Page 68 of One Night with Mr. Darcy

“Say it again,” he said.

“What?”

“Call me husband,” he said.

“Husband.” She caressed his face. “Make me one with you, husband.”

“My wife,” he said, reaching between them, guiding himself to press against her. “My Elizabeth.”

“Fitzwilliam,” she panted.

He hesitated. “I don’t wish to hurt you.”

“Be gentle.” She was running her hands over his bare shoulders. He had been so gentle with her thus far.

He groaned. He kissed her again, soft, slow. And then he turned his attention entirely to whatever was going on between their thighs.

She felt pressure, and she wasn’t even quite sure what he was doing, and then—

Oh.

He had breached her. He was inside her, inside the opening in her body, his male part, and it was—Oh, Lord—he was taking up a lot of space.

She let out a wheeze, digging her fingers into his shoulders.

His eyes seemed to have rolled back in his head as he sank all the way in, deeply inside her body. He let out a small cry, a mangled oath of some sort.

She panted.

He refocused on her. His breath was labored too. “Pain?” he breathed.

“I don’t… I don’t think so.” She didn’t think it hurt, but it was… it was overwhelming, being thrust into in this way.

“You’re all right?” He kissed her eyebrow, her jaw. “You feel very good to me.”

“Do I?”

“I have never felt… oh, I shan’t last any time at all, so I am glad you’ve already reached your pleasure, I…” His mouth on hers.

She clung to him.

He was moving inside her, and that felt… well, she didn’t know what that felt like. Certainly nothing like the sweet and intense pleasure of his fingers on her earlier, but she liked it. She couldn’t say why, not exactly, but it was so very, very good.

She felt suspended in the moment, and suddenly, there was nothing in the world but her and him. They were the entire world, and he was lodged there, working his thick member in and out of her small, slick passage, and they were connected, and they were… one flesh.

But eventually, he stopped, pressing deeply into her, grunting, and she felt him twitching inside her in such a similar way to her own tremors that she knew he’d his had own bursting.

She was pleased. What a thing if they could do that at the same time! Was such a thing possible?

He kissed her, and he was warm and thick and sweet between her thighs, the hugeness of him still lodged there but softer and more pleasant, and they kissed and kissed and kissed.

And somehow, somewhere, in all of it, she began to dream. There were dream kisses, and she and Mr. Darcy were floating around in some dark and strange world of dark sheets and odd spires and towers, and then—

Her head was pounding.

She awoke.

Dawn was splintering the sky.