Chapter 17 – Restraint and Recreation

The surface of his desk was a muddle of books, documents and scribbles on tablets of lined paper. Frustrated, Matthew leaned back in his chair and tossed his fountain pen onto his desk. He had been struggling with his work for the past week. It didn't help that the air in his office was stale and static, and his ability to concentrate was all but completely dissipated. Except, of course, when he thought of her. Right or wrong, he believed that she was at the root of his scattered mind.

Matthew rose from behind his desk and walked to the window. Every night, he sat beside Mary at dinner amid the food, the wine and the banter. Every night for the past two weeks, he could see but not touch; he could smell but not taste. Then, after hours under Cora's imperious surveillance, he would trudge home to another sleepless night. The pendulum had swung from the sublime to the idiotic. It was maddening.

Cousin Cora's intentions had been clear from the first evening of the "New Order". Somehow she had ensured that Mary would never be alone with him. Carson was practically omnipresent, and if it was not Carson, it was one of the footmen. The evening before last, he thought that Mary might have slipped through the net. He had arrived early for dinner and stole a glimpse into the library. She was sitting near the window, looking more beautiful than ever. He strode quickly to meet her, but Cora materialized behind him as if conjured from the air. She ushered them to the drawing room, herding them like a couple of stray sheep.

He wondered if Mary suffered through it as he did. It was hard to tell. Mary's defining characteristic was her cool sophistication. In the company of others, she was unlikely to let down her guard, and if she had weakened, he had not seen it. He alone knew how hot-blooded she could be. In fact, her intensity transported him. Something in the way she moved, in the sounds that she made, steeped his blood in desire for her. Standing in his office, he lost himself dwelling on it. He became aroused beyond all reasonable measure, considering there was little he could do to gratify himself. Enough. Matthew grabbed his coat and hat. He walked out of his office, single-minded of purpose.

When he arrived at the house, he did not announce his entry. He opened the glass doors that led into the hall. His heart was in his throat. It was too much to hope that she would be here alone and without a chaperone. Carson arrived. "Mr. Crawley, forgive me. I did not hear the bell," he said to him.

Matthew smiled at him transiently. "I hadn't rung the bell, Carson," Matthew told him. "I was hoping that I could hook up quickly with Lady Mary. Is she in?"

"I'm sorry, but no, she is not, sir," Carson replied with regret. "She is out riding. But Lord Grantham is in the library, if you care to wait for her."

Matthew paused to assess his next play. "Thank you, but no. Please let Lady Mary know that I was here," he replied. "I will see her at dinner, Carson. Good day."

"Of course. Good day, sir."

Matthew exited the front door and immediately made his way around the house to the stables. His gait was steady and purposeful. The yard was empty but for a young stable hand. Relieved of any need to explain his motives, he looked for the mare that he favoured as he entered the stables. His heart raced. It made no sense, but he felt certain that Mary was waiting for him. He meant to find her.

After gearing his horse, he mounted and headed onto the same path that he and Mary had followed at least twice before. The cool breeze was a welcome change to the stagnant air of his office. He felt alive, invigorated. The horse seemed to catch onto his enthusiasm and she responded with liveliness to his signals. They galloped through the long grasses of the meadow and slowed as they entered the thicker brush.

When Matthew finally came upon the cottage, he looked about, hoping to see some sign of her. Finding none, he hesitated. His mare snorted impatiently as he brought her to a solid halt. He needed some respite from his ride. He dismounted and tethered his horse to a nearby tree. He looked at the cottage and made his way down the path to the entrance. He tried the door. It opened more easily than it had in the past. He pushed on it and stepped across the threshold, ducking his head under the shallow doorway.

There she was. "Matthew," she uttered. She stood up from her seat at the small oak table across from the cot.

"Mary," he answered softly. All of his muscles weakened in concert. He walked to her quickly and they embraced. He pressed her against him, his hands on her hips. "What are you doing here?" he whispered in her ear.

She pulled away from him and looked into his eyes. "I came here to find you. I imagined that I might meet you here sooner or later." Smiling, she reached up and took off his hat. "And, you see, I was right." She placed his hat on the table behind her. She ran her fingers through his hair as she stared into his eyes.

Matthew would not relinquish his hold on her. "Why did you not tell me?" he asked her. His eyes took in her hair, her lips and the length of her neck.

"When would I have the chance, Matthew?" She smiled at him. "You know as well as I do that she has been reigning over us like the Ice Queen." She brought her hand up to his face and stroked his cheek. He lowered his face to hers, grazing her lips with his. "She's not here now," Matthew reminded her softly.

"No," Mary whispered, breathing him in. "She's not." She went to kiss him but he pulled away slightly, keeping his lips just out of her reach. He smiled. "You mustn't, Mary," he warned her gently. "Do you know where it will lead?" He brought his hand to her lips and traced them with his fingers. Mary swallowed. "Where, Matthew?" she murmured.

