Chapter 3: "Two Weeks," by FKA Twigs

Marianne stepped into the new blue room, where a fire had been lit. Marianne lit a candle and began searching through the cabinets and drawers for all the things her mother and sister had been working on so diligently. She reluctantly rang Bess (for even if she could get out of this dress herself, she wasn't sure her hands would stop shaking long enough not to rip it). The older woman promptly came in, smiled at her, and took the candle from her nervous grasp.

"Let me help you with your dress, ma'am."

Bess carefully helped her remove her wedding gown. Marianne's anxious bladder quickly directed her legs to the chamber pot behind a screen in the corner, and when she emerged, after taking a short minute to scrub herself frantically at the basin as she knew she had been perspiring all day, Bess helped her with her stays. Marianne, unbound, took off her shift and asked Bess to find her favourite ivory chemise, wherever it had been laid-but when she slipped it over her head, the sheer, almost transparent cotton, the delicate detail of lace at the bodice, and the additional lace at the hemline that fell just above her knees, seemed to her to be too revealing. How could she appear in front of the Colonel like this? The dignified, respectable gentleman would be scandalized, surely-she started stripping the garment over her head and asking Bess to help her find something more modest. The serving woman laughed at her. "Keep that one on, I'd say."

"In your professional opinion, Bess, do you think… do you think he'll think I'm… loose? If I wear this one?"

"In my professional opinion? I don't think he'll be doing much thinking at all if you wear that one."

"Oh." Marianne blushed. "So I should…"

"Wear that one. Don't worry, dear. You won't be wearing it long."

"Bess?"

"Hmm?" Bess answered, her mouth full of the pins from Marianne's elaborate hairstyle as she helped her free her red-brown curls.

"Do you think...will it hurt?"

"It may. Your mother told you it hurts?"

She nodded.

Bess sized her up, spat the pins into her hand, and put them on the vanity. "If he does it right, it might not hurt. Try to guide him into going slow, if you can."

Marianne blushed. "Thank you, Bess."

"He's been a good friend, a good master, to me, and to my husband for even longer. I think he'll be good to you."

"I know he will."

"I believe you are ready. Ring if you need me." And Bess stepped out into the hallway.

Marianne felt her breathing quicken and her pulse race. She eased open the door to the dressing room, where she saw her husband-her husband! hanging up his coat, his back turned to her. His boots were off, as were his stockings, and she saw them in a hastily discarded pile in the corner. She stepped into the room, strode over to him, and put a hand on the back of his waistcoat. He jumped. "Good God, woman!"

He turned.

"...Holy fuck," were the words that he said when he saw her.

There was no phrase in the entirety of the English language that could have articulated his emotions more clearly.

"Sorry," he said after a moment, rubbing his eyes and running a hand through his hair. "It's just...you look...dear heaven."

"Do I...do I please you?" she asked, her voice catching. "Or…"

"Oh, yes. Yes, you please me." And he caught her in his arms, his mouth finding hers in hungry desperation. His hands clasped her to him as he guided her backwards, roughly, forcefully, his arms cushioning the blow as he shoved her back against the wall and lowered his mouth to her neck. "God, yes. Oh, God, Marianne."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, as he began to tug at her hips. She felt something unknown as yet brush against her belly through his trousers, something her body recognized though her mind did not. She bucked her hips into his, grinding against him involuntarily.

"Mother of God," he gasped. He held onto her still but edged away ever so slightly. "We ought to… I should…" He couldn't finish a sentence. He barely had a coherent thought in his head. "Bed," he said. "If-if you want."

She nodded, wide-eyed. God, she thought, the power that his hands had on her. He wielded them once more to turn her around and point her body to the doorway into his chamber, running up and down the length of her sides and hips through the soft fabric as he did so and just barely brushing his fingertips against the undersides of her breasts. She gasped, which caused him to lose control momentarily again, thrusting his own hips against her so that he was pressed against the soft flesh of her backside.

