“Ouch!”

“Ah!”

Mr. Darcy and the woman both exclaimed as their bodies crashed onto each other.

“I beg your pardon, Madam.” He stood up and bowed awkwardly.

The woman turned over on the bed, had a look at him, laughed and asked cheerily, “Is your apology for …bumping into me or appearing without a… stitch of clothing, in my bed chamber?”

Darcy liked her sound, musical and pleasant. He smiled and looked down at himself in the muted light. “Indeed, I am in all my glory. I do not…know why.”

She sat up, brushed the wayward curls away from her eyes, and took in the sight of his strong frame with apparent curiosity. “You look like a … statue of the Greek god, Apollo,” she said, and hiccupped.

“Your bosom…rivals that of Venus.” He licked his lips and felt a sudden surge of heat rise in his body. Intending to let in some air, he walked to pull the curtains wider apart.

She cast a look at herself. Lit by the bright afternoon sun from outside, she saw that she wore no clothes, either. She remembered feeling oppressively hot, shortly after she went to the bed, scarcely able to breathe. Stifling, she had taken her dress off and then, finding little relief, had shed the rest of her garments before surrendering again to sleep. Now, abruptly awakened, she was covered by nothing but the bed sheet which was now pooled at her waist.

“Thank you, Sir, for the compliment.” She smiled, feeling giddily light-headed beneath the gaze of this handsome young man. She reclined down on the bed again and raised both hands to rub her temples. “But I am not the goddess of love, but simple Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn.”

Mr. Darcy felt the room grow hotter yet. The lovely Elizabeth was lying on the bed, with both hands on her forehead, a gesture which pushed her gorgeous breasts higher still. She had the most vivid green eyes, a very fine pair. He wanted to worship her but was not sure whether she would welcome it. He was a gentleman and would never force himself on a woman. The temptation was so great that he felt as if his head might burst at any moment.

He raised his hand to rub his own temple.

“Are you…not feeling well, Apollo?” she asked with concern.

“I am no Apollo, just Fitzwilliam Darcy…of Pemberley.”

“Perhaps you will feel better if you lie down,” she suggested, and patted the space beside her.

It was an invitation he could not refuse. He slipped in besides her, under the bed sheet.

They stared at each other silently for a minute. Then she smiled at him and raised her eyebrows. Encouraged, he stretched out his hand and touched her, drawing delicate circles around one of her nipples.

The cherry tip peaked and she gasped for air.

“You have the most … magic touch,” she murmured.

“And you are very… responsive.”

She smiled widely at his compliment. The whole-hearted grin made her look fresh and carefree, like his sister Georgiana,

Mr. Darcy thought. Elizabeth seemed too young to have been married and then widowed. But what did he really know about such things? Had his own mother not died very young, too, soon after Georgiana was born?

“How old are you?” he asked. His finger continued the exploration of her twin peaks. He loved the texture of her skin.

“Not yet one-and-twenty,” she whispered. “And you?”

“Not yet eight-and-twenty.”

“In the prime of life.” She gazed at his eyes, which were the deepest blue, like the summer sky. He seemed indeed to be a Greek god, calling out for her to touch him. Emboldened, she traced her fingers from his throat down his chest to his navel. His body was virile and perfect.

His mouth gaped open as he felt his skin burn beneath her touch. His arousal sprang up, proud and tall, making a tent of the bed sheet.

Her eyes widened at the unexpected movement. She lifted the edge of the bed sheet, took one quick glance at his magnificent manhood, and dropped the sheet immediately.

“I did not know that Apollo’s…stone could grow,” she remarked innocently.

He chuckled. “Would you like to feel the stone…expand?” He took her tiny hand, which was soft but surprisingly strong, and placed her fingers around his shaft.

“It is…” She swallowed and bit her lower lip. “It is so hot…and so smooth.”

He slid his other hand down to her apex, where he rubbed the soft bush and slid along her folds. “And you are wet and…blazing.”

She could feel the blood draining from her head, seeming to pool and pulse at her sex. The sensations at the juncture of her thighs were raging, causing her to flex her hand instinctively, squeezing his shaft hard.

He let out a cry of pure ecstasy. He knew that he would explode if he did not join with this lovely Venus.