He brought his lips close to hers again and whispered, "Shall I show you?" He came closer and licked her lips slowly. Her taste was distinct: fruity and minty, like a candy. He wanted to freeze time. He picked her up by her waist and placed her on the table. Standing between her knees, he kissed her fully on the lips, plunging his tongue into her mouth. His hands pulled up on her skirt until the edge of it lay across her thighs and he felt Mary catch her breath. His fingertips crept beneath the fabric to her garters. When he came upon the flesh of her upper thighs, he sighed long and low. "Mary, I have waited so long for you. These days and nights have been torturous," he said softly. "Do you know that?"

"Yes, Matthew," she whispered. "Absolutely torturous." She breathed in quickly as his hands slipped underneath her drawers. "I have longed for your touch so much, Matthew." She bent her head down and raised her skirt to her waist. Matthew watched as she undid the snaps of each garter in turn and rolled down her stockings. He leaned over and took off each of her shoes, and the stockings followed. She watched Matthew run his hands up and down the front of her bare thighs. They kissed again, their tongues hungry for each other.

Matthew caressed her legs one last time before he grabbed the stray chair and pulled it towards him. He sat down facing her, her legs on either side of him. Mary stared down at him; her eyes were bottomless black pools. He slid his hands upwards along the silkiness of her inner thighs. Fingers sliding beneath her drawers again, he sought her heat. Despite his hunger for her, he was determined to take his time. He looked to Mary. "Yes, Matthew," she whispered. She leaned back. He began to finger her gently with his right hand. Mary whimpered softly, very softly. He probed her until he found what he was looking for. He looked into her eyes again. They were wide and wanting him. "Don't stop," she whispered desperately. With his left hand, he rubbed her mound gently. The fingers of his right hand were wet and hot within her. Time had stopped, and he was caught up in her course to rapture.

Mary was breathing rapidly. My God, this is delicious, she thought. If he continued to handle her like this, she would not be able to hold back. She bit on her bottom lip with the effort of her restraint. She moaned, "Oh no, Matthew, not yet." He kept at her. "Oh, please..." she cried out. Matthew felt the shudders of her climax with his fingers. He pulled back her drawers with his left hand and bent forward for a taste. Mary wrapped her legs around his neck. She pressed herself against his open mouth. She quivered again suddenly in a second round of bliss. She gasped. "Oh, my," she breathed.

Matthew kissed the inside of her thighs and gently extricated himself from her tender trap. He rose and pulled her to him. He held her gently as she recovered her senses. She rested her head against his chest, breathing heavily. "Matthew, how do you know so well how to please me?" she asked him softly. She raised her head to look at him and he lowered his lips to hers. She opened her mouth for him. He wanted to drink her in; his tongue licked the edges of her lips, her teeth, and her tongue. With his hand at the back of her head, he pressed her mouth even more firmly against his. Her lips were trembling. Mary was amazed at the depth of her craving for him. Minutes after her last release, she wanted him yet again. But this time, she wanted his quintessence, the core of him. They had not yet broken their embrace when Mary lowered her hands to his waist. She felt for the buttons of his jacket and began to undo it.

It was Matthew that broke away first. His haste betrayed his waning ability to hold himself in check. He completed the undoing and threw his jacket on the floor. Mary's fingers began to work on the buttons at the front of his pant as Matthew watched. She released his suspenders, reached into his briefs, and grabbed him forcefully. The two of them gasped in quick succession. "Mary, you are so perfect. Do you know how perfect you are?" he murmured.

"Take me, Matthew," she urged him breathlessly. She leaned back on her arms and moved her hips forward, her mouth open. Matthew guided himself to her and penetrated her gently. He slipped inside her so easily, as if he was the missing piece, like he belonged there. The heat and the creaminess of her drove him mad. Impossibly, he found his footing and began to slide himself back and forth ever so slowly. He watched himself enter her and draw back. He would not last long. He closed his eyes. He wanted to hold onto it and endure, to marinate in her sublimely wet and hot canal. He swallowed and took in the sight again. He thrust himself into her. Mary exclaimed softly, "Yes, Matthew, oh, yes..." With slow deliberation, he drew back and thrust again. "Oh...Matthew," she whispered blissfully. Her head was back, her skirt raised wantonly about her waist. He was holding onto her thighs when he arrived at the point of no return. "Oh, Mary...you are so beautiful," he gasped. His hips moved faster. "I can't stop it," he whispered to her passionately. It was his turn. He let out a soft low groan as he went off inside of her, his hands in a firm grip around each of her thighs. "My God, Mary," he breathed as his rapture subsided in waves.

He stayed inside of her. He was panting. He pulled her towards him and she draped her arms about his neck. They held onto each other tightly. Only seconds had slipped by when Mary spoke, "I can't go back there, Matthew." She drew back from him and looked into his eyes. "We belong together." He touched his forehead to hers. He pulled out of her.

Matthew agreed. 'Things cannot go on as they have," he said definitively. He bent down, grabbed his pant waist and started to dress himself. Mary gestured to him, "My stockings, Matthew, please." He picked them up from the floor and handed them to her. He watched her as she replaced them, sheathing each slender long limb in turn. Her head was bent down as she fastened her garters. At once, he wanted to unfasten them and start again. He leaned over to her and kissed her, fully and fervidly. She kissed him back with equal vigour. Their plans could wait.