Sharon Lathan - In the Arms of Mr. Darcy

And then he did sweep her into his arms, carrying her the remaining steps to their favorite bed. Laying her gently down, he kissed teasingly, running one hand the length of her body. “You shall have no doubt whatsoever how I feel about you and what you do to me,” he murmured before pulling away. Stripping his shirt off and tossing it randomly, he then opened the top drawer to retrieve the nearly empty jar of massaging cream forgotten since the last application the day before Alexander’s birth.

Lizzy giggled. “What are you doing with that? I think the stretching is done for the time being.”

“Ah, but the effects of the ointment are not exhausted. Besides, a woman who has been through such travails and who works so hard deserves a lengthy massage from her appreciative husband, do you not agree?”

Lizzy nodded, smiling and sighing as happiness freshly washed over her. Her handsome husband settled onto his knees at the end of the bed, rubbing a glob of aromatic balm between his palms before grasping her feet. She giggled and wiggled slightly at the ticklish sensation, Darcy grinning and applying strong fingers to the task. He took his time, the visual enticements of his luscious wife more than a little bit arousing, but the need to allay her insecurity calmed his lust… somewhat. Besides, the pleasure derived from smoothing over her skin was heady, experience having proven that a checked passion once released was rapture heightened beyond comprehension.

Transferring gradually to silky legs and knees, the oil soaked as he massaged firmly into each muscle. Lizzy watched him closely, mouth parted, and panting as ardor rose rapidly from the combined stimulus of his amazing touch and the sight of his flexing muscles. She pressed wiggling toes up his inner thigh, Darcy playfully pushing her foot away.

“Behave, Mrs. Darcy, or the massage will not extend beyond your thighs.”

“What a tragedy that would be.”

“Perhaps not a tragedy, but assuredly not as pleasurable.”

Her mumbled disagreement about the levels of pleasure was lost in a gasping moan as he pressed lips to her lower abdomen, hands stroking over her hips. The sensations raged, Lizzy completely forgetting to be embarrassed over the thin, silvery marks low on her belly or the residual mound of flesh by her navel. Darcy, as he had told her so long ago, adored all of her, especially these remnants of their child’s first dwelling place. She was beautiful, her sacrifice in bringing their son safely to the world was beautiful, and her giving soul was beautiful. Nothing would change how he felt about her or quash his desire for her.

After a thoroughly enticing time, Darcy lifted, one by one unbuttoning the shirt to expose all of her. “So gorgeous,” he whispered, eyes revealing devotion and candor. “Elizabeth, I love you.”

She held out her arms, reaching, but he shook his head slightly, smiling as he scooped a second dose of ointment. “I have only traveled half way up your body, my lover. Some of my favorite parts yet require my meticulous attention.”

“Fitzwilliam, I may well die if you do not kiss me!”

He did not respond other than to smile wider and resume his labors. Straddling her hips he navigated every inch—from her waist, around to buttocks and back, up her sides to arms which were freed from the shirt, across trembling shoulders, and finally to her breasts. Darcy had dreamt of this moment nearly as often as he had dreamt of making love to her. Always he loved her bosom, delighted in the softness, this utterly feminine aspect of her physique by far his favored and most arousing.

Now, after a month of observing Alexander nursing at a vastly increased fullness, the mingled faint jealousy and suppressed passion bubbled forth as an uncontainable yearning. Still, he played teasingly, employing all the usual tricks of fingers and tongue validated time and again to arouse them both profoundly. The added euphoria attained when he eventually gave in to the familiar pleasure of suckling at her breast, with that arousing activity heightened by the sweet taste of her milk, was shockingly intense. Her response with throaty groans of delight, arching body, and grasping hands spiraled his craving out of control.

Darcy lost all regulation. Not ceasing the inciting activity for a second, he tore at his breeches, Lizzy writhing and deliriously aiding the procedure.

Simultaneous exclamations of inexpressible bliss burst forth as they merged. Darcy only then released her breast to claim her mouth, entire body bearing hers down into the mattress as he clutched her. He could feel all of her! No bulge, as precious as it was, inhibiting. Her bountiful breasts pressed against his chest, thrilling him immeasurably, agile limbs clasping and pulling him even closer, bellies caressing as they swayed in harmonious rhythm.

As he had promised, they loved hard. Passion pent up and held for weeks built further. The life-altering events of the past month and awareness of the cherished infant sleeping two rooms away added a dimension to their lovemaking that was indescribable. Any doubts either may have harbored deep in their subconscious that parenthood would negatively affect their intimate rapport were shattered.

Darcy had told her once that their lovemaking would grow more powerful as their relationship matured, and now they completely acknowledged the reality.

Darcy shouted, shuddering, and collapsing onto his wife in gratification, Lizzy shivering uncontrollably, but clinging so inflexibly that he could not have moved had he wished to or been capable. It was a considerable period of time before she relaxed her crushing grip, Darcy lifting ponderously to brush tousled hair off her brow and kiss her tenderly.

He sighed deeply, laying his forehead onto hers, voice a grating rumble. “Have I told you lately how utterly amazing you are? It honestly staggers my mind the bliss I experience when loving you, Elizabeth. I cannot believe it possible for a body to feel such sensations and not splinter into a thousand pieces.”

Lizzy chuckled, kissing his nose, her voice nearly as rough as his. “I understand completely, my love. I too am rocked to my very core and in awe. I love you, Fitzwilliam, forever.”

Their eyes met briefly, closing again as they kissed. Lizzy ran a palm down his chest, pulling her lips away with a tiny squeal.

“Oh! I have leaked all over us! William, I am so sorry!”

He chuckled hoarsely, grasping her hand and licking the moist tips of her fingers. “I am not complaining.”

“But I have made a mess.”