She took his hands and brought them up, blushing to herself at her own boldness, and placed them over her breasts. His breath hot against her neck, he moaned gently as he ran his fingers across her nipples through the fabric and then gently squeezed, his hips still moving against her slowly but perceptibly. His teeth bit into her neck as he caressed her, tentatively at first, and then when she didn't protest, he dragged them across her skin, applied light suction with his mouth, lapped at her pinkened flesh with his tongue, and then nibbled again, covering her mostly-bare shoulders and the areas of her neck that he could reach from behind her with his hungry, eager kisses. She placed his hands over her own, encouraging him with a murmur of consent. From her breasts, their hands traveled together to her stomach, her hips, the fronts of her thighs, and back upward.

"Bed," he articulated gruffly, after his mouth and hands had explored a while. He backed away from her, placed a hand on the small of her back, and marched her forward into the bedroom. His own fireplace had been lit, and the room was aglow with a warm light. Their bodies cast shadows against the white walls. She turned around, put up her hands, and stopped him in his tracks.

"Wait."

He raised an eyebrow. "Please, God, don't tell me you've changed your mind."

She laughed, her joy suddenly bubbling up through the new sensations he was awakening in her. "Lord no. I-I want this. But…"

"But?"

"I don't know exactly what it is you want me to do. You'll have a lot of teaching to do."

He smiled down at her, that wry, self-deprecating smile, and said, "Marianne, as much as it is an embarrassment to myself to say this, I'm not sure you'll really need to do much of anything tonight. I'm...it's been a very long time for me. I don't think it's going to take much. God, even just looking at you in that...that thing you're wearing...oh, Christ, I can't control myself."

"Would it help if I...wasn't wearing it anymore?"

He laughed. "It depends on what problem you're trying to solve. Maybe leave it on for now so as not to tempt me into taking things so quickly that you're not fully ready."

"Well, alright, but…"

"Hmm?"

"Can I at least see you? Will you...um…remove…" Her heart thudded as she tried to articulate her desire.

"You want me to… to take off my clothes?"

She nodded, looking down, and the delicate pink shade of her cheeks when she avoided his gaze made his heart ache. "If you want to," she said.

"Would you… like to help me?"

"Oh!" She looked up at him. "I could-I don't know where to begin."

He led her to the chairs in front of the fireplace and sat down in his accustomed seat. He sat her down on the ottoman which he'd pulled directly in front of him, and placed her hands on the top button of his white waistcoat. As she struggled with shaky hands to unbutton him, he watched her with heavy-lidded eyes. Her concentration as she worked her fingers reminded him of the way she played-biting her lip and furrowing her brow-and he had to stop her and hold her hands against his chest and kiss her. "I love you," he said. "Whatever happens tonight, know that I-"

"I know. I love you, as well." She smiled shyly, and then went back to work. When the waistcoat was unbuttoned and he leaned forward to remove it, she loosened and removed his cravat, unbuttoned his braces at his hip bones (and even this efficient movement, so close to the part of him that was insisting on her notice, was enough to make him squirm and expel his breath suddenly). She pulled at his shirt then, white and billowy as she loosed it from where it was tucked into his breeches, and he raised his arms to allow her to raise it over his head, feeling the tug as she freed the cuffs from his wrists.

Oh, my, she thought, looking at the unexplored country of his exposed skin. The first thing she noticed was its colour, a shade or three darker than her own, and she placed her hand tentatively on his chest to compare in wonder the contrast. When she did so, she found that she liked the feel, the lean muscle that covered him, as well as the fine layer of soft brown hair and the small nipples that stood at attention in their exposure to the cool air. His body was so different from her own and she relished it, scooting forward in the ottoman and taking both hands now, running them up and down his chest, his abdomen, and along his bare arms. When she came to the scar on his chest, closely diagonal to his heart, she looked up. His eyes were closed, his face enraptured as she touched him. She felt powerful suddenly-how many times had he seemed, during this interlude, to be nearly unmade by her? And she was so thoroughly affected by him as well. A tingling sensation between her legs, where she knew he would somehow enter her later, convinced her to straddle him on the chair where he sat so she could splay her hands out on his chest.

From where she knelt, she could see his back, taut and strong, and noticed a small something, black, on his left shoulder blade. On further inspection it was a drawing in ink-no, a tattoo. Marianne had never seen one in person, and must have gasped, because he looked up at her sheepishly. She touched her fingers to it but couldn't really make out the shape from this angle.

