Page 70 of Elizabeth Bennet Says Yes to Mr. Darcy

“Then we shall take our time.”

He untied the belt of my dressing gown. His movements were slow—slow enough that I could stop him. The fabric slipped from my shoulders and fell at my feet. I resisted the urge to cross my arms over my chest.

His breath caught.

The nightgown was nearly transparent in the firelight. I watched his gaze follow the curve of my breasts, my waist, my legs visible through the linen.

“Say something,” I murmured.

“I'm searching for words that won't seem unworthy of you.”

“Try the truth.”

He placed his hands on my hips.

“You're more beautiful than anything I've imagined.”

The simplicity of the phrase touched me more than any elaborate compliment could have.

I slipped my fingers under the collar of his dressing gown and pushed it aside. He understood. It fell away. His shirt still concealed his torso, but I could see the breadth of his shoulders, the powerful line of his thighs beneath his trousers.

“May I?” I asked, touching a button.

“Yes.”

I unfastened his shirt with clumsy fingers. He didn't help me, letting me explore on my own. When the fabric parted, I placed my palm on his bare chest.

His skin was warm, dusted with dark hair. His heart beat quickly beneath my hand. I traced the line of his muscles, fascinated by how his breath changed with every touch.

“You don't seem very in control anymore,” I said.

“I'm not.”

His answer gave me courage.

He slipped his fingers under the straps of my chemise and waited. I nodded. The fabric slid down my arms, then my body, pooling on the carpet.

Cool air brushed my bare skin.

I wanted to cover myself. Fitzwilliam gently caught my wrists before I could and brought them to his lips.

“Don't hide from me.”

His gaze held neither judgment nor comparison—only a desire that made me feel beautiful in a new way, almost powerful.

He leaned down and kissed my shoulder, then my collarbone. His mouth traveled slowly to my breast. When he closed his lips around the tip, a cry escaped me.

My fingers sank into his hair.

He stopped.

“Don't stop,” I breathed.

His tongue caressed the hardened nipple. The sensation spread to the hollow of my belly. He moved to the other breast, alternating kisses and caresses while his hands traced my sides.

I no longer knew where to look or how to breathe. My body craved more, though I couldn't name what.

Fitzwilliam lifted me and carried me to the bed.