The Passion of Darius
: Chapter 6

His note arrived in the morning.

My beautiful Marianne,

I will send the carriage to collect you today at one o’clock. Wear your new riding outfit—the blue one. I have a surprise and await you eagerly.

D. R.

Greeting her first with a kiss on her forehead, he then pulled back to peruse her from head to toe.

“The color suits you, Marianne. You wear that blue very well.”

“I haven’t ridden in over a year.”

“I’m sure it will all come back to you. Riding skill is not something one forgets. I just know you’ll be splendid, but I am more than happy to help you if you need it.” He seemed excited, smiling like a boy awaiting a treat, she thought.

She cried out when she saw her “surprise.” The lovely gray horse standing in the stall was her own, Tempest. Or, at least she had been Marianne’s horse before financial ruin had forced her sale. “Tempest?” Marianne petted her neck and leaned forward. “I can hardly believe she’s real.”

“For you, Marianne. She is yours once more.”

Marianne whirled around to face him. “Darius? How did you know?” Her throat tight, she could hardly speak.

“Your father told me she had been sold to the Hallborough estate. Greymont is a good friend, and was happy to let her go. I bought her back is all.” Darius looked at her questioningly. “Shall we ride?”

“Yes.” Marianne would enjoy the thrill of riding again, it appeared. If she felt she could embrace the enjoyment she would tell him so, but she did not feel it would be honest.

They traversed inland, skirting over stones and grass until they reached a copse of trees. Darius announced it was a good place to stop and rest the horses. His strong arms reached for her and brought her down to stand on firm ground. He did not release her, but looked into her eyes. “What is bothering you?”

“Nothing,” she said stiffly, knowing her answer would not be satisfactory to Darius. He would demand an explanation from her now. And she knew she would give it to him.

“Yes, there is something. You are melancholy, I can see it clear as day. Tell me.” He rephrased it for her. “You want to tell me, Marianne.”

Feeling a wash of relief fold over her, she lowered her gaze and whispered, “I–I don’t deserve all of this.” She shifted her eyes to rest upon Tempest. “It is too much, Darius. It makes me uncomfortable. I don’t—”

“I think you deserve it, and I’ll help you get comfortable. Say to me, ‘I deserve everything Darius gives me.’ Say that, Marianne.” His voice firm, harder than she had ever heard, commanded her. And she was helpless against his masterful directives.

“I… I deserve… everything Darius gives me.”

“Yes, you do deserve everything, and now I’ll make sure you’re convinced.” He took a blanket from the travel pack and spread it out on the ground. “I know what you need.” He held out his hand to her. “Lie down with me, Marianne.”

She carefully removed her hat before obeying. Marianne held on to his gaze as she lowered herself onto the blanket. Joining her, he stared down, his eyes raking over her, almost reverently, she thought. Darius certainly knew how to impel her, for it was easy to do his bidding.

She saw her eyes mirrored in his dark ones, the reflection easily visible as he descended. He began at her lips. Working leisurely, he used his teeth to scrape over her lips and tongue, gently grazing and sucking them into his mouth. He nipped along her jaw and under her chin. His hard body pressed into her side, then turned her to face him, seeking alignment from head to foot.

They fit against each other well, she thought.

After some time, he pulled back and stared again, focusing in on her face. No, it was above her face. He leaned down again and kissed her hair and inhaled. Whatever he asked of her, she knew she would do.

“Take your hair down for me.”

She struggled to sit up, and he was quick to assist. Then he watched greedily as she removed the pins that held her hair. Darius sighed just before she plucked the last pivotal pin, her dark curls tumbling down in a curtain around her face. He looked happy watching.

Reaching out his hand, he lifted a curl and brought it to his nose. His face, so close she could feel the intake of breath drawing from her and into him. Warm lips came down on her almost desperately, seeking deep entry. His velvet tongue plumbed her as he pressed her back down on the blanket.

Fisting handfuls of her hair, he breathed in the scent, his weight settling back against her side. “I’ve imagined you like this with your glorious hair flowing free, lying in our bed, waiting for me.” His mouth moved to her neck, grazing in the hollows with gentle lips and teeth. “Open the top of your dress. I want to see you, Marianne.”

She did not hesitate. Her fingers moved quickly to tackle the neck cloth and unbutton her jacket. Darius helped. Pushing open her bodice, he was presented with the view of her breasts swelling above an alluring French silk corset. One that he had chosen for her. She knew he had thought of her wearing the garments against her skin. Darius had said. He also saw the pearls he’d given her, and froze. A ragged breath, and then another more controlled one expelled from him slowly, as if he needed to control his response.

“You wore them.” Kissing over the tops of her breasts, he purred, exploring every uncovered inch, with wandering, but determined, lips. He even kissed the pearl crucifix framed below her throat. He had soft lips.

“Bellissima, so beautiful.”

She liked his Italian words very much. When Darius said things to her in Italian, he sounded more intimate, and made her feel very adored. But his next move was bold, commandeering in its way. Cradling one hand behind her head, the other reached under her skirt and swept up her leg. She stiffened and shook her head. He just smiled and kept going, up to the top of her thigh. His hand moved inside, toward her sex. “Open up for me, Marianne. You want this. You want me to touch you. Don’t be afraid, bella. I want to feel you… and so, you want the same.”

Sobbing out a moan, she obeyed, moving her legs apart. She quickly succumbed to tremors as his hand burned on her thigh.

“Your skin is so smooth, like the silk that covers you,” he murmured.

Holding the back of her head, he forced her to look up at him. His long, elegant fingers journeyed on, burrowing in between more silk undergarments to the apex between her legs.

Oh God. He’s going to touch me… there.

