As yet another delicious kiss ended, Elizabeth looked at Darcy, her body tingling and her mind racing.

“Lydia will be visiting Mrs. Romney for some time,” she began haltingly. “It seems that Lydia and Mr. Wickham… consummated their union before they reached Scotland. She is with child.”

Darcy gulped and tried to give his wife a bit of room on the bed, as they had become rather entwined.

“Ah… I… Well, I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Thank you, my love. I am certain that if Mrs. Romney requires anything, she will request it plainly.”

“Mrs. Romney is the very figure of plain speech.”

“Yes, she is,” she shifted and reached for him. “While we were at her home, after our wedding, she clarified some things for me. One cannot be entirely sheltered from some un-gentle realities of life, living on a farm as I did, but hearing her tell me that I need not go to you that night, or any night unless I wanted a child or was overcome by passion… has put things in a different light for me.”

Darcy quietly struggled with panic, not knowing where Elizabeth was going with this. His love of propriety warred with his deep desire for openness with her.

“I’m afraid Mr. Wickham’s desire for… close company… was one of the points of conflict between us,” he admitted.

“He had a way with women, for certain,” Elizabeth said, drawing herself up a trifle, her hair brushing against Darcy’s cheek. “I am ashamed that I thought well enough of him to overlook his licentious ways, when his ungentlemanly conduct should have been enough to alert me to his true character.”

“He fooled everyone who had not seen direct evidence of his wickedness,” Darcy assured her, his arm squeezing reflexively around the small of her back.

“You are so entirely a different sort of man that I can scarce believe you were raised together,” she said, tracing his face with her fingertips.

“I believe that his example steered me in the direction of propriety, not wishing to risk any chance of being painted with the same brush as he.”

“Yes, you have ever been a model of propriety. Have you never, yourself… enjoyed close company? From chance remarks, it appears that such is common for young men of rank.”

Darcy shifted uneasily, the movement sending sparks throughout Elizabeth’s frame.

“I suppose with such a younger sister keeping company with militia officers, it must have been impossible for you to avoid hearing such things as we try to keep from the ears of young gentlewomen.” He bit his lip slightly, and the sight inflamed her.

“I tried to pay as little heed as I could to her more unsavory tales but could not avoid them altogether. That certain men and women kept company in a way that brought fleeting pleasure at the risk of a child that… could not be acknowledged in society was a conclusion that I could not but reach,” she explained.

Thoughts of the tantalizing hints of forbidden knowledge she had glimpsed raced confusingly into her feelings.

“That you trust me with yourself after such an example is more than I can understand,” Darcy confessed.

Elizabeth reached out to caress his hair with tentative fingers.

“And yet I do trust you, and myself. I find myself wishing to be closer to you, to bring you comfort and… more.”

Darcy could not help himself, he gently gathered her in his arms and drew her to himself. Elizabeth felt the desire to be closer still to him overwhelm her. The barrier of their night clothes began to feel smothering to her, linen and muslin flounces crushing between them, a terribly constrained counterpoint to the feeling of their lips upon each other.

As she felt her flesh soften and grow wet, she felt his grow yet more heated and hard. Desire suddenly gripped her hard, and she wrapped her legs around his middle, needing the feel of him pressed up against her flesh, sensitive even under the sheathings of cloth.

Darcy, feeling himself pressed against her, felt passion rising dangerously within him. Before he could control himself, his loins pressed fervently into hers and he erupted.

Seeing his face change into a transport of passion, Elizabeth tore herself away from him, checking his side to see if she had aggravated his wound. A slight reddening of the shirt over the bandage caught her eye and at once she blamed herself.

“I have hurt your poor side,” she said, half reaching for the injured spot.

“Tis nothing,” Darcy struggled to say, mind and body reeling. “Pray, come lay beside me again. It will be well.”

Relieved, Elizabeth snuggled up beside him, he gratefully wrapping his arm around her and relaxing into bliss.

A slight snore from her husband wakened Elizabeth from her drowse. The feel of his body against hers filled her with comfort and desire, particularly in the lower leg, where their naked flesh touched, her ankle to his calf. She shifted slightly to gaze at his unconscious face, now with a look of supreme relaxation she had never seen in the inn or carriage as she held vigil over his sleeping, injured form.

Emboldened by his sleep, she allowed her gaze to travel down his form. She noted a damp spot in the linen of his night shirt, then a corresponding damp spot upon hers. She let her finger play over the spot on his shirt, feeling the sticky texture. She found that the outside of her night dress had the same sticky feel.

Gently disengaging herself from his sleeping form, she rolled over slightly and hesitatingly lifted the hem to allow her to lift the dress and look at that spot. On the underside it felt less sticky, and a moist feeling between her legs informed her of that wetness’ source.

With her eyes fixed on Darcy, she slowly let her hand descend to her own thigh. The flesh between her legs throbbed and she tentatively touched the hair where it was thickest just above the slit. Her flesh sang in response to the feeling, and she delved her fingers into the wetness. Her fingertips found the knob and she quickly discovered that rubbing it spread a fire of pleasure in her loins, breast and throat. Overcome, she clutched Darcy to her.

Darcy wakened to find himself clutched in Elizabeth’s embrace, her body wild against his. Sleep gave way to desire, and he felt the fire in his loins reignite.

He kissed her lips, absorbing her pleasure into himself as she spasmed and writhed in ecstasy. He drew her close and found his flesh hardening again.

The crises swiftly peaked and subsided, leaving Elizabeth sleeping peacefully, left arm still wrapped close around Darcy, the right by the side of his face, lying atop him from breast to thigh, her head cradled on his shoulder.

His cock poked into her stomach, now painfully erect. Darcy breathed deep and willed it to subside. Her breaths stirred him. The scent on her fingers wafted to him, and he had to fight to stop himself from tearing her dress from her body. The desire for the feel of her flesh spread from his neck — where her face rested against his skin to his thigh, where the crumpled cloth let them touch — to meet at his cock, which surged against her.

Unwilling to trust himself further, he gently eased her off him back to his side. She stirred as her breast came away from him, and she made a sleepy sound of protest, her arms reaching for him.

Darcy turned his back to her and guided her arms around him. She snuggled close and fell deep into sleep.

He eventually mastered himself enough to fall asleep, not long before the housemaids started stirring.

This is from my Pride & Prejudice long fic "I Will Have You." Links to my fics at https://kaurifish.net/