Merry Mishaps
Page 4
No one knew her like Darcy, could reach into her heart and soul like he did. No other lips would ever memorize her skin like his, and his breath ghosted over her most private area with reverence. As if he did not know how he had managed to find her, to keep her.
She curled her hands over his on top her stomach, tangling their fingers together. Her sighs turned, transitioned higher, clearer, as he made love to her with his mouth. A mouth dedicated to loving her, to appreciating her, she pressed closer.
“Look at me, Lizzy.”
She did, her teeth torturing her bottom lip, his strong hands holding apart her thighs for him, and then she threw her head back, unable to hold his intent gaze for long. He pressed forward, eager to fulfill the yearning in her cries. A year together wasn’t enough—she wanted eternity just like this with his thoughtful, passionate eyes and tender hands.
They didn’t need words, a shared glance was enough. Darcy moved up her body, his hands shaking, his expression one of the devout worshipper. Her hips ached for union, for completion. A consummation of their happiness.
He entered her in one smooth movement, completing her. “My love,” he gasped and all she could do in response was hold him close.
She surrendered to him—no, they surrendered to each other. To the joy of being together through the sorrow of losing something precious. They were more than Pemberley, more than the esteemed Darcys. They had married for something far greater than prestige or heritage. They were husband and wife and—soon—father and mother. Tenderly, they celebrated, Elizabeth cupping his cheeks as she met his shining eyes.
Pleasure, languid and slow, curled inside her. They rocked together, no intention of moving fast, of speeding up their pace. Only enjoying each other, the press of their bodies, the warmth of their skin, and slow, unhurried kisses that seemed to draw out more of the pleasure building inside of her like ribbon being pulled from a sewing basket. Her body buzzed and trembled with each slow stroke, so she felt every inch and ridge of him stretching her. It was unending and Darcy’s unhurried possession of her only pulled out more and more of the winding, burning ribbon in her core.
“Lizzy,” he moaned, nipping her bottom lip. His hand slipped between their warm bodies and she gasped, a firelight’s rosy glow pooling in her, ignited by the slow swirl of his fingers.
She clasped him close, gasping into his shoulder, tangling her fingers in his damp curls. The hairs on his calves tickled her feet as she slid her legs up his, feeling him everywhere, wanting to be tangled up in him so no one would know where he began and she ended. The winter’s chill daren’t touch them and she tasted sweat on his bare, burning skin.
He brought her to the edge, drawing the ribbon tight across her skin, a candle’s flame burning at her core. Darcy’s motions became frantic, his face one of a man in pain as he submersed himself in her heat.
They surged together, Elizabeth tensing as that burning ribbon radiated out from her core, consuming everything in its path. She released a cry, glorious tremors spreading out through her limbs.
He buried himself in her one final time, and their gasps mingled together, praise and epithets tumbling out of their mouths. He jerked and liquid warmth filled her as he collapsed atop of her.
Goodness.
Elizabeth yanked the closest pillow over her face. Cooling relief touched her cheeks. “My… word.”
“Yes,” he groaned into the mattress beside her ear.
“You did … say you would ... pamper me,” she gasped. “Heavens.”
Falling out of her, Darcy turned onto his side and threw his leg over her calves. She heard him yawn. “That was far better than any tryst in a carriage.”
She peeked at him from under the pillow. She waited until she had her breath back before saying, “Do you think we are rid of the curse, love?”
“Perhaps,” he said mildly, his eyes closed. He yawned again, rubbing his face against the mattress. “We must try again in a moment to be certain. I wouldn’t want to bring down a tornado on us.”
She laughed and tossed her pillow casually over his face. Darcy grabbed it and shoved it under his cheek. She pouted. That was her pillow.
But she could not blame him. After all, he had done all the pampering this time. Next time, she would insist on returning the favor. Smiling at this wicked thought, she rolled over toward him. He grumbled as she unsettled his leg, but gracefully submitted to her cuddling up to his chest.
His dark eyelashes brushed his cheeks. Peace overtook his expression, something she often saw there now. She drew her hand through his still damp hair, watching him curl up against the pillow like the cat he said she was.
“Are you truly happy?” she whispered.
He opened one eye, peering at her blearily. “Of course.” He placed his hand over her stomach and she could imagine there was a slight bump under his palm. Soon, the evidence of her condition would be obvious. She wondered how her husband would react then. Would he be nervous about lovemaking? Would she even want to make love when she was huge with child? Then she looked at her husband and laughed at herself. Of course she would want to make love to Darcy—making herself quit and act like a civilized person was the hard part.
Darcy eyed her warily. “What is it, wife?”
She drew her hand up his chest. “Nothing. Merely overwhelmingly happy to be here with you.”
He shifted, pulling her close with a satisfied hum. After a few moments where they enjoyed the quiet and the crackle of the flames in the fireplace, his chest rumbled under her as he spoke. “Do you find yourself sufficiently entertained?”
“More than anything. Merry Christmas, dear.”
“Merry Christmas Eve. Now rest, and I shall give you your present when I wake.”
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Read the other novellas in the Darcy’s Winter Nights Collection - website UPDATED when new books publish!
Darcy’s Winter Nights Collection
The Masquerade Series
A night at the masquerade was supposed to be anonymous.
It was… until Darcy saw Elizabeth Bennet across an assembly room weeks later and recognized the innocent young woman who had captured his imagination.
Elizabeth can’t stop thinking about the man with thunderstorm eyes who seduced her in a stranger’s bed. When they meet again, will Elizabeth be able to keep her wits? Or will she fall for the man who wears many masks?
A completed series, click the book cover below to begin.