Darcy's Undoing

by Delaney Jane

  The men panted, still inside her. She swallowed, licking at the drip sliding down toward Darcy’s balls. He jerked in her mouth, growing hard again so soon.

  Fitzwilliam pulled from her, his hand caressing her sore buttock a moment. She heard him fix his clothing and then his boots clacked over the floorboards, leaving her alone with Mr. Darcy.

  Darcy came around her, standing behind her where she couldn’t see him, but he didn’t touch her.

  “Spread your legs,” he said, his voice rough. She did. “Wider.” She spread until she was on her toes. She could feel her juices sliding down the inside of her thighs. Yet he still did not touch her. “Is that what you want?” he said.

  She looked over her shoulder and found him watching her, unbuttoning his shirt, his trousers already on the floor, his cock hard and ready.

  “I would have said no if I didn’t.” Her voice was shaking, her back hurting form this wretched position, but she dared not move from it.

  “That isn’t what I meant.”

  “Then clarify. Or shut up and fuck me.”

  His face darkened, and a thrill went through her. “Is that what you want?” he repeated. “Quick fucks from random men?”

  “Colonel Fitzwilliam is hardly random.”

  “But that is your intention? To end this,” he gestured between them, “and fill your cunt with anyone willing?”

  “I don’t think I would have too hard a time finding anyone willing.” She was goading him, pushing him over the edge. She could see it, craved it. He had won, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. There was no one she ever wanted again, no one besides him. And it broke her heart.

  “No, I imagine you wouldn’t.” He let his shirt fall to the floor and stood behind her in all of his naked glory.

  He was tall and large, his shoulders so wide, his chest broad, his arms muscular. Dark hair curled at his neck, sideburns cut a path down his cheeks. And those eyes; dark and seemingly terrifying, glared at her form where he stood.

  “Now that’s established, are you going to take me, or shall I see if Bingley wants a go instead?”

  His eyes flashed. “You wouldn’t do that to Jane.”

  No, she wouldn’t. But he wasn’t moving, though she could see how hard he was. She would need to push him further. Turning, she leaned back against the saddle, her legs open, and slid her hands down her belly, her fingers pushing into her curls. She shivered at the touch of her own fingers and at the look on Darcy’s face as he watched her.

  Hands still bound, Lizzy drew her fingers in circles over her swollen clit, her eyes locked with Darcy’s.

  “You don’t want Bingley,” said he. “And you don’t want Fitz.”

  “No?” She was panting now. “Whom do I want then?”

  “It’s not who, it’s what.” He wrapped a hand around his cock and began stroking himself.

  “Fine. What do I want?”

  He took a step toward her, and her stomach knotted. She plunged her fingers downward, sliding them up into her dripping hole.

  “You want your independence and freedom. You want to remain the strong, single woman that you are. You want to prove to everyone that it’s possible to marry for something other than money, but you plan to do it by not marrying at all.” He took another step toward her. “You want to feel as you do when you’re with me. You think that you can feel it with others. Was I not clear when we first met? I am not like other men. You will find more Fitz’s than you will Darcy’s, but your needs will never be satisfied with them.”

  She knew this. She wanted him, only him, but she could never have him. She would give anything to go back to that day he asked her to marry him and say yes.

  “Then what?” said she, bringing herself closer to climax and panting harder. “Shall I be your whore? What of the day you marry? Shall we simply bring her into the bed with us?”

  “Tell me you want no other man.” He came closer, his feet between hers, his cock bobbing in and out of his hand,

  “You know I do not.”

  “Say it.”

  Her legs trembled, her back ached, and she was so wet her fingers slipped over her folds. If she kept up her pace, she would come, but it would be nothing compared to the orgasm she knew Darcy could give her. She couldn’t wait any longer.

  “I want only you, Mr. Darcy,” she panted.

  He grabbed her legs behind her knees and lifted. She wrapped her legs around his hips, and he positioned his cock at her entrance, slipping it up between her folds and over her nub.

