2
On her wedding night Victoria felt nothing but eager anticipation. She was glad that she'd been to bed with Victor already. The pressure was off, the mystery was gone. And it had been very nice. A little uncomfortable, a little fast, but mostly wonderful.
By the time the wedding night came, Victoria was more than ready for another try.
In the bedroom of their suite of rooms she undressed carefully. She'd refused the help of a maid, desiring privacy. Victor was in the sitting room. She could hear him shuffling about, furniture creaking as he sat down and then got up again, footsteps as he paced. Victoria smiled a little. He was clearly anxious for another go as well. Quickly as she could she let down her hair and gave it a swift brushing.
She loosened her corset strings until she was able to unfasten the busk, and she slipped out of it with a sigh. Then she bent to remove her shoes and stockings. She'd worn her nicer set of combinations today, the ones of silk and lace, though they were old and a little frayed all the same. Her parents hadn't had enough money for a proper trousseau. They'd barely had enough to buy the material for her dress.
Draped over the end of the bed was her plain white nightgown, the same one she'd worn the other night. The only one she had. It did not feel particularly bridal. Besides, he'd seen it already. She frowned down at herself. Nor did her underthings feel quite right.
Suddenly, she was struck with an idea. She extinguished the large ceiling gas light and instead lit the lamps on each bedside table. She removed her combinations and draped them carefully over the rest of her discarded clothes, all in a neat pile atop the cedar chest next to the wardrobe.
Gooseflesh rose on her skin in the cool of the room. Or perhaps it was excitement. Without a stitch on she slipped into bed. The sheets were starchy and cold. For a moment she debated whether to leave the covers on or off. In the end she chose on—it was rather chilly. Victoria tucked the blankets about herself, and lay down on her back, her head sinking into the feather pillow. She took a shuddery breath and closed her eyes for a moment, recalling vividly the other morning in Victor's bed. His weight on her. His kisses. How his fingers had explored her.
By the time she opened her eyes her breathing had quickened its pace, and so had her heartbeat. She was already feeling that pleasant, warm ache in her most intimate places.
"Victor?" she called into the stillness. "I'm ready."
He must have been directly outside the bedroom door, hands on the knob. For he was inside the room with the door closed behind him almost before she'd finished speaking. Victor was wearing that same dressing gown from the other night, though his pajamas looked new and expensive underneath. For a moment he stood at the foot of the bed, unsure of what to do next. Eventually he sat on the edge of the bed beside her.
"A-are we going to bed?" he asked, casting his eyes over her loose hair, her bare shoulders and arms. "Or are we…?" He let his words trail off into nothingness.
"Are you tired?" she asked in return, wondering if perhaps she had miscalculated. But Victor was quick to shake his head.
"Oh no, no no no, not at all," he assured her, tripping over his words. Victoria reached up for him, and he bent down to her. Their lips met and Victoria felt a rush of warmth all through her body. His lips were thin and cool and fit just perfectly against her own.
Victor sat up, then ran gentle fingers down her face to her shoulder, down her arms. The feathery light touch made her gasp and shiver. He grinned and said, in a voice that only cracked a little, "I think I'm overdressed."
He removed his dressing gown and the top half of his pajamas, Victoria watching him avidly. She had not had the opportunity to see much at all the other morning. And she was dreadfully curious. Her bottom lip caught between her teeth, she watched him hesitate, hands at the waistband of his trousers. To her disappointment he stopped there.
"May I join you?" he asked. Even in the low light she could see that very faint color was rising in his cheeks, as close as Victor got to a flush. She nodded, moved over a little, and let him lift the covers. She was enormously gratified by his double-take as he drew the sheets back. Smiling a little, watching the way his mouth hung open, the way his eyes widened, she just lay there with her hands demurely folded at her middle and let him look.
"Oh," he breathed, taking her in. "You're..."
And then words seemed to fail him. Just watching him look at her was making her amorous. Her own daring had a little to do with it too, perhaps. In any event, she was in a sweet sort of agony waiting for him to touch her.
