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This next chapter is another whopper! I know it has been a slow pace and everyone is eager for Darcy and Elizabeth to get over their miscommunication - they have only been married at this point a little over a week (Though, in hindsight I probably would crop bits out of the story, I have just had so much fun discovering what happens next for D and all the characters that I may have got a little carried away...) Anywhoooo - I am really excited for you all to see what happens next!
*Also wish to say that all of your comments are both constructive and inspiring - thank you ever so much!
Please leave a comment, if you feel so inclined - I would like to say a special thanks to all those who are reading and following this story. Especially for all those who have left comments! I am so touched by your kind words and thank you for keeping me motivated and inspired to write more chapters !
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Chapter 22
Elizabeth stepped into the portrait gallery. The chamber of painted eyes watched her as she stepped into the room. The Darcy ancestors following and judging her as she walked beside Mrs Gregory on the expensive runner carpet that lined the middle of the panelled floor.
"…Of course, this gallery is not as large as the one at Pemberley, but I thought you might like to see the likeness of the late Mr and Mrs Darcy." Said Mrs Gregory stopping in the middle of the gallery.
Looking up distractedly Elizabeth was struck by the image in front of her. A young couple captured in this brief moment, appeared to be very in love and comfortable in each other's company. Mr Darcy stood beside Mrs Darcy, who was sitting on a beautifully upholstered chair. He held one of her elegantly gloved hands in his, and she was resting her head back lightly upon his arm. Her smile as bewitching and captivating as the twinkle in her husband's eyes. A wave of sadness washed over her, that this beautiful couple had no comprehension that they would not get to grow old together on this earth.
"The master looks very much like his father, does he not?" As Mrs Gregory.
"Indeed, though Mr Darcy has his mother's eyes."
"Aye," she nodded, "and her dimples, though they are not present on here." Mrs Gregory gushed. "Miss Georgiana looks the replica of her mother, though she has her father's eyes. More hazel in their colouring."
"How old was Miss Georgiana when her mother passed?" Elizabeth asked still unable to brake eye contact with enigmatic couple.
"She was just over her first birthday. And her father left us just after her sixth birthday, poor dove. It was a very difficult time, but she is resilient and stronger than she knows."
"I agree, she is a fine young lady."
"A diamond of the first water, as they say. I daresay she will be quite the triumph on her debut!" Mrs Gregory spoke proudly, as if she were her own daughter.
Catching Elizabeth's look, the older lady blushed self-consciously.
"If we carry on this way, Mrs Darcy, there is a fine portrait of the Master. Miss Georgiana has a recent one in Pemberley, but it has yet to be copied for us to hang here." Informed the housekeeper.
Elizabeth nodded with an encouraging smile moving towards the far end of the space.
"Here we are. The Master was just reaching his majority here. I daresay now he is married it would be a fine idea to have you both sit for your portrait. For someone so still he does not like sitting for a painting." Chuckled the housekeeper.
"I can just imagine him." Elizabeth smiled. "Though, he most likely does not like that most artists tend to ask many questions!"
"I see you understand him perfectly, Mrs Darcy."
Looking up at her husband in his youth, she could see he still had a seriousness in his mein, but he did not look quite so intimidating. He looked approachable and ready to smile with almost a little mischief. There was an easiness in his countenanced and relaxed posture where he stood with one foot bent outward. His hair was a little shorter and had more of a wave to it, than the unruly curls he now sported.
They ended the tour their and Elizabeth stayed for some time looking back at the paintings at her leisure. Her feet always taking her back to appraise her husband at the age she was now of one and twenty. What man would he have been to her if she had met that version of Fitzwilliam. Or indeed if he had not lost his parents? Would he be more like Mr Bingley? Or was he naturally inclined to be more solemn and meditative?
Though he was not always like that, the rare moments he had been with her alone, he had been kind, thoughtful, tender, and even sensitive.
