Darcy thrust into his wife’s tight, wet sheath. Breath ragged, desperate to prolong the pleasure, he bit the inside of his cheek as his wife moaned and pulsed around him. The release built until he was shaking, and then he lost control as she clenched around him. Every muscle tightened, focused.
More. He wanted more.
Just... one... more...
With a final thrust, he came undone, his member pulsing into Elizabeth, filling her with his seed in an endless moment of bliss.
She spasmed around him and he collapsed, rolling to his side, taking her with him. They lay there, joined, for a long time.
Darcy savored the scent of her skin, of her hair, the soft contact of their bodies. He ran his fingers over the necklace, brushing the carved jadeite, bound goddesses, beautiful and seductive.
Elizabeth was beautiful. Seductive. More than that, he loved her—every part of her, her beauty and her intelligence, her kindness, her passion, her temper, and the unspeakable cravings they both shared.
Darcy wanted to give her everything she wanted.
“Elizabeth.” He said. He could not say more than her name.
“Mmm?” Her eyes were half-lidded, languid in the wake of their passion. Her body was softer than usual, her lips fuller.
Darcy wanted an artist to capture her in a painting like she was now. And yet the thought of another man seeing her like this sparked anger. He held her tighter, and she pressed her cheek against his chest.
Her wrists were pink, the skin irritated where she had rubbed against the bonds. Darcy ran his thumb over the marks, feeling a fierce sense of possession and pride at his marks on her. And a touch of fear that she might look at them and feel either fear or disgust.
“How do you feel?” he asked, rubbing a slow circle over the pulse of her wrist.
“Warm,” Elizabeth said. “I like it when you touch me like that. It tickles.”
“Not too much?”
“It tickles just the right amount,” Elizabeth said, rolling back slightly so that his softening manhood, still wet from her, slid along the crease of her thigh and maiden hair.
Darcy glanced up at her face. Her dark eyes shone with happiness, and some of the fear he’d felt eased. “I love you,” Darcy said.
“Love you too,” Elizabeth murmured, eyes closing, fingers threading through the hair on his chest, petting him like a cat as she relaxed against him.
Darcy smiled as he brushed a kiss over her temple.
Eventually, lassitude overcame him, and his eyes shut.
When Darcy woke, a ray of sunlight streamed through a gap in the curtains. Elizabeth had curled up against him with a corner of the duvet thrown over her eyes.
Darcy smiled. Usually his wife woke earlier than him, but clearly their activities the previous night had worn her out. His manhood stirred, and Darcy ruthlessly ignored his arousal as he lifted his arm from her and, with a little maneuvering, sat up.
“Fitz?” Elizabeth murmured, burrowing deeper into the bedding.
“I will ring for breakfast,” Darcy said.
“Mmm...”
Darcy chuckled, leaving his wife to rest as he went about his morning ablutions and rang for a servant to bring them breakfast. Normally, they would eat together in the breakfast nook, but while Darcy had more energy than his wife, he was not prepared even for the limited formality of another, semi-public room.
Darcy wanted Elizabeth to himself, away from the prying eyes of the servants, for at least a few hours more.
Breakfast came, two maids delivering a tray of eggs, cold meats, buttered rolls, a plate of fruits, coffee for Darcy, and a pot of chocolate for Elizabeth. The maid set the tray on the same low eating table where he and Elizabeth had eaten dinner, and with a quick curtsy, she swept out.
“Lizzy?” Darcy said, sitting on the bed beside Elizabeth. He rested a hand on her shoulder.
Elizabeth made a displeasured noise and snuggled under the duvet.
“Our food will grow cold,” Darcy cajoled her.
“Mmm.”
Darcy lay beside her and slipped his hand under the duvet, running it along the skin of her bare shoulder. He smiled, letting his fingers skim the soft swell of her breast to graze her nipple. As he circled, it hardened beneath his fingertip. In his breeches, his manhood stirred.
“Fitz?” Elizabeth said groggily, pulling the duvet from her face.
“Are you hungry?” Darcy asked.
To his surprise, instead of answering, Elizabeth reached up to cup his jaw, bringing his lips to hers.
“Starving,” she said, her voice husky as she broke the kiss.
Darcy tugged the duvet from her body and tossed it aside. He kissed her as he parted her thighs and slipped a hand between her legs. Elizabeth moaned into his mouth as he gently stroked her.
The eggs and chocolate were well chilled by the time they sat to eat.