Chapter Seven #4
“You taste wonderful, Elizabeth.”
In her mortification, her skin must have been flushed from head to toe, and she looked away, pressing her hands to her belly.
He caught her chin with his other hand, returning her gaze to him.
Carefully, he leaned over her, joining his mouth with hers.
She caught the trace of a heavy flavour on his lips—she tasted herself.
Disgusted, her hands pressed against his chest. He broke the kiss.
“That is vulgar!”
“It is natural.” He commanded her attention with the tone of his voice. It was the same tone she had heard him use when he held court. “We belong to each other now and nothing is vulgar about knowing the taste of the woman who shares my bed.”
She remained full of doubt.
“My sweetest Elizabeth, does it not give you pleasure when I touch you?” He demonstrated by sliding his finger across the slick flesh once again, and another shudder racked her body. “I can see that it does. You must not be ashamed in the demonstration of passion.”
He sucked his finger clean once again and asked permission with a look. Gulping, she nodded, and he kissed her tentatively. She grew hungrier the longer the kiss lasted, and soon her nails were scratching welts down his back.
“I want to taste more of you. Will you allow it?”
“Yes!” If he could provide relief from the fire in her stomach and the tightly tuned muscles that were humming throughout her body, she would be grateful, but nothing could have prepared her for his invasion.
Once again, he opened her legs, fingers dancing over her sensitive flesh as he neared her sex.
The air rushed over her but was followed by a foreign feeling.
She glanced down. Oh, my! He was lapping at her like a kitten to fresh cream.
Her timidity fought the instinct to crush his head between her legs.
Indeed, her back arched and his hands caught her bottom to steady her.
It was a gentle invasion, his lips brushing against her, his tongue traveling over her, his fingers rubbing and rolling some tiny bit of flesh that made her forget everything and more.
His touch went a little deeper and she tried to draw him in to where her body told her he needed to be, but he held back, refusing to cooperate.
Finally, he stopped, his eyes holding hers. He seemed solemn and almost regretful.
“I cannot restrain myself any longer, Elizabeth. This may hurt.”
How could anything hurt now? Not when every touch sent her spiralling in bliss.
Darcy removed his restrictive breeches and positioned his body, holding his tip to her core.
Elizabeth’s breath caught at the sight of him nude.
Though she had nothing to compare him to, she somehow had known he would be magnificent: all muscle and scars and glistening skin.
Every inch of him was a part she wanted to explore.
He closed his eyes as he eased himself in.
Her eyes grew wide, and he placed a hand on the side of her face.
“I would not let anything happen to you. Remember all the pleasure I have brought to our bed tonight? After the pain, you shall feel that again. I swear.”
“Do it quickly,” she said, her voice all full of breath while she squeezed her eyes tight.
Biting his lip, her husband followed suit and pushed his body into her tight, wet core.
Lord! His invasion of her body both shocked and overwhelmed her, chasing all rational thought from her head.
It was more painful than she had imagined, her body tearing like a piece of silk.
She sucked in a sharp breath and whimpered, her nails digging at him for a spilt second.
Only moments ago, she fought tears to spare his feelings.
Now she was fighting not only the sting in her eyes, but the sharp sensation contained in her lower body.
Breathe! Breathe! She concentrated on Lord Darcy’s handsome face until the pain melted away.
“I am grieved at your discomfort,” he whispered, leaning close to her ear. He kissed her cheek. “The last thing I want is to give you pain.”
“It is over. Apologize no more.”
The tears had begun to tumble out of her eyes. With a sorrowful shake of his head, he kissed them away, taking her salty tears like a communion. “Can you forgive me?”
“It is my duty, is it not? There is nothing to forgive. Think of it no longer,” she said with resolution. “Now, bring back the pleasure lest I go mad.”
He moved slowly at first, letting her stretch around him. With careful, controlled strokes, Darcy drew his length out and pushed himself in. She was so grateful that he was moving so she could accommodate his assault on her fragile body, but it was not enough, and he appeared to be straining.
“Perhaps if ye quicken thy pace?” she said, noting his misery. Yet why did she care that she never wanted to see him unhappy again?
“I do not want to pain you.”
“I am not made of glass.”