She had started with Hot Stuff as a little warm-up, an ice-breaker. She knew he’d seen her do it when she was half-drunk; he couldn’t be expecting much. She thought it would be funny and get a laugh out of him. When she finished, she bounced over to him for praise. He laughed and kissed her nose.
“I think your number needs more spanking,” he teased as she crawled into his lap for a kiss.
“That was just my warm-up number, limber up the joints,” she said as she climbed out of his lap. He didn’t want to let her go, he was satisfied with the show, but she insisted.
She stood before him, flicked the remote, and the electric strains of Paul Oakenfold’s ‘Faster Kill Pussycat’ came from the speakers. The pulsing beat and the grinding chords lent themselves exceptionally well to her dance.
She began by swinging her hips, arms out to her sides, fingers snapping, gyrating to the beat. She let her hair hang down by her face, peering through it at him with hungry eyes. She assumed her best sultry, sexpot expression. She began to sing.
She put her hands in her hair, closed her eyes, and pressed her knees together, stooping slightly as if her knees were weakened by her overwhelming arousal. She ran her hand down her chest, let her fingers catch the bottom of her top, and ran her hands back up, exposing her belly to him. She sang the chorus.
She opened her eyes and looked directly at him, put her legs out in a V, and then walked toward him cat-walk style. She drew an arm up and pointed at him while she shook her hips to the beat.
Then she leaned over him, hands on the arms of his chair, singing just inches from him.
She pushed herself off of his chair and swung her back to him, walking toward the door, then turned and crooked her finger at him:
She turned her back to him again and walked away, hips swinging sensually. Then she undulated her rear in a circular motion to each syllable of the song, and sang over her shoulder at him. She looked at him again with that sultry expression and sang.
She ran her fingers through her hair and sank to the floor, crawling cat-like toward him.
When she reached his chair, she rolled to her butt, swinging her legs in the air, came to a crouch, then stood up. She gave him a sultry, breathless look and sang.
She walked to the door and undulated her hips at him again, pulling her shirt up beneath her breasts to show him her bare back, singing.
Before the song was even over, Darcy was behind her pressing her to the door, turning her toward him, crushing her lips with kisses. He lifted her to his hips and braced her against the door, kissing her neck. She wrapped her legs around him and twined her arms around his neck. He ground his hips against hers. His hands were on her breasts, feeling them through her shirt, pushing it up to touch her flesh. He ran his hands over her butt, feeling the slick leather under his palms. He put his fingers in the waistband of her pants and undid the button. Then he put his arms around her waist, swung her away from the door and carried her to the pool table. He put her on the edge of the table and kissed her while he pulled at the zipper of her pants.
“You” - kiss - “are” - kiss - “so” - kiss - “phenomenally” - kiss - “fuckable,” he breathed as he struggled to pull the tight leather over her hips; she laughed in desperation and hunger as she leaned back to help him. Her elbows banged against billiard balls, making a clacking noise as her pants finally fell to the floor. Darcy didn’t even take his off. He unzipped and pushed himself into her against the pool table. It was quick; he had been aroused to an absurd degree by her performance. He couldn’t even hear the music anymore, just the blood rushing in his ears. He came quickly and buried his face in her neck.
“Lizzy, what have you done to me?” he asked weakly. She laughed softly in his ear. He hugged her tighter and kissed her on the lips. “Give me a moment, let me make it up to you,” he murmured.
She nodded. She was amazed at the power she had over him, how fierce his reaction was to her. After a moment, he looked at her and pressed his forehead to hers.
“Can I take you to bed?” he asked.
“Yes, please,” she smiled. He picked her up and carried her to his bedroom, where he placed her in the bed and made love to her until she cried out his name.
