In The Billiard Room With Mr

The Darcys had been married one week shy of a year when they visited Netherfield for the last time. The Bingleys were about to give up the estate. It was too much to remain so close to Mrs. Bennet, even for their easy tempers. Elizabeth was pleased her sister would be moving closer to Derbyshire.

Jane had that afternoon made a dutiful pilgrimage to Longbourn with her affable husband Charles, and Elizabeth expected their return later that evening. Mrs. Darcy had not been able to persuade her own husband to call upon her parents; he had done so upon their arrival two days ago, and he seemed to think he had fulfilled his duty towards them. As an excuse, he had told his wife that he expected Mr. Bennet to show up unannounced at Pemberley in the not too distant future anyway…after all, the man had already done so thrice in the first eleven months of their marriage. Thus, Mr. Darcy had elected to remain behind this afternoon at Netherfield. He needed the respite.

Elizabeth had planned to accompany Jane and Charles, but, at the last minute, she too had made an excuse, and she had left her poor sister and brother-in-law to suffer alone. She now went to seek out her husband to inform him of her own narrow escape. She scoured the library first, where she most expected to discover him, but the room was empty.

After leaving the library and venturing down the hall, she passed through the drawing room and into another hall. She heard the distant crack of billiard balls across a table, and she knew instantly where she could find her husband.

Tiptoeing quietly down the hall, she entered the billiard room and found him without his vest or jacket, undressed down to his shirtsleeves and leaning with concentration over the table, a cue stick held in his delicate yet masculine hands.

She remembered happening upon him in such a state of partial undress once before, in this very room. She had disliked him then, and the meeting had been exceedingly awkward; they had exchanged a perfunctory and silent greeting and she had slipped away hastily. She had been mortified to stumble upon him in so casual an attire, and she had been glad of her escape. And though she had loathed him for his pride, she had not been quite able to banish his picture from her memory—those dark and brooding eyes that had born into her almost accusingly as she had stood uncomfortably before him, that muscular form that had bowed ever so slightly while he stood in his white shirt.

Mr. Darcy now thrust his stick forward and sent a ball sailing smoothly across the green. It hit another which was then launched into a nearby pocket, landing with a satisfactory thud. He felt a presence and looked up to see his wife standing just in front of the door she had closed. He smiled warmly and drew himself up into a standing position, and he was about to greet her tenderly when he recalled their past meeting in this room. He thought now of how she had, in those days, both infuriated and enraptured him with her sharp tongue.

Over a year ago, when she had accidentally happened upon him in the billiard room, he had thought to reach instantly for his vest, but he had instead ended up freezing in position as he surveyed her inviting form. In those days, before his first proposal, he had imagined their cutting exchanges to be a form of flirtation, and he had thought she had desired him. He had assumed she must be embarrassed to happen upon him in that room, but he had also flattered himself into thinking that she was enflamed to discover him in such a state of informal dress.

He knew now she could have experienced no such desires because she had at that time despised him. But such was his imagination then, and he had long ago built a fantasy around the thought. He recalled the fantasy now, and he recalled that he had long desired to act it out.

On their wedding night, he had taken things slowly…in the days and weeks that followed, he had encouraged Elizabeth to set the pace. He had been careful not to unleash his desires too quickly upon her or to expose to her too soon to the extensive variety of his appetite.

As the months passed, however, he had dared to suggest new and more exotic positions, and he had received the pleasure of having some of his particular desires fulfilled: She had made love to him while straddling his lap. He had pressed her against the wall of their bedroom while they stood face to face and rocked fiercely against one another, her legs entwined around his hips. And more the once he had sat in his bedroom armchair, and she had been willing to kneel before him while taking him deep inside her warm and watery mouth.

But they had never in their lovemaking ventured out from behind the closed doors of their own bedroom, and he had not dared to reveal his desire to do so. Nor had they ever pretended to be anything than what they were to one another—husband and wife. But now, as Elizabeth stood there leaning against the door she had just closed, he felt a surge of passion rise within himself, and he considered whether he should attempt to enact his longing.

The Bingleys were out for the afternoon. The door was closed. The servants would not dare disturb them. His wife was looking upon him with affection and—he knew her expressions well enough to know by now—desire. The suggestive look she shot him probably meant she wanted him to take her to their borrowed bedroom for an afternoon of love making, but might she be willing…might she just be willing…

He swallowed hard. The last thing he wished to do was to offend her or make her uncomfortable in any way. But he also longed to do something very different at the present moment, and, mustering his courage, he took the plunge. If she failed to follow his lead, he would hastily retrace his steps and invite her to the bedroom. He would become again her alternately tender and passionate husband, but he would not remain a moment longer in his fantasy.

“Miss Bennet,” he now said. “I fear you happen upon me in a most embarrassing state of undress. Why would you be so bold as to enter the billiard room unaccompanied, when you must have known I would be here alone and informally attired?”

A look of confusion flickered across her face, and Mr. Darcy felt the disappointment sink into his gut, coupled by the first ticklings of shame. She would not understand his desire to play such a game, he thought; she would find it a base longing, unfitting for a gentleman and a husband.

