A Wedding Dance
They were quiet on the drive home. Somewhat too quiet, perhaps. They'd had plenty of times together in comfortable silence. But their days of this awkward silence had been long gone until now.
Jean couldn't seem to stop fussing with her gloves. Lace gloves were a bit old fashioned, but, as Mattie had pointed out, they were a classic. And Jean did feel very elegant wearing them. She'd hardly ever had finery like this in all her life. Though now was as good a time as any to get used to it.
Lucien kept stealing glances at her as he drove. She seemed to refuse eye contact. She was nervous, he could tell, and he didn't like that. He didn't want her to be nervous. Not with him. Not now and not ever.
Every so casually, he reached his hand over to cover her fidgeting fingers. She looked up and smiled at him. He kept his eyes on the road and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.
When they did finally get home, Lucien made sure to open the car door for her. Jean thanked him with a slight mumble as she took his hand. But before she could take even one step toward the house, he scooped her up into his arms.
"What are you doing?!" she shrieked in surprise.
"I am carrying you over the threshold. And for the first time, may I say: welcome home, Mrs. Blake." Lucien was practically beaming as he said those words to his new wife.
Jean began to laugh. "Don't you think we're a bit old for this silliness?" she asked, clutching his neck for dear life.
"Never too old to act like newlyweds if we are newlyweds," he pointed out. "Besides, what happened to 'honor and obey?'"
"I believe our vows said 'love and honor,' actually," she corrected.
"Given the fact that we rarely obey each other, that's probably more fitting."
Jean just laughed again, kissing his cheek happily. She felt positively giddy now that they were finally married and could finally behave as they wanted. Though that was precisely why she'd been so nervous. Her laughter caught in her throat.
The quick change in her demeanor was not lost on Lucien. He was trying to distract her, help her feel safe and comfortable and loved. At least he knew enough to know that addressing the issue head on would only serve to embarrass her, making the whole thing worse.
With some slight difficulty, Lucien unlocked the front door and carried her inside. "There we are. Thank you for indulging me."
"Well, it wasn't quite as ridiculous as I'd thought," she conceded.
Lucien smirked. "Perhaps I'll have to carry you about more often," he replied, his mind positively spinning with possibilities.
Jean was visibly nervous again. She knew what was coming next. And she was excited and terrified of every single bit of it.
He frowned upon seeing that deer-in-the-headlights look on her face. "Right, why don't you change out of your lovely dress and put on something that we don't have to worry about, eh?" he suggested.
She raised an eyebrow. "Aren't we going to…" Jean couldn't say the words. It all felt so uncomfortable.
"You go put on something you're comfortable in. Then we can have a drink in the parlor. How does that sound?"
Jean nodded. She made her way up to her room, since her things hadn't been moved into the master bedroom quite yet. She wasn't entirely sure what Lucien was doing. Hadn't she been scolding him to restrain his lust? Hadn't he been the amorous one? Hadn't he wanted to bed her for months, perhaps years? Jean momentarily worried that perhaps he'd gone off her, but he hadn't actually had her yet. She almost wanted to just get it over with, if only so she wouldn't be as nervous for the next time. After all, they did only have the evening with the house to themselves. They would be leaving for Melbourne the next day so they could spend the week in a hotel as a small honeymoon trip. But they had agreed they wanted to spend tonight, their first night, in their house, just the two of them.
Lucien hoped she was calming down in these moments apart, but knowing Jean, she was probably trying to prepare herself and getting annoyed that he wasn't acting as she'd anticipated. But really, what did she expect? That he would ravage her the moment they went inside? Perhaps that's what she'd thought he'd do, but Lucien had no intention of letting their wedding night go that way. No awkward fumblings. No self-conscious fear. Only happiness and love.
She arrived back downstairs and entered the parlor with a deep breath to steel herself. "I wasn't sure what you wanted me to wear, so this is the best I could think of."
He turned to look at her and couldn't seem to prevent the dreamy expression that overtook his face. She'd put on a very simple outfit: black skirt, sky-blue blouse, and a beige sweater. Other than removing her hat, she hadn't changed the way her hair and makeup had looked at the wedding. "You look absolutely beautiful," he breathed.
Jean couldn't help but blush. "I see you haven't changed." She noticed he still had his dark suit on. Hadn't even taken off his jacket or loosened his tie.
"Uh, no, sorry. How about a drink?" he offered.
"Yes, please." They'd had champagne just after the ceremony with their friends, courtesy of Matthew Lawson, but Jean hoped that a sherry would calm her nerves. Or else Lucien would tell her what on earth he was playing at so she wouldn't be stuck in suspense like this.
