Touch
All morning, it seemed, Lucien couldn't keep his hands to himself. Not five minutes had gone by that he wasn't touching Jean in some way or other. He couldn't help it. This was the first morning they had woken up in each other's arms as husband and wife. Their wedding night had been everything they had been they had imagined and more, and now Lucien was struck with the awe that she was really here, and she was really his wife, and he was really, finally her husband.
Jean had long known his tactile nature. The way some people are generous with words or actions, Lucien Blake had always been generous with his touch. Even before they had really fallen in love, he was constantly putting his hand on her shoulder or arm in an encouraging or comforting way. At first, it had made her slightly uncomfortable, worrying about his intentions and the propriety of it all. But she quickly understood that he meant no harm or anything too inappropriate. He was lonely, even if he wouldn't admit it, and he felt broken. Jean came to see that he didn't know how to be close to a person in any other way, but he could reach out and touch her and know that she was real. And as time went on, each brush of his hand on her back r gentle squeeze of her arm became like a drug to her. Each was an injection of his affection for her, making her addicted to the feel of him, desperate for another dose of his touch. It was comforting and loving, and very soon, arousing.
After their wedding, Jean was pleased that he still felt the need to be close to her, the need to touch her. A small part of her had worried that his passions and affections would fade. It had been that way with Christopher, after a time, but that marriage had been so very different than this. She felt silly for ever doubting hat Lucien would still desire her. He loved her so very much, and they had yet to find an end to their passions for each other. Something told Jean that they never would.
They had woken up the day after their wedding and shared a few kisses. Lucien's morning arousal pressed into her thigh, reminding her of their glorious lovemaking the night before. But they didn't have time before their train. She had suggested they get ready for the day. She needed to take a bath. He offered to join her. She happily accepted.
Breakfast was a rushed affair, as they had wasted far too much time in the bath. It was well worth only getting to have a bit of toast and tea.
Lucien stood beside her as she fixed their small meal. His fingers traced lazy patterns on her back. They ate at the table, but he kept one hand rested on her knee.
Jean loved every second of it. Perhaps, she thought to herself, she may one day stop smiling like a lovesick fool whenever she felt his hand on her. But that day was a long way off, if it ever did come.
They took a cab to the train station. Lucien kept his arm around her shoulders for the whole ride. Jean felt safe and secure and so beautifully loved.
When they boarded the train to Melbourne for their short honeymoon trip, Lucien held her arm o she could keep her balance, and placed a gentle hand on the small of her back as they made their way to their private compartment.
Lucien knew it was an extravagance to get a private compartment for such a short trip. But he didn't care. He wanted as much time alone with his new wife as they could get. He wanted to spend every moment being solely in her presence, drinking in the beauty and splendor that was Jean Blake.
He smiled uncontrollably. Jean Blake. That was her name.
"Lucien, is this all for us?" she asked, surprised that they had a private compartment. She'd never had a private compartment on a train before.
"Just for us," he confirmed. He put their hand luggage on the racks above their seats and closed the door. There were curtains, but he would wait until the conductor collected their tickets before he closed those.
Jean sat in the seat closest to the window, looking out at the Ballarat station, excited to get going.
"You needn't feel relegated to one seat, love. Spread out a bit. Put your feet up," he suggested.
She balked at the idea of putting shoes on seats. But he was right, they may as well make good use of all the space. She slipped her stockinged feet out of her shoes and stretched her legs out across the other seats beside her. She leaned against the window to get comfortable.
Lucien immediately came to sit beside her, holding up her ankles and depositing them on his lap. She tried not to grin too widely as his hands wandered up and down her calves. He noticed her reaction and felt as though a warm blanket had been draped over him. He could touch his wife all he pleased, and it pleased her as well.
When the conductor arrived to check their tickets, Jean scrambled back into her shoes, sitting properly. Lucien laughed, amused at her fear of being caught doing something she thought she shouldn't.
As soon as they were alone again, Lucien closed the curtains on all the windows, preventing Jean from watching the scenery of Victoria go by.
"I think we can make good use of this privacy, don't you?" he asked suggestively.
