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The first time she took him into the very throes of passion, the sensation was like shock, he was overcome by her hands and her mouth; he had never before given over the control of his own self and he was able only to hold her and feel.
Forces of Passion by Alison
Darcy slept little in those first days in Dorset, greedy for her skin and lips and eyes; his hunger for her whole self pure and ferocious. The rhythm of her heartbeat, her breath, blended with the susurrations of the sea, soothing him until he felt them as part of his own blood. His wife, his Elizabeth.
Late in the night, she moved against him in gentle awakening. He watched her lashes flutter as she turned her face up to his. "Are you not sleeping, love?" she asked drowsily.
"Not at present," he murmured, slipping a hand through her dark curls.
A mischievous smile turned up the corners of her mouth. "Do I keep you from your slumber, Mr Darcy?" She slid one hand from his shoulder to his wrist, tangling their fingers.
Chuckling softly, he pressed a warm kiss to her mouth. "Indeed Mrs Darcy, you are most distracting."
"Even in sleep?" she asked in mock incredulousness.
"Especially in sleep." He rubbed his thumb over their joined knuckles, his tone becoming earnest. "I have hardly any rest with you lying so close to me, with nothing between us."
Elizabeth had not yet accustomed herself to the ease with which he could arouse her desire, using nothing more than a touch and the timbre of his voice. Although they had made love only hours before, she found herself again aware of a heavy, liquid feeling rising in her belly. His thumb continued its maddening path over her knuckles and she was mesmerised by the expression in his dark eyes. She wondered absently just who was in thrall to whom.
With a slight tug, she pulled her hand free, rising up on her elbows and drawing her body slowly over his own. "And are you distracted now, sir?"
He scarcely needed to respond as she could feel the evidence of his distraction hard against her thigh. She traced the strong line of his jaw with two fingers, luxuriating in the familiar heat at each point their bodies met. For a moment she closed her eyes and rocked her hips against him once, twice; bit her lip as the movement produced a moan from her husband.
"Elizabeth," he rasped, hands moving restlessly on her back, through her hair.
She opened her eyes then and kissed him. His mouth was hot and ravenous and she let herself sink into it, into the warmth of his body. It was a buoyancy like swimming, with his breath and the soft rush of the sea in her ears. Darcy's arms came around her, strong and purposeful, but she pulled back and shook her head. "No. Let me."
He looked at her in confusion for a moment, until she bent her head to kiss beneath his ear, down his neck to his chest. Her mouth moved to his flat nipple and he gasped at the sharp pleasure, felt it thrum all the way through him. Wanting to kiss her mouth again, wanting to press her down fully upon him, he reached for her, but she pulled back and took both of his hands in hers.
"Let me," she whispered, his own beautiful siren, all depthless eyes and midnight hair. "Let me give you pleasure."
He wanted to ask her what she meant, wanted to tell her that she could not help but give him pleasure, but suddenly the world diminished to the sensation of her hot mouth against the inside of his thigh. The very air he breathed strangled in his throat. Her lips were scorching, her tongue a brand. When her small hand began to trace his sex, the sensation was torment. "Elizabeth, stop," he begged. It was not the first time she had touched him in such a fashion, but the first time she had used her mouth. The look in her eyes both thrilled and terrified him.
"Do you not like it?" Her voice was unsure.
"There is no need..." he trailed off, stumbling over the words as she traced the bones of his hips. His own hands, he found, were clasped into fists at his sides. Opening them, he tried to pull her down to him. Again she resisted. "But I want to do this for you," she told him quietly. "The way you do for me."
Fear was choking him, fear and an almost intolerable desire. He had given her his heart, and his body, but now she was asking for something more as well. In her arms he had lost control before, but it would be nothing like this. Here she would have all the power. He would be at her mercy, just as he had been all those months when he was unable to rid himself of his obsession with her. And yet, he reminded himself, they were united as man and wife now, united in true communion. There was nothing he would not do for her. Nothing.
Lightly, her hands began again to touch him, then with growing purpose. Before long, all misgiving ceased and his only thought was that he must have more. Helplessly, he thrust himself against her hand, attempting to increase the delicious pressure. His every sense had heightened almost unbearably so that he could hear the frantic beating of his own heart and his heaving breaths over Elizabeth's own, lighter ones. Underneath it all he could hear the sea, its movements wild and terrible as his desire.
Darcy watched her, the heavy curls over her shoulders, the softly rounded limbs, the way she glowed in the moonlight through the bed curtains. Her eyes held his for a moment and then dropped to where her hands caressed him. She began to dip her head and his body went rigid, his eyes clamping shut and his hands fisting desperately in the sheets for fear he would be flung somewhere far away at the first touch of her lips. A wild and distant shore where only she could take him.
The soft brush of her hair against his skin was followed by the moist heat of her breath. She withdrew her hands and for long moments he thought he would go mad with anticipation. And then he felt it, the searing heat of her tongue licking him from root to tip. A moan erupted from somewhere deep within him as she took him inside her mouth. He thought he would die from the pleasure if she continued and die from the lack of it if she did not.
Elizabeth let one hand drift over his stomach and thighs as the other steadied her on the bed. She was surrounded by him, his scent all around her, the sharp, slightly bitter taste of his sex on her tongue. The love she felt for him at this moment was huge in her chest, and her arousal almost as great. Although she could not see his expression, she judged her husband's pleasure from the sounds he made and the movements he could not seem to prevent. She used her lips and tongue, sucking and licking and once or twice scraping her teeth along him until he emitted another tortured moan. It was perhaps the most intimate act she had ever performed, devoting herself solely to his pleasure. Being joined with him, having him inside her body, was as beautiful as it was exciting. But this, this was something she could not even name.
Although he tried desperately to still the surging of his hips, control eventually escaped him. Every muscle in his body had tightened almost to the point of pain. The sounds he emitted would have shamed him at any other time, but every sense, every thought was caught in the keen web of pleasure she spun over him until he could not remember when he had not felt this obliterating need. And then it began. He felt the release welling up from the base of his spine, from his toes. Rushing, rushing like an immense wave, it gathered under Elizabeth's ministrations until with a great shudder, he spent himself in her mouth.
Afterwards he lay boneless and panting and she rose up over him once more, laughing delightedly, kissing his face and hair, telling him how she loved him. He held her tightly to him as he regained control of his limbs, dazed and awed and replete.