Lucien poured a scotch for himself and a sherry for Jean. He also turned on the phonograph and quickly lit a candle on the table behind the sofa.
Jean pursed her lips, trying not to giggle at his frantic movements. "Lucien, what is all this?"
He took a quick swig of his scotch and handed her the glass of sherry. "Here you are," he offered.
She took a sip and watched him closely, suddenly more concerned about him than her own inhibitions. "Are you sure you're alright?"
"Yes. I'm happier than I've ever been in all my life." His tone conveyed his sincerity.
Jean just took another sip of sherry.
Lucien put his now-empty glass down at the bar cart. "Dance with me?" he requested, holding his hand out to her.
"You want to dance?" she asked dubiously.
"We didn't get to have a wedding dance, so we should have one now."
Jean took his hand and allowed him to lead her in a slow, swaying sort of dance. It felt so wonderful to be in his arms like this. His frame was so strong and reassuring, and his touch was so light and gentle. He had those healing hands with the mind of a detective and the stature of a soldier. Everything thing about him made her feel safe and secure, but nothing was ever so simple with Lucien Blake. He always did keep her guessing. Speaking of… "Lucien, I thought we would be going into the bedroom," she said quietly.
"Right now, I want to dance with my wife." He pulled her in a little closer and turned them in a lazy circle.
"Is anything the matter?"
He chuckled. "No, nothing is the matter. It just isn't time yet."
"Time? Are we waiting for something?" Jean was just getting more and more confused.
"Yes. Waiting for you."
She frowned. "For me?"
"Yes. We have all night, and we have the rest of our lives. And I want so much for you to enjoy yourself and not be nervous or afraid. I don't ever want you to be afraid with me, Jean," he told her reverently.
"It has been quite a long time…"
He just pulled her tight into his swaying embrace. "Shh, that's nothing to worry about."
"I don't want to disappoint you."
Lucien looked deep into her eyes. "Jean, you could never disappoint me. You're my wife. And I married you because I love you more than anything in this world, and I don't want to spend a single day of my life without you in it. And that is why I gave you my name and a diamond ring. And I feel those are such small tokens vastly outweighed by all you've given me."
Jean remained quiet. She wasn't sure how she could possibly convey to Lucien, the man holding her in his arms, her husband, what he meant to her. The word 'love' didn't seem to be enough. "I don't know what to say," she mumbled.
"You don't have to say anything. Just keep dancing," he told her reassuringly.
But Jean didn't want to dance. She was starting to feel the distinct heat of his embrace. And the smell of his cologne on his skin and the scotch on his breath were giving her that heady feeling she often got when he held her close.
Because the truth was that Jean had positively hated herself every single time she had to warn Lucien off. He sometimes would kiss her so deeply, she felt dizzy. His hands would touch her in places that made her feel like she was flying. And she never, ever wanted him to stop. But something would always pull her back to reality. Jean knew she had to protect him from himself more than anything else, so she'd had to put her own ardor aside in favor of propriety.
Now, however, they were married. They were married and they had the whole house to themselves all night. There was no propriety to manage anymore. No one to catch them doing things they shouldn't. No lodgers underfoot, no ringing phone, no knocks at the door.
Jean knew there were no words for how she felt. And finally, she didn't need to resort to words. She had other ways of telling him.
Pulling back slightly, Jean positioned herself to go in for a kiss. He seemed to anticipate her actions, because he met her immediately. They settled into the now-familiar rhythm of movement, lips and tongues taking turns caressing one another. The sweet sting of alcohol could still be tasted between them.
It took every ounce of control for Lucien to keep from taking her then and there. But that wasn't what he wanted to do. Not really. He knew he'd be furious with himself if he didn't take the time to savor every last inch of her. Yes, he'd have a lifetime to learn every part of her body, but now was not the time to rush. They both deserved better on their wedding night.
Jean couldn't seem to control herself. Now that she'd realized she didn't have to, she felt like some kind of unhinged animal. Her hands trembled as she pushed his jacket of his shoulders and tried to loosen his tie. She pawed at his waistcoat, unable to stop kissing him long enough to look at the buttons she couldn't seem to undo.
Lucien gave her a slight reprieve, moving his mouth to the exposed area of her neck, just beneath her left ear. Jean tilted her head to allow him better access, and a visceral moan escaped her lips. Lucien's hands tightened their grip of her waist as he desperately tried to remain calm.
Jean shrugged off her cardigan, leaving it ignored on the floor. Lucien's hands instead began to tug the fabric of her blouse out of where it was tightly tucked into her skirt.
