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Margaret found herself unable to focus on her embroidery, conflicted feelings roiling within her as she searched for a way to broach the subject that she had been ruminating over for the last week.
She had had a rather shameful, wanton revelation.
Her husband was a doggedly passionate man in his work pursuits, unafraid to raise his voice to shout orders at his workers or chastise them for costly mistakes. Some days, he seemed so tightly wound from the stress of the mill’s recovery (which was going well, but still commanded much of his time) that it seemed he would snap at the slightest provocation, and she sometimes steered clear of him throughout the day, waiting for him to come to their bed at night.
In their bedroom, he was an altogether different figure. Practically worshipful of her in his gentleness, taking his time and treating her with the most delicate care, patiently giving instead of taking.
Something about it began to gnaw at her over time. She wanted to see the passionate side of him behind closed doors, wanted to see him lose that tightly wrought self-control and consume her eagerly without a care for soft caresses and whispered words of affection.
She wasn’t sure what it was that she wanted - but after witnessing him roughly shove a worker away from one of the looms and berate him for his foolishness, a fire had sparked within her.
“Darling?”
John had been hunched over the desk, scrawling a letter for the better part of the last half hour, brows knit in concentration. He lifted his gaze to see Margaret perched on the couch, needlepoint in hand, and he regarded her curiously, eyebrow arched.
“Yes, my dear?” he ventured.
She poked her needle through the fabric once more before losing her willpower and lowering the project to rest on the cushion beside her, measuring her words carefully before speaking again.
She laid her hands atop her lap and gave him a serene smile. “Would you … indulge me this evening?” she asked primly.
“’Indulge’ you?” he asked. “How so?”
She felt her cheeks redden. “Well, I thought we might... spend time together.”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “Don’t we usually do that?” he asked, unable to disguise his growing amusement.
“Well, yes,” she hedged. “But, tonight, I thought…" she trailed off, uncertain of how to ask him directly.
John rose from his seat, folding his arms across his chest. “Mrs. Thornton.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it before she felt her cheeks burn hot. “We’re usually so …gentle. Chaste, I think,” she said.
His eyebrows rose. “Chaste?”
“Well, you’re always so very delicate with me, and you make sure that I am comfortable…"
John’s eyes narrowed, smoldering beneath the bench of his brow. “Margaret, I don’t understand.” He strode over, kneeling in front of her. “What is wrong? Is this your way of – Have I been asking too much of you lately?” His eyes searched hers.
“No! No, not at all!” she said with a small laugh. “On the contrary,” she hedged quietly, feeling as though she were burning bright red.
He took her hands in his, brushing his thumbs over her knuckles encouragingly.
“Well, darling, sometimes you can be so passionate and... commanding – overbearing, if you will, when you’re in the mill yard.” She pointedly avoided his gaze.
His eyes widened fractionally and the grip on her hands tightened. “And that bothers you?” he asked, his voice low.
“No! Well - yes, sometimes - but no! Oh, goodness. I just mean …" She bent over, scrunching up her face and screwing her eyes shut tightly. “Oh, John, I don’t know how to do this.”
“Margaret, please be open and honest with me,” he urged her abruptly.
“John, what if I wanted you to be a bit more...” Margaret chewed her lower lip and sighed. “A bit more, firm, if you will, when it comes to our...nightly activities.”
His expression shifted to abject shock, eyes narrowing slightly. “Firm? You mean...”
“A bit more... oh, I don’t know. The way you are at the mill when you’re angry and you take charge.”
The realization dawned on him before his eyes darkened. “Mrs. Thornton...” his voice dropped low. “Are you asking me to play Master in the bedroom?”
She turned away from him, twisting to her side and hiding her face in one of the couch cushions. “Oh, John,” she whined.
He sat back on his haunches, eyes still narrowed in disbelief, but he chuckled. “Margaret - come, love. Look at me.”
“No, I can't!” came her muffled reply.
“Darling, please,” he pressed, nudging at her shoulder until she sat upright to face him, pillow still covering her face.
A couple beats of silence followed before he chuckled again, wryly. “Margaret, I will do just about whatever you wish in that bedroom. That is for us – just you and I alone, to know of.” He reached out and chucked her chin gently with his thumb. “Please don’t hide your face from me, love.”
