Page 11 of Bitten By Mr. Darcy
“Please, Mr. Darcy, please let us go,” said Elizabeth.
“All right,” he said, squaring his shoulders. “All right.” He turned to go back into the sitting room.
But at that moment, Caroline appeared, striding through the house, laughing that awful laugh of hers. She came through,patting Mr. Darcy’s chest as she went between him and Elizabeth. “All taken care of,cor meum, no worries.” She slipped back into the sitting room and sat down next to Jane. She lifted Jane’s wrist, and it was sofastthe way she struck, like a snake, her fangs glinting in the lamplight, and Jane barely reacted, and Elizabethscreamed.
Elizabeth ran into the sitting room, but Mr. Darcy was behind her, catching her, stopping her, his voice in her ear, “Do not run, Miss Elizabeth, please. If you wish my help, I cannot bear it if you run.” He let her go.
But she ran anyway, because Mr. Bingley was now sitting next to Jane, too, and Mrs. Hurst was getting up from where she was with her husband and coming over as well, and Elizabeth screamed again, and ran to stop it, to save her sister Jane.
And then she was on the rug, face down, and Mr. Darcy was on top of her, his body pressing into hers all over, and he was at her neck, and she felt the tips of his teeth pierce her skin. Pain washed into her, but only for a moment, and then it washed right back out, like a wave going out to sea.
The next wave that washed in was pleasure, like nothing she’d ever felt before, her whole body tingling with it.
Mr. Darcy’s mouth worked at her neck, and the weight of him on her body felt pleasant and warm and good.
She liked it, trapped here under him, caught like a prey animal, like a little rabbit, as the fox who had caught her sucked her quite dry.
She liked it.
God help her.
She liked it a great deal.
SHE TASTED LIKEcinnamon, like honey, and he could not stop himself.
Darcy had a dull feeling at the back of his skull, a knowledge that he had not intended to do this, to leap on her and go at her as though he had lost all sense of decorum or control. But he was lost, simply lost.
And strangely enough—maybe it was the position or maybe it was the way her plush and rounded backside was pressed into entirely the perfect spot—his prick had awakened. It was rare that happened these days. He had lost most of his interest in using it for any purpose at all for so long that it never roused, but it was quite roused now. It was thick and stiff, and as he drank in her sweet, spicy, wondrous blood, he had the urge to rut into her backside, to thrust his achingly stiff member into her again and again.
However, maybe it saved her, he couldn’t say.
It divided his attention, anyway. There was pleasure there, pleasure between his thighs, not simply pleasure as he drank, and he suddenly had the presence of mind to detach from her neck and scramble off of her.
He threw himself away from her, plastering his body against the wall between two paintings that had been here when Bingley let the place. He was shaking.
She—Elizabeth—was lying on the rug, cheek pressed into it, her dress a little askew, showing off her calves, her stockings. Her rounded backside was right there under the drape of her skirts. She wriggled, letting out a little noise in the back of her throat, and he gaped at the sight of her.
Hell and damnation, the things he would like to do to her, to that body of hers, to thatneckof hers. Blazes, she tasted good.
She pushed up onto her hands and knees, letting out a confused noise that sounded like a mewl, and he wanted to tackle her to the floor again.
He let out an answering growl.
She looked over her shoulder at him, and that was nearly too much. There was something incredibly erotic about it, about her in that position, about her looking back at him. Her expression was welcoming, too, and he knew she wanted him back, knew she had been enjoying what he’d been doing to her.
His whole body throbbed with an ache to go to her.
But she stood up, facing him, fingering her neck, which was sealing up, knitting itself back together. There was blood, though. He’d been a bit sloppy, he supposed, too eager as he drank.
She looked down at the red smearing her fingers. Her eyes widened.
And then she turned around to look at her sister.
He looked too.
It was done. What he’d told Elizabeth was true. A little nip was all that vampires wanted or needed.
Caroline was setting Jane’s wrist down against her thigh and standing up. Louisa was rising from where she had knelt to latch on to Jane’s other wrist. And Bingley was sitting next to Jane, tucking her hair behind her ear as he gazed at her neck, likely watching the wound heal.