Chapter 10
June 6-Thursday
Darcy woke up Thursday bleary-eyed from a night of sex alternating from lusty to tender. He had been out of control in the billiards room last night. He had anticipated a fun romp but was instead treated to an electrifying seduction the likes of which he had never even imagined. Her little warm-up act had been plenty to satisfy his desire to see her dance for him but the sexuality of her second number had caught him off guard. He understood it to be an unabashed display of her desire for him, an open invitation to sex. He felt on a deeper level that she would never have made such a display unless she felt something more than mere attraction for him. The realization sparked more than physical desire in him; it lit a sort of feral, possessive need to take her, mark her as his. He was not embarrassed except that she had no opportunity to take her own pleasure in that episode. He made up for it twice more during the night, once with tenderness and once with mutual hunger. He had never been so sexed up in his life.
She was lying next to him sleeping peacefully on her back, arm draped over her stomach in the dim light of the bedroom. She had kicked the blankets off and lay naked, breasts rising with each breath. He felt like he could watch her for hours. His eyes took in every inch of her body, from her red toenails to her pale thighs, her soft tummy, her firm breasts, her long slender fingers, her strong arms, the slope of her shoulders, the neck that he loved to taste, her beautiful face framed by her dark hair and arching brows. He sighed. How in the world had he lucked out and turned her around from hating him to sleeping with him?
He crept stealthily to the foot of the bed to examine her toes. She had evidently freshly painted them a deep, glossy red. He wondered why women always painted their toenails and not their fingernails. He supposed it was the same reason they always got tattoos where they couldn’t be seen unless they were undressed. He kissed her toes lightly. Her foot wiggled. He smiled and rested his nose on the top of her foot and kissed it softly. He moved down on his elbows and kissed the inside of her ankle. He trailed kisses up the inside of her calf, stopping at her knee. He looked up to see her watching him with a small smile on her face. He winked at her and kissed her kneecap. He continued up her thigh and kissed the patch of hair between her legs. He felt her fingers stroke his hair and continued on to kiss her belly.
He planted deep, moist kisses on her tummy, once causing her to giggle as he tickled her. He progressed up her ribs, kissing one side while he caressed the other side with his free hand. He kissed the side of her breast, the top, the tip, the curve under her nipple. He took her nipple in his mouth and sucked lightly while he massaged her other breast with his hand. She sighed prettily.
He pulled himself from her lovely breasts and kissed her breastbone, moved up to her collarbone, dipped his tongue into the depression at the base of her throat. He kissed one side of her neck while his hand held the other side. He kissed her lips, but only briefly, before moving to her cheeks and eyelids. He pulled her hair aside and kissed the side of her neck, gently nudging her to roll on her side. He trailed warm kisses on her shoulders, running his hand over her arm. Her shoulder blades and her spine were also treated to his attentive lips. He rolled her onto her stomach and straddled her as he covered her back with wide, hot kisses, sometimes pulling her flesh into his mouth. He kissed the small of her back, letting his tongue taste her skin briefly. He trailed over to her side and again nudged her over, onto her back. He began to kiss her outer thighs, then her hip bones. He moved in to kiss her inner thigh, pushing her legs apart gently. He kissed the joint between her thighs, ruffled her hair with his breath. He spread her lips gently with his thumbs and kissed the space between. He felt her quiver and sigh. He dipped his tongue in, tasting her for the first time ever. Tangy, warm, and wet.
>
“Will,” she said, putting her hands in his hair. He looked up at her; she was smiling at him. “Come up here,” she said. He shook his head.
“This one is all for you,” he said and buried his face between her legs.
Elizabeth sighed and laid back in the pillows, spreading her legs for him. She had never been able to achieve orgasm this way; she had always needed something more substantial. She meant to enjoy his ministrations for a while and then pull him up to her to finish off. To her surprise, she felt her pleasure increasing with his touch. His thumbs pressing little circles on her pubic bone and his tongue inside her, combined with the knowledge that he, the sexiest man she had ever known, was doing this to her, made a little moan escape from her lips.
Encouraged by her moan, Darcy continued his attentions. Her moans became longer, closer together, and more urgent. She curled her fingers in his hair and arched her hips toward him. To her unending surprise, he brought her to orgasm with his tongue and fingers alone.
