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Mary was only thirteen years old when her mother gave them the talk; she remembers very well the heat of that summer, the comings and goings of the town and how news of the arrival of a group of soldiers had alarmed the good nerves of her family, especially her mother.
At that time, Lizzie and Jane were only 16 and 17 years old, somewhat immature young women, but according to society, at a fertile and pleasant time for marriage; of course, nothing remained of that season, the news never had much basis in the Bennet house, but even so, due to the faithful opportunity, they had found themselves sitting in the main hall with their mother, a little flushed, as she explained to them the marital obligations that every woman should fulfill towards her husband.
Today Mary knew very well that the dry explanation her mother had given them only covered generalities, nothing beyond the need for cleanliness, a little submission, and of course, reciprocation for whatever their husbands asked of them. Despite knowing very well that her parents' married life was not a peaceful one—after all, it was impossible to silence certain sounds in their large house—the talk they had been given had been quite incomplete, perhaps it was because it was the first time such a thought had been spoken in the intimacy of their family, or perhaps it was the blush on Jane's cheeks or Lizzie's uncontrollable laughter, but Mary had found that her mother was not explaining everything involved in their intimate responsibilities.
Therefore, although the odds seemed to dwindle as time went on, Mary decided to investigate on her own. The anonymity her interests afforded had made hiding certain books from her parents and sisters remarkably easy, after all, who would suspect that the prudish Mary Bennet was concealing intimate books and magazines among her geology textbooks? How she obtained them, she preferred not to mention. There were certain things a lady should keep to herself, such as the names of certain servants who, for a hefty price, could procure anything she desired.
Thanks to this initiative, it could be said that she was able to receive a good education regarding her marital duties. She never thought she could carry them out completely. Mr. Collins had crossed her mind at some point when she believed she had the responsibility of supporting her family's household, and she had to admit that the thought had not been appealing, after all, their mutual attraction seemed to be mental and emotional, not physical. For some time, she believed that all that reading and those intimate nights would not be worth the fruits of her labour, not until Thomas arrived.
Thomas Hayward—just thinking his name had initially brought her pleasure. His warmth, kindness, and attentiveness had ignited a small flame within her, one that only grew stronger with time. Mary had never fully understood the allure of seeing bare skin, in her books, ladies often blushed at the mere sight of a wrist, or men at the sight of an ankle blossoming amidst the dances. It wasn't until Thomas rolled up his sleeves during the game of grace with his uncles that she understood that moment when they ran out of breath. She had certainly lost her breath a little when the white skin of his arm kept appearing, a warmth began to rise in her chest, a tingling in her hands. She hoped she wasn't too obvious at that moment, when, sitting down, she could feel the heat on her cheeks as Hayward had accidentally brushed against her hand.
Seeing him soaked might have caused poor Mary even more heat if it weren't for the hilarity she felt at seeing poor Thomas flustered and trying not to drown Mr. Ryder for interrupting them and throwing him into the lake. Still, sometimes she remembered him. In her time alone in London, she could recall how the water ran down his neck, how his hair had escaped from its elaborate hairstyle, the beginning of his collarbones, and how his translucent shirt hadn't hidden in the slightest how well-built Mr. Hayward was.
Today, she was eternally grateful to Miss Bingley. If it weren't for her intervention, Thomas might still be hiding in Yorkshire, her heart still yearning for her other half, and their wedding and honeymoon might never have happened. Both she and Thomas knew they couldn't be too far from London for a long time, with her husband's work as a lawyer and her responsibilities as a governess, they didn't think a long journey was necessary to spend time together. Unlike her sisters, they didn't have a large house that could afford such freedom. Therefore, knowing her aunt and uncle could summon them at any time, they had decided to spend their honeymoon back at the lake.
The place was too beautiful to have been tainted with bittersweet memories of their separation and misunderstandings; besides, because of the season, few people took the time to be in the intimacy of nature; the last time Mary was in that place she had arrived with a desire to start over, today all she longed for was to be able to tear Thomas's shirt off.
They didn't do much when they arrived; it wasn't as if she expected her husband to have dragged her to their room and made her breathless the moment they touched the tavern floor, but Thomas had behaved perhaps too sweetly (not that she was complaining). Their journey had been composed of retellings of new poems, a nap on each other's shoulders, or a brief silence between them. Having arrived early, they had eaten, changed, and gone for a walk along the lake, with the sun shining as it hadn't for so long, she had closed her eyes and, with her face tilted, the warmth of the mountains had made her feel so complete that she would have missed Thomas's longing gaze if she hadn't looked back at the blanket on the sand where her beloved was watching her with a smile on his face, the white of his shirt billowing in the lake breeze.
