A Nameless Library Outtake From Finisterre
Elizabeth stood on her tiptoes and reached up, tugging down a volume of Goethe two shelves above her. It was sitting snugly between two other heavy tomes and would not budge. She frowned and muttered and panted a little, trying to dislodge it.
She had almost given up and gone to call a footman (tall fellows they all were, yet, she noted with peculiar enjoyment, not one of them as tall as their Master), when she heard a door open. There were quick steps and a tentative “Miss Bennet?” His voice, so deep, setting her aflutter. Elizabeth closed her eyes.
“Here…”
Then, a moment later, a sudden sensation of heat and closeness at her back, a hand covering hers, helping her pull the book down from the shelf. An arm wrapping around her, quickly, snugly, pulling her against him.
“You!” she said, all the breath torn from her lips in one loud rush. Without answering, he leaned and nuzzled her neck, lips soft like silk velvet against her skin. The flutter within her grew stronger. A peculiar shimmy to her knees and belly and heart, nothing like that ever felt for any other man. She was still holding Faust in one hand. He nipped, lightly, on her neck, and her fingers relinquished their hold on the book, her hand opening helplessly.
The book fell from her hand, the thick rug under their feet cushioning the dull thud it made. The little corner between the shelves and the wall was dim and light at once, the shadowed corner pierced by thin spears of light falling from the window located to the side of them, too many to count. Behind her, William sighed, his arm abandoning its post across her waist, his fingers brushing, just barely, the swell of her breast under a corset, up and down and in circles, until she was gasping with pleasure or pain, and she did not know which. She leaned into his touch, took both his hands and held them against her breasts, pressing hard, silencing the ache in her for a moment.
“William,” she said pleadingly, and found her voice pathetically strangled. “It's the middle of the day.”
Funny, she thought. Time of day has never bothered you before. But all of it suddenly mattered here, the propriety, the decency. There were so many rules governing his life—and they were about to break them all. And oh, it should have mattered to him! Yet, if he heard her, he must have known that her words were the last resort before this wildness consumed her. No need to respond to them, she did not mean them anyhow. His lips were hot and dry against her skin, and she felt his every move, the powerful tightening of his body against hers, the shudder that ran through him when she thought what the hell! and pressed back against him.
“Here?” she asked, deep in her throat, managing to sound amused against her own mind-bending desire. Lord, she thought, anywhere.
Instead of answering, he quickly tugged on the ties of her bodice and it fell away, leaving her in her stays. The cut of the dress had not allowed for a chemise. He made a small sound as he turned her around and pushed her against the wall. She giggled at the thought of doing it in the library. In college, everybody knew somebody who knew somebody who had done it in the stacks of the Mugar Memorial Library, but it was not anybody she had known. Indeed, who would dare insult the hallowed halls with such licentiousness?
Except for him, now, you could say she knew him, and in the most Biblical of ways (and after all, he was the Master of these particular hallowed halls, and could do what he pleased). She shook her head at him in mock disapproval, but knew that all he saw was shared madness in her eyes. He was defenseless against her. Hands drawing up handfuls of muslin and linen, he dropped his face against her neck and moaned.
“Please.”
She stopped thinking quickly, burning hotly against him, pulling his head up, kissing his mouth, holding his face in her palms. Gasping, he whirled her about and started on her stays. He cursed softly under his breath, the Gordian knots of her laces stumping him.
“Dammit.” He spoke through his teeth. `Madam, you need a set of stays with hooks.”
“You,” she said importantly, “need to stop cursing, or they'll think I'm a bad influence on you.”
Finally, the corset loosened sufficiently for him to reach her breasts, Elizabeth started to turn around, but was stopped by his hand upon her shoulder, his other busy pulling up the skirts and petticoats that had slid down in the meantime.
She glanced over at him, eyes questioning.
“Will?”
He shook his head.
“Like so.” She bit down a smile at the imperious tone, trying her hardest not to laugh. She really shouldn't make fun of him like this. Still, she found it amusing that he sought to add to his edification as soon as possible. Well, she was only thrilled to edify him. She could make it worth his while. She gave him a sultry look over one shoulder and leaned forward on her arms against the wall, her back arching and her backside sticking up in a lewdest way. My God, look at me.
William stood there, for a moment, staring at her, and Elizabeth wondered whether the mechanics of this particular position were at all clear to him. She ventured a look behind her, saw the look in his eyes. Turning back quickly, she braced herself against the wall.
There was simply nothing else to do. Her skirts and petticoats draped over her lower back, Elizabeth felt terribly exposed. Leaning her head against the wall, she felt his eyes on her legs and buttocks. She trembled and squeezed her eyes shut, feeling, in anticipation, her wild heartbeat and the pulse of mad desire deep inside.
He came closer, pushing against her, the fabric of his trousers rough against the back of her legs. He was fumbling with his buttons, awkward, one-handed, trying to hold her skirts up at the same time. Then, she felt him spring free, warm and hard against her thighs. Leaning on one arm, she reached below and guided him closer. He drew his breath sharply at her touch.
For a second, their fingers touched there in the heat and she whimpered and arched against him, rising on her tiptoes, even as he slipped inside her, filling her completely.