Her eyes went wide. "Lucien, there are people walking around outside the door. And right on the other side of the walls!"
With a smirk, he crawled across the seats to cover her body with his. His hands found purchase on her waist beneath the jacket she wore. "I'll swallow every sound you make," he whispered, almost growling.
A shudder moved through her entire body. Jean did not hesitate to pull his face to her, claiming his lips with her own. They devoured each other hungrily, moaning passionately and no longer caring who overheard.
Jean knew she would be embarrassed when they finally did leave the compartment and caught the eye of anyone else, but her husband couldn't stop touching her. And she couldn't stop touching him. And she never would.
She pulled her face away from him, gasping for breath. He moved his lips to her neck, sucking hard just below her jaw. "Oh, Lucien," she moaned, her voice breathy. Her hands clutched wildly at his hair.
His heart was pounding. He kissed and licked up and down everywhere he could reach. If they were home, he'd have ripped the posh traveling suit off her body by now, desperate to expose more of her to him. "Jean, my Jean," he murmured over and over into her skin.
"I need you," she whispered. Her head rolled back. She was too weak with desire and arousal to do much of anything.
"What do you need? Tell me," he requested.
"Touch me."
Her words sent a jolt right to his groin. With an excited grin, he traveled from her neck down her chest, his mouth on her blouse, nipping at her breasts through the fabric. The strangely removed sensations coupled with the slight dampness of his tongue soaking through her clothes was driving her wild. She pulled his head against her, desperate for more contact.
Lucien kept his face at her chest, but his hand found its way up her skirt. Knowing he couldn't strip her down forced him to be creative. He began stroking her through her underthings.
Jean gasped at the contact. "Oh yes," she groaned in appreciation. Her legs were limp, opened wide for him.
He continued to stroke her into a frenzy, kissing her again and sucking on her tongue as she forced it into his mouth.
"Lucien, I need you inside me."
The fact that he didn't drop dead in that moment was a credit to his fortitude and overwhelming desire for her. He sat beside her and with shocking strength, picked her up to settle her on his lap. Her skirt bunched up around her waist as she rocked her hips, creating friction against him. He was already hard for her. Lucien freed himself from his trousers and pushed her wet undergarments out of the way so she could slide onto him. He groaned into her shoulder.
Jean moved on him, humming in his ear. He squeezed her bum as he guided her movements. Her tongue darted out to trace the shell and lobe of his ear. She felt him thrust against the exact place that would bring her to the heights of pleasure and bit down in appreciation. She released his earlobe from her teeth and sucked on it soothingly.
"God, Jean!" he moaned.
She silenced him with a searing kiss. Their movements became faster, harder, deeper. Jean took his lower lip between her teeth, licking and sucking it before biting down, nearly to the point of drawing blood. The shock of the pain caused Lucien to buck against her, increasing their pleasure. Her tongue and teeth were all over his beard, his cheeks, his neck as she let out screams of ecstasy, her climax overtaking her.
Lucien emptied himself into her and wrapped his arms tightly around her body. She was hot and trembling. He pressed his lips into the hollow of her throat as they both tried to catch their breath. Their coupling had been quick and messy and wild and absolutely incredible. As he started to regain consciousness, Lucien chuckled.
"What's so funny?"
"You bit me!"
"Should I not?" she asked, her tone challenging him to pretend he hadn't enjoyed it.
"You should do to me whatever you like, love. I just wasn't expecting it. It is highly erotic to know my wife is a biter."
She smirked proudly. "Well, my husband can't seem to stop touching me."
"I know, I'm sorry, I can't help it," he admitted apologetically.
"Don't ever stop, darling," she replied. Jean smiled and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips.
"I don't plan on it."
They quickly cleaned themselves up using Lucien's handkerchief. Their private compartment now had the distinct smell of sex. They opened the curtains and saw that they were approaching the Melbourne station. Lucien held her hand. He still needed to touch her. Jean smiled, reaching over to gently stroke his ear. It was red and slightly swollen from her passionate bite. As they waited for the train to stop, Jean eyed her husband up and down, thinking about where else she could nip at him next time and imagining all the ways he could touch her during their honeymoon.