A/N: I'm going to have to stop calling these drabbles soon if they stay at this length. Thank you everyone who read and reviewed the last. I was a little nervous but you certainly got me over that with your kind comments (and moments of complete jibberish). We're almost through this first time, moving on to a few non-sex related firsts again (although still not on the otherside of this wedding night yet). Again NSFW.
Drabble fourteen: the first 'I love you' part two.
_love changes everything_
When she let herself think about this night before he returned and then after, when a wedding night was guaranteed, she thought it would be nice. Good.
She imagined he would be gentle, patient. Thought she might surprise him, not laying back still, but perhaps not so wanton that he questioned her innocence - she reads, has always read. Has learnt a lot from books.
She had considered passion, with red cheeks and hot skin, had considered that he might not go slowly; might, if he felt for her as she does, become lost to his instincts and drives.
She has spent many long nights considering how he might touch her, how he might feel against her.
She could not, had not, would not have imagined this.
The heat of his breath against her thigh, the brush of stubble against the delicate skin. She will be sore tomorrow from that alone; the thought has her breath catching once more. That she will feel him all day, not just from this but from the other too.
And his tongue, his mouth. He has them pressed to parts of her no one else has ever touched. There is something down there, vibrating, tingling with every brush of his tongue against her. Something that tightens the hot, heavy feeling in her stomach.
Her toes curl, knees pressing hard against the bed, back arching. Something like a knot winds tighter inside her and she shakes, does not know the feeling, knows that she wants more.
"Charl-Charles" She begs; for him to stop, for him to not. For him to tell her this is right and natural. That she can crave him there, that she can want it like this.
He hums, spreads the sound through her and everything clenches. Once, twice over and over. She cries out, high and broken, his name cracking apart as it bounces back to her ears. Presses a hand across her mouth, eyes open wide. Curls the other in his hair and pulls. He growls and she clenches again, again. Body alight for one single moment, feels like time stopping, like seeing him again back from the dead, one second pulled long.
He presses kisses against her, turns his head and she feels his lips back against her leg.
His hand strokes her stomach, she curls around it, trembling, coming down from something she has no words for.
He pulls her down with him, holds her face between his hands and kisses her.
She tastes herself, on his lips. Already hot skin heats further, cheeks turning red. She dips her tongue into his mouth, chases past her taste, seeks his behind it.
He groans and pushes against her, she can feel him against her thigh, hard and heavy.
Walks her fingers down his chest between them, down his stomach. Keeps their lips together until she needs to breathe.
She circles him with finger and thumb, brushes her palm down, back up.
"Elsie." He says, takes one hand from her face and grips her wrist.
She wonders if she did it wrong, if he likes it another way. He reads something in her eyes, leans in and kisses her again, pulls her lip out from between her teeth, soothes it.
"I need you." He grips her hip, pulls her close so that he lines up with her. "Like this."
His hand leaves her wrist, fingers slipping where his mouth has been, slide between her legs and amongst the folds she has hardly ever touched herself.
The fluttering of his fingertips sets her tingling again, those deep parts of her clenching. This, this is what all those maids have felt all these years. Not all of this, but some. She can see why they would break all the rules to feel even a little like this.
His fingers slide deeper, one into her and she gasps. He smiles against her cheek.
He moves it, in and out, around, strokes her inside, brings another finger to her lips and she opens for it, sucks it into her mouth, lets him copy his own movements.
He adds another between her legs, she feels the burn, the ache but it gives quickly and she presses against the feeling. Feels herself stretching.
That something coils tightly again. She needs more, more than his fingers, needs him.
"Now." She says around his finger, feels him jerk against her. Squeezes her hand, remembering again where it rests.
"You're not-"
"Now, Charles." Another finger, she arches, back bending as she tries to push as close as she can. "Please."
Meets his dark eyes, almost black now and smiles. His finger drops from her mouth, the others pull out from her.
She feels hollow, emptied out and wound tight.
Tips onto her back when he rolls them, ignores the pins digging into her head, lets him guide her legs around him.
She looks up at him, his familiar lines hovering over her. Needs to tell him now, before she gives everything she has left to him. "I do love you, Mr Carson." Brushes the backs of her fingers against his cheek.
He smiles wide, drops a clumsy kiss to her nose.
Says, "and I you, Mrs Carson" and pushes forward, tips his hips against her own and she feels him begin to slip between her folds.
Already she can feel her body building up to something again, wonders if it will feel the same when she crashes back down.
He slides against the aching hollow of her and she will not the same person after this, will be something she never thought she could be.
She reaches down again, guides him into her - she will be a lover.
She thinks she might enjoy her new title just as much as he will.
next time: the first sight (of her hair down)