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“You don’t understand. It’s just a story,” she protested, gobsmacked as he unbuttoned her jacket.

“You’re Beth and I’m W.D. What’s so hard to understand?” He breathed in heavily, then kissed her hard.

When he thrust his tongue into her mouth, she surrendered. Drawing back, she admitted having been attracted to him for a long time, despite his demeaning words about her appearance and his constant criticism of her work. Then she kissed him back passionately.

When they came up for air, he explained quickly, “I’ve always found you very handsome, handsome enough to tempt me. My initial comment to Charles was just a ruse, to cover up my over-enthusiasm for your alluring body. I was hypercritical of your work because I was frustrated every time I came near you.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re interested in me?”

“I’ve been having steamy dreams about you for nearly six months now.”

“And I have written over 400 pages of erotica about you!” she confessed, and blushed crimson.

“I don’t like your story one bit.”

“What?”

“My hands were tied in your story. I prefer this.” Darcy used his strong hands to tear open her shirt, sending buttons everywhere. “What? No leather-laced corset today?”

She licked her lips and shook her head. “But I can wear one next time, if you ask nicely.”

He flipped open her front-clipped bra, and her lush breasts sprung free, as if begging for his attention.

He squeezed one, and the nipple puckered, tall and hard. He lowered his lips to kiss it. Then he licked and suckled it, as his other hand plucked the twin peak.

Her body felt weak. She used her hands to support herself on the desk as her head lolled backward.

Suddenly, his hands abandoned her breasts and parted her legs.

“Don’t wear a pencil skirt in future!” he demanded huskily.

“What do you know about women’s skirts?” she panted.

“A-line skirts are my preference.” He pushed her tight, narrow skirt up to her waist and pulling her towards the edge of the desk. “Hmm, no garter belt. And why the underpants?”

“I might be persuaded to leave them at home if you ask nicely,” she said, provoked.

He grinned, showing his lovely dimples. “But you don’t like me being nice.” He tore off her underpants roughly and then unzipped his trousers.

She looked at his arousal with wide eyes. “You really are huge.”

He laughed heartily, then spread her legs wider. As he lowered his head to kiss her mouth, he plunged into her hot sex with one mighty thrust.

Her arms weakened as she savoured the force of his burning shaft. She slowly reclined on the desk. His mouth didn’t follow her. He used his palm to fondle her pert breasts, pushing, stroking, brushing and stimulating the creamy globes. His hips thrust in and out, forward and backward. His mouth gave out the sexiest moans and cries of ecstasy as his hard shaft created sparks inside of her.

His pounding didn’t stop until she finally succumbed to the hot waves of arousal inside her body and screamed out as she reached climax.

It took her a few minutes to return to earth. She could feel his arousal, still big and hard, deep inside her.

“You didn’t come?” she whispered.

He wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead and said, “I wanted to please you.”

She didn’t know what more he could do to please her. She had just experienced the most amazing, most mind-blowing orgasm her body could create.

But she was about to be proven wrong.

Darcy withdrew from her, picked her up and lowered her carefully onto the floor. Then he flipped her over, so that she knelt on all fours. With skilful hands, he worshipped the gorgeous twin globes of her behind, then reached beneath her to tantalise her breasts, rousing her from her satiation.

As her breath became shallower and her body tingled with anticipation, he pounded into her from behind. One hand slid from her breast to her satin belly, and then to her swollen apex. Using his fingers to rub her bud in front, he pushed into her from the back at frantic pace.

She was once again encountering an out-of-body experience. His strong, muscular body was touching her in places and ways that she had not been touched before. Their hot, sweaty bodies rubbed together. Her moans were echoed by his.

Her inner muscles were stretched and smarted, near their limit. Her thighs were forced wide by his. Elizabeth was nearing her peak, but this time she was determined to bring him with her. She squeezed him tightly, every time he plunged into her to the hilt.

Finally she couldn’t hold out any longer. Her soul flew off to the sky as her body shuddered in ecstasy – and felt him come violently, as well. His whole body was fitted tightly into hers as he shivered and trembled, spurting his seed into her body again and again with explosive force.

The feeling was beyond words. Her erotic hero on paper was nothing compared to Mr. Darcy in real life. He was like a sex god, existing purely for Elizabeth’s satisfaction.

What happened after that day? Elizabeth still wore a tight pencil skirt, serviceable bra and plain underpants to the office. And he tore several of them nearly to shreds during their late-evening office interludes, which lasted for nearly a month. Luckily, Darcy foresaw such events and stocked plenty of pretty replacements for her in his private closet.

She abandoned the 400 pages of erotica and concentrated on her real-life sex god for the rest of her life, achieving four children and countless mutual orgasms about which she could boast with him, in delicious privacy.

About The Author

Enid Wilson loves sexy romance. Her writing career began with a daily newspaper, writing educational advice for students. She then branched out into writing marketing materials and advertising copy.

Enid’s novels, In Quest of Theta Magic, Bargain with the Devil and Really Angelic, received several top reviews. Bargain with the Devil has been ranked in the top 50 best-selling historical romances on Amazon USA, while Really Angelic in the top 30 best-selling Regency romances on Amazon Canada.

Enid loves to hear from her readers. You can contact her at enid.wilson28@yahoo.com.au or www.steamydarcy.com

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 Samhain, a festival in Celtic cultures, has some elements of a festival of the dead.