Elizabeth's steps took her to the library where she wondered past the shelves to lean her shoulder against the window frame and look out to the back of the house. She had not known he would be there but smiled as she beheld her husband in the courtyard speaking with his stable master. The stable master looked to him with great respect and at times even pride. She found she craved her husband's attention, but she could not seem to behave in way that was natural or easy around him and the gulf was growing into an unbreakable expanse.
He had not come to her since that evening when they had been caught by the footman. Perhaps she should be grateful that she had been saved from losing her composure though, it has been three days since any sort of intimacy had passed between them. She craved that closeness with him, and it was getting harder and harder for her be so passive and submissive. Had she not always been warned that gentleman's appetites can be insatiable and to expect her husband to visit her frequently until she produced an heir... was there a limit to when that was? Did men have a monthly cycle for when they were most active?
Looking about the room Elizabeth wondered if this vast library would house any volumes that would be educational and provide her with the enlightenment, she sought of the male anatomy...
Tapping her chin thoughtfully she wondered towards the far wall and scanned her eyes across the spines working from the bottom to the top releasing a frustrated huff when nothing jumped out at her she turned away abruptly pausing when one spine caught her eye peeking out from atop the shelving unit. Moving closer she could see an odd symbol engraved in gold upon the red spine and squinted to try and make it out...
"Elizabeth?" She heard Fitzwilliam call.
She jumped with a little squeak turning just in time to see her husband striding towards her.
"There you are." Slowing his steps, "Is anything amiss?"
"N-no, I was just wool gathering and you startled me." She supplied linking her arm in his and pulling him away.
Her husband's brow creased, and Elizabeth worried he would press her further but instead he smoothed out his features and looked ahead before he steered them to sit before the fire.
"I have received note from Lady Catherine. She has asked that we spend Christmas at Rosing's. I would normally refuse but she has informed me that my cousin Anne's health has declined quite seriously this winter. I know you were hoping to spend Christmas at Longbourn with your family -"
"Fitzwilliam, please, we shall go to Rosing's for Christmas. Perhaps we can compromise and visit my family after the festivities?" She said easily.
"You are certain? Of course, you should invite Miss Bennet and perhaps Miss Mary to join us?"
Eyes wide, Elizabeth felt her heart fill with emotion. "If it would not be an imposition on her Ladyship, I would be grateful to see my sister again. Oh, and Charlotte will be there too!" She thought happily.
The next few days passed quickly, though she could sense Fitzwilliam's tension around her. She could not wait to see Jane when they got to Rosings and discuss her worries with the only person she felt that she could speak openly with. Though, she had known her life as Mrs Darcy would not be an easy start, she had not thought on how she would miss lively companionship, or the comfort of a warm embrace.
An express to Longbourn, two excepted invitations and three days hence, Mr and Mrs Darcy pulled up at Rosing's Park. Elizabeth had wished Jane and Mary would have been able to meet them in London so that they could arrive together, but it could not be. Her sisters were to arrive the following week. According to Jane's letter, neither she nor Mary were allowed to leave before the Christmas assembly in Meryton!
The carriage lurching to a stop brought Elizabeth from her musings. Glancing from the carriage window, she saw the large and looming building that was Rosings. It appeared to be manicured with an inch of its life, sacrificing any natural charm. Would this be what Pemberley looked like? They had no more that put their feet to the gravel pathway outside the main entrance than a booming voice accosted them.
"Is that my nephew? What is taking him so long!" the voice demanded.
A came prodded through the dark entryway as the same voice bellowed, "Move!" at the staff crowding the front steps. Then out came harsh looking woman in every respect. The Lady wore head to black lace over a deep purple dress with a large skirt. He black lace cap, appeared almost as a veil fluttering around her withered pale skin, her piercing blue eyes held an almost transparentness to them that she had once seen on the face of a blind man – though this Lady could most certainly see, and instead it gave a ghostly aura to her.
"Lady Catherine, you need not have come out in such a manner to greet us."
Ignoring Fitzwilliam's admonishment, she scraped her cane heavily as she made her way towards them with more speed than Elizabeth would have assumed her capable.