At last, he did. He sat again on the bed beside her, all of the covers drawn fully back. Lightly, at first, he rested his hands on her breasts. They made a little more than a handful. They both gasped a little when he pressed more firmly, caressing and massaging. Victoria let her head fall back on the pillow, closing her eyes against the rush of pleasure. Her skin seemed to come alive under his hands.
Her breath began to come more quickly. Her heart was beating in her throat, a pulse echoed everywhere along her body. When she opened her eyes again she found Victor gazing intently at her face. His eyes were getting that avid and bright look she remembered from the other day. He ran his palms up her neck and let them rest so that he was cradling her face in his hands.
This time his kiss was bordering on rough, but not in a bad way. Rather an insistent, eager way that she liked. His mouth moved hotly over hers, and she tried to match his movements and fervor. She reached to caress his bare chest and shoulders, so smooth and white and slender. Her fingers ran along his collarbones, his shoulderblades, his sides. He jumped a little at this last, but didn't take his mouth from hers.
At last, both of them out of breath, they broke the kiss. Looking into her eyes all the while, Victor laid down on his side beside her, propped up on one elbow. His free hand, as well as his eyes, continued their explorations. Sweetly, gently, he roved all over her, his face close to hers. His breath on her face, his hands, his solid presence beside her, all were setting her aflame. That ache, that need, that delicious throb, it was almost unbearable. She thought she might faint.
At last, his hand went to her most intimate of places, and Victoria let out a long sigh. With a tenderness that she loved him for, he stroked at her. Under his hand she had the distinct sensation of melting. Oh, she was melting. She turned to press her face into Victor's shoulder. One hand clutched at Victor's arm, the other fluttered uselessly against the pillow. Anything, anything to relieve this sensation. It was unlike anything she'd ever felt before. It so overpowering she was coming undone with it.
All of the focus in her body, every nerve, was focused on his hand, which had sped up just a little. Had increased pressure, just a little. A little was enough. Dimly she felt her hips moving, rising to meet his motions. They'd found a rhythm. It was all happening completely independently of her mind. Her body had taken over completely.
Her breath was ragged even to her own ears. Her eyes were screwed shut, her forehead against Victor's chest. She could feel him perspiring, feel his heart racing, hear his own fast breathing. Her fingers closed around his arm more tightly, just in case he got any ideas about moving his hand. And then, startling her with its force, a wave of pure feeling broke through her. That was the image that filled her mind at that moment—a colossal wave, heaving up and cresting and breaking with shattering force.
Victoria was grateful that she'd had her face against Victor, so that when she cried out it was muffled against him. Her hips were rocking of their own accord, caught up in the wave. When that wave slowly receded, she was left shaky and breathless. She rolled fully onto her back again, feeling that her body was made of rubber. Languidly, head fuzzy, she turned to look at Victor. He was grinning down at her, but softly. A quiet beam.
"Oh, Victor," was all she could say, blinking heavily. It really was as though she had been taken up by a wave at the seaside, then deposited breathless on the sand. She felt his hand reach to stroke her hair, and then she felt him moving beside her. She realized he'd completely undressed only when he lowered himself onto her, pressing her into the mattress, their faces parallel.
He touched his nose to hers, just briefly, then gave her a deep, lingering kiss. Rather than bracing himself on his arms, he instead put his arms around her back, embracing her fully, hands gripping her shoulders. Almost in the same movement he was inside of her.
It felt entirely wonderful this time. And it lasted a bit longer, too.
He held her tightly and she returned the embrace, her arms around his waist. She adored the feeling, the look, of him moving over her in the semi-darkness. He felt so strong. And all the while he was murmuring into her ear. Her name. Love words. Her name again. It made her smile.
After he finished, with a moan into her neck that sent a shiver through her, he held her close. She nuzzled into his shoulder and let her hands stray lazily over his back and up into his hair. Victoria was warm and dozy.
She was half-dreaming, listening to Victor's breathing slow, when she realized that she'd still not managed to see anything. She'd been so distracted, and Victor had moved like a flash in his eagerness.
Ah, well. Perhaps next time.