Her legs grew rigid, and she tried to close them, but Darius wouldn’t allow it. His touch was firm as his determined fingers found her center and buried into the short curls that covered her cunny.

She sucked in a gasp at the feel of his hand plying her.

His fingers pressed a little harder, the pressure allowing her folds to part. That burning hot gate of entry he sought. It burned as hot as his eyes did, seeking complete surrender from her. One finger forged ahead of the others, pressing deeper still, and delved inside.

Marianne jerked hard when he invaded her, and groaned low in her throat. He was inside her body with his finger.

“Shhh,” he whispered, holding her firmly. “It’s all right,” he crooned at her lips, stroking into her slick cunny with his finger while hovering barely an inch from her face.

Marianne could not hold back the cry that escaped. Darius was so close and overriding she could do nothing but give in to him. But that was what they were both after, wasn’t it? They each had their role to play. He would dominate. She would submit. In that way, both would be getting what they wanted, and needed.

Marianne’s body responded in the only way it could.

When Darius felt her wetness, he arched his brows. “You’re wet for me… and so soft.” His lips brushed hers. “I knew you would be.”

His words, so intimate, burned a path straight through her, laying her open, exposing her completely to his mercy. Arching sharply, her body arced and then froze as she accepted his invasion.

“That’s it. Feel my touch in you. You’re so soft here… and slick. I love that you’re wet and slippery.” His eyes flared before growing hooded. “God, you feel so perfectly lovely.”

Dear, Lord. The things he said made her blush to the roots of her hair. But that did not curb her response to what he was doing to her. With a will all their own, her thighs clenched around his hand and her hips started to move.

Marianne couldn’t keep still—the pleasure was indescribable, setting her afire. Movement was as necessary as breathing.

Darius played her like an instrument, stroking over a swollen nub that shot bursts of sensation each time he drew over it. Slowly, he brought her to life, knowing where to touch and how hard to press. The hot pulses grew higher, more intense, building low in her belly. Nearly out of her mind, her neck straining, eyes closing, she thought she’d surely die if he stopped all that glorious rubbing. Something was happening to her. Maybe she was dying. She didn’t care though—as long as he kept up stroking her in that most perfect, magnificent way.

“Look at me, Marianne. Don’t close your eyes. Look at me.”

When he commanded her, something unraveled, breaking inside her. Her eyes began to flutter as the first convulsions struck. It was a struggle to keep them open, to obey his command. She tried to. Shudders of explosive current took hold, rushing throughout her body.

Darius stopped the rubbing and pressed the heel of his palm down hard. She felt her eyes welling, and then a single tear tumbled down each cheek as she stared up into his eyes.

The pleasure so powerful, she finally understood the craving Darius ignited in her body when he touched her. This was the culmination of the unearthly feelings he brought about. And it was… magnificent.

“Oh, Darius, you make me feel—” Shuddering into his neck, she panted and rode the wave, unable to finish her words.

“That was a glorious thing to watch, my beauty, you taking your pleasure. You do deserve everything. You deserve what I just gave you, Marianne, and there’s so much more. I will show you everything.” He pressed his lips to the streaks of tears on her cheeks, kissing the wetness away. He nodded slowly. “The next time you feel this same pleasure, it won’t just be my fingers here against you.” Pressing the heel of his hand against her mound, and his fingers atop her clit, he elicited an easy shiver and a moan. “It will be this.” He took his hand away and mounted her, thrusting forcefully, his intent as unmistakable as the weight of him upon her.

Marianne felt every inch of his hard cock pulsing against her body, feeling him clearly through their clothes, his hips pushing her legs wider apart. His erection lay flat upon his belly and hit her right at the pubic bone. Instinctively, she offered resistance to his thrust, replaceing an immediate rhythm in the primeval stroking. He liked that very much, she could tell. I like it very much.

Smiling, he brought the fingers that had touched her to his mouth. She watched him put his lips around them and draw them back. When he pulled them out, he closed his eyes and said, “Like a spiced plum.”

She gasped and clamped her eyes shut. The sight of him tasting the fingers that had just been between her legs was so risqué she wanted to hide. It was as if he truly wanted to devour her. She turned her head away, embarrassment flushing her from the deep intimacy.

“No, no, no, my Marianne, we cannot have that.” He took her chin and gently forced her right back to face him. “Do not turn from me. I will know all of you. I will, and that is my promise to you. How you look, how you feel, how you sound, how you smell, and even how you taste—I will experience them all, bella. Every beautiful part… of you… for me to know.”

And Darius didn’t release her right away after that either. He kept her close, on the blanket for a long time, holding and kissing and rocking against her body, whispering to her. Finally, when she was languid and calm in his arms, and Darius seemed satisfied that she had accepted his declaration—that she deserved everything he wanted to give her—he freed her. His words told her how he felt.

“Marianne, you are so perfect.”

Darius, you are so wrong. I am nothing even close to perfect. I have done something unforgivable.

27th June, 1837

Darius made another gift to me today. He restored to me, my Tempest, who I adore. My horse is now my own again and I may ride when it suits me to do so. I love to have her with me once more, but the further I go into this tangled path with my future husband, the more troubled I become. I am so entangled with Darius in such a short time I know it must lead me into places that I am ignorant of. I look forward to him calling on me and spending time in his company. He touched me today. Intimately. I know he has rights to do it, and even so it was bold of him, I could not deny his advances, nor would I wish to. His touch is demanding, but tender at the same time. He does not frighten me, but the place at which he is able to bring me—does. He says things, and kisses me, and touches me in ways that have brought me completely to his mercy. I am but mere clay in the hands of a master potter, and ever grateful he is so good with me.

MG