Chapter 9 #2
He kissed me a second time, lower. Then a third. Each touch was slow, precise, awakening a heat beneath my skin that I could neither contain nor understand.
My head tilted of its own accord.
“Fitzwilliam…”
He turned me toward him.
His hand settled against my cheek. His thumb brushed near my mouth, and I turned my face slightly into his palm without even realizing I had done so.
His gaze darkened.
“I am going to kiss you.”
I nodded.
He waited.
I understood he wanted more.
“Yes,” I murmured.
His mouth settled on mine.
The kiss was gentle, but the gentleness did not last. As soon as my lips parted beneath his, his hand slipped behind my nape and drew me closer.
I placed my hands on his chest.
I did not know where else to put them.
Beneath my palms, his heart beat as fast as mine. This discovery calmed me somewhat. He was not moving through this moment with the cold assurance I had sometimes imagined in him. He desired me enough to lose some of his control as well.
His tongue grazed mine.
I started, then let him do it again.
The sensation was strange, intimate, and far more unsettling than any kiss we had shared before. I followed his movement clumsily. When a rough breath escaped him, I did not know what I had done to provoke it.
I went still.
Darcy drew back just enough to look at me.
“Is everything all right?”
“I do not know what I should do.”
The words came out before shame could hold them back.
His expression changed. Something tender mingled with the desire.
“Nothing you do not wish.”
“That is not very precise.”
The corner of his mouth moved.
“Then let me guide you.”
I nodded.
He kissed me again, more slowly this time. His hand traveled down my arm, took mine, and placed it behind his neck.
My fingers found his hair.
“Like this?” I asked against his lips.
“Yes.”
His voice was rougher.
I let my fingers sink deeper into his hair. He pulled me against him, and the hardness of his body pressed against my stomach.
I stopped breathing.
Darcy froze instantly.
“Don’t be afraid.”
“I’m not afraid.”
It wasn’t entirely true.
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I wasn’t afraid of him. I was afraid of the unknown, of my own body, of the heat that seemed to build each time he touched me.
Yet I tightened my arms around his neck.
“Continue.”
He closed his eyes for a second.
Then his lips traveled to my cheek, my jaw, my neck. The brush of his mouth against my skin sent shivers all the way down to my legs.
His fingers found the ribbon of my nightgown.
He looked up.
I knew what he was asking.
My throat was too tight to speak. I simply placed my hand over his.
Still, he waited.
So I pulled lightly on the ribbon myself.
The knot came undone.
Darcy slowly parted the muslin panels. The cool air touched my throat, then my shoulders. The nightgown slipped down my arms before pooling at my feet.
I stood naked before him.
My first impulse was to cross my arms over my chest.
He gently held my wrists.
“Don’t hide.”
He didn’t say it harshly. His voice was low, almost pleading.
I let my arms fall.
He looked at me.
The heat of that gaze was almost a touch. It slid over my throat, my chest, my stomach. I resisted the urge to look away.
“You are magnificent,” he breathed.
I didn’t know how to respond.
Fitzwilliam brought my hand to his shirt.
“Your turn.”
My fingers found the first button.
It gave easily. So did the second. By the third, my hands began to tremble.
He didn’t help me. He remained still, giving me time to learn the motion.
When the shirt finally opened, I timidly placed my palm on his chest.
His skin was warm.
I didn’t move.
“You can touch me,” he murmured.
My fingers moved hesitantly. I traced the line of his sternum, the ridge of a muscle, then the thin scar on his side.
“What is this?”
“A fall from a horse. I was sixteen.”
I ran my fingertip over the mark.
His stomach contracted beneath my touch.
I immediately withdrew my hand.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No.”
His answer was so quick that I looked up.
“Then why…”
“Because it was you.”
I didn’t entirely understand. Not yet.
Fitzwilliam removed his shirt himself and let it fall. He pressed against me again, and the first contact of his bare chest with mine made every question disappear.
I let out a breath.
His skin against my skin. His warmth. The beating of his heart so close to mine.
I placed my hands on his shoulders to keep from swaying.
He kissed me.
This time, I no longer worried whether I was doing things right. I followed his mouth, his breath, the pressure of his arms around me. I responded the way my body demanded, without yet understanding what drove me to press closer.
My husband lifted me.
A surprised cry escaped me, and my arms wound around his neck.
He carried me to the bed.
The sheets were cool beneath my back. Fitzwilliam hovered above me, braced on his arms, his face a few inches from mine.
“If something frightens you, tell me.”
“I will.”
“And if you want me to stop…”
“I’ll tell you that too.”
He kissed me before I could add anything.
His mouth traveled down my neck. I followed each of his movements, attentive and lost at once. When he reached my chest, I stiffened.
Darcy stopped.
Then his lips found the curve of my breast.
A kiss.
Then another, closer to the nipple.
When his tongue grazed me, my back arched sharply off the sheets.
“Fitzwilliam!”
He looked up.
I didn’t know what my face showed him, but he began again.
The sensation was sharp, almost too intense. I dug my fingers into his hair, unable to decide whether I wanted to pull him closer or push him away.
Darcy slowed.
His mouth grew gentler. His hand caressed my side, then my hip, as though trying to soothe what his lips had awakened.
Gradually, the surprise faded.
I stopped holding my breath.
Heat gathered low in my belly.
His hand slid down my thigh. When it traveled up along the inside, my legs tensed.
He pressed a kiss to my stomach.
“Let me.”
I didn’t know what I was agreeing to.
But I trusted him.
My legs relaxed.