"Is this her?" she said down her pointed nose.
"If by her you mean my wife? Then yes aunt, this is Mrs Elizabeth Darcy." Fitzwilliam said and Lady Catherine's gaze flickered to him and softened almost imperceptibly until it shrivelled into a disapproving look. Turning away from him she stepped almost toe to toe with Elizabeth, who refused to be intimidated and held her ground.
Lady Catherine snatched at her pocket and examined Elizabeth through an ornate quizzing glass as they stood waiting in plain sight of all, even a gardener to the left was so caught up in their conversation he failed to notice that there was no more hedge to trim where he held his sheers.
"Well, I see why my nephew brooked no refusal at following through with wretched shamble of a marriage. No doubt you did what you could to entice his... admiration." The cameo pearl necklace about her neck moving as the veins in her neck bulged.
"Not at all aunt, I assure you. Elizabeth refused my first offer, and, in the end, it was I who had to entice her."
"You are even more intelligent than I had estimated gal! I shall not be caught in such discomfort twice. I will receive you on the morrow to discuss how to comport yourself now that you are a married woman." Lady Catherine said, already turning away when Elizabeth spoke.
"I should like to think Ma'am that now we have formed a union. My husband and I need no further influence into how we manage our lives together - but I thank you for your concern." Then turning to a slightly wide-eyed Fitzwilliam, she added. "I think I should like to take a walk, Fitzwilliam. You know how I get after being cooped up for too long. Will join me once you have made arrangements for our things?"
"Of course, dear. There is a nice walk if you take that path to the left and follow it across and around the grove. I will find you shortly." He said with no little pride in his eyes.
"Hmph, very well. But do not take too long. Your cousins Percy and James will be keen to see you, as is my dear Anne. Richard is here too, though we have hardly seen him." Lady Catherine complained. "Matlock and his wife have gone to fetch your horrid Aunt Dorothea! If it were not bad enough with my Anne's health in decline…"
Elizabeth walked away not wishing to hear the scornful woman drone on and on with complaints, and no longer feeling guilty at her temper getting the better of her with the dragon aunt. She was unsure of whether she liked or disliked the Lady for not being angry with her. Then again, she might not be cross with her because she did not care to know her… How would she cope spending a whole fortnight here for Christmas?!
A few moments later Elizabeth felt the slight damp coming through to her stockings as she squelched across a particularly sodden part of the path. Likely her new light boots were ruined but she did not wish to lose a moment to have some time with her husband. Finding a wooden bench just outside of the hedge maze, Elizabeth perched upon it and decided to wait for Fitzwilliam find her. Distracting herself by blowing shapes in the smoke from her breath in the air she heard a muffled sound behind her.
Looking over her shoulder at the hedges surrounded the path, Elizabeth paused and strained her ears, but all was quiet. Shrugging she turned to face forwards when she heard the sound again… it sounded like a woman was crying. Unable to ignore her the possibility someone may be hurt or lost in the maze, she walked along the outside of the hedges bordering the lawn until she found an opening.
Stopping after a few steps she listened until more sounds of sobs and gasps beckoned her deeper. She had not gone very far until she rounded the corner to find two figures were locked in an embrace. A woman, her body facing away with her back pressed tightly against the front of a man's frame. He clutched her breast with one hand while his other hand bunched under her skirts. The woman let out a strangled cry. In a flash, the man brought the hand from her breast to grasp at her throat as he began grunt and thrust, the woman's toes only just managing to keep purchase on the ground.
Elizabeth went to turn when she heard the strangled choke of the woman, "Please, Richard. I can't, please."
Elizabeth swallowed; her throat clogged with fear. She had caught Richard forcing a woman, but he wouldn't, he couldn't!
"You are mine and I will do what the hell I want with you. You belong to me Charlotte." Growled the voice that was unmistakably Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, as the woman reached around to rip at his hair.
"Richard, p-please I beg you," she gurgled.
