Page 84 of One Night with Mr. Darcy
He liked it too. He couldn’t explain quite why. This part of her, her sex, it was both delicate and feminine and deep and primitive. It was, well, as she said, it wasn’t cleanly, but he liked that about it. Just the idea of putting his mouth there gave him the most frightful of cockstands. He was likely to burst from the sheer thought of it. And then he wasdoingit, and it was even better.
At first, he was exploring it—her—tasting, nudging, lapping. But then he quickly realized exactly where she wanted him to concentrate his time, and he found that sweet little small nub of her, slick and swollen and pink and lovely and he kissed and licked and swirled his way around it until her voice broke in halting, strangled cries and he felt her whole pelvis tremble against him.
In the wake of it, she clutched him to her. He was frightened she wouldn’t want to kiss him because of her saying it wasn’t cleanly, but she opened her mouth easily to him, and he liked that, too, liked the mingling of her two tastes—both her mouths—and he was frightened he was never going to make it inside her body, that he was just going to spend here, all over the bedsheets, mortifyingly.
On the other hand, perhaps he should not spend in her. Perhaps he should not make a child with her, not if it was another child he could not claim. Maybe it would all be for the best.
“I don’t think that’s a thing men do with their wives,” she panted.
“Of course it is,” he said, dismissing this. Who else would men do that with besides women they adored beyond all sense, after all? Did she think men were using their mouths on women they paid?
“I just don’t think it’s proper,” she said.
“Well, it’s a good thing you’re my illicit lover, then,” he said. “Because we both like it.”
“Illicit lover,” she said with a long laugh. “Oh, Fitz, you…”
“Yes, and now we finally do this properly,” he said, reaching between them, sliding against her. She was so very, very slippery there now. Except not properly, because he was going to have to pull out before he reached his apex, but at least… “I’ll remember it, and it can be finished, and it’ll beright, finally.”
“The first time, then,” she said. “In a way? Because it’s as if we’ve never truly…”
“The first time,” he agreed and breached her.
She gasped.
He shuddered. She felt better than he remembered. He prodded his way into her as she wriggled her hips to accommodate him. He sank all the way home, deep, all of him encased in her. She was everything. She was the entire world.
At first, his strokes were shallow.
But then, together, they seemed to find a rhythm, both of them moving with it, against it, and it echoed within them like the beats of some savage drum. It was if they had found the thread of something else, something deeper, something that already ran through them, ran through everything on earth.
They moved together, a melody of moans, and it was good.
One flesh.
Together.
At long last.
Until he was too close, and he had to wrench himself free and spill outside of her body.
Someday, though, he was going to find a way to fix this. Someday, she would be his wife, not just in some hidden way, but ineveryway.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
ELIZABETH SPENT THREEyears in the house with little Willie.
Mr. Darcy visited them often, staying for weeks at a time before he was called back to his home.
As far as anyone else she’d ever known thought, she was dead.
Six months after her death, Mr. Collins married Charlotte, just as she had predicted would happen. She and Charlotte could not communicate, but she kept tabs on the woman, who she hoped was happy. It was the best she could have done for her friend.
Mr. Darcy had all manner of ideas of things they could do, especially after Mr. Collins was remarried. He said that they could bring her back to life, that if he were already married, he would not mind letting her be free. But she rejected this, because of Willie. They must think of him. It was better if she and her son remained dead.
As the time went on, Mr. Darcy stopped bringing it up. He also never spent inside her body, or tried very hard not to. There were a few mistakes and near misses, and there were times when she waited in a dread for her bleeding, unsure if she wanted it to come or not. She wanted more children with Mr. Darcy, but she didn’t know if she wanted them in this circumstance. However, her bleeding always came. No children.
And then, one day, she got news that Mr. Collins had died.
