Read Online Pride and Prejudice (Clandestine Classics) by Jane Austen, Amy Armstrong - Free Book Online Page B

thinking of the untamed desire Elizabeth had displayed when he had kissed her. What would it be like to enter her, to move in and out of her body, her hips surrounding him, her heat engulfing him? With a gasp he increased the speed of his hand, sweeping his thumb over the tip and capturing the moisture that had beaded there. He pressed his head back into the pillow as he glided his hand over his slick member. The release that had been slowly building in his groin grew nearer and nearer until he knew there was no holding it back. An image of Elizabeth on her knees while he slid in and out of her mouth came to mind and then he lost control, his release barrelling through him quickly and powerfully, her name a low rasp on his lips as his seed shot onto his stomach in long, even bursts.
     

Chapter Ten

The day passed much as the day before had done. Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley had spent some hours of the morning with the invalid, who continued, though slowly, to mend, and in the evening Elizabeth joined their party in the drawing-room. The loo-table, however, did not appear. Mr Darcy was writing, and Miss Bingley, seated near him, was watching the progress of his letter and repeatedly calling off his attention by messages to his sister. Mr Hurst and Mr Bingley were at piquet, and Mrs Hurst was observing their game.
    Elizabeth took up some needlework, and was sufficiently amused in attending to what passed between Darcy and his companion. The perpetual commendations of the lady, either on his handwriting, or on the evenness of his lines, or on the length of his letter, with the perfect unconcern with which her praises were received, formed a curious dialogue, and was exactly in union with her opinion of each.
    “How delighted Miss Darcy will be to receive such a letter!”
    He made no answer.
    “You write uncommonly fast.”
    “You are mistaken. I write rather slowly.”
    “How many letters you must have occasion to write in the course of a year! Letters of business, too. How odious I should think them!”
    “It is fortunate, then, that they fall to my lot instead of yours.” Upon making the remark, Mr Darcy met Elizabeth’s gaze and a small smile ghosted over his lips, and Elizabeth’s breath caught in her chest. His face, normally stern and proud, was remarkably transformed when he smiled. He ought to do it more often.
    Miss Bingley did not notice and ploughed on. “Pray tell your sister that I long to see her.”
    “I have already told her so once, by your desire.”
    “I am afraid you do not like your pen. Let me mend it for you. I mend pens remarkably well.”
    “Thank you—but I always mend my own.”
    “How can you contrive to write so even?”
    He was silent, and a smile tugged at Elizabeth’s lips, but she did not look at him—she couldn’t for fear of laughing at the absurdity.
    Miss Bingley was nothing if not persistent. “Tell your sister I am delighted to hear of her improvement on the harp, and pray let her know that I am quite in raptures with her beautiful little design for a table, and I think it infinitely superior to Miss Grantley’s.”
    “Will you give me leave to defer your raptures till I write again? At present I have not room to do them justice.”
    “Oh, it is of no consequence. I shall see her in January. But do you always write such charming long letters to her, Mr Darcy?”
    “They are generally long, but whether always charming it is not for me to determine.”
    “It is a rule with me, that a person who can write a long letter with ease, cannot write ill.”
    “That will not do for a compliment to Darcy, Caroline,” cried her brother, “because he does not write with ease. He studies too much for words of four syllables. Do not you, Darcy?”
    “My style of writing is very different from yours.”
    “Oh!” cried Miss Bingley, “Charles writes in the most careless way imaginable. He leaves out half his words, and blots the rest.”
    Miss Bennet went back to her needlework