Chapter 1.30 #5
One hand continued the eager exploration, allowing his hungry mouth to satiate its urge.
A trail of warm kisses encircled her breast until they finally closed upon the soft hardness and captured it.
He heard her moans grow louder as her body shivered violently beneath him.
Her fingers were tightly entwined in his hair, pulling him closer to her, more painfully as the pleasure overwhelmed her.
Never did he experience a more gratifying sensation than in those moments when he was showing her, teaching her, offering her the complete pleasure a man can offer his beloved.
Her body was delightfully undulating under his eager hands, yielding to them, surrendering to his hunger.
Several moments later, his mouth released its captive only to conquer the soft hardness of her other breast. He wanted to touch, to kiss, to taste every part of her body, now, before she became a woman—to have her maidenly flavour forever in his mind and his senses, as this night would remain forever unforgettable to him.
Amidst his ever-growing passion, he did not realise that he was not only thinking but also whispering his desire to her, and her body shivered in the torturous anticipation of his promise. It was a promise he would not break.
With infinite and tender patience, his ardent love wrapped her, overwhelmed her, conquered her.
She let herself be carried away by his passion and by her own desire.
Her body arched towards his touches, begging for more, begging for everything, as he seemed willing to give her all.
Each spot of her skin that bore the exquisite torture of his lips, his tongue, and his fingers longed for their return while each part of her body that remained unsatisfied demanded his touch.
The fire that had seized her flared in places his caresses had not yet reached, but he seemed to know her desires better than she did.
His hand moved slowly with gentle determination to her thighs and rested upon them, but only for an instant.
His fingers glided between them, parting them with searing strokes, brushing along them—tender, yet strong fingers, admitting no resistance, drawing all her senses to the place that was still aching for his touch.
Unexpectedly, his lips returned to her mouth, and hers joined them in eager joy.
Her lips had missed his, and he could feel it.
While the kiss grew wilder, their tongues danced in sensual domination of each other.
His fingers climbed to the warmth between her legs until he was possessively cradling the only part of her body he had not yet conquered.
Countless waves swept through her body, and she screamed against his mouth as her legs instinctively gripped his hand.
However, his caresses were not rejected, not when every stroke left her wanting more, every daring, impudent, demanding touch seemed to be the answer to the deepest need inside her, and every caress of his fingers sent more waves of pleasure through her body.
Every sensation she had ever experienced before was a pale prelude to what he was offering her that night. Every time the pleasure became unbearable, he gave her more.
His lips left her mouth—already longing for his kisses—and returned to a familiar path; they tarried on their journey at her breasts once more, and then resumed the track lower to reach their goal.
The novelty of his lips pressing against her inner thighs and his tongue tasting her skin while drawing nearer to his fingers, made her quiver again; her body was begging, full of eager anticipation for what might come, while her incredulous mind, clouded by desire, refused to believe that something like that could happen.
No anticipation could prepare her for the shock of feeling the softness of his lips on that place or for the unbearable pleasure that followed and seemed to last an eternity, throwing her into the midst of a violent storm of fire and ice.
When her senses returned to her, she felt his weight upon her and his warm, naked form covering her, imprisoning her. She could feel his breath as his face was a hair’s breadth from hers. She opened her eyes and found the message of his eyes, deeper and darker than ever.
She had dreamed many times about the moment she would become his wife—and the moment had arrived at the end of a journey more wonderful than any dream.
Their eyes locked in perfect understanding, and his hand lifted to her face, caressing her with a tenderness that melted her heart.
His eyes spoke of his love; his lips, smiling adoringly, professed his feelings, while his body—powerfully, possessively—broke the final barrier, confirming their complete union.
For a few moments, her body stiffened, and her beautiful face furrowed in pain.
Her soft cry cut his heart, and he was torn between tenderness and passion.
He ached for her and wanted only to give comfort.
He knew he should stop, but his body would not listen.
The glorious feeling of taking her as his wife—of being inside her—was more than he had ever experienced—the pleasure more than he could have imagined.
He could not fight it; he tried but failed.
His body had a will of its own, demanding the long-awaited completion.
He managed to control himself briefly, slowing his movements and allowing her to become accustomed to him.
His eyes searched her face, which was still wearing a faint trace of pain.
Her eyes were closed, and he wanted to see them, to read them, so his lips grazed her long eyelashes, urging them to open.
Meeting his gaze seemed to relax her, and he could feel her moving slightly beneath him.
Despite his struggle, his body started to move again, slowly, as if by itself.
His lips lowered to her beloved face and moistened her dry mouth, silencing her moans for a moment.
He knew he had caused her pain, and he wanted to tell her how much pleasure and happiness she was giving him.
He whispered to her, each word followed by a brushing of his lips against her neck, her ears, her cheeks, her trembling chin and her eyes hidden behind their lashes.
She listened to his words without understanding them, but her mind and body slowly relaxed under the comfort of his lips and the warmth of his voice.
Her mind soon fell into a whirl of light and ceased its struggle to understand what was happening to her and how it was possible for such painful, tormenting pleasure to exist. Her body belonged to him, as did her heart.
His love conquered her, possessed her, and filled her with his passion, taking her as his wife; yet, he was her prisoner too.
She could feel him inside her, joined with her in perfect completion.
She heard his whispered professions of love, his words of passion, gratitude, and sorrow for the pain he caused her—and indeed the pain was sharper than she had imagined—but he did not know how astonishingly pleasant the pain was, and she wanted him to know; she ought to show him.
Tentatively at first, her body struggled to learn the rhythm of shared passion, moving slightly beneath him, with him, towards him.
Unconsciously, her legs encircled his waist, pulling him even closer to her, and she could not repress a cry when, with a husky groan, he thrust deeper and harder inside her.
His lips captured hers again as the rhythm of their joined bodies grew wildly fervent—passion mixed with happiness becoming perfect love—until it was not him and her anymore, but them.
An eternity seemed to pass until he reached the long desired moment, shattering in release and spreading warm waves inside her trembling body, his hoarse groans mixed with the soft cries escaping her swollen lips.
Countless moments passed before they could breathe steadily again; yet, not then—not even later—did either of them move away. They remained bonded, bodies and souls entwined in a perfect whole with their two equal parts belonging to each other in that moment of blissful felicity.
∞∞∞
There was no need for words. They lay on their sides, closely embraced, their naked bodies not wanting to part from each other.
Elizabeth’s head was nestled against her husband’s strong chest, her face close to his heart, her fingers caressing his warm skin while her long hair cascaded in silky waves that covered them both.
His hands continued tenderly to stroke her smooth back, her arms, and her head; his fingers played with her hair until she fell asleep, exhausted from the emotion and unbearable happiness she had experienced.
The last sounds she heard were the rain outside and the beating of his heart—calm, reassuring, and steady.
She placed her lips against that spot and allowed sleep to surround her.
Enraptured by the beauty of the woman who was finally his wife—truly his wife—and her soft, warm body lying almost atop him, her soft breasts pressing against his chest and her smell intoxicating his senses, Darcy did not sleep, nor did he want to.
He was not tired—quite the contrary—his body, which had longed for her for so long, could not be satiated by their lovemaking.
His urge was only increased now that, as a starving man, he had tasted her exquisite flavour.
He wanted nothing more than to love her again and again until he satisfied his hunger.
This time, however, he was more capable of controlling his desires.
He could be patient for her sake—and for his.
He could afford to be patient now that he knew for certain he would not have to wait long and his waiting soon would be rewarded.
He would let her sleep as long as she needed, and when she awakened, he would be there to teach her more about passion and pleasure.