The Wedding Night
Jean waited all evening for Lucien to lead her upstairs to the suite he'd reserved at the Colonists' Club. They had danced for hours. They had consumed champagne and wedding cake and a gorgeous dinner arranged by Cec Drury. They had received congratulations and well wishes from all their friends. They thought their faces would break from so much smiling.
But now that they were married and had experienced the most wonderful wedding imaginable, Jean was getting more and more anxious for married life. She and Lucien had restrained themselves—barely—for months, knowing that they would have freedom from any guilt or secret-keeping as soon as they had those gold bands on their fingers. And now they had them. Now they were finally lawfully married.
And she wanted him.
She wanted him so much it had often frightened her. This wasn't like when she was young, just out of school, giving herself to Christopher before they'd even contemplated marriage. That had been a symptom of youth, eager to do something reckless, just because it felt so good and exciting. No, with Lucien it was different. His touch and his kiss had become water to her in the desert of her lonely life. She couldn't keep her fingers from his face, her hands from resting on his chest, her lips from his mouth and neck and any part of him she could get to. Jean had never felt lust like this in all her life, the way she wanted and needed Lucien. Her husband. He was her husband. And she was finally allowed to have him.
At last, as the last few guests were starting to drunkenly say goodnight, Lucien placed his hand on the small of her back and whispered, "I think it's time for us to go up to our room, Mrs. Blake."
That was the first time he'd called her that. She'd heard it from a few others at the reception, and it made her beam with pride. But hearing Lucien use her new name caused a shiver to move through her. "Oh thank god," she replied quietly.
He chuckled, pressing a kiss to her cheek. Jean thought she'd melt into him right then and there.
They hurried upstairs to their room. Lucien's hands were shaking as he tried to unlock the door. Jean placed her hand on his arm to try and steady him. He smiled at her sheepishly.
Lucien opened the door for her and closed it behind them. Jean noticed that their bags had been placed neatly against the wall for them. She turned on the light beside the bed and looked back at her husband. He was staring at her with that look in his eyes that never failed to make her warm from the inside out. Besotted. Lovesick. Adoring. All the words she savored in description of the way he looked at her. It was still miraculous to her that he loved her and they were together and married and this was all real.
"I don't know if I told you how beautiful you look," he said. His voice cracked slightly.
She grinned. "Yes, you did. It was the first thing you said to me when I walked down the aisle."
"Well, you still look beautiful. I had no idea what sort of dress you'd wear, and this is more perfect than anything I'd imagined," he said, gesturing to her gown.
"You imagined what dress I'd wear?"
"Jean, I've dreamed of marrying you for years. Even when such a thing didn't feel possible, I would find myself thinking about our wedding. It was a dream that sustained me, my darling, when I was lost and alone," he confessed.
She crossed the room to him, cupping his cheek, running her fingernails through his beard. "Not a dream anymore. You're my husband now."
"A dream come true," he murmured before pulling her to him and kissing her deeply.
Jean held him against her putting her hand on the back of his neck. Her other hand moved to his chest, just above his beating heart. He held her tight, his large hands covering the expanse of her back. Whenever he did this, she felt the familiar stirring coil in the pit of her stomach, a beautiful ache between her legs.
He pulled away to look at her. His hands gently held her face, his thumbs caressing her cheeks. "Oh my darling Jean. We got married today," he said, still with a tone of disbelief.
She couldn't stop smiling. "I knew I would get you somehow. Lucien, I've wanted this for so long."
He swallowed hard. "I hope I don't disappoint."
"I don't see how you could."
Lucien opened his mouth to say something else, but couldn't seem to find words. He gazed at her, his eyes roving over every part of her. His happy expression turned to one of confusion and frustration.
Jean was suddenly very concerned. "What's wrong?"
"Oh, I just…I think perhaps you should take off your hat. I don't want to crush it or hurt you with the pins or anything," he said nervously.
With a slight chuckle, Jean took his hands in her and pressed soft kisses to his fingers. "Of course. Give me just a moment." She went to the vanity and bent down to look in the mirror and carefully remove the half-dozen pins keeping her hat and veil in place. She put it gently onto the vanity before putting her fingers in her hair and fluffing it a bit. "There, how's that?" she asked him.
He was staring at her with awe. Sometimes the deft efficiency with which Jean did such basic tasks struck him as pure magic. "Beautiful," he breathed.
Jean sighed, recognizing what was happening. Lucien, it seemed, had two versions of himself when they were together. Either he was eager and confident and teasing and naughty, kissing her deeply in the kitchen late at night and growling in her ear as his hands wandered dangerously up her skirt as they sat on the sofa, or else he was trembling and fumbling and stuttering and gawking, choking up as he recited their wedding vows and placing the wedding band on her finger with shaking hands. Jean had been unsure which one would be present on their wedding. Obviously it was the latter.
She needed to be patient. She wanted him to take the lead on this, their first time. Jean wanted him, certainly, but it had been so very long, and she knew she didn't know what she was doing. What did he like? What did he want? How could she please him? And how could he please her? She honestly had no idea, and she wanted them to discover it together.
"Perhaps you'd like to help me with these buttons?" she suggested, turning her back to him and looking at him over her shoulder.
Lucien's feet were like lead as he tried to walk to her. His fingers felt large and clumsy as he struggled with the dozens of tiny buttons on the back of her wedding dress. He could feel the heat of her skin through the thin fabric. His heart was pounding so loudly, surely she could hear it from where she was standing. When he finally was able to remove the article from her arms, he placed it gently on the vanity table with her hat.
