Page 93 of Courting Elizabeth

He caressed my breasts, then slipped a hand between us.

“Again?” I breathed.

“Always, if I can manage it.”

I leaned down to kiss him. My hair fell around us as it had in his room the night I’d opened the door for the first time.

“I love you,” I repeated against his mouth.

His body tensed beneath me.

“Again.”

“I love you.”

He opened his eyes and slowed abruptly, despite the visible tension in his body.

“Don’t say them only because I ask you to.”

I stopped above him.

“You doubt already?”

“I want to believe them every time.”

I took his face between my hands.

“Then look at me. I love you when you give me pleasure, but I already loved you in the carriage where you refused to sleep. I love you in this room, in your study, in the fields of Pemberley, and when my family tests your patience.”

“Even then?”

“Especially when you choose patience.”

He laughed, and the vibration of his body inside me made me shiver.

“I believe you,” he murmured.

“Good. Now stop talking.”

I resumed the movement. His hands traveled up my sides, not to direct me, but to accompany me. Love didn’t erase desire or urgency; it gave them new depth. I no longer sought only the pleasure he knew how to awaken. I wanted to feel his surrender answer mine, to give him certainty through my body as much as through my words.

Each time I said it, he seemed to lose another piece of his control. His movements became more powerful. I followed, carried away by the heat building in my belly.

“Fitzwilliam…”

“I’ve got you.”

Pleasure burst through me. I arched, his name on my lips. He pulled me against him and rolled with me, continuing until he found his own release with a muffled sound against my shoulder.

We stayed entwined, breathless.

After a moment, he raised his head.

“Are you certain you want to forgo dinner?”

“Why?”

“Because I fear I shall no longer keep to any proper schedule.”