"What is that?" she asked curiously.

"A major life decision I made when I was nineteen," he replied, his voice filled with humour. "Still think it was a wise idea to marry me today?"

"Yes." She tilted his head up so she could touch her lips to his.

He reached around and anchored her with his hands, gripping her hips and sliding further back, cupping her bottom through the fabric of her chemise. The sensation of his warm hands on her was breathtaking, but when his hands lowered to reach around the backs of her thighs and his fingertips grazed the soft flesh on the inner part of her legs, even through the cotton material, she felt her whole world change. A guttural sound welled up from somewhere at her core and emerged, causing her to nearly lose her balance.

"Does that feel good? When I touch you there?" he asked, his words a faint whisper.

"Mmm," was all she could reply. It had felt so good she'd wanted to cry.

She continued her exploration, and he did as well, hands brushing along her thighs through her clothing. Soon he needed more. He reached down to the lace of her short gown and placed his hands underneath, easing fingers delicately upward to touch for the first time the bare flesh of her legs. When he reached the tops of her thighs, inches away from her sex, he felt moisture accumulated. God, she was soaking wet, and he had barely even touched her. This would probably kill him. This woman would be the death of him. He tried to catch his breath, cock throbbing insistently from where it stood up against his breeches beneath her own hot, inviting opening.

He stood up slowly, breaking up the delightful attentions she was lavishing on him, and she slid back with her feet on the ground. He pushed her onto the ottoman. Then, because it was becoming agonizing to be bound up thus, he reached down and unbuttoned his breeches, removing them. She was eye level with his cock, and the gasp she took when she saw it caused him some concern that perhaps she was frightened, until he saw the look in her eyes, which was one of dawning realization rather than fear. "Oh," she said. "I think I understand now."

He pulled her up to her feet, sidestepping his clothing which lay in a puddle on the floor, and backed her up into the bookshelf that lined the wall next to his hearth. "What do you understand, exactly?" he breathed into her mouth as he kissed her again.

"How...this...works."

"Enlighten me. How do you think this works?"

"You will take, um… this," and she touched two small fingers to his member, and he buckled, thrusting forward against her, and then she drew her fingers up the length of him and stroked him once, and he almost lost it right then, "and enter me with it."

"Would you like me to do that, Marianne?" he asked hoarsely.

"Y-yes," she stammered,.

"You want me to fuck you?" he whispered.

She nodded, meeting his eyes bravely. He closed his eyes, committing this moment to memory, and taking her lips by storm again. Then he moaned into her mouth as she wrapped her hand around him, satisfying her curiosity as to what his member was and what it could do, but causing him to worry that he'd come in her hand in a matter of moments if she continued. He grabbed her wrist and eased it off him,

"Not yet, love. I want you to-" he stopped, swallowed, trying to control his breathing. "I want you to get some pleasure out of this experience too."

"I am!" she insisted, her green eyes looking up lovingly at him. "This is all so very good."

"Yes, but… there is more pleasure yet, if you will let me show you."

"More?"

He nodded. "If I can do this right. I've never… Marianne, I don't know if I'm any good at any of this. I've never…"

"Christopher-I thought you said you'd done this before, long ago."

"Oh, I have. But never with anyone...anyone who loved me. Anyone whom I loved. Anyone whom I trusted to be honest with me. I don't know if I can please you. Will you tell me if I do something you don't like?"

She nodded. "Should I also tell you if you do something I do like?"

He smiled hopefully. "I'd love it if you did." He took her small hand in his large one, and led her to the bed. Before he sat her down, he tugged the hem of her chemise up, asking her, "May I?" She nodded, raising her arms to allow him to unclothe her, the faintest of blushes touching her cheeks.

He took a long minute to survey her nude form. This was easily the best his eyes had ever had it. He nearly swooned looking at her creamy, full breasts, the sweetly rounded little tummy that led down to a triangle of reddish-brown curls, the luscious, mouth-wateringly curving thighs that he imagined would feel like heaven if she used them to wrap around his arse as he buried himself inside her... "Marianne, why...why are you with me?" he said in wonder.

"If you don't touch me or do something soon, I'll start to wonder," she said, half-laughing.