  Lizzy gasped as the first little climax shook her. She needed more. She reached for him. Darcy took her bound hands and put them over his head. She held onto his neck as he lifted her, turning so he could sit on the saddle, holding her above him, his cock just barely inside her.

  “That little fuck with Fitzwilliam,” he said, glaring at her. “That is all you get. You will never take another man without my permission unless I say so. Is that understood?”

  “I am not yours.”

  He slammed her down onto his cock, so deep, the sharp pain ripping through her. She gasped, grasping at him for more. But he held her still, the head of his cock pulsing just inside the tight walls of her cunt.

  “No one else, unless I say so. Is that understood?”

  She trembled in his arms. It was all she wanted, but to tell him so, to give that to him, would be to give up herself.

  “I am not yours,” she said again, her voice barely a whisper.

  He slammed into again, harder, and then again and again. And then he held her aloft.

  She met his eyes, pleading with hers, and found his not filled with anger as she thought they would be, but filled with a need nearly as desperate as her own.

  “Understood?” he whispered.

  She felt the wetness on her cheeks even as she strained to bring him into her.

  “Understood,” she whimpered.

  He turned quickly, draping her back over the saddle and taking her hips in his hands once more. He held her as he fucked her hard, slamming into her, deep into her belly.

  She tightened her legs around his waist, needing him deeper, wanting the pain as much as the pleasure. He met her unasked requests and pushed deeper with each thrust, deep enough that he stroked that place inside of her where she didn’t need to touch herself. She caught her breath as her orgasm hit her.

  In the same moment, Darcy came, his cock swelling against the contracting walls of her sex, his hot juices filling her. He did not stop his hard thrusts until Lizzy gasped, her climax reaching its limit, pulsing outward, her body going limp in the aftermath, and then he slowed, the evidence of his climax dripping from inside of her.

  Darcy lifted her and turned, sitting once again on the saddle, her in his lap, his cock still inside her. She put her arms over his head, and the two of them panted against each other’s mouths. He kissed her. Her lips, her jaw, her neck, her breasts, her ear, and then he kissed her mouth again. A deep, drugging kiss that left her breathless and wanting him all over again.

  They said nothing. In that moment, there was nothing either of them could say.

  So instead, after a time, Elizabeth moved her hips, coaxing his cock into life again. It did not take long. He kissed her as he fucked her. And this time when he came, he was still, filling her once again, lifting his head and looking into her eyes. And Elizabeth was lost.

  It was very late when Elizabeth finally climbed into bed beside Jane, who stirred and woke.

  “Where have you been?” she asked.

  Lizzy sighed, her sex aching, her heart heavy. “It was a long walk.”

  Jane looked worried for a moment, and then her face broke into a smile. “I have the most amazing news, Lizzy.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Slipping from the Celebration

  Elizabeth, who was left by herself, now smiled at the rapidity and ease with which an affair was finally settled, that had given them so many previous months of suspense and vexation.


  Elizabeth was happy for her sister, there was no doubt. She had been Jane’s champion from the start where Bingley was concerned. When Jane first showed real interest in the man, not as some silly girl in want of a husband with a fortune, but as a woman in the beginnings of love, and later when Jane was heartbroken after Bingley left suddenly, out of contact for months, Lizzy had been there to comfort and console.

  She had been so sure that seeing Jane happily engaged to the man she loved would be satisfaction enough, that while Lizzy did not want to marry, she could appease the small part of her that found the idea novel by seeing her sister happily engaged.

  But when Jane told her the happy news, Lizzy felt empty.

  She was happy for Jane, to be sure, but she was not fulfilled as she thought she would feel.

  The morning after Jane told Lizzy—the same night Lizzy had spent hours in the stable with Darcy and Fitzwilliam—Bingley came to Longbourn and was locked away in Mr. Bennet’s study for a time.

