Page 23 of Second Chances
She screamed his name, her hips jerking against him and her vision going black as her orgasm engulfed her. Distantly, she heard him shout her name in response, feeling the warmth rush inside her as her body contracted over and over.
When she finally came back down to Earth, Beth realized that at some point she had collapsed onto Darcy’s chest, his arms around her, their heavy breathing in sync with each other, their heartbeats slowly returning to a steady pace. Beth tilted her head to look up at Darcy; his eyes were closed, his face completely relaxed - it was a rare sight for him.
“I must be crushing you,” Beth said softly as she made an effort to move off of his chest.
“Don’t,” he responded, his arms clamping down around her, “just stay another minute.”
I’d stay here all day if you asked.
Beth relaxed back down onto his chest, her eyes closing as she listened to his heart beat against her ear, feeling completely satisfied - and not just physically. This situation could have gone so many ways. Several scenarios had flown through her mind when that door had slammed open and revealed a Darcy she hadn’t seen before; most -all -of them had ended up with a fight followed by one of the two of them leaving. She couldn’t have imagined this. It wasn’t perfect, but boy was it a step in the right direction.
They lay there in silence, savoring those next few minutes. Just when Beth felt herself begin to doze off, Darcy began to gently move her off of him, dropping a kiss on her forehead as he got up and walked to the bathroom. She wanted to go too, but her limbs felt so heavy and exhausted. She heard Darcy turn the water on and the bathtub begin to fill. He walked back into the bedroom with a smug smile on his face.
“Is being in control too exhausting for you, Miss Bennet?” he lightly teased, approaching the bed.
“Absolutely not,” she responded tartly, finding - or faking - the strength to start to sit up.
“I’m just kidding, gorgeous, just relax; I’ll take care of you,” he said softly as he put his arms underneath her and picked her up, carrying her into the bathroom and gently depositing her in the hot bath.
God, this feels incredible.
Her eyes opened heavily as she watched him add some soap into the water, swirling it over and around her. She was entranced by his careful and concentrated expression, as though her comfort were the most pressing thing in the world right now. The thoughts of his face, just a little while ago, broken and confused sent a shiver through her body.
“Are you warm enough? I can turn the water hotter,” he asked, concern shimmering in his eyes.
“I’m fine,” she said with a smile, “are you ok?”
“I’m fine,” he said, his face shuttered to hide his emotions.
“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to scare you,” she began as she reached her hand out, turning his face to hers so that she could look him in the eye, “I would never do that do you.”
“I know, Beth,” he said exasperatedly, looking down at his hands as he wiped the soap suds off of them, “it’s my fault. I should have known.”
She could tell he was beating himself up for jumping to the conclusion that she would leave him with no warning.
“How did it feel? To give up control to me?” she asked with a small, devilish smile, trying to lighten the mood. She knew there was nothing she could say to make him stop blaming himself for his poor assumptions.
He looked at her, his eyes darkening at the thought of what they had just done. He shifted slightly next to the tub, and Beth had a feeling that certain parts of him were enjoying the memory more than others.
“I think you know it felt damn good,” he said with a smirk, “feeling isn’t the problem; it’s the habit of thinking that it’s wrong that’s the problem.”
“Well, looks like we will just have to do it more often so that your brain gets used to losing control to me,” she said with a laugh.
“I always lose control to you, baby, whether I show it or not,” he answered softly before standing up from the tub and walking over to the sink to rinse off his hands.
Her face flushed, even though he was no longer looking at her, and her body warmed at his softly, sweet words. She watched his face in the vanity mirror, saw the emotions he was feeling - guilt, desire, embarrassment, love - play over his face, until his calm mask finally fell back into place.
Mask. Masquerade. Shit.
“What’s wrong?” Darcy asked.
He must have heard her sharp intake of breath. Now that he was staring at her with those intensely dark eyes, her face really flushed.
“I wanted to talk to you about this weekend,” she began slowly, “my client’s masquerade party.”
“Do you not want me to go with you?” he interjected swiftly, fear that she no longer wanted him evident in his tone.
Why does this man constantly think I’m trying to get rid of him?