He wiped his face on her belly and rose up for a kiss. She grinned and pulled him to her so that he could find his own pleasure. He shook his head.
“I said it was all for you,” he smiled. He kissed her and rolled out of bed. She could see that he was only at ‘half-mast’ and wondered at him.
She gathered her things while he turned on the shower. She put on the shirt that he had been wearing last night; it still smelled like him. She walked to the bathroom to kiss him goodbye.
“You could join me,” he suggested. She shook her head and smiled. She needed to take a breather from all this sex, she thought to herself. He shrugged and kissed her. She held her things to her chest as she scrambled down the hall to her own room hoping nobody would catch her. She showered and dressed in a velour tracksuit, then went downstairs to breakfast.
Bingley and Jane had not yet returned from London by the time both Darcy and Elizabeth sat down to breakfast. They had decided to skip the rest of the conference and Elizabeth asked Darcy what he planned to do.
“We could ride horses or motorcycles or...” he said, then saw her look and trailed off. “You don’t want to?” he asked. She shook her head.
“I think I need a few hours alone,” she smiled. She saw that he looked a little hurt and she touched his hand. “No offense. I’m feeling a little overwhelmed. I thought I’d just curl up with a book for a couple of hours then maybe join you this afternoon?”
He looked down at his plate, appetite completely gone. Was he smothering her? Maybe she was right, they needed a few hours when they weren’t connected at the hips. He looked up and forced a smile on his lips while his stomach curled into a depressed ball.
“Sure, no problem. I think I’ll go for a bike ride then.” He hoped he looked and sounded convincing. Don’t be an ass, he thought to himself. If it had been anyone other than her, he’d be running from such close company as well. He had spent practically every minute of the past four days with her. Even Bingley got under his skin in less than three days. But he felt like he could spend the next four days, four weeks, hell, four months with her for every moment and never get tired of her. Clearly she was not of the same mind.
He rose from the table and kissed the top of her head then left the room. Elizabeth breathed a little sigh of relief. She needed to see if she still felt intoxicated when he wasn’t within six feet of her. It was just wrong for him to be so damn sexy. She sighed. He really had no right.
She went to the study and logged onto her laptop, thinking to chat with Lou but he was not logged on. Instead she sent him an email:
To: Louis Hurst
From: Elizabeth Bennet
Re: Speed Racer
Not speedy at all. Best. Sex. Ever.
L
She went to her room and found a novel she had been reading but found herself reading the same line over and over. She picked up his shirt from the floor where she had tossed it before her shower and sniffed it. It smelled like him: clean and mossy. Then she felt better. I’m a junkie, she thought. She managed to read another page of her book then set it down. She lay on the bed with his shirt under her head, one sleeve draped over her face so that she could continue to smell it while she thought.
Why did she feel like she needed to be away from him when she clearly wanted to be with him? She had feared that she was letting herself fall too deeply into this fantasy, that maybe she wouldn’t be able to come out of it easily at the end of the vacation. While they were here, she could pretend that there was no reason for them not to be together. But what if she couldn’t shake her longing to be with him once the fantasy was over? Her addiction to him right now was not a good sign in that regard. She decided that she needed him to acknowledge that this was an affair that was going to end, that he wouldn’t seek to pursue it further after they returned to the US. She had no reason to believe that he would; he could certainly have any other woman he wanted to replace her. But if he did, she didn’t know if she could resist. And resistance was required or there would surely be disaster.
She sat up. I need an agreement from him that he is buying into this fantasy for the short-term, she thought. That will make me feel better about everything. She stood up, put the shirt to her face for a final sniff, for courage, and changed out of her lounge wear into a pair of jeans and a black tank top. She put her hair in a low, loose ponytail and put on her shoes. She went downstairs to look for him. Mrs. Reynolds advised her that he was already gone. Elizabeth’s heart sunk a little and she decided to take a walk in hopes of finding him.
