as clearly as a lighthouse beacon on a cloudless night. His eyes sparkled and flashed, lips lifted and twisted revealingly with each word spoken, brows arched and knitted affectively, and his skin glowed. Even his voice betrayed his sentiments. Lizzy had been amazed to discover the range of tones to his voice, how the timbre of his speech altered within the naturally resonant and dulcet tonality.
He laid the utensils aside, picking up his wine glass and relaxing into the chair as he drank, and turned his gaze upon his smiling wife. “You seem amused by something, Mrs. Darcy. Have I entertained you in some manner?”
“Your presence entertains me, my love. I find tremendous pleasure in merely staring at you.”
Darcy held her gaze, smiling salaciously as he curtly ordered the lurking servants to leave. Reaching, he captured her hand, bringing the palm to his lips for a soft kiss. Never looking away from her eyes, he lightly licked her inner wrist, traveling leisurely over the creases to each fingertip for gentle sucks. Lizzy already felt dizzy, swaying as he rose and simultaneously pulled her onto her feet.
“Fitzwilliam,” she began, but he shushed her with a fingertip to her lips, gliding airily over the ruddy fullness to her chin then down her neck, throat, breastbone, until dipping into her cleavage, smoldering eyes trailing. Dark, impassioned eyes briefly encountering her equally feverish ones, Darcy smiled then lowered his head to her bosom, moist mouth pressing firmly onto the crevice created by the swell of each mound. He moaned faintly, as did Lizzy, abruptly sweeping her into his arms and marching from the room.
His strides were powerful and hasty down what seemed like endless hallways and up the extensive flight of stairs, both of them restrained until the third floor landing whereupon Lizzy began working the knots of his cravat while licking his ear, and fingers of her other hand entwining in his hair. Darcy stopped suddenly, eyes closed and breathing deeply but not from exertion, the burden of his wife minimal.
“Lord, Elizabeth! Please desist or I will walk us into a wall!”
“Only if you hurry, William. I cannot resist for long.” He looked at her blazing eyes, leaning his head down with a groan to kiss her ardently. Seconds later, they were stretched onto their bed, fully clothed with hands frantically reaching to remove encumbering fabric. Mere seconds more and they were merged, entangled, and propelling with pent up passion, but also with the necessity on both their parts to blot out the final remnants of the horrible recent events and ensure their possessive bond.
“I love you, Elizabeth! Sweet, beautiful wife, how I love you!” It was sheer rapture, unifying and cleansing. They lay for a spell, breathing heavily as they recovered, stroking and kissing. Endless minutes of studied devotion and placid communion followed. No words; only eyes locked with silent messages speaking volumes.
Lizzy rose first, fingering over his face and leaning for a brushing kiss. “I absolutely must feel all your skin, my heart, and feast on your flesh. I will not be utterly satisfied until I have seduced you several more times at the least.” Darcy chuckled lowly, offering no argument. Instead, he reached to twine a loose tress of hair around his finger while Lizzy completely removed his cravat, promptly leaning for a lingering kiss to the pulsing hollow of his throat.
She sat, discarding their shoes and stockings, and then pulled him to his feet, Darcy happy to follow her lead. The process of undressing each other was a familiar one, but it never failed to arouse them both profoundly. He liked to tease her about the multiple layers of women's clothing, but the truth was he relished the joy of incrementally peeling each garment off her alabaster skin. The delight of slowly revealing the other's body to hungry eyes while stimulating tactile nerves was tremendously exciting. The layers covering his flesh were as numerous as hers, and she too savored the revelation as he disrobed.
Never, ever would Lizzy tire of seeing her husband's body. Lean and muscular, fair skin with scattered freckles across the shoulders, hard with rigid planes, round and tight on the rear, all of him so incredibly male. She fluttered and became astoundingly inflamed simply by the appearance of him. Of course, her arousal was heightened by the touch of his warm, firm hands all over her body. Nor would she ever not thrill to the obvious incitement he felt to her ministrations. The relaxed Darcy was a man transparent with his emotions. Not only in his face, as noted earlier, but in all ways. He gasped and shivered every time her hands encountered his skin. Running her hands up his bare chest, feathering over puckered nipples, around to shoulder blades, and then down the spine to taut buttocks; all this was met with moans, wheezing respirations, and quivers of rushing desire. It was the one place—the only place—where Darcy lost all restraint.