"How pretty you are when you beg Charlotte – "
"Charlotte!" gasped Elizabeth as realisation knocked the breath from her.
"Richard!" Darcy bellowed, his sudden appearance halting Elizabeth from charging into battle to save her friend.
"What the- "gasped Richard releasing Charlotte and yet still trying to shield her with his body as he pulled her skirts down.
Turning in shock to face them, Charlotte both flushed bright red and had the blood drain from her face at the same time, as she hurriedly tried to right her clothing. Richard kept his back to them doing the same thing.
"Charlotte?" she gasped again but her friend would not look at her, then turning her attention to Richard she stormed forward, "Were you forcing her?" She demanded slapping him with a resounding whack across the cheek, the sound, harsh and ugly, echoed throughout the area. He slowly turned his head back to look at her. When he failed to answer Elizabeth shoved at him, causing him to stumble.
"No, Lizzy, no!" cried Charlotte. "I wanted… we both wanted… he wasn't forcing me." She trailed off bringing her hands to her crimson cheeks.
"But he was strangling you!"
"No - I mean yes… but h-he wasn't hurting me…Oh God. Please do not make me say it, Lizzy." She said in barely a whisper.
"But you are married!" Elizabeth cried aghast.
"I know," came Charlotte's small squeak.
"Richard, see Mrs Collins home and we shall discuss this later, yes?" said Mr Darcy directly.
Richard was still rubbing at his jaw when he gave a quick nod and moved towards Charlotte, who flinched away from his touch. Instead, she moved towards Elizabeth.
"We were going to stop after Christmas, Lizzy, I swear it."
But Elizabeth was too shocked by what she had seen to utter a word. Richard moved forward and guided Charlotte out of the maze, picking the odd twig from her hair as they went, speaking in hushed tones.
A hot, prickly feeling broke out on the back of Elizabeth's neck. She could feel her husband's presence radiating from behind her. The shock of what they had been doing receding now she was starting to acknowledge the force of the passion she has just witnessed.
"Come Elizabeth." He said gently.
Mind whirring, Elizabeth struggled to keep herself moving as Fitzwilliam led her along the path. The way Richard had been handling Charlotte had been so primal, so bestial, so dominating and Charlotte so submissive... and Fitzwilliam had not seemed shocked, or had he? She hadn't taken much time to look at her husband. What did he think of what he saw? Did he disapprove or was his heart racing with unsatisfied anticipation like hers? Did her husband have similar inclinations and that was why he had not come to her rooms at night?
His deep voice interrupted her musings. "I can hear you thinking, Elizabeth."
"That is ridiculous," she retorted automatically.
"Do you wish to speak to me of what we saw?"
Elizabeth had been about to tell him the answer that was expected of her, but suddenly weary and tired of trying to be perfect had her doing the opposite.
"I would. But in private." She replied to the point.
With a curt nod he resumed his pace and moved them so that they entered Rosing's estate from a side door in the furthest corner of the house, and further still up a narrow staircase until they entered what appeared to be a small office and closed the door after them. The room was clean and held two small bookshelves, and a heavy oak desk.
"This was my uncle's housekeeper's office, though it is hardly ever used now…" said Fitzwilliam walking over to spark a fire in the grate. Brushing his hands, he turned and found Elizabeth exactly as she was when they had entered. "Are you well?" he asked a little uncertainly.
Drawing in a deep breath, "I think I am in shock from thinking my friend was being attacked by Cousin Richard." She gaped.
"But not that you caught your friend with a man who is not her husband?"
Her eyes snapped to him in a glare.
Breathing a heavy sigh, "When did you start censoring your speech?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"I understand that you and I are not on the best footing, but I need to know what happened. What I did to offend you? When or what made you stop speaking your mind?"
"I have never heard of someone being condemned for being thoughtful of speech!" she retorted her frustration flaring.
"Elizabeth, you have put walls up against me since we said our vows and I cannot fathom why. I have tried to be close to you, I have tried giving you space…" He said pushing his hands through his hair roughly. "Unless you were putting across a pretty picture so your relatives would not worry for your happiness with me I am stumped. Was it all a pretence?" he asked turning his back to look to the window.