They stood together for a long moment, savoring their stillness, the sensation of being joined so closely, fighting the urge to move. Elizabeth's palm felt sticky against the wall. She felt a drop of sweat, gathered under her knee, run down her leg under her stocking. Jesus.
Then, the stillness, the waiting became intolerable, and she moved against him, rolling her hips. She heard the breath torn from his chest at that, a ragged moan, as he returned her movement, again and again. She arched harder against him, wanting to be closer, wanting him deeper, if only that was possible. Wanting him in the same state of mindless frenzy he cast her to with one look. Heat spread, radiated, making her faint with lust from the feeling of him inside of her, from his lips planted warmly at the back of her neck, beneath the pinned-up hair, it surged through her veins, making her limbs heavy and her knees weak. She could not see him, unless she turned about, only his hands on her, one holding a breast, one grasping her hip tightly. And her own hands, splayed on the wall before her. There'll be a spot on the wall later, she thought. Not to mention the carpet.
His breath was harsh and choppy near her ear, and she could feel him everywhere, moving inside her, and over her, and around her, his lips at her nape, his hands holding her tightly enough to leave bruises on her skin…
“Do you like this?” she whispered and wiggled her hips. She took one hand away from the wall and reached blindly behind her, caressing the side of his face. She felt his lips, pressed ardently in the middle of her palm, sending shivers all through her. Deep inside her, something rolled and squeezed and pulsed with his every thrust. She bit her lips, barely able to keep from moaning.
“Touch me,” she said to him through clenched teeth, rolling her hips against him in a desperate attempt to get closer to him.
“Certainly, madam,” he murmured, sounding a little strangled, and obliged her. His hand released her hip and moved forward to touch her, there, at the junction of her thighs, which at the moment were trembling from tension and desire.
“God, oh God, oh God.” She whimpered as he caressed her, again and again, in sync with his movements inside, until she felt that her legs would no longer hold her, but they would have to, what with the wall and his arms tightly about her. One more hard thrust, and she came and came and came, and could not stop, throbbing, and moaning and biting her lips to keep from screaming.
And it was then that the door to the library opened.
Elizabeth was still weak and faint with her release, hanging against the brace of her lover's arms, but through the sensual haze, she felt him stiffen against her, then stop his movement. Then, she heard it, too. Voices on the other end of the library, by the door. Mortified, she threw a quick glance at him over her shoulder. For a second, they stared at each other in panic; then, both seemed to remember that Georgiana had gone to visit Aunt Catherine in Kent and would not be back before the week's end.
A second later, Miss Bingley's nasal voice came from the doors. The good thing was, it was clearly not moving in the direction of their corner, where they stood behind book cases, locked together and frozen, afraid to move.
William smiled behind her, holding her tightly against him. She made a face at him, waggling her eyebrows, but he frowned and held a finger to his lips.
“Mr. Darcy!” they heard Miss Bingley call. He lowered his head to her shoulder and shook with laughter and arousal and the necessity to hold himself still and the impossibility of it. Miss Bingley called after him again, and then Mrs. Hurst's voice said:
“Oh come, Caro, clearly he isn't here!”
It seemed that his body had a mind of it own and would not obey the whims of guests who chose such an inopportune time to come seek him in the library. Elizabeth felt the tension in his arms, felt him throb inside her. Throwing a glance at him, she remarked the pained expression on his face, his eyes shut tightly, the roll of a muscle in his jaw. Damn the woman.
Tempted to toy with him, Elizabeth rose higher on her tiptoes and wiggled her butt against his loins. His eyes flew open, large and round and terrified. He shook his head, looking at her pleadingly. Behind the shelves, Miss Bingley said disagreeably:
“Yes, but where can he be?” She paced a bit over on the other end, steps and a rustle of silk all it was. “I could wager his man said he was in here.”
Damn his man, too. Elizabeth wondered what would happen if the snooty bitch chanced to look behind the shelves. Even in her time, she knew she would die of shame. What kind of scandal ensued in 1812 when people walked in upon each other? And in the library, too? Did they normally walk in upon each other in 1812? Or would she be the first?
“Well, clearly, he was wrong.” Mrs. Hurst sounded exasperated. Elizabeth tried moving again, but William clamped both hands firmly on her hips and shook his head, his impression stern.
“Perhaps the fencing room,” Miss Bingley suggested.
“Perhaps.”
There was a sound of the door opening and closing. Crashing to his knees with a heart-tearing groan, William pushed Elizabeth down before him, holding her closely against him as he spilled himself inside her.
For some time, they were quiet, reposing on he rug in an untidy heap. Then, slowly disengaging from her, he rose to a sitting position, pulling her up as well. She pulled on her skirts, smoothed her petticoats about her legs, patted down the wrinkled muslin.
“What would happen if they caught us?” She spoke lazily, watching him right his own clothing and lean against a wall in exhaustion. Then, leaning forward, she allowed him to pull her corset back together and do up her dress. “Except the abject humiliation, of course.”
“You would be compromised horribly and would have to marry me,” William said lightly, matter-of-factly. When she was done up again, he felt on the rug and found her Goethe. He handed it to her, one eyebrow raised acerbically. “I shall never think of Faust in the same way,” he said somberly. Elizabeth burst out laughing, for the discoveries of the day were not his alone.
She had always been a great reader; now, however, she was beginning to develop an entirely new appreciation of libraries.