She had assumed it was his chivalry that had prevented him from touching her in any way, and for what was left of that afternoon, with her heart pounding in her chest, Mary had excused herself early from dinner, giving Thomas a glance. He had simply nodded and smiled as he continued his efficient conversation with one of the locals. Seizing the moment and knowing that he could catch her at any time, she had hurried to their room, where she took out her luggage, including a white nightgown that her aunt had given her with a wink. After washing, she put it on, nervously letting her hair down at the thought that Thomas would finally see her in her complete freedom. It wasn't until she had put some perfume on her neck that she heard her husband's footsteps outside the room.
"Mary, I saw one of the servants carrying some water downstairs. If you wanted a bath, you should have told me, and I would have gladly given it to you—" Thomas's voice, which he hadn't been paying attention to until that moment, caught in his throat as he looked at her.
Mary stood in the middle of the room, the fireplace light doing little to conceal the translucence of her dress. Her long hair framed her face, making her look almost angelic, and the blush on her cheeks was only slightly obscured by the irises of her eyes. "Surprise," she exclaimed, somewhat uncomfortably opening her hands.
She felt heat spread through her body thanks to Thomas's gaze, who was still standing in the doorway, his hand still on the handle. She wanted to believe his reaction was appropriate, but the tension in his back was evident, as was the rapid breathing that blurred the lenses of his glasses.
Seemingly emerging from his stupor, Thomas smiles with an exclamation as he shifts in his place, releasing the doorknob and straightening up as he looks away, his gaze flitting everywhere except for his wife. Mary feels a little insulted.
Silence reigns in the room as Thomas close his eyes and sighs heavily, taking off his jacket with difficulty. She, a little uncomfortable, senses that perhaps this wasn't in her husband's plans; after all, despite his devotion to her, she shouldn't have expected him to desire her in the same way.
"I feel like I've rushed" Mary murmurs, clasping her hands in front of her as she lowers her gaze, a feeling of shame beginning to spread through her body.
"No Mary, no, I'm sorry," her husband murmured, still breathless, as he ran a hand over his face. "I didn't expect it, that's all."
"It's hard to expect anything more on a honeymoon," she replies with a touch of humour, running her hand along her neck, somewhat oblivious to the way Thomas seems to follow the movement.
“That's not it, love, it's just that—”
"Thomas, if you don't love me that way, I understand," she interrupts with a mix of force and exasperation as he looks at her with disbelief and a hint of fear. "I was hoping maybe to attract you somehow, but if I'm not enough..." losing her courage and with tears welling in her eyes, she can't finish the sentence
"Mary, what makes you think I'm not attracted to you?" Thomas sounds incredulous, and when she looks at him, he almost seems insulted.
"For starters, you haven't even moved from the door," she gestures with her arm as Thomas notices that, indeed, he's still standing in the doorway. "Besides, it's our honeymoon, and on the trip here, you didn't even kiss me, which I'm sure any couple would do considering how close my aunt and uncle are, even when there's company," she murmurs, not letting her husband interrupt her despite his mouth opening and closing incessantly. "Then there was that moment earlier at the lake when we were alone, and you were looking at me, and for a moment I thought you were going to do something, but you just hugged me in the blanket while reciting a poem to me, which I'm not complaining about, but I honestly expected more." Thomas doesn't move; he just stands there, staring at her with growing disbelief. "And finally, I know any married couple would take advantage of their short honeymoon to go to bed early, but you didn't even think to bring me back here, so I had to take matters into my own hands, but it seems even that didn't work," she finishes, a little breathless, feeling a very different kind of warmth than before.
Well scolded and somewhat confused, Thomas slowly approaches, extending a hand and taking one of hers, bringing it to his chest. Mary feels breathless but seems to lose it completely when her husband gently, without breaking eye contact, brings her hand to his mouth and kisses her almost breathlessly. Thomas has always been a weakness for her; his touch is like a hot flame on her skin. But as she watches how Thomas with closed eyes, seems to lose himself in that small union, the anger she might have felt seems to vanish as if by magic.
"I think I've failed in my responsibilities as a husband," he murmurs to her skin without yet looking at her, his other hand moving up to her collarbone where the thin fabric frames her neck, his gentle touch sending shivers down her spine. "I was distracted by the warmth of your company, and for a moment I didn't think I needed anything more, but now I understand that you did," he whispers as he lifts his gaze, their eyes meeting, stealing a sigh from her lips. "Mary Hayward, you are the most beautiful and attractive woman I have ever known. I have loved you for so long that I no longer remember how was not to do it. Don't doubt for a moment that I could ever stop wanting you, because loving you as a husband is the only thing I have desired since the moment my eyes fell upon you." he finishes, causing Mary to let out a deep sigh as a tear runs down her cheek, prompting Thomas, without thinking, to lean down and kiss her.