It was a brilliant sunny day, warm on her arms. She flipped her sunglasses down and started walking down the road. She had no idea where he might have gone but she needed to work out some of her nervous energy anyway. She assumed a brisk pace and soon her face was nicely flushed with exertion. Her heart lurched when she saw a distant figure on a motorcycle approaching. She stopped where she was and sat on the fence, waiting for him to reach her.
He certainly was dashing on his bike; strong, tanned arms on the handles, black visor-ed helmet. He pulled over in front of her and pushed his visor up. He raised an eyebrow at her and she shrugged.
“I changed my mind,” she smiled. He grinned and took his helmet off. The heat had caused his hair to become a little sweaty, just like when they were in bed together. OK, focus!
“What’s wrong?” he asked casually as he got off the bike. He wasn’t angry or accusing, or even particularly probing. He knew something was bothering her and he wanted to know what it was.
“I need to clarify this agreement we have,” she said. He hung his helmet on the bike and walked to stand before her. He leaned one arm on the fence and crossed his ankles. He squinted up at her.
“Go ahead,” he said.
“I’m feeling guilty because I know what we’re doing is wrong,” she said, pressing her hands together. He sighed. He supposed this would be the end.
“I know,” he replied.
“Look, I’m all for buying into this fantasy while we’re here but only if I know we’re not going to continue it when we get back,” she said. He looked up at her. This was a pleasant turn; at least he had the rest of the vacation with her.
“That’s the agreement,” he said. She smiled. For some reason, it felt better to have it said out loud.
“Great,” she sighed.
“Now that we have that out in the air, I think we should get something else clear,” he said. She waited for him to continue.
“If we’re going to indulge in this fantasy, let’s do it no-holds barred. No petty fights, no hurt feelings, no stupid misunderstandings. Let’s be straight with each other about everything. If I hurt your feeling some way, tell me, don’t sulk. I’ll do the same. If we only have two weeks, I don’t want to waste any of it on that crap.” He shifted and stood in front of her, one arm on each side of her on the fence.
“No keeping secrets, no lying, no games,” she nodded. He stepped closer to her.
“I’ll never lie to you,
” he said. “Never.” He was looking intently into her eyes, boring into her soul. It sent a shiver down her spine. She put her arms around his neck and caught him in a fierce kiss, her mouth opening on his, devouring him.
Jane and Bingley were driving down the lane when Jane spied a couple kissing on the fence. She smiled at their indiscretion but the smile faded as she realized the woman trying to eat the man’s face was Lizzy. And the man was Darcy.
“Charles!” she shouted. Bingley was looking at the couple too but he had a grin on his face. “Stop the car!” she cried.
“No way!” Bingley laughed. Jane rolled down her window and shouted “LIZZY!!!”
Elizabeth raised her head for air and heard her name being called. Darcy looked around and saw Bingley’s car drive past, Jane looking angrily out the window.
“Uh-oh, I think your parents just caught us,” Darcy said as they watched the car disappear down the road.
“This will take some explaining,” Elizabeth sighed. “Jane won’t understand.” She looked after the car. Darcy put a finger on her chin and drew her face back to his. He kissed her.
“Jane doesn’t need to understand. Only us,” he said softly.
“Let’s go for a ride,” she smiled. She got on the bike behind Darcy and they spent the rest of the afternoon driving around the countryside, her arms around him and the sun shining on them. Darcy felt a freedom he had never experienced before with her behind him. He didn’t think about any of the responsibilities of being a judge, an older brother, or the master of Pemberley. All he thought about was being her lover.
***
Jane was pacing furiously in her room, waiting for Elizabeth to return. She looked out her window and saw Darcy and Elizabeth drive up on a motorcycle, her arms tight around his waist, her torso leaning against his back. Elizabeth had a ridiculous smile on her face. Jane’s first thought was “why isn’t she wearing a helmet?” followed by “why were they kissing?”
The Trials of the Honorable F. Darcy Page 11
