Page 10 of Mr. Darcy’s Storm of Temptation (Seasons of A Steamy Pride and Prejudice Variation)

Their chamber was elegant, dominated by a large bed that made Elizabeth's mouth go dry. Candles had been lit throughout the room, casting everything in a warm, golden glow. Someone had scattered rose petals on the bed and left champagne cooling in a bucket.

Mr. Darcy set her down slowly, letting her body slide against his, and she felt how aroused he was, how desperately he wanted her. The evidence of his desire pressed against her belly, hard and insistent.

"Are you afraid?" he asked, his hands framing her face.

"No," she whispered. "I have been waiting for this moment since you first touched me. Show me, Fitzwilliam. Show me everything."

His eyes darkened to near-black. "Everything," he promised, his hands moving to the fastenings of her gown. "Tonight, I will show you everything."

He undressed her slowly, reverently, pressing kisses to each inch of skin as it was revealed. Elizabeth had expected to feel shy, but under his worshipful gaze, she felt beautiful and wanted.

"You are perfect," he breathed, his eyes traveling over her naked form. "More lovely than I imagined, and I have imagined you thousands of times."

"Now you," she said, reaching for his cravat with shaking fingers.

She undressed him with growing boldness, her fingers working at his cravat, then the buttons of his waistcoat.

When she pushed his shirt from his shoulders, she marveled at the planes and angles of his body.

When she freed his arousal, she gasped at the size of him, remembering the feel of it pressed against her, but seeing it was entirely different.

"You are quite large. Will it fit?" she asked, then blushed at her boldness.

He laughed softly, pulling her against him so she could feel him pressed against her belly. "We were made for each other, my love. Trust me."

"I do," she said simply. "With all my heart and spirit."

He laid her on the bed, then simply looked at her for a long moment, his gaze traveling over her with such heat that she felt her nipples tighten, her core pulse.

"Please," she whispered, reaching for him. "I need you to touch me."

He began at her throat, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down to her collarbone. When he reached her breasts, he worshipped them with lips and tongue and teeth until she was writhing beneath him, making sounds she did not know she was capable of.

"Fitzwilliam, please," she gasped, her hands tangled in his hair. "I need more. I ache everywhere."

"I know, my love," he promised, his mouth trailing lower, across her stomach. "I can smell how ready you are for me. So sweet, so perfect."

When his mouth found the center of her, she nearly screamed from the sensation. This was different from his fingers in the library. This was hot and wet and overwhelming. He held her steady as he devoured her, using his tongue in ways that made her see stars.

"I have wanted to taste you for so long," he groaned against her sensitive flesh. "Since that night in the library, I have dreamed of this, of having you spread beneath me, crying out my name."

The pleasure built impossibly high, that familiar coiling in her belly that she now recognized, but stronger, more intense.

"Fitzwilliam," she cried, her hands fisting in the sheets. "I cannot bear it. It is too much."

"Let go," he commanded against her. "Let go, my love. I have you."

She shattered, pleasure crashing over her in waves so intense her vision went white. Her body convulsed, inner muscles clenching rhythmically, and she heard herself crying out his name over and over.

When she came back to herself, he was kissing his way back up her body, settling between her thighs. She could feel him there: hot, hard, thick, pressing against her entrance, and her body, still pulsing from her release, clenched with desperate want.

"This may hurt," he warned, though she could see the strain in his jaw, the effort it took to go slow.

"I need you inside me," she said boldly, pulling him down for a kiss. "Please, I feel so empty. Fill me. Make me yours completely."

He entered her slowly, carefully, stretching her in ways that should have been uncomfortable but instead felt right. There was a sharp pain as he breached her maidenhead, but it faded quickly, replaced by the most extraordinary sensation of fullness.

"Oh God," she gasped, her eyes flying wide. "Oh, Fitzwilliam, you are so deep, so big. I can feel you everywhere."

"You are so tight," he groaned, his forehead pressed to hers, his whole body shaking with restraint. "So perfect. Like you were made for me."

"I was," she said simply. "We were made for each other."

Experimentally, she shifted her hips, and they both gasped at the sensation. He was so deep inside her, touching places that made sparks shoot through her body.

He began to move, slow at first, each withdrawal making her whimper at the loss, each return thrust making her gasp with pleasure.

She had thought her release in his mouth was intense, but this was different.

Deeper. More consuming. She could feel another peak building, but stronger because he was inside her, because they were joined so intimately.

"More," she begged, her nails digging into his shoulders. "Please, harder. I need something more."