"I overheard you." Elizabeth said after an exaggerated pause in a small voice.
He turned then; brow furrowed in confusion. "You overheard me?"
For a long torturous moment, she said nothing. "Yes, your conversation with the Earl of Matlock at our ball at Netherfield. He was sure I was a brazen woman and even went so far as to call me a country trollop. I am not cross with you. I heard your staunch defence of me. I know that could not have been comfortable or easy. I am not what he called me, and I vowed I would not behave that way. My mother told me what is expected of me, how I am to behave as Mrs Darcy. It is not easy when all you need do is look at me and I feel all a flutter and my knees grow weak. And when I saw Charlotte and Colonel Fitzwilliam… it shocked me when I thought he was hurting her, and it shocked me even more when I then craved to be so uninhibited with you. So, you see… your uncle was correct…" Chancing a look at him she saw something dangerous flash in his gaze. "I am not sure what is wrong with me, but I should never wish to disappoint you, my husband."
"Oh Elizabeth, you've nothing of which to be ashamed, nothing at all." He said his expression sad, displaying the torment he had been feeling. "I have never listened to the Earl, and I encourage you not to, either."
"Do not try to make me feel better, I know your expectations of your wife." cheeks heated. "You do not come to me. Not even for conversation – "
"I thought I made you uncomfortable and that you were merely tolerating my presence." Fitzwilliam admitted.
"Fitzwilliam, you could not be farther from the truth. I crave your touch like a starving woman in – "
She was cut off when Fitzwilliam brought his hands to her cheeks and kissed her hard upon the lips silencing her. Pulling back, he looked down at her shocked face, giving her a small grin before claiming her lips hungrily. His kiss unleashed all of their pent-up emotions and misunderstandings, on and on until Elizabeth felt lightheaded. His fingers moved into her hair, making it tumble from its style, sending pins scattering. Awkwardly, her hands hung uselessly at her sides, unsure of how to occupy themselves. Wrapping her hair around his forearm so he could angle her head to look up at him, he moved Elizabeth backwards until she startled a little as her bottom connected with the edge of the desk.
Grip tightening, "Do not hold back on me, my Lizzy." Ducking to brush his lips fleetingly over hers, he whispered. "Touch me." The words a firm command more than a request making Elizabeth's core aflame with that maddening pulsing.
His grip tightened a little more in her hair and she realised he would not kiss her until she did as he bade. He was forcing her to yield, and she was willing to give him anything he wanted just to have him kiss her once again. Bringing her palms to rest upon his chest she felt his muscles jump and flex. Trailing her hands up towards his neck she revelled in watching his pupils dilate until his restraint snapped and he claimed her mouth with raw, dark need, opening her so he could capture her tongue and draw on it, suckling her the way he might a candy stick.
"Oh!" She gasped into his mouth as he lifted her and placed her to sit upon her desk before parting her legs and claiming his place between them. Lust rushed through her veins, heavy and thick, and her lips parted as she exhaled. Gazing at him he was pure sin with his hair in disarray, dark eyes, cheeks flushed, and lips swollen from their kisses.
"Too much?" he murmured in a husky tone as he pressed slow, open-mouthed kisses to her cheek and neck. His tongue chasing a sensitive spot below her ear.
"N-no," she shivered on a broken sigh.
Without warning stopped his caresses. For a moment she worried they were done, but he let his gaze travel the length of her. "I want you," he rumbled.
"Yes," she breathed, ready to give him almost anything if he'd just continue kissing her.
"Here in this study."
"Yes." she gasped.
Fitzwilliam's hand glided over her knee, under her dress, along her stockings, until he reached her bare thigh. His fingers played there, on her naked skin, dancing, and teasing, while his mouth kept up the assault on her senses.
Boldly she pulled at his cravat causing both to giggle when it knotted. Moving to help her "Raise your skirts for me, Lizzy."
