Page 70 of Yearning

He let out a breath. “Now, it is not… there is no… hardness.”

“But if I stroke it?”

He let out a long, low groan. “Oh, this is happening, is it?”

“If you really do not wish it, we do not have to,” she said. “If you want me to marry you first, if that will make you feel secure, I can wait.”

“There has been ever so much waiting, has there not, Elizabeth?” His voice was not strong.

She nodded.

He looked into her eyes. “I have not even kissed you, have I?”

She bit down on her bottom lip. “No.”

“I think, before you are stroking me, there should be kissing. That is the first step of this.”

She smiled. “I agree.”

He scooted further up against the headboard, and he reached out to cup her cheek with one hand. He gazed into her eyes.

She looked into his eyes. She looked at his lips. Oh, he still smelled that way, did he? That clean and woodsy smell? She had missed it. She leaned in, shutting her eyes.

When his mouth slipped against hers, she let out a little sigh.

He made an answering sound.

And for several moments, it was only that, only their lips.

Then their tongues touched, and they both made noise again. And then she was tucked into his broad chest, and they were kissing in a fury, and it was like a tightly wound flag unfurled, flapping wildly in a breeze, everything held in check now free and flowing.

His hand spread out against her back, and his hand seemed so very large, did it not? And his chest, so wide, and she felt small against him, even though she was larger now than she had been before, when she had been his promised bride. Having a babe had changed her body.

She had not been concerned about that before, but she had a flash of worry, and she forced it from her mind because Mr. Darcy was missing two limbs and half of his… male part, and he had already said he would marry her, so there was no reason to worry.

Even so, the thought must have made her movements falter, because he pulled away and gazed into her eyes. “Lizzy?” he breathed. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” she said brightly. “I was feeling insecure, but I have banished the thought.” She tried to kiss him again.

He put a finger against her lips. “You? Insecure? You realize that I–”

“Yes, of course, and that is why I have banished it. You have only one arm, I have a very stretched out belly with marks on it from having grown a babe. We are even.”

He laughed, kissing her again.

She smiled shyly up at him.

“We have never been even. You have always been far too good for me.”

She grinned at him, impish. “Not simply tolerable?”

He chuckled. “Are you going to punish me for that for the rest of my life?”

“Oh, likely, I shall,” she said, running her hand up and down his chest. “I intend to talk of it endlessly on my death bed.”

He pulled her closer. His hand slid up to her neck. “Do I really get to have you, then? For the rest of our lives?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, finally, all is as it should have been.”