Keeping A Promise

A/N: This chapter gets a little saucy; nothing explicit but please be aware before you read! I've always liked imagining intimate moments between them and I hope I don't disappoint~Meowser

"Didn't I warn you," Brandon asked lazily, his hands curling through his young wife's hair. "That once we were married I wouldn't stop kissing you?"

"I think there would be trouble if you did stop," Marianne replied saucily, and her husband responded by stealing another kiss.

They'd been married for two weeks, two weeks that had passed in a haze of golden days. They'd married in June, but they weren't travelling until September. That meant these past two weeks had been spent in seclusion at his estate, something that Marianne hadn't minded at all. Who wanted to waste time traveling on a honeymoon, when there were so many other, more interesting, activities to spend time on?

They'd had picnics nearly every day. Brandon would inevitably sprawl over the blanket and Marianne would lean against his chest. He'd end up feeding her grapes or cheese, and his fingers would start to linger at her lips too long, until she'd give into her impulses and capture them with her mouth.

Then the food would be forgotten, and his arms would wrap around her, and they would kiss until she felt dizzy. His hands would find their way to the buttons on the back her dresses, and pretty soon they would be rushing inside, the picnic basket forgotten in their race to the bedroom.

Life as Mrs. Brandon wasn't a bad life at all, and she wished that she'd been able to make this discovery sooner.

"What are you thinking about?" Brandon asked, pulling her away from her thoughts.

"I was just musing on how very silly I used to be," she admitted, rolling onto her side so she could see him better.

"You were never silly, my dearest," he whispered, bringing up one hand to lay a kiss on her knuckles. "Just impulsive and full of passion."

"I was too passionate then," she sighed, knowing that she was digging for an answer from him. His eyes darkened, and she knew she was going to get what she wanted.

"I don't think you being too passionate is possible," he murmured, voice dangerously low and silky. "Indeed, I want to see you even more passionate. I don't think I've quite plumbed those depths yet."

Her cheeks were bright red, and she knew that he would make her pay for her teasing words. She couldn't wait. "Well, I must be a grand lady now," she said. "Surely I need to stop acting like a-a maiden in love."

"My dear wife, I don't think that's something you should ever stop doing," he whispered.

"I don't want people to judge you poorly because of me," she said, and he was pulling her into his arms, adjusting himself so that he was over her.

"I don't think we have to worry about that," he said, his hands inching her nightgown up her thighs. Marianne shivered as cool air hit her legs, and Brandon hummed, as if in response. "Are you cold, my dear?"

"No," she whispered, the blood already beginning to pool somewhere that definitely wasn't her face.

"Pity," he said, as the nightgown went over her head. "I wanted to warm you up."

"Maybe a little cold," she breathed, and he lowered his body over hers, leaning down to kiss her deeply.

She reflected as his body moved over hers, making her feel things she wouldn't have believed possible before marriage to him. She wondered if Willoughby would have made her life even half this blissful, and, honestly, she doubted it. He was such a selfish man, even when he had been in love with her. Things had to be his way, and she knew he wouldn't linger over Marianne's pleasure as Brandon did.

She closed her eyes, hands tangling in her husband's hair as his mouth warmed her body. He took his time, every time, kissing every inch, making sure she was thoroughly excited before taking care of his own pleasure. Her mother hadn't prepared her for this at all. She'd quietly told Marianne what her wifely duties would be, the day of her wedding. She'd said to lie back and try to think pleasant thoughts.

Marianne could barely even form words when Brandon's mouth was...there. She didn't need to worry about the time not passing, since it always passed far too quickly for her liking.

She also sometimes wondered if Edward made Elinor feel like this too, and then she'd blush, knowing just how much that wasn't her business. She'd always been too inquisitive for her own good, and yet, the thought persisted. She wanted to ask her sister, she wanted to make sure that Elinor was taken care of in the bedroom, but she knew that Elinor would never dream of answering such a question.

"My dear, I feel like your head is far away from this room," Brandon interrupted.

"Oh, please don't stop," she protested, as his body shifted off of hers. "Christopher."

"What are you thinking about now?" He asked, eyebrow arching high.

"I was...I was thinking about you," she faltered. "Well, sort of. I was thinking about how lucky I am to be your wife. I don't think many women get to...um...feel like...the way I do."

"Well, I learned early on that both parties should enjoy these moments," he replied. "It would be selfish of me to enjoy this as much as I do, and not make sure you did as well. You are the one who will have to carry the child, if there is one."

"I hope there will be," she blurted. "Eventually. I rather like having you all to myself."

"You will always have all of me," he said. "Now are you going to stop being distracted?"

She nodded eagerly, and he smiled wickedly. "Then I shall pleasure you anew."

His lips lowered to meet hers again, and his hands began a journey downwards.

Really, life as Mrs. Brandon was more than she could have ever dreamed it would be.