Page 84 of Penned By Mr Darcy
“I do not know the technical term,” he said, gritting his teeth as his hands fisted in the sheets beneath them. “Sheath, cunt, a cunny, pussy, any of those. They are vulgar words, my love.”
She slid off him with a joyful ‘pop’, licking her lips as she glanced up at him. He shut his eyes tightly, grasping at fragments of discipline as though Latin verses could anchor him.
Unus, duo, tres…tres…tres
Numbers failed him when sense itself was slipping away. She would be the end of him, he was certain. And yet, when at last he dared open his eyes, half afraid she had dissolved like a dream too sweet to last, there she remained - Elizabeth Darcy, radiant and impossibly real.
“I believe it is vulgar to even ask the questions I have asked of you this night, my dearest husband. I think,” she said, her eyes sparkling as she observed him from her vantage point between his thighs, “Perhaps, after a time, you may pick your favourite. I should quite enjoy some vulgarity. Your words excite me, Fitzwilliam. They did from the moment I first read your diary.”
“You are not offended?”
She answered him by taking him into her mouth once again. Her tongue danced around him, sparks shooting up his spine. The muscles of his stomach tightened and he felt his release threaten him so violently it was all he could do to speak.
“Stop!”
She pulled away at once.
“Did I do something wrong?” she asked, hurt shining in her eyes.
When at last he pulled her up to him, clutching her as if the force of his embrace alone could shield her from doubt, his words were rough against her hair.
“A man may give himself but once in such a moment. And I would give myself to you, Lizzy. Only to you.”
She answered him with only a smile, bright and fearless, a smile that left him powerless. His heart beat so violently in his chest he thought it might burst, and still she gazed at him with that same unshaken affection, as though nothing in the world could dissuade her from loving him.
“What next?” she mumbled against his mouth. “Mama said…”
“Do not mention your mother,” he groaned, feeling his arousal ebb slightly at the mention of Mrs Bennet.
“My apologies,” she laughed. “I was told that you would insert yourself inside me.”
“Yes.”
Her eyes flickered down to where his erection still insisted upon itself. It was beginning to hurt, actually, to be so aroused for so long. He would make no mention of his discomfort, for he was not sure that he could bear the humiliation of her laughing at him.
“It looks too big.”
He looked down; he had nothing to compare himself to, but he supposed that he was not small. Proportionate, he believed, to his tall height and broad figure.
“We are made to fit together,” he said simply.
“Will it hurt? Mama says…”
“Elizabeth,” he said warningly, though it took all his strength not to laugh.
“I was told,” she said, an eyebrow raised, “that there will be blood. I was told there must be blood, actually.”
Her expression turned solemn, and he knew that she was thinking of those nasty, untrue rumours that had been spread. Though her name had never been mentioned, he knew thata few had assumed it was her. He cursed them all – and Wickham most of all, for it had been his wretched interference that had tainted that first union they had shared, no matter how misguided it may have been.
“I do not doubt your virtue. I believe there may be a small amount of blood, as your maidenhead is torn.”
“I see. It must hurt, then?”
“I will endeavour to make it as pleasant as possible. I cannot promise that there will not be pain, but I shall do my very best to alleviate it.”
“I see.”
“I have oil, to make things easier,” he explained, his cheeks burning. “I would not hurt you for anything in the world, my dearest, loveliest Elizabeth, but for this first time…”
