Treacherous

Her fingers danced over his sweat-slick skin, digging her nails into the taut, rippling muscles of his shoulders and arms. He was poised above her, his hot breath against her neck as he thrust into her over and over and over. She could feel him inside her, stretching and filling her with his hardness. Everything about him was hard and strong and hot. The pressure was building and coiling as he hit that spot just where she needed him. She writhed beneath him, canting her hips and increasing the friction she needed to put her over the edge. She felt his tongue dart out against her neck and she screamed out his name.

Jean Beazley sat bolt upright in bed. Her whole body was damp with sweat, and there was a throbbing ache between her legs. She buried her face in her hands, trying to catch her breath and calm the rapid pounding of her heart. She prayed that she hadn't actually screamed aloud in her sleep.

She swallowed hard and got out of bed. Her pyjamas stuck to her skin but she put her dressing gown on anyway. A glance in the vanity mirror showed her how flush she was. Despite this being the fifth dream like this she'd experienced in the last two weeks, Jean was unaccustomed to waking up this way.

Hoping to clear her mind, Jean went downstairs to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Anything to cool her down. From the inside out.

The house was dark and quiet. As it should be at nearly two in the morning. Mattie and Charlie seemingly hadn't been awoken by any noise Jean may have made in her restless sleep.

As she got a glass out of the cupboard and went to fill it from the sink, she cursed herself for what must have been the thousandth time. Why was she so consumed by him this way? Why could she not ignore the way he smiled at her, the way he gently touched her in moments of platonic affection or comfort? Why did she suffer from this longing for him? And why, after so many years alone and unconcerned with such physical things, was she suddenly unable to resist her sinful lust for the man in whose house she lived and worked?

"Jean?"

The sound of his voice caused her to jump. The glass slipped out of her hand and fell into the sink, causing it to break. "Oh dear," she lamented at her stupidity.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," he said, coming to help her clean up the broken glass.

She jerked away from him. "I've got it," Jean insisted sternly.

"Right. I'll just leave you to it, then." Lucien turned to leave, not wanting to anger his housekeeper any further with his unwanted presence.

"No, wait. Stay," Jean heard herself say. "Did I wake you up?" she asked quickly.

"No, I was up. In my study, working on this case. Did I wake you up?"

Jean was thankful she was turned away from him as she finished cleaning up the glass. Because in a way, he did wake her up. Though certainly not in the way he meant. "No," she said simply. Jean turned to face him, once she was sure she wasn't blushing. "Well since we're both awake, why don't you tell me what you're stuck on with this case, hmm?"

They sat down together at the kitchen table. Jean listened intently as he explained the issue he was trying to work out, focusing on the words he was saying and not on the way his full, gorgeous lips formed each syllable and how those lips might feel against hers.

The next morning, Jean got herself dressed in her smartest dress and went right to Sacred Heart. She smoothed the curls of her hair and the wrinkles of her skirt as she made her way into the confessional.

Jean pulled the curtain behind her, knelt down, and crossed herself. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," she murmured. "It has been ten days since my last confession."

"What are your sins, my child?" Father Emery asked in return, as he always did.

"I have been lustful. I have had impure thoughts," she admitted.

"Have you acted upon these thoughts?"

"No, Father, never," Jean insisted.

"Have you encouraged such thoughts? Have you willfully failed to turn your mind elsewhere?"

"They are…dreams. I can't seem to control them." Thankfully the priest couldn't see her. Jean was blushing bright red.

"Pray the rosary each night before you go to bed. The Lord will lead you from temptation if you commit yourself to Him."

Father Emery then absolved Jean of her sins, sending her on her way. She stepped from the confessional feeling renewed. She returned to the Blake house to carry on with her work for the day.

Jean did the vacuuming and laundry and tended to her garden. Lucien was out most of the day, thankfully leaving her alone with some peace and quiet. But when he returned just before dinnertime, disaster struck. Well, disaster in Jean's mind.

Lucien shouted from the surgery, "Jean, could you come give me a hand for a moment?"

She answered his call, wiping her hands on her apron as she made her way to him. "Yes, what can I do?"

"Come here," he beckoned. He was intently gazing at a test tube filled with something. "Take a look at this."

Jean stood beside him and leaned in to get a closer look. "What am I looking at?" she asked curiously.

"It's…"

When he trailed off, she turned to face him and immediately saw why he'd stopped speaking. He was staring at her. And not only that, his face was only about an inch from hers. His piercing, sparkling sapphire eyes bored into her very soul. Jean gasped, a sharp intake of the air he had just breathed out. Her gaze darted down to his lips and back to his eyes. Oh, those eyes.

The phone rang, startling them apart. "I'll get it," she said quickly, hurrying out of the room. She avoided him like the plague the rest of the night, cooking dinner, eating quickly, cleaning everything up, and rushing off to the safety of her bedroom.

Jean stayed awake reading as long as she could, hoping to exhaust herself past the point of dreaming, desperately trying to distract her mind. When her eyes felt drowsy, she changed into her pyjamas and knelt at the end of her bed, her rosary clutched in her hands. She murmured her prayers quietly, staring at the bedspread. All she saw in her mind's eye was Lucien's piercing blue haunting her.

She was on her knees to pray, but she had her eyes closed in concentration. But Jean became aware that she was moving back and forth. There was something in her hair, guiding her head. She opened her eyes and looked up, seeing Lucien's blue eyes watching her. He had a look on his face unlike any she'd ever seen. And he was completely naked. And so was she.

Jean was on her knees in front of him and instead of clutching the rosary, she was stroking his hardness, taking her in his mouth, sucking and licking him, eliciting the most delicious sounds from him.

She cried out, sitting bolt upright once again. This time, Jean knew she'd actually made noise upon waking up. The idea that she could have dreams, fantasies, about the most sinful, vulgar act…what was wrong with her!? Her waking mind would never even consider such distasteful things.

And yet, Jean knew her own body well enough to know that she had been aroused by what she'd done to Lucien in that dream. Tears streamed down her face. Her mind and her body were betraying her, and no amount of Hail Mary and Our Father prayers would free her from these torturous dreams. And Jean cried because she knew she didn't really want to be free. All she wanted was to make them come true, despite the certainty that such things could never be.