Page 67 of One Night with Mr. Darcy
She sighed, sinking into the softness, liking the way he looked down at her, how his gaze greedily drank in the sight of her.
“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Your body, Elizabeth, it’s sheer perfection.”
Oh, if he kept doing that, she would let him do anything he wished to her. How it warmed her to hear such praise. How heady it was to be admired in this way.
She knew then that there was nothing for it. She would not be getting out of it. She was going to surrender her virtue to him.
And that thought made a thrill travel through her, one that seemed to make her whole body alight in goosebumps.
He pressed her thighs open, wide, baring that part of her to him, and he settled there, looking down into her there.
She watched his expression, thinking that she should be embarrassed of this. She should close her legs. She should distract him from looking at her there. But she liked the expression on his face as he stared at her.
Reverently, then, he brought up a hand to stroke her, gently, softly, barely brushing over her.
She gasped. That was nice. But she wished he’d… she wriggled her hips a little guiding him until he—
There.
She let out a very breathy cry.
“Ah, this?” he whispered. “This right here?” He ran his fingers over the little nub of her there, whatever it was, the part where all of her pleasure seemed to begin and end.
“Yes, that,” she said.
He smiled drunkenly. “Do you like this, then?”
“Yes,” she managed. “Oh, yes.”
And then he was relentless. He slid his fingers back and forth over it, and then when he discovered she seemed to like it going side to side, he did that. And then he alternated, and then he started to make circles, and she let out the most mortifying of noises, untethered noises, unrestrained sounds of want and desire and need.
She knew the thing was going to happen, then. It had happened before, once or twice, and she didn’t know what it was. She had accidentally discovered she could do it by lying on her bed in the midst of the night and wriggling her pelvis around until something inside her ebbed and swelled andburst.
But this—his fingers right on her there—it was more than anything she’d ever felt, and when the swell came for her this time, it robbed her of breath, and when she climaxed, she let out a choked noise like some wounded animal.
But he noticed, letting out a gasp as he watched the tremors go through her there, fingers lying heavily against her, just perfectly, getting all the pleasure out of her.
In the wake of it, she lay there, trying to remember how to think or breathe or be.
“Beautiful,” he whispered. And then he… he kissed her.There. He pressed his mouth against her and she was so sensitive that she crested again and cried out in a half-sob. His mouth worked its way up her body, over the swell of her belly, over her ribs, stopping to kiss the tips of each of her breasts twice, and then he was hovering over her, his face close.
She sank her hands into his hair and pulled his mouth down to kiss him.
He kissed her and then pulled back, looking down at her. “Was that all right?” he whispered.
What a thing to ask. “It was… I’ve never felt such a thing. I see why, I suppose.”
“Why what?”
“Why people are tempted to sin this way.”
He smiled. “This isn’t sin, Elizabeth.”
She groaned. “I think it is.”
“No, no, we are going to be married, so it’s… it’s entirely good and right. We are twain and shall become one flesh.”
She shivered. She wanted that, wanted to become one with him.