Slowly, hesitantly, she lowered the pillow until it rested in her lap. Her eyes were watery, cheeks flushed, and she almost trembled away from him as his thumb dragged lower, down the column of her exposed throat.
He stared at her in disbelief, his lips curling upward and spreading widely with each passing moment. “Margaret,” he breathed. “You wish for more...intense intimacy?” he asked, trying to gain clarification.
“I suppose so, yes.” Her voice was tight.
He laughed. “Yes. Of course, Margaret. I’d be happy to.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “And you won’t think me too wanton?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head breathlessly. “No, I think it very brave of you – and very - I must admit, I find it exciting.”
She popped one eye open, looking at him unsurely. “Exciting?”
“Why, yes,” he said, now grinning widely enough to expose his bright white teeth. “I feel I’m the luckiest man in the world, if this is what my wife asks of me. Most wives seem to ask their husbands to stay away, but here you are, asking me to…“ He shook his head as if in disbelief, his grin slowly morphing into a wolfish smirk.
She didn’t mind the smug satisfaction that seemed to take root inside of him. She couldn’t help but smile at his response, relaxing as she faced him. She had been so afraid of his reaction, and here he had reacted better than she could have ever imagined. Pulling their joined hands upward, she pressed a slow, deep kiss to his skin.
“I must say, it’s difficult for me not to tease you, though,” he said. “My prim and proper Southern wife, asking me to behave more like a beast in the bedroom.”
“John Thornton!” she cried, but she couldn’t summon anger to her tone. Her cheeks and ears were burning, flushed with mortification, but something inside of her felt much lighter now.
“Alright, I suppose I won’t tease you too much,” he said, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to her cheek. “My Margaret... You never cease to amaze me.”
“My John,” she said back to him, releasing his hands so that she could trace her index finger down the side of his face, her fingertip brushing against the edges of his sideburns.
“So, this evening, then,” he announced, leaning back slightly. “I will give you what you desire.”
Her eyes widened slightly, and she couldn’t help but bite the inside of her cheek, still feeling shy. “Tonight?” she mumbled.
“Why not? Why would I make my lovely wife wait?”
“Oh, but John, I’m not sure how... I don’t know how it is done.”
He lowered his head, staring up at her from beneath thick dark lashes. “The same way we’ve always done it, love. Just with added vigor, and a bit more force.”
Margaret wasn’t sure how to react, especially to the way that his words sent heat shooting to her core.
She quickly glanced past him, ensuring that no one was passing in the hallway, and dove in, sealing her lips against his with a soft whimper, throwing her arms around his neck the same way she had done on the day of the fated riot.
They remained that way, kissing tenderly, until he pulled back, their lips separating with an audible pop.
“You must promise me, though,” he told her, voice rumbling within his chest. “If you want me to stop, you will tell me. I am not a beast; I will not take you like an animal. You understand?”
She nodded, unable to keep her lips from curling up coyly. Though somehow, having her John take her that way did not seem quite so unsavory...
His gaze fell to her lips, slightly swollen from their kisses, and he closed his eyes with a pleased smile.
“Good,” he said, leaning forward and nuzzling her cheek.
~*~
Dinner that evening was interesting. Margaret couldn’t keep her heartbeat in check as she dined with her husband and mother-in-law, continuously sneaking what she hoped were discreet glances at the former. She cut her food into small pieces, finding herself too distracted to consume the whole meal.
She and John had been married for 4 months now. They had lain together dozens of times, perhaps hundreds by now - goodness, she couldn’t be certain. Still, the prospect of this evening excited her and made her nervous enough to almost rival their wedding night. She nibbled at her dinner for another few minutes and then set down her fork quietly.
“I think I’m going to retire for the evening,” she politely announced, before rising from her chair. She nodded in acknowledgment to the senior Mrs. Thornton and then her husband, her muscles tensing as he met her gaze and nodded back.
“Sleep well, Margaret,” Mrs Thornton said dismissively, turning to her son and beginning to engage him in questions about the mill’s affairs.
Margaret climbed the stairs and retreated to her dressing room after summoning Dixon to help her into her nightclothes.
“Are you alright, Mistress?” Dixon asked as she gently loosened the strings of Margaret’s corset. “Seems like you’ve got something on your mind.”
“No, I’m fine. I’m just tired,” Margaret breathed out. “I apologize.”