Elizabeth froze a fraction, her breathing laboured as she looked up at him demurely through her lashes. Then slowly and a little uncertainly she moved her hands to her thighs using the tips of her fingers to slowly inch her skirts up. The sight of Fitzwilliam stole her breath away when he stepped back to watch her with hooded eyes. The movement of his now naked throat when he swallowed and sucked in a ragged breath, as more and more of her stocking clad legs were revealed. He reached out to pull her bottom lip from between her teeth.
"You always bite this when you are uncertain and trust me when I tell you it has tormented me no end since we met." His breath hitched when she brought her teeth down onto his thumb licked the digit with her tongue.
My Minx!
He clasped her exposed thighs above her stocking clad legs firmly. Growling he pulled her forward on the desk and wrapped her legs about his hips. Elizabeth leaned forward to kiss him, but he pulled back holding her jaw and forcing her to look up at him. He needed to be certain she was true and earnest when she voiced her desire for him.
Desire darkened her eyes, a tiny gasp escaping her lips. She was magnificently responsive, and he had barely touched her. So easily affected by him. More blood pumped to his groin, hardening him further beneath his clothing. He reached the apex of her thighs, his fingers playing with the slit in her drawers and feeling the heat of her and she gasped. His touch was gentle, coaxing, where he knew she craved it most. Watching her intently he allowed the tip of his finger circled the tiny sensitive nub, stroking it and sending her arousal soaring her hands clung to his arms. Moving his hands higher to the top of her drawers, untying them he pulled them from her lifting her bodily from the desk to do so. The muscles in his arms flexing through the movements effortlessly. He broke away to suck and nibble at her bottom lip erotically. Arching he felt her core brush against his painfully hard erection, her actions stuttering at the contact.
"May I see it?" Every muscle froze and all the moisture fled his mouth.
"It?" He asked knowing full well what she referred to.
Embarrassed she hid her face in his neck but then surprised him by whispering in his ear.
"I want to see you, all of you Fitzwilliam."
Merciful heaven.
He growled. "I promise you shall but tonight. Right now, I am impatient." he murmured against her throat, his tongue dipping into the hollow at the base where her pulse fluttered wildly.
Looking up at her he saw the small pout of her lips and slight blush staining her cheeks. He realised then that it must have taken much courage to speak so plainly to him. Reaching behind him to release the grip of her legs, he stepped back a fraction. Next, he clasped her wrists gently and brought them to fall of his breeches.
"Open my breeches, Elizabeth." he whispered.
With trembling fingers, he watched her focused expression as she tried her best to work the buttons free. The weight of his erection pulling the fabric tight and making her task more difficult. Fitzwilliam said nothing, and neither did he assist her. He was both in heaven and being tortured at the same time with every brush of her fingers. He did not wish to startle her, this was after all, only the second time of them being intimate with one another. Finally, Elizabeth worked the last button free, his chest now rising and falling with the force of his breaths. he widened his legs, spreading her legs further as he sprung free from his breeches.
At first, she just looked at it, then curiosity took over she reached out and stroked the tip of him. The brief contact making him jump and she snatched her hand back. It was definitely larger than the Greek statues that are present in most galleries and the larger estate gardens. Without a doubt a mere leaf would not be able to cover his considerable member. However, does he contain such a thing within his breeches? It appeared to have a life of its own.
"Don't stop, Elizabeth." He groaned his voice a silky whisper.
"I am not sure how to please you. How do I touch you Fitzwilliam?" she asked innocently seductive.
Suddenly Elizabeth found herself being pressed back onto the surface of the desk, with him towering over her an instant before he sealed his mouth to hers in a punishing kiss. He devoured her. He was showing her all the passion, all the lust inside him, and she had to prove that she could accept it. Prove that she wanted it. Elizabeth never could resist a challenge. She kissed him back just as eagerly, with just as much fervour, their lips and teeth crashing into one another as their mouths worked. It was messy, almost angry, and she loved every minute of it. Her eyes glazed over, and a breathy moan escaped her lips, and her husband smiled.
