Jane Austen's Pride & Prejudice Sequel Bundle: 3 Reader Favorites (155 page)

He may have been surprised, but he certainly was not disappointed! This time their coupling was altogether different. Following so quickly upon their previous gratification, Darcy was in much better control. His stamina was amplified tremendously, with mutual approval. They kissed and caressed wherever they could reach, both experimenting with altering pressures and rhythms. Gradually they attuned themselves to their partner’s sighs and moans as a gauge for what was especially pleasurable. Occasionally they spoke, but they soon found that sensations, actions, and sounds were preferable.

It seemed to continue forever. As one would near the point of bursting, the other would slow their actions, increasing the aching and craving. Time and again they came near the pinnacle only to pull back for further enjoyment. Eventually it was more than they could bear, and both were taken by acute spasms that shook them head to toe in rapture beyond the words to convey.

Quite some time later, they lay blissfully depleted and satiated, limbs entangled. Elizabeth’s head lay partly on Darcy’s shoulder and partly on a pillow so she could admire his face. They were awake but drowsy, talking softly, enjoying simply being together in such sweet harmony. Darcy played with her hair where it cascaded over his arm, while Elizabeth traced lazy circles over his chest and stomach. They spoke of silly things, small talk, more to hear each other’s voices than for any purpose.

The final acts of love had been far superior to any imaginings either of them had entertained. Darcy, never a great admirer of romantic poetry, finally understood. Each day, each moment with Elizabeth had transcended the one before. Tonight they had reached dizzying heights, and it honestly seemed impossible to love her more.

Darcy would have had to confess that he believed his heart would burst if he experienced anything beyond what he felt at this moment. He had told her, when he proposed the second time, that she had bewitched him body and soul, and it was true. Now he knew that she owned him, lived inside of him, kept his heart beating, and gave him purpose. If it had not felt so very right, it might have terrified him.

Real life intruded when Darcy’s stomach growled loudly and abruptly as if in response to Lizzy’s fingers, which had been playfully examining his navel. They both laughed at the absurdity of it.

“Hungry, darling?” Elizabeth asked. “Have your recent exertions increased your appetite?”

“I have eaten sparsely today, my love. Nerves, I suppose.” He rolled onto his side and began kissing her bare shoulder. “I was much more interested in satisfying other hungers so that I ignored my more basic needs. What is food compared to your love?”

“Very pretty. However, I am beginning to experience pangs of my own. The Hamiltons have supplied us with an abundance of food and it would be rude to ignore it,” Elizabeth said, but then grinned mischievously as she ran her hand along his inner thigh. “Besides, we must take care to restore our energies, do you not agree, beloved?”

He quickly snared her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing each of her fingers lingeringly. “You minx! I do believe a tigress has been unleashed tonight!” He pulled her to him and indulged in several kisses before again being interrupted by a loud growl from his empty stomach.

“Poor Mr. Darcy!” she laughed.

“Stay warm, Elizabeth. I shall fetch your robe and stoke the fire.” With a last kiss, Darcy left the bed and retrieved his robe from where it had been unceremoniously discarded by the sofa.

Elizabeth propped herself up on one elbow, the better to watch her handsome husband. Contentment flowed through her entire being as she lay so relaxed in the large bed. It had been an arduous day full of countless anxieties and abounding wonders. She was tired yet exhilarated at the same time. Happiness was a palpable entity that surrounded her and permeated her very soul. Just observing him performing the mundane task of adding logs to the fire was a pleasure beyond imagining.
How is it possible to love someone this much?
She asked herself.
Is it normal?
Probably not, but it certainly was magnificent and she would not wish it any other way.

Darcy returned from her dressing room with a thick robe and helped her into it. Or more precisely he delayed the process with numerous kisses and caresses, but Elizabeth did not mind. Finally they sat on the rug before the now raging fire with the platter of food on the floor. Darcy popped the well-chilled champagne and poured them each a glass. “To us,” he toasted, “the happiest couple on the face of the earth!”

Darcy attacked the superb provisions with relish and Elizabeth was not too far behind. They had fun with the process: feeding each other morsels, licking and sucking each other’s fingers, and kissing honey-smeared lips. Eventually even Darcy’s appetite was quenched and, with a satisfied sigh, he reclined on an enormous pillow. Elizabeth leaned against his bent knee and gazed dreamily into the fire. Neither spoke. Words were unnecessary. A warm blanket of peace and bliss covered them.

Darcy began to drift into sleep, warm and relaxed by the fire. Lizzy was lazily caressing the leg and knee she leaned against and the sensation was calming. As far as Darcy was concerned, life could not possibly get any better than this. He closed his eyes and sighed.

Elizabeth turned to gaze at her husband. He had a soft smile on his lips, hair in disarray, and one arm raised above his head and the other lying across his stomach. The robe was loosely tied so most of his chest was exposed. She recognized that, despite the intimacies of the last hours, she actually had not had the opportunity to examine her husband’s form closely, as she had teasingly told him she needed to do.

He was so beautiful and perfect to her eyes. She had spent the past weeks memorizing his face and intimately knew every inch of it. The small scar on his right cheek was the result of a tree branch while riding when he was fifteen, he had told her. She knew how long it took from the time he shaved until whiskers began to reappear, and that they sprouted first along his upper lip.