They kissed everywhere. Darcy moved around to her backside, kissing from the delicious nape of her neck down to the bruise on her tailbone, his hands caressing her trembling muscles. Lizzy moaned, Darcy unrelenting in his attention to her skin. Not once did the memory of the thief's rough fingers invade her mind. Her husband's delicate touch of fine-boned, graceful hands transcended all else and effectively annihilated anything else. He stood, hands flattening on her thighs as he pressed her against him.
“Elizabeth, my Elizabeth, how I hunger for you. I love you so consumingly I do believe I shall burst from the emotion! Let me please you, my soul. Know what it is to be touched by one who lives for your presence, for your voice, for your kiss, for your shining eyes, for your smile…” On and on he spoke huskily as he pleased her, Lizzy writhing onto his naked chest until sagging in repletion. Darcy held her securely and bestowed hot kisses to her neck. Picking her up into his arms they relocated to the bed, Darcy ceaselessly kissing her.
He stretched beside her, propped on an elbow while lazily fondling. He gently cradled their baby, waiting, but the precious bundle of joy was asleep. “How do you feel? Any pains?”
Lizzy shook her head, resting over his hand with her own, and the other brushing over his chest. “No pains, only heavenly shivers of pleasure. Fitzwilliam?” He looked into her eyes, blue depths brimming with happiness. “You do know how wholeheartedly I love you? How perfect you are and how thoroughly you fulfill me?”
He smiled, bending for a soft kiss. “I have no doubts, my Lizzy. I know I do not deserve you, but I accept your love as a gift.” He ran his hand along her inner thigh, Lizzy shivering involuntarily and releasing a muted moan. Darcy chuckled, kissing her nose. “Only one who loves me profoundly could respond as you do, lover. I do not think you that fine an actress.” He snared her lower lip, sucking, his hand stroking her masterfully.
Lizzy arched against him, ardor renewing instantly with his touch. “William! Unfair.” She rolled to face him fully, reaching to caress him. “I want to pleasure you as well, my husband. Give equally, fulfilling you until you do burst, my love.” She kissed over his heart, stroking gently. “Bursting deep inside me, my perfect lover, gloriously linked so intimately.”
Darcy's eyes closed in rising delirium, face buried in her hair as she electrified each nerve with her touch and kisses. As graceful and flawless as the finest dancer, she maneuvered all over his body, spurring his yearning to celestial heights. She paused, poised beautifully above him. They stared, enraptured by sensations and the face of their heart's survival gazing in return.
“William, I love you. Forever.”
Sliding, swaying, caressing, and watching. Entering a timeless realm of sheer pleasure and connection. Marriage as it should be… two individuals loving the other more than they cared for themselves. Giving and giving until theoretically they should be empty, yet always invigorated with more to give. There was physical ecstasy to be sure, beyond the imaginings either had ever entertained. Yet it was the soul relationship that drove them on. There were no words in the human language to adequately describe this nexus and the sensations educed. Perhaps a heavenly, angelic voice could convey the depth. Darcy and Lizzy could only feel. Raw passion and intrinsic lust merged so blissfully with supernatural affinity and intimacy.
About the Author
Sharon Lathan is a native Californian currently residing amid corn, cotton, and cows in the sunny San Joaquin Valley. She divides her time between being a homemaker, nurturing her own Mr. Darcy and two teenaged children, and working as a registered nurse in a Neonatal ICU. Throw in the cat, dog, and a ton of fish to complete the picture. When not at the hospital or attending to the often dreary tasks of homemaking, she is generally found reposing in her comfy recliner with her faithful laptop. For more information about Sharon and her Darcy Saga serial, visit her website at: http://www.darcysaga.net.