He was about to speak to her familiarly as Elizabeth and to make some dismissive joke about his previous words when she drew her arms protectively across her chest and said, “Mr. Darcy, I assure you I did not intend to invade your privacy. I had no idea this was the billiard room or that you would be present here. I was merely looking for the drawing room--''

“I hardly think so, Miss Bennet,” he interrupted her, taking hold of the chalk and rubbing it forcefully against the top of his cue stick while he permitted his eyes to roam her figure. “Surely you heard the sound of balls cracking. Surely you knew what this room must be before you entered it.”

“I…sir, I…”

“Take a few steps closer, Miss Bennet,” he ordered.

She feigned trepidation, but she took the steps he requested, until she stood across the table from him. Placing the chalk on the green, and grasping the stick in one hand, he walked around the length of the table until he was standing behind her. His breath was hot and heavy against her neck as he spoke. “You knew I would be here, Miss Bennet. You heard the sounds of this room, and you came here looking for me.”

She placed the palm of her hands on the green. Refusing to look at him, she said spitefully, “I assure you I did no such thing, sir.”

He tossed the stick with a loud clattering sound on the table, and he placed a hand on either side of her hands, leaning closer until the front of his body was pressed against the back of hers. “And yet here you are,” he hissed in a voice low with desire, “Miss Bennet.”

“You assume too much familiarity with me, sir,” she said forcefully, straining to press back against him and free herself from the space in which his arms seemed to have encased her. She had half turned and placed her hand against his chest to push him away when he grabbed that very hand, spun her back around, and placed her palm once again down upon the table. He held it securely there. He likewise took her other hand and held it down against the table.

“I do not think so,” he replied. “It is you, Miss Bennet, who has dared to assume familiarity with me by walking in upon me in what you must have known would be a state of partial undress, in the home of my friend, in special quarters maintained for the entertainment of men.” He leaned forward and, for once, he was glad that she had worn her hair up. He usually liked her to wear it down, but its present position exposed her neck so that he could kiss it and nip at it without freeing her hands.

She pushed back against him, but her attempt at escape only had the effect of pressing her bottom against his obviously growing erection. Her hands he held fast as he continued to kiss and lick the hollow of her neck. She moaned as his lips assaulted her flesh, and he knew it was the moan of a wife accustomed to receiving pleasure from her husband and not the moan of his fantasy Miss Bennet.

That was well enough, he thought. Let the fantasy and the reality mingle; he was pleased to know that, as his wife, she was enjoying the present moment. He was so pleased, in fact, that he felt a sudden urge to tell her how grateful he was for her somewhat unexpected willingness, how gratified he was that she trusted his love and respect enough to let him engage in this little scenario. But he did not want to break the continuity of the fantasy either, so instead he said, between ragged breaths, “Miss Bennet, I must teach you not to invade a gentleman's privacy ever again.”

He then let go of just one of her hands so that he could unbutton the flap of his breeches, unfold it downward, and free his erection. As he did so, she made another feigned attempt to dislodge herself, but when she turned to face him he grabbed one wrist, turned her back around, and then grabbed the other. This time, he bent her fully over the table, so that her torso was stretched out across it and the lower half of her body was pressed against the table's wooden sides. He now placed one of her hands atop the other, so that he might hold both down with a single hand.

“Mr. Darcy,” she insisted, “you musn't—“

“Oh, but I must, Miss Bennet,” he said, allowing his free hand to slide across the back of her dress and down across her bottom, which he squeezed and caressed.

Again he heard her moan, and this time the sound was mingled with a low laugh of pleasure, which she soon stifled. Mustering a more serious tone, she said, “I regret my action, Mr. Darcy. I confess I did hope to find you here, and it was most unladylike of me to intrude, but, sir, I assure you I have already learned my lesson.”

His voice was thick with desire as he bent down over her and murmured against her ear, “Not yet, you haven't, Miss Bennet. Allow me to instruct you further.” His hand slid lower and he began to pull her dress upward, bunching the material together as he did so. When it was just high enough, he slipped his hand underneath and dexterously unfastened some of her undergarments. He inched one finger beneath the fabric of her panties and between her folds, only long enough to assure himself that she was moist and ready to receive him, and then he drew it back out.

“Perhaps, sir,” she said, her own voice now low and almost raspy, “I do deserve a lesson.”

“Indeed you do, Miss Benent,” he growled, quickly drawing her dress up farther, this time all the way to her waist. He rested the material atop the table so that it would not fall to cover her. He then slid his hand into her panties and down her left hip, forcing the last concealing garment to her knees. He left it there.

He caressed her bare bottom with his hand and then slapped it lightly. When she attempted to stand up, he took his free hand and returned it to the table, drew apart her two hands, and held them each separately and firmly against the green. “Now spread your legs,” he ordered.

“Mr. Darcy, sir, I know I have been naughty, and I deserve some form of lesson. But this is most improper--”

“Now, Miss Bennet,” he insisted. He nibbled her earlobe, plunged a probing tongue inside her ear, drew it out, and commanded in a voice deep with hunger, “Spread your legs and prepare to receive your instruction.”

