Page 43 of Bitten By Mr. Darcy
“What stirred?” she said, embarrassed but intrigued.
He gestured to his trousers, and there was something pressing up against them, something that was making them tented, and she knew about male parts… sort of, anyway. “You may undo the falls of me if you like,” he murmured to her, stilltouching her face. “I like the way you are gazing at me there, I must say. It is making me even stiffer.”
Stiffer? She reached over and began to quickly undo all of his buttons, though her fingers were trembling a bit. She didn’t have them all undone before it sprang out, and she gasped, because… well, it wasverystiff. Stiff and long and large and pointing at her. The tip of it was swollen and practically purple, and it was quite the most interesting thing she had ever seen. She bit down hard on her lower lip and then she ran her forefinger over the top of him. She tugged her hand back, shaking her head, uttering an apology.
“Nothing to be sorry for, Lizzy,” he told her in a voice like velvet. “You have woken it and made it rise in this way, so it is quite yours to do with as you please. Touch it if you like.”
She let out a delighted sort of giggle at the thought of it—some part of Mr. Darcy’s body being hers to do with as she pleased. She did touch it again, tracing it all over with her fingers. It was like all of his body was, not exactly warm, but not cold either, a sort of moderate room temperature. The skin was soft and satiny, but beneath it, it was very firm, and she ended up grasping it in her hand and exploring the difference in those two sensations—the softness and hardness, both at once.
He gazed at her through half-lidded eyes and occasionally canted his hips against her ministrations, but otherwise just lay there amid the silky sheets, his chest bare, his trousers undone, his secret bits on display and there for her to toy with.
She had a realization that he was vulnerable to her. Not only in this moment, but in general, because he was trusting her with all his secrets. He could not abide sunlight, but she could, so this was another way that there was balance between them, that she had advantages that he did not.
Could they be something approaching equals?
“I’ve no seed,” he said to her idly, as she rubbed his hardness this way and that. “But I can reach climaxes. It may not be as noticeable when I’ve finished, I suppose, but we’ll be similar in that way, something else we have in common.”
“Seed,” she said thoughtfully. “Yes, of course, the act is for making children. But I suppose I still don’t understand. Even if you did have seed, I shouldn’t get with child from sitting here and running it through my fist again and again.”
“No,” he said. He removed her hand from his member.
She went still. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Definitely not,” he said in a soft and soothing voice. He was pulling her down onto the bed, pulling her down into his arms. “No, I am only realizing that you are not certain of what is to come, and it is putting you at a disadvantage, and I don’t wish to do that.”
She lay down with him, and there was more kissing. He nipped at her lower lip with one of his fangs, drawing only a bit of blood, and they both gasped.
He suckled the small wound for only a moment, and then released it with a flick of his tongue, and she felt it begin to heal. “Apologies, I am not going to drink too much of your blood again, I promise.” He crawled over top of her, his bare chest against her clothing—she was fully dressed, still in her stays and everything, because she had fallen asleep quite easily after he’d had so much of her blood. He kissed the tip of her nose, then lifted his face so that there was only an inch between them. “It’s like this,” he said. “Our bodies flush against each other, and my prick goes inside you. Right here.” He put his hand between her thighs, cupping her in a way that was frankly delicious.
She let out a little moan, especially because seeing his hardness and touching it had seemed to make her swell down there. She was sensitive, and his hand there, the heavy pressure of his large palm, it was quite nice.
He kissed her cheekbone. His voice was a rasp. “Ah, here I am neglecting you, Lizzy.” He moved his hand against her, keeping that lovely heavy pressure but moving his palm in a circle.
She moaned again, shutting her eyes.
“How is that? Too much or not enough?” he breathed as he continued the movement.
“Just right,” she managed. “Just exactly right.” It was overwhelmingly good, and those circuits he was making seemed to stimulate her in far too many places, all of them good. The center of her, it was throbbing, and he was touching it, through her skirts, and he was massaging all of the places around it, too, so all of her sensitive parts were being stimulated from all angles.
She let out a series of gasps as her pleasure deepened, like dropping into a deep, warm tunnel.
He kept it up, and she was hurtling downwards, picking up speed, the pleasure growing more intense. She could not help but cry out, whimpering and sighing.
She was suspended there, pleasure doubling on itself and then doubling again, and then again, until it was too much, so much, wondrous, and then she hit the bottom and the pleasure intensified and burst and she practically shrieked.
He roughly tore his teeth into the slope of her breast. It might have hurt except she was lost to the pleasure of her peak, and then the tug of his taking her blood sent her hurtling off into the depths of it all, too good to even think or breathe and exist.
She had no words or even noises for the intensity of the moment.
He drove his hardened member against her thigh and drank from her, and she was boneless and free as he spasmed against her.
Then it was just his teeth.
Lord, histeeth.
She was drowning in goodness.
CHAPTER TWELVE