  Mr. Darcy had accompanied Bingley to the Bennets’, and he came to stand near Lizzy in the parlor while Mr. Bennet whisked Mr. Bingley away, the rest of the women gathering around the nervous Jane.

  Lizzy had been putting on quite a show; smiling, excited, anxious, happy. But it was a show. The hollow in her stomach yawned wide at the sight of Bingley and Jane smiling with giddiness at one another.

  The moment Bingley left the room, Mrs. Bennet and Kitty hurried to the door of the study to listen, while Mary stayed behind to hold Jane’s hand and speak logical, comforting words about how their father had no reason not give his consent.

  Elizabeth stood by the fireplace, behind her sisters so she could see all that was happening without really having to be a part of it. She would offer a smile to Jane when she looked back at her, but since Bingley left the room, Jane had not moved from her spot.

  Darcy, his presence too large and dark in the bright room to be ignored, crossed the parlor, his boots clacking against the wood, and stood beside Lizzy, the space of the empty fireplace between them.

  Not wanting to appear anything but happy, Lizzy forced herself to meet his gaze. She regretted it instantly. His dark eyes that saw too much were looking down at her, a veil obscuring his thoughts. She felt as thought everything she felt was plain on her face, and she dropped her gaze to his mouth. Though not altogether better, at least he could not read her thoughts.

  “Has Colonel Fitzwilliam gone?” She was proud to say her voice did not shake.

  “He has, this morning. He sent along his congratulations for the happy couple, and I am to give them once this is settled.”

  Once this is settled, thought Elizabeth, as though this were business and not the marriage of two happy people in love. But she already knew that Darcy did not hold to the belief in a happy marriage, a marriage for love. He thought marriage a business, and she was the fool who had gone and fallen for him anyway.

  “Are you feeling well, Miss Bennet?”

  She startled and slipped a smile back onto her face, meeting his gaze again. His brow was pressed together over his eyes, a look of either concern or anger. It was hard to tell sometimes with Mr. Darcy.

  “Yes, of course. Just anxious to hear the news.”

  His brow pulled lower. She could not hold his gaze any longer, the tightness in her chest growing to be too much.

  He shrugged a shoulder. “I have no doubt your father will agree to the marriage.” He sounded resigned.

  Now it was Lizzy’s turn to frown. “Why are you so sure?” She had no doubt either, but she was a romantic. Darcy was not.

  His eyes slid to hers. “Your father is a smart man. He will do what is right.”

  “By right, do you mean he will be sure to agree to a marriage that will benefit the family?”

  Darcy sighed, a short, sharp sound through his nose. “Is that what you believe?”

  “Of course not,” she whispered vehemently. “I believe he will see that they are in love and he will agree to the marriage on those terms alone. Money is not the be all, end all for everyone, Mr. Darcy.”

  “Of course not,” he said, his voice soft. He took a step toward her. She glanced at her sisters in the room, but they were busy watching the others at the study door down the hall. “Miss Elizabeth, I—“

  The study doors burst open, the women shrieking, as Bingley and Mr. Bennet walked out, shaking hands, smiling. There was no doubt as to Mr. Bennet’s answer. There were whoops and cheers from the Bennet women. Bingley swooped into the parlor, lifting Jane by her hands and embracing her in the sweetest hug.

  Lizzy’s heart squeezed at the sight, her eyes burning. She felt his hand on her cheek, wiping away a tear. The veil over Darcy’s eyes was impenetrable, and Lizzy felt as though she were an open wound.

  Leaving him, Lizzy joined her family in celebration, doing her best to hide the pain in her heart.

  “Oh!” cried Mrs. Bennet. “We must have dinner! Please, Mr. Bingley, stay for dinner! And your friend, too! Oh, happy day!”

  Darcy embraced Bingley and shook Jane’s hand. Elizabeth, after hugging her sister profusely, and then being edged out of the way by the deliriously happy Mrs. Bennet, went to stand beside her father. He smiled, an arm around her shoulder.