Once she was clothed in her nightgown, she surveyed herself in the mirror, turning slightly, and then smiled at Dixon. “Thank you, Dixon. Good night.”
“Good night, Mistress,” Dixon replied, quitting the room and shutting the door quietly behind her.
Margaret continued to look at herself in the mirror, wondering to herself. Would it be better if she presented herself to her husband sans nightgown, entirely naked? She tugged at the lightweight fabric, made with Marlborough Mills cotton, and decided to retreat to her and her husband’s shared bed and simply await his arrival. Perhaps he might prefer to undress her himself, if previous times were any indication of tonight’s experience. He seemed to enjoy unwrapping her like a private gift, cheeks flushing and eyes widening with each inch of flesh he revealed.
John hadn’t spoken much with his mother throughout the day, and it was certainly a busier part of the season, so she didn’t expect him to retire for another hour or so. She retrieved the book she had been reading from her bedside and cracked it open, retracing the pages she had read the evening before.
Before long, her eyes began to grow heavy, and she cursed herself silently. She had been looking forward to this evening all afternoon. She rolled her eyes and sighed, crossing the bedroom to snuff out all but one of the candles so that he would be able to navigate once he came up, and then she climbed back into bed, settling against the pillows.
She must have drifted off because she jolted awake as something brushed against her skin. Her chest heaved as her eyes flew open, relaxing once she saw her husband was leaning over her, smiling lopsidedly.
“Darling,” he said in greeting. “I’m sorry for keeping you waiting. I had much I needed to update Mother on, regarding the mill.”
“S’all right,” Margaret replied sleepily, raising a fist and rubbing it against her eyes as she flashed him a languid smile.
He pressed a kiss to her lips and then retreated, undressing himself in the dim flickering candlelight.
“I see you’ve left me in almost complete darkness,” he remarked cheekily. “I might have to feel my way over to you.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, rolling onto her side and watching him as he doffed his clothing carefully, one article at a time. She particularly enjoyed it when he tossed his cravat on top of the dresser, and when he shimmied his hips slightly to be free of his trousers and drawers. She found herself feeling slightly more awake as his naked flesh became exposed to her hungry gaze.
“Are you feeling well enough to give it a try this evening?”
“Hmm?” Margaret hummed distractedly, before stark realization set in. “Oh! That. Yes, of course.” She hoped she didn’t sound too eager. Her hands scrabbled until she was sitting fully upright, shifting the pillows to rest her back against them.
She was unable to make out the finer details of his face, but judging from the shadowed angles, he was smirking at her, almost victoriously.
“Shall I light more candles, or will I take you in darkness tonight?”
A loose thread in the duvet cover caught her interest and she began to fiddle with it. “Whatever you would like.”
“This isn’t about what I would like, Mrs. Thornton,” he reminded her, stepping free of his drawers and stretching his arms above his head, the candlelight dancing over the shifting muscles of his abdomen. He approached the bed like a predator, closing in before she had a chance to retort.
He slid onto the bed next to her, taking her into his arms and dotting her face with kisses, pausing as he pressed a light, fluttering one to the tip of her nose. She couldn’t help but giggle, looping her arms around his shoulders and nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck.
“Darling, this is about what you would like, though,” she murmured against his skin, before she lifted her head to smile at him coyly. “I want you to take control.”
“Is that so?” John brushed his lips against hers teasingly. “Then I would like to light all the candles in our room and watch you, but I’m not sure I could bear to rise from you long enough to do so.”
She hummed affectionately, emboldened enough to pull his bottom lip between hers, tugging gently before looping her left leg over his hips.
“Then take me like this,” she murmured against his lips.
He growled and covered her body with his, kissing her again with a growing intensity, hips rocking against hers. He was hard and thick against her lower stomach, his arousal burning hot through the thin layer of her nightgown.
“Margaret,” he murmured against her lips, lovingly brushing the tip of his nose against hers. “How do I take control of you? You want me to treat you less delicately?”
She blushed, though she knew he wouldn’t be able to see it. “I want you to take charge,” she said quietly. “Like the Master of the Mill would take charge of his wife.”
“Have I not been a good master these last few months, then?” He asked with a half hearted laugh. “Very well. You mean you want me to focus less on your pleasure, and more on myself?”
She was quiet, trailing her fingertips up and down his upper arms.
