“Yes,” she breathed.
He looked at her lips and then he looked into her eyes and then back at her lips again.
Her pulse started to race. “Are you trying to kiss me, Mr. Darcy?”
He swallowed, meeting her eyes again. “Not if you don’t want me to.”
She did, of course. She did. Well, she had not much contemplated kissing him, only being married to him, she supposed, but she was contemplating it now, because he was right here, so very close, and so very large and with such a deep voice and with the hint of dark stubble at his chin (he likely had not been shaved since that morning) and with such broad shoulders. He was so masculine. She found herself reaching up with one hand and putting it against his chest.
His voice was insubstantial. “If you don’t like it, you may stop me at any time. If you but tap my shoulder, I shall cease immediately.”
In response, she leaned in, tilting back her head, offering her mouth to him.
He let out a noise like a groan and captured her lips with his own.
It was warm and a bit wet and sweet, ever so sweet, like the taste of a spring berry from the vine, a bursting sort of wondrousness.
He stopped, pulling back, searching her gaze. “All right?”
“Yes,” she breathed. “Oh, yes.”
And then he had her in his arms, and her hand migrated up to cup his neck and he kissed her again, and this time he used his tongue, and this shocked her. She jerked back and he let go of her, backing away, stammering apologies.
“No, it’s all right,” she managed. “No one’s ever done that to me before is all.”
“No?” he said, coming closer to her again.
“It was nice,” she said, but her voice was very small, and she felt shy. She felt, she supposed, feminine. Very feminine. In a way that she had not felt in quite some time now, as if that whole part of her—the part that could be enticing—had been locked away. She had not thought it would ever come out again.
His hand spanned her belly, through her nightdress, exploring the curve of her there. “Never used his tongue, truly?”
She froze, and no answer came readily to her lips. She did not know what to say or do.
But he just explored her there, a caress that did not feel unpleasant. “Apologies,” he said softly. “Let us not speak of him. All I wish to do, I think, is to be better than him at pleasing you. I shall likely need your help to accomplish that. Will you help me?”
Her lips parted. She didn’t really know what he even meant. “A-all right.”
His hand on her belly slipped upwards to one of her breasts.
She sucked in a gasp. He was just… he had…Well, what were you expecting, Lizzy? You are ruined. You are under his roof. He has made no secret of his ardent admiration of you.
Did it matter now, anyway? And she had already let him kiss her, after all.
“Do you like that?” he whispered. He had found one of her nipples and he was rubbing it through the fabric, making it stand up.
“Gently,” she said. They were sore now, very tender, had been since she knew she was increasing.
He kissed her again.
He had both of his hands on her breasts, and she found herself cringing a bit.
One of his hand strayed back to her belly. He settled it there, one large warm masculine hand curved round her. “I’m doing this wrong,” he said.
“It is only… they are very sensitive ever since I started growing the babe,” she whispered.It is only, you asked just to kiss me, and how quickly you put your hands on me in places no one has ever touched.
But he didn’t know that. He thought her thoroughly debauched. He did not think he must take care with her.
“Oh,” he said in another sort of voice, a thicker voice. “I suppose they would be. Your body is changing.” His voice was husky again, as if this pleased him, and she was confused by that.