  From this protective space, Lizzy watched Darcy. He stood by the fireplace again, observing his friend take Jane’s hands, the two of them blissfully happy, and Lizzy wondered what he was thinking.

  He looked up, catching her staring at him, and she had no time to look away without seeming guilty. And what had she to be guilty of? Had she not, just last night, agreed to be his? Would she ever have the inclination to be with anyone other than Mr. Darcy?

  No. She did not think she would. And he would never have her in the way she so desperately wanted now.

  Tearing her eyes from his, Lizzy gave her father what she hoped was an encouraging smile and slipped from the room.

  There was nowhere she wanted to go. Her room was up the stairs, too far, and outside was bright and sunny, too happy for how she felt. She wandered through the house toward the far door.

  She knew he was behind her without looking, but she did not turn. The rest of the house was silent as the servants and cook busied themselves in the kitchen and her family continued celebrating in the parlor.

  When she reached a small alcove between the small parlor where the family played cards and the door that led to the stables outside, his hand closed around her arm, steering her into the alcove, pressing her against the wall, his body touching every part of her from behind.

  He was hard, his rigid length settled between her buttocks. Lizzy pressed her hands against the wall, bracing for whatever would come.

  Darcy was rough, quick, lifting her dress to her hips. She heard the rustle of fabric as he opened his trousers, and then his cock slipped between her buttocks, against her sex. There was no foreplay. Darcy took her hips in his hands and yanked her back as he thrust forward, surging into her.

  She gasped, already wet, so much so that he was buried inside her easily. His mouth was at her ear.

  “Don’t scream,” he whispered. “Don’t make a sound.” He began to move.

  Darcy held her hips, his body fully against hers, as he drove into her so hard that she was on her toes.

  She couldn’t help the moans escaping her. Darcy slapped a hand over her mouth. It was happening so fast, he had barely touched her and she was already so close to that oblivion she needed.

  So was Darcy, as was evidenced by the growling and grunting sounds in Lizzy’s ear. She turned his face toward his seeking his lips, but he bent and bit her shoulder, muffling her cry with his hand.

  Faster and harder, Darcy moved against, barely coming out of her before slamming back in, his cock rubbing just the right spot inside her. As if he felt her climax breaking, his hand tightened over her mouth, allowing her to scream into his palm as she came. He followed quickly, her orgasm barely begun when his cock swelled. He held her tight around the waist and
surged up into her, pumping as he filled her, not slowing until he felt her shudder in his arms, her climax peaking and then ebbing away.

  He slowed, his forehead pressed against her shoulder, his grip loosening. She could hear the voices of her family far off in the parlor, and those of the servants in the nearby kitchen.

  This had been stupid and risky, and Elizabeth had never been a stupid person. Not until Darcy.

  She remained with her face against the wall while Darcy put himself away and fixed her dress. She could feel the evidence of their coupling running down her leg. She would need to clean up before rejoining her family.

  How was she going to get through a dinner with Darcy and her family? She was torn between wanting to cry and wanting him to take her again.

  He turned her, taking her chin in his hands, his thumbs brushing her cheeks. She was proud to say they were dry, even if her eyes stung.

  “I can’t stay for dinner,” said he. Her heart stalled. There was something in his eyes; guilt, anger, indifference? She didn’t know what, but it made her ache inside. “I have to be back in London tomorrow morning. I will return to Netherfield before long.”

  She nodded. “All right.” She felt small and weak, something she did not like feeling.

  He seemed to hesitate, and then he leaned forward, his lips so close to hers she could feel his breath against her mouth, and then he stepped back, dropping his hands. She felt cold.

  “Good day, Miss Bennet.”

  She said nothing in return, and after a moment, he left. She allowed herself only a small moment of despair, sinking to the floor of the tiny alcove and letting herself cry. She cried for the woman she used to be, for the woman she longed to become, and for the man who would never let her go.