Page 51 of Desired By Mr Darcy
She pushed him back, wasting no time. She straddled him and took his cock in hand, slipping him inside her. They both gasped, complete at last. The sensation differed from all previous experiences, feeling impossibly full as she rolled her hips against him. His eyes were squeezed shut, his lip caught between his teeth as his breath stuttered from him. She had seen him in this way more than once; he was close, and trying desperately to push away the release that threatened him.
“Do not finish before me,” she warned, increasing her pace. “It would be most – oh! – most ungentlemanly.”
His hand slipped between them, and she almost saw stars as he started rubbing circles against that place that seemed to hold the key to her pleasure. She tipped her head back, moving faster as she chased that pinnacle.
“Come for me, Lizzy. You beautiful creature, you…oh, please, fuck, please Lizzy, I need it. Please.”
His pleading unravelled her, and she gasped as her release slammed into her with such ferocity she could do nothing but surrender to it. Fitzwilliam fell a moment after her, his fingers digging into her hips as he pushed her down. She could scarcely breathe, pleasure knocking the very air from her lungs.
She sagged forward, bearing her weight on her arms as she tried to recover. Strong hands slipped round her waist, tugging her towards him as he kissed her desperately.
“Will it just keep getting better and better?” Lizzy asked breathlessly. “What did your book say about that?”
“Fuck the book,” he panted, a mischievous glint in his eye. “You are the only teacher I need.”
Eight Months Later
Darcy
It had been the hottest summer anyone could remember. The sun blazed high in an unrelenting sky, its golden glare beating down upon the rolling hills of Derbyshire. The grass surrounding Pemberley had grown quite brown with lack of rain, its once-lush green now faded to brittle ochre. The heat lay thick over the land, a heavy, inescapable presence that pressed upon its inhabitants. Many found the oppressive warmth unbearable, retreating indoors to the shade of heavy drapes and cool stone floors.
Elizabeth Darcy had made the best of it.
Darcy watched from the riverbank, entranced, as his wife floated upon the glassy surface of the secluded pond. Her dark tresses fanned out around her like spilled ink, her bare limbs dappled with sunlight filtering through the overhanging branches. She looked utterly at peace, her eyes closed, her lips curved in a contented smile. He had dreamed of her like this before their marriage - though, in his fantasies, it had been the azure waters of the Mediterranean that cradled her, not the quiet, hiddenwaters of their own estate. And yet, this moment, this sight before him, surpassed even his most vivid imaginings.
She was breathtaking.
His gaze, ever greedy for her, traced the curves of her form, lingering upon the soft swell of her belly. The child growing within her - the fruit of their honeymoon - had rounded her in ways that made her no less beautiful but all the more radiant. She carried their heir with an effortless grace, her condition only enhancing her natural charm. The midwives predicted that within a month, she would bring forth their firstborn. And though he had always considered her the loveliest of women, now she seemed something more - something divine.
“I never want to leave this water,” Elizabeth sighed, stretching languidly as the gentle current lapped at her skin. “I do not care who sees me.”
“The Mistress of Pemberley, quite without her clothing, basking like a siren in the water? I care very much, for I do not wish to share such a sight with another soul.”
She cracked one eye open, amusement dancing within its depths.
“You must think me reckless indeed, but I cannot help it. And stop looking at me like that, Fitzwilliam.”
“How am I looking at you?” he asked, his voice rich with affection.
“Like a man with intentions.”
He arched a brow.
“Is it such a crime for a man to admire his wife?”
“I hope not,” she teased, “for I admire my husband most ardently. Come, you have watched me long enough. Join me.”
She lifted a hand, trailing her fingertips through the water, staring at him with playful challenge sparkling in her eyes. His lips twitched in a reluctant smile. He peeled off his coat and waistcoat first, then his shirt, folding them in a neat pile beside Elizabeth’s carelessly discarded garments. He hesitated over his underclothes, his modesty still at odds with his desire.
“Stop dithering, husband,” Elizabeth called, watching him linger. “Keep them on if you insist, but to do so you deprive me of my favourite view in all the world.”
He exhaled, shaking his head, and stripped away the last of his clothing. A thrill shot through him at the unabashed way she watched him, her gaze traveling over him with the same appreciation he so often lavished upon her. Then, with a decisive step, he waded into the water, shivering slightly as the coolness embraced him.
Elizabeth beamed, rising to her feet and reaching for him. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing reverent kisses to her cheeks, her brow, the tip of her nose. The swell of her stomach made it difficult to pull her as close as he wished, but he held her nonetheless, his hands smoothing over her skin as if to memorise the moment.
“I shall not miss this heat,” Elizabeth groaned, rubbing a hand along her belly. “Though I suspect I shall be in a similar condition next summer.”
His brows lifted.
