Hush

She was not meant for the world, he knew now. The past events had proved it quite thoroughly, and he was determined not to take such a risk again. He had had misgivings about the plan initially, anyway, and now, it seemed, one thing was meant to be. She would stay home, with him, where she was meant to be.

She did not question him, not even in this, for such was her nature. Certainly she was afraid, silently shocked, trembling and protesting in that quiet, shy voice, but after some moments had passed she ceased speaking altogether. He had deemed that this would happen, and she would never question him.

She would always be under his care, his tutelage, his dominion. His affectionate love and adoration of her, as the one to whom she regarded with worship nigh to that of religion.

It was quiet in the room, soft, hazy, the barely there light of a few candles combined with the faint glow of moonlight through the window. She had been reading when he came to sit near her, and had put her book aside with some surprise, but genuine delight in seeing him. He had smiled softly at her, in the way he always did, and reached across to caress her face.

He knew not when she suspected his intentions. Of course, it was unlikely she truly understood what his intentions could possibly be at all, given her oh so very sheltered, pristine existence. He meant to keep her that way, confused but giving to him, not knowing what they did, only that he had the irrevocable right to do it.

She was small and soft in his arms as he drew her into them, and smelled fresh and beautiful from her bath, like rosebuds in May. He ran his hands gently down and up the curve of her spine, over the wispy muslin of her nightgown, and down her white arms to her hands, long fingered and tapered—a true musician’s instruments. She had trembled so very, very faintly, questioningly almost, as if the slight shudder of her body could convey to him the uneasiness she could never dare voice.

He noted it, but kept on, of course. The next step was her lovely face, those huge luminous eyes looking up at him with love and trust as he traced her brow with one hand. Reverently, he leaned in and kissed her softly on the forehead, then moved down to press his lips against each eyelid. Then he moved down to her cheeks, and finally, her lips.

At this point he knew he would encounter something. He did not know whether it would take the form of confusion of defiance. She became absolutely still as he brushed her lips with his own, sweeping his hands up and down her back, drawing her even more into his arms.

She whispered his name in a fearful question before he closed in again, and pressed her down flat against the soft pillows of her bed, his own heavy torso immediately following.

She had protested at this point, more in confusion and questions that indignation. She still was not sure of his reasons and intent. But insteadanswanswering her, he took the final step in intimacy and closed the bed curtains around them, plunging them both into velvety darkness.

From there it was all whimpers and ineffectual attempts to push him away on her part, and soft, reassuring whispers and increasingly bolder caresses on his. She cried his name in fear when he laid a hand on one silky thigh to push the soft barrier of her gown from him. He didn’t hesitate for a moment, simply pushing the muslin up with one hand and pressing her down firmly with the other. Before she could protest more the barrier was gone and he was licking the tears that had trailed down her cheeks off her face. His own nightshirt was gone inomenoment, and at last there was nothing between them.

It was completely natural, he thought with satisfaction. Somehow, he had known that she had always belonged to him, and this closeness was as inevitable as it was satisfying. She was simply innocent, and he had no desire to spoil that innocence with filth or sweat or ugliness. The scent of roses surrounded them in the dark as he touched her, as he parted her trembling thighs with his own strong ones and reached between them. He could feel her struggling for breath, for the courage to say something, wanting to close her legs and prevented by his strength. She made hissing, frightened noises as he gently caressed her there, where no man had ever had the right to touch her, a privilege which had always belonged only to him and now always would. He sought to arouse her, to pleasure her, to bring forth the natural moisture which would make their joining smooth rather than forced and agonizing. He certainly knew he would hurt her, and tear her, this first time, but that was inevitable. She would bleed for him, and as such would be marked. His, and no others’.

She was crying again as he gathered her strongly in his arms, as he pressed his much larger and heavier frame on her slender one, as he prodded carefully between her legs. She felt warm and silky even then, and without further ado he pushed into that lush, taut haven.

He was insensible to anything but the heaven he had suddenly been sent to. His eyes rolled up in his head in absolute pleasure as he pushed firmly into her, feeling that pure part of her tear away, feeling her sudden jerk and sob of pain, her tears as he continued his way into her. And then he was fully seated, the extraordinary tightness and hotness surrounding his very being, caressing and squeezing him in a way he couldn’t believe possible. He forced himself to still, and bent down to look her in the eyes.

He could barely see her, in the darkness, but the faint light reflected off her tears and her shining eyes, wide and afraid. He kissed her brow, and whispered to her, endearments and affection, low murmurings designed to relax her and bring her pleasure, to reassure her of his continued love, now openly expressed to her. He wanted to make sure she knew that he would never abandon her, that this act was simply an extension of his love for her, that it would continue to be, and no one could ever hurt her again.

She did not attempt any words, but her eyes were still shining as they look up at him in fear. Not wanting to see that look in her eyes any longer, he gathered her in his arms and began to rock, pulling in and out of her in a sweet rhythm. It wasn’t terribly long before he sat up abruptly, pulling her into his arms as he continued his slightly more passionate actions. She made distressed noises, but at his soft shushing, finally laid her head on his shoulder and made it wet with hot tears as he lifted her up and down against him. Again and again in this sweet embrace they stayed, until he let the rush of pleasure overtake him and he pushed her back into the soft mattress to take his pleasure and finally spill into her.

She cried and trembled beneath him, and he rolled over to rest her exhausted, sore body on his own chest, relishing in her divine weight upon him. He whispered that she was a sweet girl, that he loved her, that he would always be with her, as he soothed her with slow motions of his hands. It wasn’t long before she cried herself to sleep, curled on his chest.

When he had laid an hour and was sure of the depth of her sleep, he tucked her into the pillows and warm covers, kissed her hair, and withdrew. He knew dreams of Elizabeth would haunt him that night, and he looked forward to winning her affection and drawing her into his own bedchamber as his true consort. His sister would continue to occupy the chamber adjoining his, would continue as his mate in every sense of the world for now. Pemberley was her home. She would never leave.