He nodded, and eased her down onto the bed so she sat at the foot, encouraging her to lie back. Then he joined her, carefully avoiding placing his body against the length of her for fear it would cause his arousal to begin acting of its own accord. He kissed her mouth, and she moaned, and then he propped himself on his left elbow, lowered his head, and took a nipple into his mouth. He suckled her gently, delicately, and she made that whimpering sound in the back of her throat that he was growing quite fond of. His other hand came up to caress her other breast, flicking her nipple in his fingers, tracing the underside with his thumbnail, and she thrust her hips up in response. He looked down and saw that her legs had splayed open and that her own hands were gripping the bedclothes. She let go with her right hand and started to edge it towards her sex, and Brandon raised his head up and watched her for a minute, saw the tentative way she touched herself, as if she had never known her body could produce such sensations. She probably didn't, he reflected. Most women today are told it is a grave sin to do what she seemed not to be able to help herself from doing. I want to show her how good it can be to take pleasure in her body, he thought. One day soon I want to watch her explore herself, but right now I want to be the one to make her come.

He dipped his hand down from where it lay on her breast and traced the curves of her belly, finally meeting her own fingers at the delta of her body, when she stopped him. "Oh, Christopher," she said, sounding distressed. "I'm-I'm sorry, I don't know why-"

"Do you want me to touch you here?"

"Yes, of course, but...I don't know why I am suddenly…"

"Damp?"

She nodded.

"It's good. It means that you're enjoying yourself."

"Well, I definitely am, at that," she said softly. "It's not...unpleasant?"

He shook his head, and then began to stroke her. He found the small bud among her folds relatively quickly, and her eyes, which had glided closed, shot open with a start.

"Shh," he said, "Let me." She gripped the bedsheets again and began to pant and whimper, her body unused to the sensations he was providing but liking it very much.

Eventually she felt pressure begin to build up in her lower abdomen. "Oh, dear-oh-"

"Are you alright, darling?"

"I think...something's happening to me." It was an entirely alien sensation, like being about to faint, but still being aware of what was going on around her, the feel of his hand on her, and then, his thumb still circling her bud, he slipped a finger inside her, and she found that the sensation intensified tenfold. "God, what are you doing to me?"

"Do you like it?" he croaked, his eyes never leaving her face, her body.

"I-oh, God, I-I can't-oh, Christ!" she cried out, the pressure unfurling within her like an explosion of heat and joy.

He watched her come, and with everything his own body felt right now-mostly an intense, concentrated desire to be in her-he couldn't help but feel a fierce pride that he had claimed her. It was he to whom she'd cleaved, he in whose bed she now lay, undone.

But he wasn't finished with her yet. His finger, which remained inside her, was soon joined with a second one, and as she recovered herself, her face in her hands to try to calm her breathing, she felt the added pressure inside her body. She felt he was readying her to accept his manhood, and she relaxed into the sensation, spreading her legs wider in anticipation of what was to come. But he didn't take her yet. Instead, his fingers staying exactly where they were, he eased himself up off the bed and knelt down in front of her. And he took her swollen little bud and lapped at it with his tongue, causing her to scream out incoherently. In a matter of a couple of minutes she broke apart again as he tasted her, drank her in, and even still he felt he could stay here forever, and nibbled at the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs as her shudders slowly subsided.

"Oh, God, Christopher," she said a minute later, raising herself up on her elbows and looking down at him, where he knelt contentedly worshipping her. "Please."

"Hmm?" he hummed into her skin.

"Please come back up here." He stood up and sat next to her on the bed.

"You didn't enjoy-"

"Isn't it your turn?" she interrupted, her eyes darkened with expectation.

"You know we don't have to-"

"Yes, we do," she said. "I want you to..to…"

His gaze intensified as he met hers. "What do you want me to do? Say it."

"Will you please...please enter me?" Fuck me, she thought, though she was still too shy to use that word.

His eyes closed and he shivered. He asked, "Are you sure?"

She said, "Yes."

"I don't think we can turn back, afterwards."

"We've come too far to turn back now, anyway." She smiled, her whole face seeming relaxed, her eyes gleaming. He had done that to her, he realized. Now if only she knew what she did to him.