“Speak, wife,” he commanded, with a curl of gentleness. She could tell he was smirking at her in the dying candlelight.
“Yes. That is, I don’t know what I want, John. I want you to… I want you to be more…”
His lips grazed the flesh of her throat, seeking her pulsepoint. “Yes, love?” His voice rumbled against her warm flesh.
“Passionate,” she said quickly. “I-I always wonder… when you get angry, what it might be like if we were in the bedroom, and you…” she wanted to trail off and let him assume the rest of what she had to say. “Behave more roughly.”
“More like the Northern brute you thought me to be when we first met?” She could hear the humorous lilt in his voice.
“Perhaps,” she said quietly. Her eyes lifted to meet his, her cheeks scorched. In that moment she felt vulnerable in this entirely unchartered territory of their marriage.
“I will give it a try,” he said at last, after a few beats of silence. “Take that damn nightgown off, to start.”
He rose off of her, giving her the room to undress.
She didn’t waste any time, tugging the hem up and then pulling it over her head, caring not where it landed. Oh thank goodness tomorrow was Sunday, and she would have him all to herself for a few more hours in the morning… he was a habitual early riser, but she had tamed him enough to keep him in bed for a couple more hours on Sundays, when the mill did not operate. It was appointed as a day of rest, but she liked to keep those mornings quite eventful.
He hissed from across the bed. The last flickers of the candlelight caught on her large breasts, and he dove forward to attack the twin mounds with his mouth and fingers.
He bit, sucked, lapped, and worshiped her nipples one at a time, using his hand to cheekily tug and tease the opposite bud. “My God,” she heard him mutter under his breath at one point before he began to nibble at her left nipple, then suckle it through his teeth.
She was not immune to his torture. She writhed, thrusting her hips upward to meet his stomach, crying out, unable to keep silent through the onslaught.
She wanted him to take, take everything she had to offer. She didn’t want his sweet, delicate caresses and loving whispers, not right now. She wanted to take his desperation and transform it, spin gold from it.
He removed himself from her breast and reared back, panting slightly. “May I take you now?”
“Do Masters need to ask permission?” Margaret shot back playfully.
“Before they make love to their wives?” She could hear the smile in his voice. “I suppose not, though I aim to please.”
“You please me without trying,” she assured him.
“Alright, Mrs. Thornton. I’m going to fuck you so hard you barely remember your name.”
Margaret drew in a sharp breath and couldn’t help but buck her hips at his vulgar, erotic words. “Please,” she said softly.
His coarse language in the bedroom had shocked her at the beginning of their marriage. She was unused to hearing such words, but at the same time, she felt a sense of pride in hearing them fall from his lips - that she affected him enough to the point of losing his grasp on propriety.
Somehow, these filthy, degenerate words only heightened her excitement. She almost delighted in wrenching them from him.
He lifted her hips, allowing her to adjust her legs around her, and he took himself in hand to position himself before he sank down within her, inch by torturous inch.
Her eyes rolled backward in her skull as he filled her completely, and they moaned in unison.
His fingertips gripped the flesh of her hip, pawing desperately before digging in more tightly as he began to thrust into her. The rhythm was shaky at first, and she lifted her hips to meet him with each movement, but soon he grew more confident, his jerky thrusts becoming swifter, his flesh slapping against hers.
“Oh, John!” She cried out, reaching up to clap a hand over her mouth, but he reached up and tore her arm back.
“Let me hear you. All of you,” he demanded with a grunt. Margaret couldn’t help but whimper at the commanding tone of his voice, throwing her head back when his hips slammed against hers especially forcefully.
She moaned loudly in response, momentarily forgetting herself and the fact that they had others who slept on the same floor of the house. Namely, her mother-in-law, who would certainly be mortified to hear such audible evidence of marital congress echoing beyond their bedroom door.
“Yes, just like that,” he hissed into her ear, his tongue tracing the cartilage shell, the warmth of his breath fanning against the moist flesh and heightening her reaction.
Her fingernails bit into his shoulders, more sharply than she intended, but she could already feel her self-control beginning to slip. He growled, the mixed pain and pleasure forcing a bodily shudder from him. His hips stilled suddenly, causing her to mewl in frustration.
“Darling, turn around,” he whispered urgently.
“What?” her voice betrayed her confusion at the sudden command and accompanying lapse.