All of a sudden, he stopped. He took a step away from her, trying to catch his breath. "Wait," he panted.
She blinked, bewildered. "Wait for what?"
"We shouldn't do this here, like this."
"Why not? There is no way of knowing the next time we'll have the house to ourselves like this."
He tilted his head at her curiously. "You're sure?"
Jean had to laugh. Or at least that was what the breathless puff of air she made sounded like. "Why are you so worried, Lucien?! I don't think any husband in the history of time has been so concerned about his wife's wellbeing on their wedding night. I'm not going to break! I have done this before!"
"Yes, I know that, I just…"
"What!?" She was started to get properly annoyed with him now. "What on earth could I have possibly done to make you think I don't want this just as much as you!?"
He paused. His prepared response fell straight out of his head. "You do?"
"Yes, of course," she replied. Her voice had gone quiet with the embarrassment of her confession.
"Well now I'm worried that I'm going to disappoint you," he admitted. "Have you…imagined us?"
Jean turned bright red. "Sometimes. Along with the occasional dream."
Lucien began to grin excitedly. "Dreams? Goodness, it seems I have a lot to live up to. Shall we go to the bedroom, Mrs. Blake?"
"No, let's stay here. This way I don't have any dreams to compare."
He gently pulled her back into his arms and recommenced kissing her neck. "I see. These dreams have taken place in my bedroom?" he asked in between nipping and licking and sucking on her sensitive skin.
"Your bedroom, my bedroom, your study, the sunroom…but never the parlor," she told him. It was hard to feel embarrassed about anything anymore. She moaned again as his teeth grazed her earlobe.
Feeling sufficiently bold now, Lucien's hands travelled down her back and followed the curve of her body, coming to rest on her bum. She allowed him to pull her flush against his body and she began grinding her hips against his. Now it was Lucien's turn to let out a moan. It was muffled into her shoulder. Jean smiled proudly and recaptured his lips into another searing kiss.
Eventually, they were able to get their hands in proper working order and all their clothing had fallen to the floor, unwanted. Jean stared at her new husband unabashedly. She'd thought she'd had a good idea of what he would look like underneath his suit. But she hadn't fully anticipated how much those layers of clothing had hid his form. It was as though his entire body were made of pure muscle. That strong frame she admired was solid, as though he were sculpted from marble. Bulging arms and shoulders and torso so perfect that the Greeks and Romans would have wept at this example of virile masculinity.
Jean put her arms around him, desperate to have his skin on hers. And that was when she felt the scars. She couldn't see, but it felt as though thick ropes of scar tissue covered his entire back. But she didn't want to think about that. Not now. As Lucien had said, they had an entire lifetime to learn everything.
Lucien did his best not to tense up as her fingertips found his scars. Perhaps he should have warned her. But all rational thought had flown from his mind. Jean's lithe curves were bared to him, and only for him. She was impossibly perfect. Everywhere his hands roamed on her body, she felt perfectly molded to fit his touch.
He reached on hand between her legs. She jumped, startled. Lucien very nearly abandoned the attempt, but instead looked into her eyes, smiling soothingly. "Trust me?" he whispered.
Jean nodded. Because if she couldn't trust her husband with her body, she couldn't trust anyone. And it wasn't just that this was her husband. This was Lucien. Who loved her and only wanted to give her all the best things in the world. Ever so slowly, Jean parted her legs and leaned into him.
Her breasts pressed and rubbed against the coarse hairs on his chest, causing her to shiver. And when his fingers found their way up her thighs, she forced herself to relax into his touch.
Gently, he used one finger and then two to get her ready for what was to come. And to prepare himself for how she might react. As her breathing changed, hitching slightly, he increased the pressure and movement. Her knees were getting weak as she trembled before him.
Jean knew she was moments away from falling limp in his arms, but she could do nothing about it. The tingling sensations morphed into a pressure growing in her belly. Her breaths came in gasps as her body began to spasm when he touched her there…yes right there. "Lucien," she moaned, barely able to make coherent sounds. The climax overtook her, and Jean lost all awareness of herself. Her eyes rolled back in their sockets and her head lolled off to the side.
Lucien removed his hand so he could hold her through the aftershocks, kissing her hair and cheeks and anywhere else he could reach.
Once she had seemed to regain control over her breath, he lowered them both down to the floor. Jean lay on her back, allowing the scratchy texture of the rug remind her that she was awake and alive and really experiencing this. She looked up at Lucien with an expression of pure adoration.
