Page 27 of Desired By Mr Darcy
What was he doing?
His hand moved up and down, allowing her the briefest glimpse of the forbidden part of him that he held in his hand. Each movement of his hand seemed to bring him unspeakable pleasure, for he gasped and his hips bucked upwards. She could not breathe, enchanted by the scene before her.
Her own body responded in kind to his pleasure. That place between her legs seemed to burn with longing, her heart racing as she imagined what it would be to be the cause of his pleasure.
Lizzy knew that she should leave, that this was a private moment not meant for her eyes. Yet she found herself rooted to the spot, unable to tear her gaze away from Fitzwilliam's form.
His movements became more urgent, his breathing ragged. A low moan escaped his lips, sending a shiver down Lizzy's spine. She pressed her thighs together, trying to quell the ache that had blossomed there. He was beautiful like this, unguarded and vulnerable. She pressed herself closer to the door, trying to silence her breathing so she would not be seen. It felt impossible; the sight before her made her pulse quicken and her breath seemed to burst from her in gasps.
He was so beautiful. She longed to enter the room and embrace him, and some shameful part of her wished to replace his hand with hers. She did not understand what he was doing, but could tell from his soft whimpers that whatever it was, was most pleasurable indeed. His hand began to move with more haste, his hips rising to push himself into his tightened fist. And then,in a moment that seemed to pause time, he moaned in ecstasy as white fluid spilled over his hand.
Lizzy moved away from the door, not stopping until she felt the wall behind her. She could hardly think, hardly breathe. Her mind was racing, and still there was that throbbing between her thighs that would not abate. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply. She must leave before Fitzwilliam emerged from his study and realised what she had seen.
Her legs as heavy as lead, she fled from the corridor and returned to her room.
She closed the door, pressing her weight against it as she tried to make sense of what had just happened. What was he doing? She had not known it was possible to touch oneself in such a way, and the substance that had emerged from him…was that what was spoken of, the seed that made a baby?
The biggest mystery of all was just why it had elicited such delicious feelings within her? Such a strange sensation she had never felt, and yet she wanted to feel more. Closing her eyes, she pulled up the skirt of her nightgown. If Fitzwilliam could touch himself in such a way, surely it must be possible for her to do the same?
She could not help but to gasp as her fingertips grazed the sensitive skin of her thighs, the feeling intensifying as she grew bolder and dared to move higher. She felt the soft curls of the hair between her legs, and she pressed her palm over the place she had never dared to touch for more than a moment or two. A gasp escaped her, the sensation so strange she felt her knees buckle. Snatching her hand away, she ran to her bed and buried herself beneath the covers, desperate for whatever this intoxicating feeling was to leave her.
∞∞∞
Lizzy woke to sunlight. She blinked deliriously; when had she gone to sleep? She was certain such relief would never come, but here she was, awake on a new day. The feeling that had almost consumed her last night was gone.
There was a knock on the door, and Jane slipped in before Lizzy could respond. She was already dressed for the day in a pretty blue frock that their mother had bought in haste when they had been invited to London. Lizzy had no such new garments in her own trunk.
“Good morning, sister,” Jane smiled, sitting beside her on the bed. “I trust you slept well.”
“Very, thank you.” Lizzy lied. “And you?”
“I slept terribly,” Jane said, reaching for Lizzy’s hand. “Oh, I am so sorry about what I said, Lizzy. I was wrong to speak to you in such away, to accuse you of such things! I have felt wretched all night, tossing and turning. I would have come in to apologise, but I know how grumpy you are when awoken, and how quickly you fall asleep! I thought I would have only made things worse.”
Jane rarely spoke so quickly, her words running together as she apologised fervently. The guilt that crept over Lizzy was instant and overwhelming. She could never tell her sister of what she had seen last night, of what she had done, and the burden of a secret weighed heavily upon her shoulders.
“It does not matter, Jane. I am sorry for lingering in the drawing room when I ought not have done.”
“I must confess, Lizzy, for it has been weighing heavily on me. You were right about Charles and I.”
Lizzy frowned in confusion before realising what her sister meant. Her eyes widened in shock, for she had certainly not expected such a confession from timid, proper Jane!
“Oh?”
“We have more than kissed.”
“Jane!”
“On a walk, he…he kissed my neck. And my ear. With his tongue. And I liked it! I am not one to lecture on morality when I, too, succumbed to lust.”
“Jane,” Lizzy said, trying not to laugh. “I do not think that is what people speak of when they discuss fallen women. I do not think you ought to feel bad about that.”
“Truly? Oh, that is a relief. We will not do it again, not until marriage, I swear.”
“Did you like it?” Lizzy asked.
Jane blushed from her cheeks to her hair, even the tips of her aforementioned ears turning red as a summer strawberry.
“Hush, Lizzy!”