She feels herself rising, Thomas kisses her with a restrained force, holding her waist with one hand while the other sinks into her neck. His lips driving her wild as the kiss deepens. She doesn't know if she's doing it right; she's never kissed anyone but him. But when her hands grip tightly at the nape of his neck, pulling his hair a little, Thomas gasps with his mouth open against hers as he pulls her closer.
Feeling like she's about to fall, she gently pushes him back onto the bed, causing Thomas to pull her toward him as they fall roughly between the sheets. Contrary to most of what she's read, he doesn't try to get on top of her; he seems quite comfortable sitting back against the pillows as she sits on his lap, blushing a little more as she feels a certain firmness against her thighs. She doesn't know what she's doing, whether her weight is pleasurable, but Thomas doesn't complain. Rather, he runs his hands more fervently over her back, down to her thighs, across her stomach, and trembling slightly as he touches her breast. Mary feels a burning sensation.
Thomas's mouth releases hers as he buries himself against her neck, kissing and licking the skin he finds, forcing her to hold onto his neck as her husband seems to lose himself in the delicacy of her skin; as he touches the top of her breast, a stifled gasp escapes her mouth as she senses such a longed-for touch, but he doesn't try, instead returning to her mouth, opening it with his tongue. A few more minutes are lost in his taste, but Mary is wet and feels she will lose her mind if he doesn't at least take off his shirt, so hoping to encourage things a little, she grabs the hem of her dress and begins to lift it, only to be abruptly stopped by one of Thomas's hands.
"No, love, no," he murmurs breathlessly, looking at where her hand is holding the dress, and perhaps sensing her thoughts, he smiles. "It's not that the thought isn't completely pleasurable, believe me, it is," he clarifies with a touch of effusiveness that amuses her. "But seeing you with your hair down almost makes me faint. I think if I see you with it completely loose, our current activity will end sooner than expected," he explains somewhat embarrassed, provoking an audible laugh from her, which he returns.
"It shouldn't be too different from other women's physiques," Mary replied, somewhat confused, to which he gave her a puzzled look, his chest still rising and falling somewhat abruptly.
"Physically, no, certainly not. I couldn't say I'm a great judge of female anatomy," he clarifies, still somewhat confused, causing a small doubt to begin to sprout in his wife's mind.
"But you're a man," she clarifies, confused, as she tilts her head, her glasses slipping slightly, prompting Thomas to adjust them.
"Are you saying that because of my male nature I should know more about female anatomy?" he asks gratefully, without insulting, but Mary just shrugs. "Mary, I'm not a libertine," he murmurs playfully as one of his hands moves up and down his side, distracting her.
"I mean, I wasn't expecting it," she replies, making Thomas smile as he gently burrows into her neck, eliciting a sigh. "But you must have some experience, after all, you are Mr. Ryder's friend" she finishes, smiling inwardly at the sigh her beloved releases against her skin at the mention of their mutual friend.
"Love, I don't come from a wealthy family. Everything I have comes from my education, one that I was aware of how fortunate I was to have. It's not as if I didn't have any fun, but I also didn't have the freedom that William had in his youth. I had to study," he clarifies, looking at her with amusement, at which Mary frowns.
"But it's not like this is your first time," she mentions, a nearly satisfying warmth coursing through her, under the almost guilty look in her husband's eyes. "It is!" she exclaims playfully, making Thomas groan in embarrassment as he buries his face in her neck, tightening his grip on her waist. "Well, that explains why you didn't do anything at the lake," she says, enjoying the new moan that escapes his lips.
"It's not like I didn't know what to do," he defends himself, looking up where Mary is watching him with amusement.
"Are you sure? Because I'm sure we've been sitting on this bed for more than ten minutes when we should be doing something else," she explains playfully, making Thomas look at her with mock indignation as he intentionally runs a hand under her dress over her thigh, making her gasp in surprise and causing him to smile with satisfaction.
"I know exactly how this works, Mary, believe me. I'm William's friend, after all, aren't I?" He raises an eyebrow with satisfaction, his hand restless. "It's just... it's too much love. I still can't believe I'm able to have you like this. I feel like I'm going too fast, and all I want is to have you like this forever." His breath is warm against her collarbone, where his eyes seem to wander, and Mary doesn't know where to focus: on his mouth or on the hand that's reaching for her breast.
