Hello, all! Part 4 of this series "Besotted" is now available wherever ebooks are sold! (Amazon, Apple, Kobo, B&N, you name it) Just search for my name, 'Grace Reeve' and read the titillating conclusion to this series today! I hope everyone is well! Have a great one!

~Grace

At the pull of the ribbon, her nightgown opened so her husband could slide over her body, over her head. As it landed upon the floor beside her, Elizabeth swore she could hear her husband's breath catch in his throat. His dark eyes grew even darker still as they scanned her entire body.

Instead of feeling self-conscious, she felt… compelling. With his attention so raptly upon her, she was certain that in order to garner a reaction from him, all she need do was to crook her finger and bid he follow.

So she used her newfound influence by climbing upon the bed, all the while attempting to keep her movements slow so he would watch her.

And watch her he did.

He slowly turned and stared unabashedly as she slid down beneath the blankets.

Then she did crook her finger, bidding him closer.

Never in her life did she expect to see her husband scramble up towards her like a child making for gifts or sweets, but it was exactly what was done. Fitzwilliam clumsily moved towards her and ended up beneath the blankets with her.

Not yet touching her, he remained upon his back. Elizabeth took matters into her own hands, rolling over to her side and then climbing atop him.

Her long brown hair cascaded down her back as she leaned forward, allowing it to shield the two of them like curtains.

"Elizabeth," he murmured, nuzzling against her throat. She could feel him, hard and stiff against her body. His thighs were taut and tense, which would never do if they were to be relaxed around one another.

So she did the only thing she could think to do. She kissed him. Kissed his lips and reached for his hands, tugging them up to her chest. She kept them just a scant few inches away from her skin, hoping he'd close the distance himself. It felt shocking, the warmth of his almost-touch.

When he still did not move to touch her, she did it for him, pressing her chest forward to meet his willing hands.

She gasped at his heat, just as he gasped at the feel of her.

"Lord, but you're soft," he murmured. "I always knew you were, but…"

"Touch me, Fitzwilliam," she coaxed, covering his hands with hers. "Touch me here."

She had never been touched there by another of course, but the other instances they had lain together, she had felt her nipples tighten at the feel of him pressing between her legs. She had thus come to the conclusion that pleasure of the one would please the other likewise. She had touched them herself before, and quite liked the sensation, but feeling her husband's significantly larger hands and fingers tease and stroke the sensitive flesh was quite enough to do her in in ways her own had never.

"Like this?" he asked, groaning when she canted her hips over him. The hot, hard length of him was pressed just between her legs, giving her something to move against. It felt quite good, especially with the light teasing touches he gave her breasts.

His eyes were scanning the entirety of her body as if he were unsure of where to look. She got the sudden urge to tell him exactly where he could focus his attention. To command him to gaze down, to watch her as she found her pleasure by moving against him.

But the words stuck in her mouth. She was not yet sure if she was ready to say them. Or if he was ready to hear them, either.

She did indeed wish to say them soon, however.

But for the moment, she was far too enamored by the way his mouth had fallen open, the soft grunts that issued forth into the quiet of her bedchamber. It was as if she had found a new sweet with which to fill her belly.

She wanted more. Another taste. And another. Until the entire platter of pastries was gone.

Except instead of a platter of pastries, it was simply her husband, in erotic abandon, giving himself over to her to use as she would.

And she would. Oh, she certainly would.

"Fitzwilliam," she gasped, her head falling back as her hips began to move more. Back and forth she rocked against his body. The tip of him was quite stiff, slick though it was, and sliding over her body, right there. Just there. Rocking over the tiny nub at the crest of her sex. The feeling was exquisite, and she craved more.

She could no sooner have stopped if she had wanted to, feeling the rising tide of heat that threatened to overtake her. She knew not what it was, only that she would be remiss in not examining it further.

Her movements stuttered as she reached the top of the hill, tumbling over the other side. Her body convulsed and she could not quite stop herself from the feeling that was going through her. From where he and she touched, it radiated out to her fingertips. To her toes.

"Oh, oh…" she murmured, her movements stuttering as his hands came down to her waist.

"Elizabeth?" He whispered, pressing against her back and coaxing her down to him. "Are you—"

"Oh Fitzwilliam, you wonderful man," she cooed, reaching down between them to guide his swollen member inside her. She had meant to roll upon her back to allow him his release, but she found she didn't quite wish to move from her current position. "You wonderful, wonderful man…"

His eyes grew wide as she took him inside her body, and his eyes on her grew more intense.

"Elizabeth," he gasped, his eyes moving down to where they were joined.

She was not quite sure what to do now that she had him inside her, but the thought of stopping now and requesting that they change positions seemed a bit silly, especially when he was reacting as he was to the difference, so Elizabeth simply copied what she had seen him do.

She tightened her thighs about his hips and rose higher, sinking back down and repeating the action. It felt a bit like riding a horse, now that she was doing it.

Not that a fine lady such as the Mistress of Pemberley should know what riding a horse in this particular way would feel like. But know it, she did. It brought back the memory of riding in this way, far from the house where her mother could not see her. Alone, even without Jane. With her skirts gathered up around her waist as the wind hit her legs.

But of course, this felt a great deal better than riding an old mare a decade earlier.

A great deal better.

Her husband, for his part, could not seem to decide where to place his hands. Elizabeth took the opportunity to decide for him, pressing his palms against her hips and encouraging him to curl them around, fingers digging into her buttocks as she 'rode' him.

"Elizabeth… darling," he gasped, his hips struggling to keep up with her as he chased something. Something precious indeed.

"Just allow it to happen," she cooed. "You are doing so well, Fitzwilliam… so well and—"

He groaned just then, his hips jolting from the bed and up into her. The warm evidence of his release spread through her and dripped out when she rose off him completely.

"Christ!" Fitzwilliam swore. "Forgive me, Elizabeth… I…"

"I love you," she murmured, leaning down to kiss his lips. His kiss was careless and slipshod, but she enjoyed it all the same.

"Christ, darling, I seem to have come quite undone."

"I do hope you enjoyed yourself," she whispered. "I hope I was not out of turn or—"

"No, no…" he insisted. "Not at all. Elizabeth… beautiful, sweet, Elizabeth…"

His hands were in her hair, and his lips upon hers. He kissed her mouth, her cheeks, her jaw. Which only served to tease her passions again. She felt a glutton as if she could not get enough of his skin on hers.

She kissed his lips, moving down his jaw to his throat, where she licked the salt from his skin and bid him remain with her until morning.

"Until morning?" he asked, chuckling. "Whatever will you do with me until then?"

"I shall have to think of something, will I not?" She teased, wrapping herself fully around his body so he could not leave, even though he didn't seem tempted to move again.

"Indeed, you shall. For I do not think I could bear being parted from you if you even asked me, my dear wife."

"I would never ask you to leave," she whispered. "I have often wished you to remain in the past…"

"Why did you not say something, dearest?" He asked, his arms wrapping tightly around her body. "I would but move mountains to make you happy, and remaining with you in bed seems a much easier way to the same end."

"I know that now, Fitzwilliam, and I intend to make good use of my influence…" She giggled and kissed him once more.

"Use it for good, dear Elizabeth," he bid her, chuckling softly. "For any time we are alone in this way, you will have it. You will have me. To do with as you wish."

"I have many wishes, Fitzwilliam."

"I have many nights, Elizabeth."

"That is a happy thought, indeed."