Page 73 of One Night with Mr. Darcy
I belong with him,she thought.
They just kept kissing, clinging to each other, naked, on her bed, and she wrapped her legs around his legs and rubbed her skin into his skin, and when he did slip into her, it was sort of an accident.
He groaned.
She gasped.
He rolled them over, so that he was on top of her, pushing deeper inside her body.
She threw back her head, showing him her throat.
He kissed her neck there. “I shouldn’t, Lizzy.”
“Fitz, I want you there,” she said.
“Well, I want you, too,” he said, kissing her jaw. “You feel…Lord,Lizzy, the way you feel to me.” He groaned again.
“Just want us joined together,” she said, and it was true. It mostly felt comforting to her, not even arousing. Shewasaroused, of course. He was here, and he was bare, and he had his very bare large male member all the way inside of her, but it was about the connection of it, the closeness. It was aboutthem.
“It’s good,” he agreed, his voice hoarse.
She touched his face. “You don’t remember it, do you?”
“I have…” He was moving inside her, now, but only gently, slowly, gliding in and out of her almost languidly. “I have flashes of it sometimes, bits and pieces. But, no, I suppose not.”
“Seems hardly fair, then,” she said. “To ask it of you, all this devotion, when you don’t even remember what it is like between us.”
“Oh, Lizzy, Iknowwhat it is like between us.” His voice was deeper, his thrusts deeper.
She moaned, tightening her thighs around him, pulling him against her, into her.
“It’s perfection,” he said. “You… this…”
She shivered, her whole body feeling flush and taut and ready. The tips of her breasts tightened into hard points. Within her, her muscles convulsed.
He felt it and made a guttural noise. “I love you, Lizzy.”
“I love you, Fitzwilliam,” she said. “You won’t remember, but before, you asked me to call you my husband, and I feel as though, even though it’s not the truth of us, that it’s a deeper truth, an inner truth?”
“What other husband have you really ever had?” he said.
“You,” she said. “It’s really only you.”
“Yes,” he sighed. “Yes, and you’re mine, my wife, my one and my only.”
And they were kissing, moving together, her hips seeming to have gotten in tune with his own movements, so that they worked together as if theywereone flesh, as if they were of onemind, and every stroke and connection was bliss.
She felt him deep, deep inside her but she also felt him pressed into her everywhere, and her entire pelvis seemed so wonderfully sensitive that she felt like every time they connected it created little wondrous sparks of goodness all through her body.
She cried out. It felt so very, very nice. She wondered if she could have one of those bursts again. She had gotten a bit better at giving herself them in the interim between her time with him and now, though she had to admit that there had been a long period of time—since William was born, truly—when she hadn’t had much energy in that direction.
She would love to unfurl here, clench here, on her true husband’s intruding, thrusting hardness, which made her feel complete and wondrous and so very, very desired. She wanted the burst, she did. But she wasn’t sure that she was getting quite enough stimulation in the right place, and she began to contemplate how to ask for it.
She knew Mr. Darcy would do whatever she wished. He would accommodate her in anything. But she wasn’t sure exactly of how to get the stimulation, not while their bodies were in this formation. Anything she could think of would disrupt the current sweetness of their union.
Of course, thinking these thoughts was disruptive, and she had stopped participating in the way that she had been.
He noticed and slowed his movement inside her. “What is it? Are you all right?”