He groaned and complied, his thrusts becoming deeper, faster. The sound of their bodies meeting filled the room along with their gasps and moans. Elizabeth felt wild, wanton, lifting her hips to meet each thrust, chasing the pleasure that built with each stroke.

"Look at me," he commanded. "I want to see your eyes when you come apart."

She met his gaze, seeing her own desperate need reflected there, along with love so profound it made her heart ache.

"I love you," she gasped. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," he groaned. "Forever. Always. You are mine, Elizabeth. Mine."

"Yours," she agreed, then cried out as he shifted angle, hitting something deep inside that made stars explode behind her eyes. "Oh God, Fitzwilliam, there! Right there!"

"I can feel you," he said roughly. "You are close. Come for me, my love. Let me feel you come around me."

His words, combined with another perfectly angled thrust, sent her over the edge. This release was even more intense than the first because she could feel him inside her as she clenched and pulsed. The sensation of her inner muscles gripping him, pulling him deeper, made her scream with pleasure.

"Elizabeth!" He thrust once, twice more, then lost all control. She felt him swell, felt him pulse as he found his release, his whole body shuddering. He collapsed against her, pressing desperate kisses to her neck, her shoulder, anywhere he could reach.

They lay tangled afterward, still joined, both breathing hard.

Elizabeth felt him softening inside her, could feel their combined wetness between her thighs, and instead of being embarrassed, she felt powerful.

She had done this to him. She had driven this controlled, proper man to complete abandon.

"That was beyond words," she began, then stopped, having no adequate description.

"Beyond description," he agreed, finally withdrawing from her. She whimpered at the loss, already missing the feeling of fullness.

"Can we do it again? How soon can we do that again?" she asked, then blushed at her own boldness.

He laughed, rolling her beneath him again. "My insatiable wife. Give me a few minutes to recover, and I will show you even more."

True to his word, they made love again within the hour, this time with her above him, sinking down onto his length with a moan of satisfaction. The position gave her control, and she reveled in it, watching his face contort with pleasure as she rode him.

"Elizabeth," he groaned, his hands gripping her hips. "You are going to be the death of me."

"What a way to die," she teased, then gasped as he thrust up to meet her, hitting that special place deep inside.

She experimented with rhythm and angle, delighting in his responses: the way his eyes rolled back when she circled her hips, the broken curses when she squeezed her inner muscles around him.

"You learn quickly," he panted.

"I have an excellent teacher," she replied, then cried out as he sat up suddenly, capturing her breast in his mouth while she continued to move on him.

When she released this time, feeling him so deep, watching his face as he lost control beneath her, she understood true power. This was what it meant to be married: this complete union of body and soul, this perfect give and take of pleasure.

They dozed, tangled in the thoroughly debauched sheets, but woke near dawn to explore yet again. This time he positioned her on her hands and knees, entering her from behind.

"Is this proper?" she gasped, even as her body welcomed him eagerly.

"Nothing about us has ever been proper," he reminded her, his hand sliding around to touch her as he moved. "And you love it."

She did. God help her, she loved every wicked thing he did to her, everything he taught her about pleasure and passion.

When the sun finally rose, they lay exhausted and sated. The sheets were hopelessly tangled and stained, pillows thrown to the floor, one of the bed curtains actually torn from their enthusiasm.

"We have destroyed the bedchamber," Elizabeth observed, stretching languidly.

"We have destroyed each other," Mr. Darcy corrected, pulling her against him. "In the best possible way."

She could feel beard burn on her inner thighs, her neck, her breasts. Love bites bloomed on her skin like flowers. She had never felt so thoroughly debauched or so completely satisfied.

"So that is what all the fuss is about," she said with a satisfied smile.

"Oh, my darling wife," he said, already kissing her neck in that way that made her melt despite her exhaustion. "That was only the beginning. We have a lifetime to explore each other, to learn every way to give each other pleasure."

"A lifetime," she agreed, turning in his arms to kiss him properly. "I love you, Fitzwilliam Darcy. Thank you for being patient with me, for waiting for me to see the truth."

"And what truth is that?" he asked, though his eyes showed he already knew.

"That we were meant for each other. That every obstacle, every misunderstanding, every storm led us to this moment."

"To this bed, you mean?" he teased.

She laughed, but then grew serious. "To this love. This perfect, consuming, eternal love."

He kissed her then, slow and deep and full of promise. Outside, London was waking to a new day. Inside their chamber, Elizabeth and Darcy were lost in each other, beginning their marriage as they meant to continue it: with passion, with tenderness, with complete and utter devotion.