A/N Wow, I have return to my fanfiction after perhaps five years. It's been a while, a time full with writing original stories and publishing a novel of my own.
But, there is this one huge thing called Gone With The Wind which lingers with me still; a month ago I finally got my own copy of the book and finished it today. JFC, it's been 13 years since I've first read it and now I feel as sad and as broken after the first time I read it, although now I see the characters clearer (Rhett for example).
I don't own any of the characters, they belong to the genius talented writer that is Ms. Margaret Mitchel.
I have written one GWTW fic, and this is my second one, five years later, sort of a pain killer for all the feelings it still gives me (perhaps for my entire life).
It's about "that night" after Ashley's birthday.
"...Somehow, her arms were around his neck and her lips trembling beneath his and they were going up, up into the darkness again, a darkness that was soft and swirling and all enveloping..."
When or how he closed the door with her in his arms, she didn't know, for he was kissing her almost too violently now and she was kissing him back, not aware of anything, her old life, her future, her children, the sawmills, her former husbands and their inadequate ways, the virtues she believed she had, her decision to never let him in her bed ever again nor have any more children.
All that existed was only his broad shoulders and his strong muscular arms and fingers that were digging into her flesh and her pounding heart that was almost deafening. All that existed was this hungry kissing and him breathing in her breath, his trembling, and her need and urge for everything that he was offering.
She was now laying on her soft bed, with her husband above her, a huge, dark shadow that was shielding her from everything, including her own dangerous mind. Her husband, who even sufficiently intoxicated, had skillful hands that were removing the wrapper completely not carefully like before, exposing her with nothing but the sheer silk nightgown that wasn't covering much, that wasn't covering anything.
His hands were everywhere and her body was waking up like never before, not even in their most intimate moments on their honeymoon when he was so gently passionate when he was kissing and licking her skin inch by inch, as if he was tasting the most delicious food, as if he was afraid won't last forever.
No, this kissing and this touching weren't even nearly as gentle as that one. Not once did she regret sleeping with him, because his arms felt soothing, passionate, carrying, skillful and very safe. Nothing bad could have ever happen to her when she was in his arms. Nothing bad, because they were strong and large enough to protect her from anything or anyone, that meant to harm her.
No, she never regret it even when she found out that she was with a child, although the thought of having her body going through that change infuriated her later.
Now, now it was something else. What was it? It wasn't for a woman, a wife to feel this need, this craving, wanton for her husband. No true lady was supposed to feel anything like that, let alone enjoy the savagery passion the drunken husband was giving to her, while kissing her deeply, almost taking her breath away, not giving her time to come to air.
Now, she was not lying there semi-guilty enjoying the sweet sensation his lips and hands were giving to her, like before. No, there wasn't any feel of guilt as if she was cheating on Ashley. The hell with him, he wasn't even coming to her mind, not once, like he used to when she had her first wedding nights with Charles and Frank.
Funny how he didn't come up to her mind even after she said 'I do' to Rhett that night.
Now, she was gripping his strong neck with her small hands, kissing him back as hungrily, as violently and as desperately, without even being aware, without even knowing how much she wanted this man and his force, his power and the weight of his body. It seemed that her response was waking the beast inside him even more. His sharp inhaling as he was capturing her mouth and tongue were making her feel as if her heart was about to explode in her rib cage.
And oh, when his lips and tongue have lost their track from her lips to her neck, right on her pulse, nibbling stronger than ever, trailing down to her chest and burning her skin like fire. And oh, when his thumb have rubbed her lower lip, letting her bite it, as he was sinking his teeth deeper into her soft skin, making her arch her back and press herself as close to his chest as possible.
As his hands were lifting the nightgown up to her waist, and as she heard herself moaning and loud, the rhythm became even faster, even more consuming, even more burning and savage.
Oh dear god, she never wanted this to stop.
'And by someone who knows how' was all her troubled mind could ring and ring as she was letting her body open for her husband's warmth and force she wasn't even able to imagine he had.
And there in the dim light of her candle lit bedroom, he suddenly rose from above her, stood up straight on his feet, staring at her semi-nude, with long wild black curls spread all over the bed, breathing heavily and as if though she was woken from a dream she didn't want to be waken up from.
His muscular chests were lifting up and down, up and down, as if he run for miles, unable to catch a breath.
Looking up at him he looked huge, dark figure, a man, protective and passionate, safe and hot like the Georgian sun and she had no intention to protect herself from the burning rays, a man so larger than life that was now shivering because of her? No, she can't think about that now, she'll think about it tomorrow. Now, now was not time for that. Now wasn't.
The curtains of her bed were loose and she could only see his silhouette and his heavy breathing, almost panting.
Confused, he stood there, like he was just woken up from a spell.
"I'm sorry…" he said with deep, low voice.
What? Why he was apologizing, what was this? She stared at him, lifting herself on her elbows, not wanting to hear any more of his words.
"This isn't how…"
But before he was able to finish the sentence, Scarlett jumped on her knees, crossed the bed like that to him and stood for a split second, trying to see his face in the darkness. She wasn't able to; she no longer wanted to see it.
Instead she put her hands on his neck, and pressed all her weight on him and he was able to hold it. She started kissing him, gently and fiery, not like she used to do to with any of her beaus, not like she kissed Ashley Wilkes, with her mouth closed and only brushing her lips on his.
No, she kissed him deeply, as if she was thirsty for her whole life and he was a sweet, fresh mountain creek. Deep kissing, that's how it was always done with him, even in those times when she didn't think she could or want to let him kiss her like that.
Suddenly, his hands were on her waist, urgently lifting the night gown again, and it seemed like he again was swept off by a darkness and wind so strong that made him forget whatever he was thinking just a second before.
He was again digging his fingers in her flesh, pressing her waist tightly to his chest until they both fell on the bed.
Now, she was the one who was leading the kiss. She was not waiting for him to initiate anything like before - she wrapped her legs around his waist, squeezing hard in order to feel the strength that was about to wear her off.
Nothing else mattered. Was she drunk too? Perhaps. But it didn't matter, because it was only now that she started feeling how her blood was circulating healthily through her body, warming, melting the cold shield that had formed around her heart.
The last thing she heard before feeling her husband's skin completely pressed on hers was was a deep husky voice telling her, installing the fact in her brain - "You are mine! Never forget that!"
The electrifying sensations that were driving her body mad were not letting her think or speak, although somewhere in the back of her mind a voice was screaming, wondering why the hell she ever forced him to move out of her bedroom.