Page 82 of Penned By Mr Darcy
He obliged, bending down and sweeping her up into his arms. She gave a delighted giggle, throwing her arms around his shoulders as he carried her effortlessly to their bed. In Pemberley, the bed in his chamber was far larger and more luxurious, and he decided that he would keep her close to him always. He wanted nothing more than to wake up beside her and end the day with her, companions in all things.
He lay her out carefully on the bed, kneeling before her. He remained where he was, looking down at her. She was truly beautiful; her breasts full, tipped with rose-pink nipples. He could not stop staring at them, and he soon leaned down and captured one between his lips, swirling over the raised bud with his tongue.
“Fitzwilliam!” she gasped in delight, her fingers once more in his hair, pressing him closer. “Oh!”
He moved his attention to the other breast, his hand taking the place of his tongue on the other side. She arched beneath him, and he found himself kissing lower, lower, lower, until he had traced a path to just beneath her belly button. He glanced up at her, and she stared down at him with wide, uncertain eyes.
“May I kiss you here?”
“There?” she frowned. “I…is such a thing proper?”
“It is possible, certainly. I believe it can give pleasure to a woman.”
He did not wish to explain how he knew that to her; although he had never carried out the act, on the rare occasion he had attended a brothel (against his will, at the insistence of first his father and then Wickham), he had seen the act listed upon the ‘menu’ of what was available – as though one was ordering at a restaurant. It had seemed repulsive to him then. Now, he wanted nothing more than to bury his face between her thighs.
“I would like it, I think,” she whispered. “If you kissed me there.”
At her consent, he lowered himself, pressing the softest kiss to the place he believed would give her the most pleasure. The sound of her breathy sigh from above him urged him onwards, and he swiped over the sensitive flesh with his tongue. His reward was her cry of pleasure, as well as the trembling of her thighs beneath his steadying hands.
He must be dead; what had he done to deserve such heavenly bliss? His tongue stroked against her until she became frantic beneath him, her cries echoing around them. He groaned against her, his sounds joining hers, a strange music that was theirs and theirs alone.
“I…” she panted, her hips arching against his mouth. “I…”
He held her down, hands splayed wide over her hips. Her release was unmistakable, cried out in the air above him. He could scarcely fight his own, his hips firm against the mattress. When she began to melt against him, her fingers probed at his head, pushing him away.
He moved back, sitting up and leaning on his heels. Elizabeth, splayed out before him like a dream, lay with her eyes closed. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath, her fingers tangled in the sheets. A blissful smile played on her lips, and he felt utter privilege at being the man to put it there.
“I…” she inhaled sharply, trying to sit up but falling hopelessly back against the pillows. “I do not understand.”
“I believe the French call it ‘the little death’.”
“How apt,” she laughed. “I feel like I saw heaven, just for a fleeting moment.”
He moved to lie beside her; he did not kiss her. This attempt at gentlemanly conduct was soon thwarted as she crushed her mouth to his, paying no mind to the taste of her on his lips.
“You seemed to know just what to do.”
“It is instinct, rather than practical knowledge.”
“Instinct,” Elizabeth said thoughtfully. “How curious. And if I were to follow my instinct, I wonder if the results would be as pleasing to you?”
“What do you…”
Before he could finish his sentence, Elizabeth had risen above him. She straddled him, the soft flesh of her inner thighs pressing against him as she stared down at her. He could not help but stare greedily at her breasts, this new angle making them seem even more bountiful. He raised his hands, cupping them as she moaned in delight above him.
“You have explored my body,” she said breathily. “Now I should like to do the same.”
“You do not have to.”
“I know. I want to. Your body is so different to anything I have ever seen before, Fitzwilliam. Surely it is only right that I endeavour to know it as you know mine? I wish to touch you, to know how to please you – more than that. I wish to touch you because I cannot resist. You are very beautiful, you know.”
“Men are not beautiful.”
Darcy’s voice was low, almost stern, as though he feared making himself ridiculous in confessing such a thought.
“Oh, I would beg to differ. You are handsome, of course, but there is beauty there too. The way your muscles move beneath your skin – your skin itself. It is so soft, and then there is this…”
She leaned nearer, her breath brushing his chest, and threaded her fingers through the dark curls there. He stilled beneath her touch, as though the smallest movement might shatter the spell between them.