"We still have all night," Mary murmurs breathlessly, making him hum. "But could you at least take your shirt off for me?" she asks, almost pleading. But Thomas doesn't seem amused by the thought. Now that the idea is out in the air, it seems to appeal to him quite a bit, because removing his hand from her skin, he quickly loosens the fabric around his wrists as he smoothly moves aside to pull it up.
Mary is in heaven, or at least as close as she can get; she knew Thomas was well-built because of what she had glimpsed that time at the lake, but her stolen glances had contributed little to the sight he offered her eyes; he was a little thin, but the breadth of his chest, the hair that ran along his skin, offered her such a tempting image that she could do little more than lean in and take his mouth while her hands ran to touch the offered skin.
Thomas stifles a gasp in his mouth at the touch of her fingers that hold, run, and shine along his chest; Mary doesn't know who to thank when she can lower her mouth to that expanse of skin and in a moment of carelessness that even she doesn't recognize, she takes a nipple in her mouth, making a long moan escape Thomas's lips as he tightens his grip on her thigh while his other hand pulls her up and, with his mouth open, he plunges into her.
There's so much she can do that she doesn't know where to begin, but she remembers something from her nightly reading that wants to explore, so taking advantage of his distraction, she lowers her hand to his pants and firmly grasps the hidden bulge, suppressing a smile at the start Thomas makes as he opens his eyes wide.
"Mary?" he asks breathlessly, but she doesn't let him continue; she knows he'll take her hand away if he feels uncomfortable, so, shining at this new opportunity, she runs her hand along its length while stifling his gasps in her mouth.
Thomas's stomach sinks at the feeling; she can feel it vibrate at her mouth and touch. Desperate about what might happen, she plunges her hand under his pants and takes him in her hand. Thomas jumps, and the momentum only serves to tighten her grip, almost screaming at her touch, Mary smiles at his lips, and driven by his reaction, she moves her hand up and down, swallowing the sounds her husband is letting out into her mouth.
"Mary, love, love," echoes from his breathless lips, trembling at her touch; the hand that is not on her thigh grips the sheet tightly, so Mary grabs it and pulls it up under her dress to her breast. Thomas seems lost, but certain of his desire, he holds her breast in his hands, and the simple touch is enough to make her even wetter.
The moan they both share is muffled in their mouths, and emerging a little from their haze, Thomas holds her hip and pushes her onto his thigh while encouraging her to rub against the hand that moves down to her wetness; Mary feels like she's about to explode, not only from the weight of Thomas in her hand but from the relief his hand offers to her intimacy, so she lets nature do its work and moves her hips seeking the relief that Thomas's touch offers her.
She doesn't know how much time passes before everything becomes almost unbearable; she feels a scorching heat in her belly, the moisture running over Thomas's fingers, the slippery liquid that oozes from the tip of her husband's penis when her fingers spend too much time on the tip, but in the blink of an eye their hot breaths mingling in their mouths come out without stopping; she hides her moans in his mouth as he thrusts at her touch; it is not until the moment she opens her eyes and sees two tears running down Thomas's face as he stares at her almost hypnotized that Mary feels herself go.
It's one thing to read about it, another to have it explained to you, and quite another to live it; she feels as if she's dying, her heart races with the force and speed of the horses that Mr. Hurst seems to love so much, she feels her soul leaving her body at the touch that Thomas keeps giving her, and she knows she's making rather embarrassing noises, but doesn't care in the slightest. Mary Bennet had never felt such fullness as Mary Hayward now feels at the simple, embodied desire that her husband has given her.
It's hard for her to return to reality, but when she does and opens her eyes, Thomas looks at her with such love and pleasure that it makes her tremble and encourages the touch on his body that allows her husband to reach the pleasure he so kindly offered her; Thomas spills into her hand while hiding his gasp against the skin of her breast, his tense body seems to stretch uncomfortably, but Mary can feel how much pleasure she has given him.
As the minute passes, Thomas returns to reality, looking up at her face and smiling at her with such sweetness and love that Mary feels she is going to explode “you said all night, right?” he asks breathlessly, making her laugh so hard that he happily imitates her as he hugs her tightly and pulls her close again.
It's not until much later that the thought strikes her, when the fireplace has gone out and Thomas, lying beside her, keeps touching her hair. "Thomas," she calls, receiving only a murmur in response. "Why weren't you surprised that I knew exactly what to do in bed?" asks, confused, but Thomas just stares at her, exasperated, without loosening his grip on the lock of hair between his fingers.
"Well, Mary, you read," he replies, shrugging as if that were enough, without removing his hand. The response is so much his own that all Mary can do is laugh as she sinks into the pillow, oblivious to the amused and loving look Thomas gives her.