Now that she was truly relaxed, Lucien wanted to continue to take his time with her before they both fell into the oblivion of ecstasy. He ran his tongue along her neck, soothing the red blotches he'd caused with his love bites and the friction from his beard. His mouth followed his hands down from her clavicle to the valley between her breasts, kissing and caressing one and then the other in turn. Jean's heartrate began to speed up again. Everything he did was making her squirm under him. If he'd brought her to the heights of passion with just one hand, she couldn't imagine what he could do now.
On his journey down her body, Lucien reluctantly continued past her chest, trailing his fingers along her ribcage as he pressed wet open-mouthed kisses down her stomach. The skin there was tender with her age, but she was still impossibly tiny after having two grown children. The thought of seeing Jean pregnant briefly crossed his mind, but he couldn't possibly dwell on that now.
Jean gasped as his head dipped between her legs. She could feel his nose and his lips and his tongue and his beard, and every texture and touch was like an electric jolt. Before she even really knew what he was doing, he'd brought her to climax again. Her thighs tightened around his ears, clenching and shaking uncontrollably. He didn't stop. He kept licking and sucking until she screamed out his name.
And it was then that Lucien couldn't hold back anymore. He had to have her. He'd never felt this kind of pride and love and passion like this. He couldn't stop touching her. After unwrapping her legs from around his head, Lucien sat up on his knees, kissing his way back up her body, much more haphazardly than before. "Everything alright?" he whispered when he reached her ear.
She laughed breathlessly. Jean could not seem to form words. But she knew what was coming now and readjusted her hips so she was ready for him. He guided himself into her, slowly and deliberately. She moaned as she felt him fill her completely. He moved in and out of her with measured strokes at first. Jean locked her ankles behind his back, her heels digging into him, spurring him on. It didn't take long before he sped up, moving inside her in an erratic manner. He murmured her name over and over, like a sacred prayer.
"Yes," she whispered, "Let go, love." Their bodies were slick with sweat, and she could barely breathe.
Lucien felt himself explode with a few jerky movements, unable to hold off any longer. He collapsed onto her, breathing heavily into her bare shoulder.
Jean enjoyed the weight of him on her. She stroked his back soothingly, finally seeing the scars that made a textured pattern all over his body. She turned her head so she could press a small kiss to the top of his ear. "Thank you, Lucien," she murmured.
As he caught his breath, he started to laugh slightly. "Please don't thank me for that. Though I'm glad to see you enjoyed yourself." He groaned slightly as he extricated himself from her and rolled onto his back. Already the muscles were starting to stiffen from exhaustion.
She turned over with him so she could rest her cheek on his chest. "I don't know what I was expecting our wedding night to be like, but this was more than I even knew was possible."
"Better than the dreams then, eh?"
"Oh yes, much better. I had no idea what you were capable of," she quipped.
He chuckled, "And I had no idea how…responsive you'd be."
"Too brazen for you?" she asked with a raised brow.
"Certainly not. Merely a lovely surprise. And rather inspiring, I must say." He put his arm around her body, caressing the skin.
"No one has ever made me feel so safe and loved in all my life. And I know you only want to make me happy and to truly love me. That's why I married you, and that's why I was able to let go of everything I was worried about. So that's why I am thanking you," she explained.
"And you thought I just wanted to dance with you," he teased.
"If our dances are going to end like this, we'll have to put a phonograph in the bedroom."
"Oh, I do love you, Jean!" he exclaimed.
"And you haven't even seen the nightgown I bought for tonight!"
"Jean, I'm not as young as I used to be, so I think I'll need some time to recover before I see any sort of wedding night-themed attire," he warned.
She smirked. "Perhaps I'll pack it to wear in Melbourne, and that way you can spend all day tomorrow wondering what it looks like." She stood up and began gathering her clothes from where they'd been strewn about. She found the handkerchief from Lucien's jacket pocket and used it to clean herself up a bit, making a mental note to do at least a bit of washing and tidying up before they caught the train in the morning.
He groaned in anticipation, hiding the fact that he couldn't stand up without making that sound. "Off to bed with you now, woman, before you use my undying love for you to kill me with exhaustion.
"Yes," she agreed in a kind tone. "Off to bed for us both." She reached her hand out for him to take hold of after he turned off the phonograph and blew out the candle.
They didn't bother getting dressed at all before making their way to the bedroom. Jean caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. The first thing she noticed were all the love bites and whisker burn he'd left all over her. Luckily the travel suit she'd made for herself would cover up nearly everything. A bit of makeup would help with the rest. But more than that, Jean saw her face. The weeks leading up to their wedding had given her an excited sparkle that she still didn't quite recognize in her own eyes, but this look of bliss was something brand new.
Well, she reasoned to herself, it was a very good wedding dance.