Elizabeth knew she was blushing as she opened her legs for her husband. She had never expected the afternoon to unfold in this manner. She had hoped for a moment of privacy, a time of lovemaking in the guest bedroom, and she had known her husband would gladly comply with her desire. She had expected to draw him from the billiard room, not to be taken in it. But she had sensed his need and had ardently wanted to satisfy him, and so she had followed his lead. She had done so with some embarrassment at first, but as they had continued to enact her husband's fantasy, she had been surprised by the strength of her own response—she was more titillated by the game than she had ever expected to be.

And now it was her own excitement, and not her husband's creative desires, that brought the redness to her cheeks. She could not help but feel a little wanton, even though she knew her husband wanted this as much she did, and even though she knew it would not injure his respect for her.

She forgot all her embarrassment, however, when she felt her husband suddenly plunge his hardness deep inside her awaiting warmth. He had never before entered her from behind.

In fact, she had not even considered the position previously. As much as they had done, and as creative as they had already been, there was still a great deal about the possibilities of lovemaking that she did not know and had not imagined. Up until this moment, she had actually expected that at some point he was going to turn her around, lift her up on the table, and take her in a sitting position, as he had once done on her vanity.

Her surprised gasp as he entered her, therefore, was entirely real, and its authenticity momentarily startled him. When he realized that she wasn't pretending to be an astonished Miss Bennett, but that she was in fact an astonished Mrs. Darcy, he whispered apologetically into her ear, “Do you wish me to stop, my love?”

“No!” she cried, and the quality in her voice was almost desperate. His sigh, mingled with relief and desire, reached her ear and set her body to quivering.

“Very good, Miss Bennet,” he said, lacing his fingers through hers. “It is time to teach you your lesson.” And now he began to thrust.

He had taken her with passion before, and he had taken her with tenderness. He had moved quickly within her, and he had moved languidly. He had been gentle, and he had been firm. But he had never before thrust like this, with such all-consuming hunger.

He had in the past spoken to her as they made love, but his words had always been few. When it came to speech during the actual act of lovemaking, he had remained reserved. However open he might have been with his body, his mouth was generally closed. At any rate, he had never said anything quite like what he was saying now.

But now, as he began to thrust still faster, his words tumbled out between his ragged gasps, “Yes, Miss Bennet…oh, G-d yes…how I have wanted you…how long I have wanted to be inside you….wanted to feel you wet and willing…wanted to penetrate you ….how I have wanted to bend you over this very table….to take you….oh, G-d yes, to take you from behind…to push myself fast…and hard…and deep inside you…to make you moan and writhe in pleasure. How I have…”

His litany was cut short by her orgasmic cry, as she interrupted him to scream, “Fitzwilliam! Oh, yes!”

He felt her body shudder with pleasure against the table. He felt her clinch the fingers he had laced through hers at the same time her body clinched itself around his throbbing hardness. His groan mingled with hers as he released her hands, ran them down the side of her dress and grasped each of her thighs. He forced her legs even farther apart and said, “Yes, Miss Bennet, I see you did want me.” Increasing again the speed of his thrusts, he continued, “and now I will finish teaching…” —he could hardly breathe now, but between gasps he said— “…teaching you your lesson…”— thrust, groan— “…I will take my pleasure…you naughty…oh, G-d…”— thrust— “my willing, exciting…” — thrust — “…wife!” And with one last, deep, thrust, he spent himself inside her.

For awhile after, he remained inside her, unmoving. Both seemed stunned by the strength of their respective releases.

But eventually, he slowly drew himself out, tucked himself in, and rebuttoned his trousers. Then he very gently pulled her panties back up and refastened the rest of her undergarments before lowering her dress. He stepped backwards, and he watched her with a small amount of apprehension as she stood and turned to face him. She did not look him in the eye, but instead she looked down at the ground. He placed a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face upwards, forcing her to look at him. “My love?” he asked gently.

She stepped forward and lay her head against his shoulder, and his arms enveloped her. She could feel his heart beating quickly within his chest, and she knew that he was worried about her reaction to his passion, but she could not yet bring herself to speak.

“Elizabeth?” he asked, and the doubt in his voice tore at her heart.

Hastily, she murmured, “I enjoyed…I enjoyed that very much, Fitzwilliam. You gave me immense pleasure.” She felt his body relax, and then she said quietly. “I would like to do something like that again, my love, but not often. Do you understand? Most of the time I want--”

“Of course,” he interrupted her. “Would you like that now, my love? Would you like to go to our chamber and make love face to face, slowly and tenderly?”

“Yes,” she answered. “Yes, I would.” She raised her head and received his loving kiss. He took her hand in his and began to lead her from the billiard room.

“Fitzwilliam,” she said softly as they walked from the room.

“Yes?”

“Next time we do something like that, it's my turn.”

“Your turn?”

“My turn to enact one of the fantasies I had about you before we were married.”

He looked down at her, the surprise evident in his face. “You…you fantasized about me before…before…”

She took a step ahead of him and tugged on his hand. “Hurry now,” she said. “My sister and brother-in-law will be home before long.”

THE END