored it, preferring to rule with his head and let her sleep instead. She was so peaceful when she slept. Her was hair spread out against the pillow behind her, and though a few strands were caught on her lips, he made no move to remove them. He didn't want to wake her.
Against his will, he thought of Addison—as he did whenever he shared a bed with a woman that wasn't her—and remembered the way she had slept. He imagined her like that, just for a moment… But soon the moment took him over, the way her body always did whenever she used to bare it to him.
She was naked as the day she was born, with her red fair flaming from her face like a firestorm. He should have realized that from the start there was nothing good about fire—and saved himself from getting burned. Of course he didn't, and he suffered much more than the faint lick of the candle he might've gotten with other women. She was dangerous, he knew that from the start—that's what he'd always liked about her. But he should've known better. Her elbows and knees all made sharp angles, sharp enough for him to cut himself on. The only softness she had were her ample breasts and the only warmth in her was hidden between her thighs, and he had to work to gain access to either. She never gave anything freely—love least of all—not even to him, though he fancied himself different from the countless others. Everything had a price with her, he soon learned, and he paid it every time, though in the end it proved to be a much greater cost than he ever knew or ever hoped to know at the start.
She did not sleep peacefully or restfully; only in fits and spurts and never once through an entire night, even after they'd gone to bed enough times to exhaust any other couple. She would always wake afterwards, whenever he shifted the smallest degree in bed, or at the slightest noise in the room. She was ever suspicious of him—ever wondering where he was going or whom he was seeing or what he was irony and hypocrisy of her fears should have made him laugh, but even years after the fact, it did nothing but rankle him. She proved to be just as restless in waking as she was in slumber, and the only peace he had known with her was long after she'd left him behind.
Marcus blinked, clearing his mind at once when he caught himself thinking of her. He tried not to do that anymore these days. He looked to his left, and felt relief rush through his body when he caught sight of that unfamiliar dark hair next to him—as opposed to the well-known flaming red that haunted him more nights than he'd care to admit. As he watched her sleep, he took notice of the many differences between the two women; the only two he had ever really known.
Where Addison was forever suspicious, Alexandra—somehow—already seemed to trust him. He tested her, sitting up in bed. Even though the mattress creaked, she didn't wake. He smiled. He liked that. He liked how peaceful and beautiful she looked, now and—he couldn't help but recall—when he'd helped her reach her pleasure. Immediately, he felt his staff harden, more so than ever. He was sorely tempted to wake her, but he held back. It was then he realized that he would never have done so for Addison, would've never given her that courtesy.
No, instead, he would've woken her the moment he began to harden, and she would've sat astride him at the very first drop of moisture. They would fuck long into the night, but it was always a race, always a contest. They would wake each other up at late hours, and at times, one would begrudge the other for their wants and simply lie back and act as a vessel for pleasure. More oft than not, the other didn't take offense; they simply took what they wanted and then went back to sleep.
But with Alexandra…
The corners of his lips twitched up, recalling her frequent blush. The way she stammered through her words. The quiet, almost soundless way she moved. The touch of her hand and the feel of her mouth… His eyes closed. He could still feel her full, red lips pressed against his. He could feel her small hands, gripping his shoulders and silently urging him on once she was ready. He lost himself in memories for a time, until he realized that his eyes were drooping.
He yawned and got out of bed. He did so slowly and carefully; he did not want to wake her. He swayed on his feet for a moment, and quickly sank into a squat. He began by blowing out the candles closest to him, and gradually moved across the room. He meant to pick them up as well, but by the time he had finished with his first task, he was near to asleep. The smoke was fogging his head, and he thought it best to return to bed in case he collapsed amongst the hot wax.
He slipped in beneath the covers next to her and rested his head on his pillow. She did not move an inch, but mumbled softly in her sleep. His lips twitched up even as he yawned quietly, thinking the word she'd mumbled might've been his name. He wondered, just as he fell asleep, if she was dreaming of him.
He knew he would dream of her.
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Author's Note: I hope you all liked this chapter. Like I said, it was one of the first I wrote for this story, long before I had any of the backstory planned out. I hope it fit in seamlessly, though, since that's what I aimed for. Thank you all for reading, and please leave your thoughts and comments on the chapter below. Reviews are always warmly appreciated.
Also: I dont know if any of you go on my LJ (fais2688 . livejournal . com), but I've been on there a lot recently. It's kind of my go-to place on the internet. But anyway, I'm mentioning it because I am going to upload a post-full of pictures and music for this chapter-soon, and I'll make it available to the public so that all of you from FFN can see it. If you'd like to friend me on there, though, you are more than welcome to do so; then you will be able to see all my locked stories and private posts. My LJ is pretty much friends-only, but I'll accept anyone who asks happily :)
Thank you all for reading. Please leave a review, and I hope you get a chance to check out the post on my LJ later.