Carefully, he removed her hand from his straining member, then turned to press his body against her. The moment their naked forms touched, they both shivered. Using his elbows to carry his weight, he positioned himself over her and lowered his head to kiss her sultry lips with passion.

When he thrust his tongue into her mouth, she sucked at it tentatively, and her sweet response nearly made him come. He pulled back immediately and lowered his lips to worship her creamy mounds instead.

They were alabaster white, soft and bouncy. He licked the skin around the nipples, then moved to the side once again and took his weight upon a single elbow in order to free one hand to shape her bountiful hips. Enchanted, he paused between each lick to tell her how beautiful she looked. In answer, she moaned in pleasure and buried her fingertips in his hair.

As he suckled her nipples soundly for several long minutes, her soul seemed to draw up and out of her body. She rolled her eyes, twisted her body and, with a final sweet convulsion, reached Heaven. The juice of climax flew out from her secret lips.

Rising over her in earnest, he nudged her thighs apart and used his hand to position his shaft. Insinuating his manhood between her nether lips, he found that she was tight, even with the sweetness of her essence. Bracing himself, he bore down, pushing slowly into her.

The sensation was unexplainable as his tip was swallowed up, a fraction of an inch at a time, by this hot volcano. Bearing down, he thrust with his rigid rod, determined to penetrate into the very heart of her core.

All the while, her inner muscles teased and squeezed and clenched, bombarding him with maddening sensation. Her body seemed to mock his ardor, refusing to yield further. Delirious with desire, he grasped her thighs and pulled them even wider apart, then plunged forward, using every bit of leverage he could muster to break through all barriers, the better to merge with her.

Beneath him, she screamed out in pain.

He froze, stunned, then raised his head as comprehension dawned upon him. “You are a maiden?” he whispered hoarsely.

Elizabeth panted and shifted beneath him, unshed tears brightening her beautiful eyes. “Yes…and I find…your stone…very hard, Apollo.”

A part of him wanted to laugh, touched by the gallant courage of her remark, but her movements were reigniting him. With his hands and mouth, he pleasured her breasts with a determined eagerness, while he exerted all his will power to hold his lower body still.

When she was once again aroused to unbearable heights, and began to twist and squirm beneath him, he withdrew himself almost to her entrance and then thrust into her again in a smooth, heated glide.

Once started, he could not stop. His pace soon grew fast, urgent and lustful. He drove into her like a stud covering a spirited mare, aiming to conquer and to please.

Sweat drenched both of their bodies. She clawed at his muscular back as he pounded into her. The slick sound of his thighs smacking against hers was accompanied by her everlouder moans. His hands and mouth were merciless, nipping and rubbing her nipples and lips, exciting her to new sensory heights.

Lost in this new world of sensual desperation, she cried out his name, “Fitzwilliam!” several times, until at last the world exploded behind her eyes in a torrent of delight, and he cried out as well, flooding her with his essence.

Finally, descending from their cosmic peak, they returned to earth. Pulling the bed sheet up to cover their satiated bodies, he embraced her tightly, and they drifted off to sleep.

Within a few minutes, however, the door was opened by George Wickham, accompanied by old Mr. Darcy. Miss Bingley was hot on their heels.

“I thought I heard Fitzwilliam here…” Wickham said, then faltered into silence as he blinked his eyes, adjusting to the unexpected brightness of the room.

Pushing past him, Miss Bingley screamed in fury. “Eliza Bennet, you shameless, penniless chit! What have you done to my Mr. Darcy?”

The disturbance woke the couple in the bed. At that moment, Louisa Hurst opened the servant’s entrance to the room, dressed in a nearly transparent nightgown, her loosened hair tumbled about her shoulders. She took one startled look at the commotion, gasped, and fled the room immediately.

Elizabeth shook her head in an attempt to clear the last lingering effects of the liquor and the drug from her body. She blinked up at the two strange men, one young, one old, who stood with Miss Bingley. Then she noticed a subtle movement by her side. A man was sleeping there, his bare body pressed intimately to hers. She was ready to scream and flee the bed…but she found that she was no longer wearing anything at all.

“What have you done to me?” she demanded of the young man holding her.