He halted her with a kiss, hand reaching to one wet breast and squeezing gently. “Do not apologize, please. I confess to rather liking your milk. We Darcy men have that in common as well.”

Rolling to his back he embraced her trembling body, a smile of sheer exhilaration lighting his visage. She sagged against his chest, her deep breathing leading to satisfied slumber. Lifting to retrieve the folded blankets, he nestled her snuggly and kissed her forehead. Champagne and treats were forgotten in lieu of blissful cuddling.

“Sleep well, precious wife. I will wake you when Mrs. Hanford rings.”

The Darcys were not roused on this Christmas Day well after the dawn by a light knock on the door. Rather, it was a good two hours before the dawn to the sound of a ringing bell hanging by the bedside. Darcy was in a customary deep sleep augmented tremendously by sexual gratification. Lizzy, on the other hand, was already beginning to rise through the deepest stages of sleep due to the increasingly painful pressure in her breasts. Therefore, when the unfamiliar tone of a chiming bell invaded her consciousness she was instantly fully awake and alert.

She untangled her limbs from Darcy’s with alacrity, out of the bed and retrieving her fallen robe before a breath was taken. The abrupt movement and sudden blast of chill air over his uncovered skin, Lizzy forgetting to re-tuck the blankets in her haste, roused Darcy.

“Elizabeth? What?”

“Alexander is awake. Go back to sleep, dearest.”

“Bring him here,” he mumbled, rising laboriously to stoke the fire as Lizzy dashed from the room. Angry howls greeted her from the middle of the sitting room, their son’s lungs in no way fragile. Mrs. Hanford was completing the annoying task, in Alexander’s opinion, of changing his diaper, the infant only calming when his crooning mother picked him up.

“Come, sweetheart, be patient. Let’s go see your father. Not too far away, little love. No, no, do not cry!” But it was to no avail, Alexander’s stomach especially empty after the nighttime stretch of sleep. If Darcy had managed to drift into a doze, it was shattered at the entry of his wife and hollering son. He merely chuckled though, withdrawing the blankets so Lizzy could nestle against his warmth, lying on her side and finally quieting the distressed babe at her breast.

Darcy leaned on an elbow, encircling his family with the other arm and stroking Alexander’s back. “Yes, quite the temper, my lad, but it is good to know your appetite is a healthy one.” He kissed Lizzy’s neck, settling in the soft bend to observe the baby nursing.

“I love how he kneads against your breast while he sucks. Rather like a kitten.” The smile could be heard in his voice, Darcy rubbing one finger over the tiny rhythmically opening and closing hand atop the breast he suckled on. The baby’s eyes were closed in deep concentration, by all appearances unaware and unconcerned with the people around him. Of course, this was not true; Alexander was merely innocently confident and content in the love of his parents. “Merry Christmas, my little kitten. And to you as well, beloved wife.”

The words were accented with a warm caress down her side, over hips to abdomen, pulling closer against his pelvis. He bestowed another kiss to her neck and sighed happily before settling to watch their son.

It was a wonderfully lazy way to begin their second Christmas together. Darcy had returned to sleep by the time Alexander finished. Mother and son drifted away within the heat of Darcy’s embrace, the comfortable bed a haven on a wintry day. Lizzy woke over two hours later feeling cramped between two immobile bodies of raging internal temperatures. Alexander’s brow was actually sweaty! She cautiously vacated the bed, carrying the baby to his cradle and then freshening up before returning to her husband.

Darcy lay much as she had left him, having shifted only slightly and still soundly asleep. It was unusual for him to sleep so late, the sun well over the hazy horizon and casting bright beams of light around the gaps in the curtains. Lizzy smiled as she paused to observe him.

Did our activities last night wear you out, my lover? she thought with a sensuous grin. Well, I do hope your energy is restored!

And with that libidinous thought, she shed her robe and crawled under the covers. He gathered her instinctively, but was not fully awake until her lips had completed their leisurely travels from the hollow of his throat to his navel. Darcy woke a happy and satisfied man. The vision of his wife, the touch of his wife, and the love of his wife combined to nearly be more than one man, even as virile and lusty as Darcy, could handle.

Yet he handled it well.

“Merry Christmas, Fitzwilliam,” were the only words she uttered as she straddled his hips, unifying beautifully and proceeding to show him how he thrilled her, how she adored him, how perfect he was, and how profound her love. 

The relatively fair weather from the prior day lasted, allowing for ease in travel both to the quaint chapel in the Village and for their evening’s guests. Traditions prevailed in both breakfast foods as well as Christmas activities, meaning that in many ways this Christmas was indistinguishable from last year and all the ones that would follow. Mrs. Langton and her staff had prepared a stupendous breakfast heartily enjoyed by everyone in the elaborately bedecked dining room. Everyone wore his or her finest garments, Mr. Bennet dashing in the new suit purchased for his trip to visit Lizzy in London the previous spring. Marguerite and Samuel’s consulting was now an expected arrangement, Lizzy and Darcy therefore dressing in nearly identical shades of blue with silver threads and trim.

Reverend Bertram preached a flawlessly constructed if unsurprising sermon on the birth of Christ. Lizzy had learned over the past year that the children of the parish performed at least three times a year: at Easter, for All Saint’s Day, and during Christmas. It varied from celebration to celebration, either with a play or singing or, in the case of Easter, a puppet show. This year the youngsters gathered in the chancel dressed in choir robes, accompanied by the organist as they lifted their childish voices in a number of seasonal hymns. The finale was the older children singing “The Twelve Days of Christmas” while the tiniest held up corresponding signs with painted pictures of the vocalized gifts. Naturally there were mishaps, especially as the singers inevitably sped up the rhythm as the lengthy song progressed, but the resulting mistakes added to the fun. Once again, the worshippers exited the chapel with laughter and smiles.