She had discovered that his eye color altered depending on his mood or what he wore. When he was thinking passionate thoughts of her, his lips would part slightly and eyelids would flutter. When he was annoyed or concentrating, his jaw would tighten and several small creases would appear between his brows. When he was very angry, his eyes would darken almost to black and his lips would press tightly together into a thin line. She had found that a singular expression crossed his features with thoughts of each person he loved. He had his “Georgiana face” and “Richard face” and “Mrs. Reynolds face” and “Elizabeth face.”

At times her hurtful words came back to haunt her.
Your arrogance, conceit… selfish disdain for the feelings of others.
Oh, how could she have thought such things! He would be angry with her if he knew she was remembering those words because they had spent hours discussing the past, their mutual errors, and had promised to learn from them and then put it all behind them. Perhaps in time it would no longer wrack her with guilt, but she continued to loathe herself for the pain she had caused him. Knowing now the depth of his emotions toward those he loves, his loyalty, the profound grief he carries for those he has lost, and his goodness, made it all the harder to forgive herself. Not for the first time she vowed to herself that she would never cause him pain again.

Impulsively she kissed his knee, causing his sleepy smile to deepen, and then gently pushed his leg down while she resituated herself between his legs. He opened his eyes, still smiling, and considered her movements with interest. She carefully opened his robe to initiate her inspection.

“Elizabeth?” he whispered.

She smiled. “I made a promise, sir, to give you a full accounting of all your attributes that are pleasing to my eyes. Never let it be uttered that I do not keep my promises. Now, relax.”

“That may be a challenging order to follow, my beloved, if you continue in this manner.”

Elizabeth did not reply. Her fingers traveled slowly over him, noting his muscles, counting each rib, graphing the pattern of his chest hair. She reveled
in the contrast of smoothness and roughness, felt each of his breaths and the beating of his heart. She grazed rigid nipples and he inhaled sharply. She detected for the first time a bump atop one of his ribs. “What caused this?” she asked quietly.

“I fell out of a tree when I was twelve,” he answered. “Broke my rib and lacerated my arm here,” and he rolled up his sleeve showing her a long scar along his inner left arm. “Ten stitches. My mother was furious but Father just laughed. ‘Boys must be allowed to be boys,’ he said.” Darcy chuckled at the memory. “My mother kept me abed for a week, and Mrs. Reynolds forced all manner of hideous-tasting concoctions down my throat. I am convinced they punished me due to their own fright, rather than any actual need of my own.”

Elizabeth loved how his eyes glowed when he spoke of his family. He did it rarely, the memories being very painful to him. His childhood was much a mystery to her. She could not wait until she was at Pemberley, the place where he grew up, the place he loved more than any other. She remembered how at ease he had been there when they had spent their glorious day together, how he laughed and smiled. Somehow she knew that their relationship and understanding would reach even greater heights once in his home.

“I cannot quite picture you climbing trees,” she said, her head tilting to the side. “You seem more the library-dwelling boy to me.”

He laughed. “Well, I did rather spend inordinate amounts of time in the library, but I do love the outdoors. I generally prefer riding my horse to long walks, although I am coming to appreciate what can be accomplished on long, solitary walks.” He grinned slyly and she blushed, knowing full well to what he was referring. “I was not normally stupidly reckless though. It was usually George…,” he stopped abruptly as a dark cloud crossed his face, “… Wickham that baited me into something foolish. He dared me to climb the tree, in fact. Of course, the fault was mine in allowing him to drive me to such follies.” He took a deep breath and, with a visible shrug, he shoved the unpleasant memory aside. He looked at her face, shining above him with pure love and devotion. It was impossible, he thought, to stay morose with such beauty to behold.

He tenderly captured one of her tresses in his hand and twined it around his fingers. For long moments they gazed at each other, enraptured by the love they felt. Thoughts of sleep vanished. Darcy started to rise up, intent on taking her into his arms, but she stayed him with her hands. “I am not finished, sir,” she murmured and lowered her face to his neck as she stretched fully onto him.
It was her turn to bestow feather kisses to all his sensitive places and to discover the secrets of how to please him. This she did with an intensity and directness that left him beyond breathless… and completely satisfied.

Their wedding night was not yet over.

F
ITZWILLIAM
D
ARCY WAS HAVING
the most extraordinary dream of his entire life. Elizabeth was there, although that fact was not unusual since she had graced the vast majority of his dreams for months now. This dream, however, was exceedingly more erotic than any of the previous ones, and, yes, there had been several! Darcy was enjoying this dream enormously and did not want it to stop, so it was with tremendous dismay that he felt the beginning tendrils of consciousness return. He valiantly fought against them, but the tingles in his right arm persisted no matter how many times his subconscious self tried to move the offending appendage.

The cold blast of wakefulness was like a knife to his heart. He had really liked that dream! So acute was his disappointment that one can imagine the soaring heights instantaneously reached when he realized that the object of his dream was in his arms. In fact, it was her head, which at some point during her sleep had crept from his chest to the inner aspect of his elbow, that was causing his arm to burn. The irony of it did not escape him, and he chuckled softly.

Memories of the fine dream, coupled with the vision of her beauty before him, were temporarily enough to drive away the ever-increasing discomfort to his poor extremity. For some moments he manfully bore the pain and watched her sleep. It was an enchanting sight to behold. Her lush lips were slightly parted, her thick lashes resting peacefully on her rosy cheeks, her mane of hair
scattered haphazardly about, and her creamy neck and shoulders visible. Darcy could quite contentedly have stared at her all day, but now his fingers had lost all feeling.