Page 46 of Desired By Mr Darcy
“Always,” she smiled, though he saw trepidation cross her features. “You will be gentle, won’t you?”
“I will. I am sorry for any pain; you must tell me at once if you wish me to stop. Promise me that.”
“I promise, but pain is an expected part of the marriage bed, I am told.”
“I do not want our marriage bed to be a place of suffering, or endurance. I could not bear it.”
“I do not think it will be, my love. Come, we have spoken enough. Kiss me, Fitzwilliam.”
He moved to lie over her, staring down at her as their bodies pressed together. Their breath mingled, warm and unsteady, as they adjusted to the unfamiliar closeness. Her fingers traced tentative patterns along his shoulders, exploring the solid linesof muscle. He swallowed hard, his pulse quickening at the sensation of her touch.
She tilted her head up, her lips parting slightly as if inviting him closer, and he obliged, his hands sliding to her waist, anchoring her against him. A quiet gasp escaped her as their bodies moulded together, the moment thick with anticipation.
His hand rose to cup her face, thumb brushing over her cheekbone with reverence.
"Is this what you want?" he murmured, his voice husky with restraint.
Her gaze locked onto his, dark with longing.
"Yes," she whispered. "More than anything. I am ready, Fitzwilliam."
He grasped himself with one hand, aligning himself with her entrance. With care, he pushed forward until he slipped inside her. They gasped, and he inched forward until he was seated fully within her. He had not expected such heat, the grip of her cunt as tight as a vise around him. It was all he could do to control himself, lest he embarrass himself and leave his new bride unsatisfied.
“Are you well?” he whispered against her ear. “Tell me, Elizabeth.”
“It does not hurt, but it feels strange. And you?”
“I never dreamt...” he said, barely able to speak. “I…”
“What does it feel like?”
“You are sure you are not in pain?”
She shook her head, her fingers stroking the soft skin of his cheek as she gazed up at him. He leant into her touch, willing himself the restraint required to stay still as she adjusted to his intrusion.
“No, I am well. Tell me, my love, tell me how you feel. You look enraptured, and I dare to hope it is my doing.”
“You feel…to put it into words would be…”
“Put it into words,” she whispered, reaching up and kissing his neck. “Tell me. I demand it.”
“You feel like heaven,” he panted. “You are hot, and tight, and, oh, Lizzy, please, I cannot….”
“Move, Fitzwilliam. Do as you said you would, when I came to you in that library. Fuck me.”
He shuddered, her words filthy and perfect. He tilted his hips forward, desperately trying to recall the instruction from the book. She gasped, her fingers tightening against his shoulders. Their breaths mingled in heated gasps, bodies pressing and shifting in perfect rhythm. His hands roamed her curves, memorizing every dip and rise as if he were mapping her, learning her body. She arched into him, a soft moan escaping her lips, spurring him on.
The world outside of them ceased to exist. There was only this moment - skin against skin, heat and need entwining as they gave in to the pull between them. His lips traced a path down her neck, lingering in the hollow of her throat, tasting the salt of her skin. She trembled beneath him, her fingers threading into his hair, pulling him closer, urging him on.
His name spilled from her lips, breathless, pleading. The sound sent a bolt of desire straight through him. He answered her with another slow roll of his hips, eliciting a shuddering sigh. They moved together, caught in the ebb and flow of something deeper than mere desire, something raw and consuming.
Time lost meaning as they surrendered to each other, to the fire between them. And when they finally reached that peak together, bodies taut with pleasure, they clung to one another,their hearts hammering in unison, their breaths uneven but satisfied.
As the waves of pleasure slowly subsided, he pressed a lingering kiss to her temple, his arms wrapping around her as if he could hold onto this moment forever. She nestled against him, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his back.
Neither of them spoke for a long time. There was no need. Everything had already been said in the way they moved, the way they touched, the way they came undone in each other’s arms.
Chapter Fifteen