She sighed, then inhaled sharply as he slid one finger into her entrance with his thumb tracing maddening circles over the sensitive bundle of nerves. He slowed, kissing her hard and deep. Mimicking what he was doing with his skilled fingers beneath her skirts. Elizabeth could hardly think, hardly breathe as he teased her, his finger moving in and out of her body to drive her higher. She broke away from his mouth, her head falling back, panting, as the pleasure built. He added another finger, stretching her, preparing her.
Cold air suddenly rushed over her flesh of her breast before his warm palm covered it and pushed up to allow his lips to tease the generous curve of flesh he had exposed. She arched her back, desperate for more, her breasts tender and sore and aching for him. A raw cry tore from her lips. Elizabeth faintly registered his smile against her sensitized flesh, then gave her a few more licks before moving on to free and lavish her other breast with the same kind of devastating attention. Threading her fingers into the thick silk of his hair, she pressed him closer, urging him to seek out exactly the right spots. Wet heat pooled between her legs when he did, a hungry, empty ache throbbing in her core that cried out to be filled.
Trembling, she bit her lip to hold back a quavering moan, but he wouldn't allow her to stay silent, capturing her mouth again to draw out the sound. Growling in obvious appreciation, rolling his hips into her to tease her most sensitive flesh. Each brush made her gasp, the pleasure spreading down to her toes, but it wasn't enough. She burned, her skin both hot and cool at the same time, and she'd never felt so empty. So desperate.
"Fitzwilliam," she breathed, moving her hips in time with his.
Panting and clutched his shoulders, delirious with the intense pleasure that removed any last reservations about what they were doing. She needed this. She wanted everything he could give her and more. The desire to please him, to join his body to hers, took over. Needing to touch his bare flesh, she slipped her hands under his shirt, delighting in the play of warm, smooth skin layered over taut muscle and hard bone. He seemed to approve, moaning low in his throat at her increasingly bold strokes.
Then Elizabeth felt the hot smooth tip of him at her entrance as he sank into her, slow and deep. Elizabeth closed her eyes tight, feeling her body tighten around him and waiting for the pain she had felt the last time.
"Look at me."
Opening her eyes, she looked into her husband's penetrating gaze as he slid to the hilt within her slick heat. The connection sending a clutter of pleasure through her stomach and none of the pain she had anticipated. Her expression one of wonder as she looked down at their joined bodies.
"God," he moaned, his hands moving to hold her hips. "You feel like heaven, Lizzy."
She opened her mouth to reply, but her words broke off with a soft cry of pleasure as he moved against her slowly pulling out of her, before he thrust home again in a long stroke. She began to squirm needing more, her nails scoring the flesh of his back and he obliged her unwitting demand. The pace of his powerful hips increasing as he moved in and out of her again and again. She whimpered and mewled when he took her by her buttocks tilting her at an angle the stole all coherent thought from her. Her body climbing impossibly higher, she felt the delicious tension inside her reach a point where she felt as though her being would shatter.
"Fitzwilliam," she let out in a long moan.
Then Sinking his teeth into the sensitive flesh where her neck and shoulder met at the same instant his fingers found the sensitive nub at the apex of her womanhood, she fell, her body spasmed as her walls convulsed, white light exploding behind her eyes. An almost animalistic growl sounded through his chest as he began to thrust with more urgency until his movements became erratic until he stiffened, a groan escaping from deep in his chest, a low and thrilling sound, as he shuddered and poured himself into her.
"My God," Fitzwilliam wheezed trying to catch his breath. "I hadn't thought to take you like this when I brought you up here." He pushed her hair back from her face in a gentle caress. "I don't know what came over me. You must think me a complete cad." he murmured, his lashes falling against his cheeks as he struggled for composure.
"No, Fitzwilliam, this was the most wonderful experience." She sighed as brought her head to rest upon his shoulder as they stayed joined together, neither willing to break the connection.