He eased her up further onto the bed, and he came to lay alongside her. He kissed her again, not thinking about where his mouth had been, but she didn't seem to mind and returned the kiss with all the love and vigor of a woman who was thoroughly besotted. Then he rose up above her, nudging her legs wide enough open that he could position himself between them. He used his hand to guide his cock to her entrance, and her nostrils flared. "I don't want to hurt you."

"It won't hurt long," she said, certain.

Slowly, gently, he felt her warmth envelop him as he glided inside of her. He met with no resistance, a sign that he hoped meant she had been ready for him. She might not even bleed. But he still needed to be careful, because his girth was being gripped tightly enough by her walls that he feared too much movement, too soon, would cause the sensitive tissue inside her to tear. Her sigh when he was in her fully, and the way her eyes never once left his face, caused a wave of emotion to overcome him. He lowered his head and touched his forehead to hers.

"How does it feel? Does it hurt too much?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"Can I move in you? I don't think it will be for very long," he said apologetically.

She nodded, running a hand through his hair.

He began to thrust gently, the pressure on him from her body's tightness already causing his breathing to hitch. She placed a kiss on his shoulder, his neck, and then reached up to take his head in her hands and bring his mouth to hers. He kissed her slowly, matching his rhythm, but when she raised a leg and wrapped it around his arse, pulling him in even deeper if possible, he lost all restraint. He broke their kiss and his movements grew faster, more erratic like his breathing, and finally, his face buried in the tangle of hair that spread out over the pillow, he released inside her with a strangled cry.

"Oh, Marianne," he whispered, as the world came back to him. He felt tears sting his eyes, and shuddered, holding back a sob. She made a sad little whimpering sound as he slid out of her and collapsed on his back next to her.

She said nothing at first, but rolled over onto her side and placed a hand on his chest to feel the beating of his heart slow down. "Did I disappoint you at all? After all the time you've loved me and waited for this? Did I do anything wrong?"

He laughed, taking her little hand in his. "No, love. I never dreamed that anything in my life could be that good."

"All of those things you did to me, and made me feel…"

"Do you regret it?"

She shook her head, placing a kiss on his shoulder. "It was… sublime."

"I quite agree." He smiled and turned to face her, head resting on his outstretched arm, hand tracing the curved outline of her hip, side, and leg as she watched his face. "You're so unbelievably beautiful."

She blushed. "Thank you." She looked him up and down and said, "I wish you knew the effect you have on me. You make me feel weak in the knees."

"Then it's a good thing you're lying down."

"Indeed," she giggled. His heart clenched to hear the sound, and to see her still here, tangible, solid.

This was real, they both came to understand as they talked, caressed, laughed, and murmured endearments to one another, drawing the covers over them after finding that all their hot effort earlier had caused them to forget how cold it was. Though Brandon felt sleepy for the first few minutes after he'd pulled himself out of his wife's body, he was all alertness now, his eyes and hands attempting to map her body out as they talked, memorize every inch of her. Soon, incredibly, driven mad by his touch, Marianne made signs of wanting her pleasure again, and Brandon obliged, dipping his fingers into her folds and stroking her until she moaned. Even more incredibly, her excitement caused his own to build up within him again, and he asked her-oh so hopefully-if she'd be alright if he entered her again. This time, she pulled him to her hungrily, and his member found its way inside her easily. He lasted much longer this time, her cries of anguished need washing over him like a gentle rain, and he angled her upright against the pillows so he could reach between their bodies and continue stroking her until she came violently, biting down on his bottom lip hard enough to cause him to cry out in a mixture of pain and pleasure, and yanking him down with her into the abyss of release.

This time he collapsed on top of her, and he stayed in her for a long time after, only pulling out when he felt himself starting to nod off to the double joys of afterglow and the way she scratched his back soothingly. He maneuvered her so that he was on his side behind her and she was in his arms, aligned with him. "Will you stay with me?" he asked, half-asleep. "Sleep here?"

She nodded. "But don't you want your own bed?"

"If you're not here when I wake up I will think I dreamed this."

She snuggled deeper in his arms. Soon they were both asleep.

[So, Happy Valentine's Day, guys and gals. Whew. This was fun. And hard. No pun-well, okay, pun intended.]