He pulled out of her, kneeling on the bed. He gave himself a quick tug. “Sit up first, love. Please.”
She obeyed, awkwardly sitting up to face him. She leaned in, anticipating their lips to meet halfway in a kiss, only to be surprised.
“No, none of that,” he said roughly.
She jolted, but found herself rather excited by this unpredictable turn of events.
“Turn around and get on your hands and knees,” he commanded, his accent thick and dark.
Hesitantly, she followed his directions and shifted, presenting her backside to him. She stared forward in the darkness, wondering what may follow. She had never been in such a position before him before, and it felt somewhat scandalous - even between a husband and wife.
The candle dwindled, but there was enough light that she could see the waning flame dance and flicker against the wall. She drew in a shallow breath, feeling quite exposed.
“Damn, you look so perfect like that,” he said with a grunt. “I’m going to take you like this.”
“Like – this?”
“Oh, yes.”
She felt his fingertips brush between her legs as if attempting to map out the topography of her flesh before the blunt tip of his manhood pushed against her. First, it bumped against the highly sensitive nub above her opening, and she gasped aloud before he positioned himself more precisely and pushed inside of her entrance.
He filled her completely, and something about it made her shiver. This position and angle seemed to fill her more deeply, and her heart fluttered at the way she felt reduced to basic animalism in proffering herself to him… She found herself quite excited, and emitted a low moan, shifting backward to meet him halfway as he seated himself fully within her.
John hissed in approval. His hips slammed forward again, his sac clapping against her slick folds as he began a punishing pace, fingertips digging into the flesh of her rump deeply enough to leave marks.
Oh, she hoped he would leave marks – she wanted to look into the mirror tomorrow and know exactly where he had touched and excited her tonight. The very idea of it made her breath hitch, and she gasped to catch her breath as she reared back against him almost mindlessly.
His hips conducted themselves like a well-oiled machine, pistoning rapidly. The clap of wet flesh resounded through the room and a few thrusts left Margaret grunting rough unladylike sounds.
“Oh, John!” She barked, then winced at the volume of her voice. He made no move to silence her, instead, he repeated the motion, stilling his hips before slamming into her dramatically once more.
“That’s right,” He babbled to her, the movement of his hips growing rather erratic as he continued. “Oh, shall I touch you?”
“Please!” She demanded, reaching behind her to seek out his arm.
His fingers were on her clit within a moment, and she began thrusting back against him more vigorously, unable to keep the loud keening wail from escaping her lips as he stroked her deliciously both inside and out; perfectly stimulating every part of her. She felt her reality shift rapidly and tumble down, down…
“John! I’m—!”
“Cum for me, Margaret,” John growled. “Cum for me now.”
Her breath hitched and with a couple more movements of his hand she fell over the edge with an uncontrollably loud shout. He continued to rub her as he thrust, though in the dawning of her afterglow she was barely able to discern the slight jerkiness of his thrusts, the litany of curses that fell from his lips as they pounded together again and again until—
“Oh, fuck. My love-“
She felt him swell, twitch, and pulse within her as he squirted his release, a flash of heat swimming in her lower belly.
Just as soon as it had begun, it was all over. He continued to throb within her for another moment or so, thrusting half-heartedly before his grip on her hips slackened. She knew she would bear bruised fingerprints on her body within the next couple of days, but the prospect only stirred her.
They breathed heavily, panting alternately in the thick silence before simultaneously collapsing upon the bed. John took a care to keep from crushing her, artfully arranging himself to lay behind her, nestled like a big spoon. He reached around and tugged the bedcovers over them.
“How did I do, Mrs. Thornton?” He asked her, voice sounding more gruff than usual.
“You were absolutely perfect,” she whispered back, shifting until her backside brushed against his recovering length. “Prolific, even.”
He laughed aloud, then brushed her hair aside to plant loving kisses along her neck and shoulderblades. “I love you so much, my Margaret.”
“My John,” she murmured in response, seizing one of his hands and giving it a gentle squeeze, and placing a kiss atop his knuckles.
They lay in silence, tired from their exertions, fingers entwined as sleep beckoned. Within a few moments, Margaret heard soft and breathy snores emanate from over her shoulder. She shifted delicately, endeavoring to move closer to him, to better feel the warmth of his chest against her back. She could not keep from smiling, feeling utterly content and satiated.