Mr. & Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy: Two Shall Become One

The cold blast of wakefulness was like a knife to his heart. He had really liked that dream! So acute was his disappointment that one can imagine the soaring heights instantaneously reached when he realized that the object of his dream was in his arms. In fact, it was her head, which at some point during her sleep had crept from his chest to the inner aspect of his elbow, that was causing his arm to burn. The irony of it did not escape him, and he chuckled softly.

Memories of the fine dream, coupled with the vision of her beauty before him, were temporarily enough to drive away the ever-increasing discomfort to his poor extremity. For some moments he manfully bore the pain and watched her sleep. It was an enchanting sight to behold. Her lush lips were slightly parted, her thick lashes resting peacefully on her rosy cheeks, her mane of hair scattered haphazardly about, and her creamy neck and shoulders visible. Darcy could quite contentedly have stared at her all day, but now his fingers had lost all feeling.

Resolving this issue was suddenly one of the most problematical calamities of his life! He did not want to wake her, nor did he want to remove his arm completely. He thought maybe he could roll her gently back towards his body, a pleasurable prospect, but his arm now had not only lost all sensation but refused to comply with his brain’s request. He saw no choice but to use his left arm, which would probably mean waking her up.

There seemed to be no other option, so he began to reach for her. Just at that moment, she stretched her body, sighed deeply, nestled closer to his side, and moved her head back to his chest. Darcy sent silent thanks to whichever guardian angel takes care of these sticky situations.

His relief was short-lived, sadly, due to the sudden rush of blood that ignited a blaze of fresh pain in his unfortunate arm. He gritted his teeth, and his whole body tensed and shuddered in his effort not to cry out and wake his peacefully sleeping wife. Eventually the torture subsided and he was able to move his arm again. Naturally he made good use of it by hugging his wife against his side, resting his hand on her silky hip.

Well, that was interesting, he thought. Certainly a drawback to sleeping with someone that has never occurred to me, but most assuredly worth the experience. He lifted his head slightly to view the clock. A quarter to nine! Darcy could not remember the last time he had slept so late. Of course, neither could he remember the last time he had slept so deeply and contentedly, nor woken up feeling so amazingly refreshed and blissful. He sighed and closed his eyes again, a joyous smile on his face.

As pleasant as his dream had been, the reality of his wedding night was vastly superior. They had ended their first night of marriage by loving each other before the fire on the bearskin rug. Elizabeth’s initiative, coupled with the location of their union, had added another dimension to what they had already discovered to be a most delicious activity. Darcy never claimed to be a particularly creative man, but how he could not have imagined being with Elizabeth in a site other than his bed surprised him. He was a trifle embarrassed, but he now found his mind drifted to all sorts of promising possibilities. Pemberley had any number of secluded areas, both inside and out, that would work nicely. Good God, man! Listen to yourself! But the self-chastisement was ignored and the erotic ruminations manifested themselves physically.

His decadent musings were interrupted by movement from his wife. She murmured something unintelligible, stretched, and then rose up from his chest so she could see his face. “You are awake,” she said with a happy smile and reached up to brush his hair.

He caught her hand and kissed it. “Good morning, my love. Did you sleep well?”

“Extraordinarily well. I had the most charming dreams. Quite invigorating, actually,” she said with an impish grin.

“Really? How so?”

She smiled roguishly. “There was a man there. Could not quite determine who he was, but he made me feel so nice.” She purposefully assumed a dreamy expression. “Black hair he had, dark green eyes, rather short…”

Darcy stopped her words with an ardent kiss, lasting just long enough to leave her breathless, and then he released her abruptly. “Does that drive thoughts of this other scoundrel from your mind, or must I search him out and challenge him to a duel?” There was an edge to his voice, but Lizzy did not detect it.

“Hmmm… A hazy memory remains. I fear I may need more persuading.”

Darcy brusquely flipped her onto her back, trapping her wrists above her head with one hand. His other clutched her bottom, securing her against his hips with her legs parting naturally to accommodate him. He kissed her deeply, covetously assailing her mouth as far as he could manage.

“Listen to me, Elizabeth Darcy,” he growled huskily, “You are mine! I forbid you to dream of any other but me.” He punctuated his intense words with firm presses of his arousal into her pelvis. She moaned and writhed with the pleasurable sensations arising and struggled to free her captive arms, but he held her fast. He moved his lips along her neck and shoulders, tenderly nibbling and sucking.

Her squirming became frantic with the urgent need to hold him, and she arched into his flaming body, moaning and whimpering. “Please, William!” she cried in desperation.

“What do you want, my wife?”

“I need you!”

“Tell me what you need,” he commanded.

“I must have you. Hurry!”

His voice was guttural and hoarse with desire and jealousy and a hint of vulnerability. “Say you want me, Elizabeth, only me!”

Somehow through the haze of her passion-induced stupor, Lizzy heard and sensed the frailty in his tone. A pang of guilt ran through her and she forced her eyes open. He was watching her with a dreadful intensity. As calmly and softly as possible, she said, “Always and forever it is you, Fitzwilliam. Only you I want and need… ” Her words were cut off by a massive gasp of sensual delight as he claimed her mouth, her body, her heart, and her soul.

When they were blissfully spent, he rolled to the side, bringing her with him in a tight embrace. It was a while before either of them had sufficient lung capacity to speak. It was Darcy who broke the silence, “I am sorry, Elizabeth, if I was too rough, if I frightened you.” He sounded so miserable and regretful. “I should not have allowed my petty jealousy to govern me. My passion for you overruled my senses.”

Elizabeth rose up to see his face and was pained by the sadness she saw where only happiness should reign. “William, look at me,” she demanded, and he did. “If there is fault, it is mine for making such a poor jest. My tongue often rules over my reason, as you know.” She moved closer, grasping his face in her hands firmly. “I love you beyond the words to express it. It frightens me how much I love you because my very existence is now inexorably bound to yours. I am not easy with these feelings of vulnerability. It is my nature to make light of serious matters or to tease when I am afraid. Forgive me for my thoughtlessness.”

He opened his mouth to reply but she stopped him with her fingers to his lips. “Know this,” she continued, “You are everything to me. I have never loved another and I never will. I dream only of you and I desire only you. You have bewitched me, body and soul, Fitzwilliam Darcy. You are mine!” she finished fiercely and kissed him ravenously.

When she eventually released him, he was breathless and flushed, lips ruddy and swollen. She smiled then, a smile of pure naughtiness, as she ran a finger along his jaw. “Besides,” she said, “I rather liked what you did to me, if you could not tell. Rough is acceptable now and then.”

Darcy was at a momentary loss for words. Her declaration of love using the spontaneously uttered phrase from his successful proposal, followed by the intensity of her kiss, was a thrilling surprise and soothing balm to his fragile heart. He did not doubt the sincerity of her expressed love for him but was uncertain if its depth matched the all-consuming passion he held for her. Equally titillating was her obvious reciprocating ardor. He knew that Lizzy was passionate by nature; nonetheless, he had not allowed himself to automatically assume this would transfer to bedroom activities.

While his mind was still whirling, Lizzy further proved her love and desire for her new husband by snuggling nearer and bestowing kisses to his chest, thus beginning a long interlude of mutual exploration and pleasure.

Quite some time later, blissfully content in their sweet communion and satisfaction, Lizzy broke the silence first.

“William, may I ask you a personal question?” she inquired faintly and with hesitation, not meeting his eyes.

“Of course, beloved, you can ask anything of me. Have we not established this?”

She did not reply hastily; instead, she toyed with the hairs on his chest and kept her face turned away. Darcy