She turned to look at him, the dress now looking much more revealing without the sheer overlay. Her arms and shoulders were bare. All that was left was a simple satin gown that was perfectly tailored to every curve of her body. Lucien's breathing became very shallow. "Jean, you're so beautiful." He couldn't seem to find another word to capture what he saw when he looked at her.
Jean looked down, smoothing the waistline and skirt of her dress. When she'd changed her mind in Melbourne about the burgundy dress, she'd felt a bit silly, insisting she wear a white wedding dress. But she wanted the perfect wedding with the perfect husband, and she wanted to see him gaze at her just like this on their wedding day. She wasn't disappointed in the least.
She couldn't wait anymore. She wanted him. She needed him. Jean threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, hard. Her lips seemed to operate on their own behalf, moving against his, sucking and nipping at him. His lips parted just slightly, and Jean's tongue found its way into his mouth.
Lucien was overwhelmed by her ardor. His fingers clutched at her waist, drumming against her ribcage, gripping the soft flesh of her hips beneath the voluminous skirt of her dress. He had to pull away to breathe, panting as he rested his forehead on hers.
"My darling wife," he breathed, his tone reverent as a prayer.
"There's a zipper on the back of the dress," she replied. Everything was too heavy on her; she needed to be freed from the confines of all her clothing.
His hands shook again, trying to find the zipper and jerk it down her back without hurting her or the dress.
Jean realized this was no good. He was all thumbs, and if he didn't catch his breath soon, he was likely to faint before the wedding night really even started. She placed her hands on his chest and gently said, "I'm going to be just a moment. Get comfortable, and I'll be right back."
She took her overnight bag, the one she'd packed just for their night at the Club, into the bathroom with her and closed the door, leaving Lucien alone to get ahold of himself.
He stared at the bathroom door for a moment, confused. What just happened? Where did she go? Why did she leave? Lucien sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. This was all wrong. He was ruining their wedding night. He was just so overcome with his love for her, this incredible woman who was now his wife, his Jean. She deserved to be adored and worshiped, and he wanted to bring her to the heights of pleasure, to show her exactly how much he loved her. He wanted so much to be everything for her the way she was everything for him. He just needed to calm down and focus and not get so caught up in the incredible gravity of this moment. Lucien sighed into his hands. Easier said than done.
In the bathroom, Jean carefully stepped out of her wedding dress, smiling as she hung it on a hanger. It took her a few minutes to get out of her petticoat and slip and girdle and garter belt and stockings and brassiere. There was quite the infrastructure beneath the dress that she hadn't wanted to interrupt Lucien as they moved on through the evening. He was having enough trouble as it was. Finding the zip on her foundation garments wouldn't have helped. Instead, she discreetly excused herself to change into the lace nightgown she'd chosen specifically for tonight. It wasn't the one she'd worn when Rose caught her trying to sneak to Lucien's bedroom a few months before—that one now held embarrassing memories. This new one was much racier than the first, to the point that Jean hadn't been able to make eye contact with the shopgirl when she'd purchased it. Hopefully Lucien would like it.
She opened the door and joined him in the bedroom. "Lucien, how are you feeling?" she asked apprehensively.
He looked up and his eyes went wide when he saw how she was dressed. His face spread into an excited smile. "Oh I'm doing very well, love," he assured her.
Jean noticed that he had removed his jacket and tie and undone two of the buttons on his shirt. "I just…" she sighed, trying to find the words to comfort him. "You know we have all the time in the world? That we don't have to…" She could see she wasn't getting anywhere.
Lucien stood up and came to put his hands on her arms, gently rubbing up and down, enjoying her very soft skin. "Jean, I only want everything to be perfect for you. I want so much to…to please you."
"You do please me, Lucien. I don't think there's anything you could do tonight that wouldn't please me. Even if it isn't perfect. It's ours, and we're together, and we're married, and that makes it perfect."
His heart expanded in his chest. "Oh I am glad I married you," he said with a grin.
She pressed a small kiss to his lips. "Then perhaps you should get a bit more comfortable and join me in bed," she whispered. Jean walked past him and pulled back the bedsheets, slipping beneath them. She watched her husband expectantly.
Lucien felt his nervous energy return. He unbuttoned his shirt, ripping it in parts. Jean's eyes went wide as the tiny white buttons rolled on the floor. Her first thought was that she needed to collect them all to sew back on later, but then the bulging muscles of his arms were bared to her in his singlet and he was fumbling on the buckle of his belt. All other thoughts vanished from her head. He let the trousers fall to the ground, but hadn't removed his shoes yet. He stumbled, catching his balance before falling on his face.
"Lucien!" she scolded, "You cannot make love to me if you break your neck. Please be careful, darling."
The term of endearment burned into his soul. She rarely called him anything other than his name, and hearing 'darling' slip from her lips made him simultaneously calm down and feel energized to join her. Stripped to his undergarments, Lucien crawled into bed with his wife for the first time, lying on his side to face her.
Immediately, her arms were around him, her lips on his. Her kiss was just as passionate before. Her foot brushed against his bare leg. "Make love to me," she murmured into his mouth.
He pulled away. "Jean," he said rather seriously.
She had to stop herself from groaning in annoyance. Didn't he realize that his nervousness was going terrify her? That she was already so afraid that she wouldn't be enough for him, with all his experience and open physical affection? That he would come to see her as just the cold prude that half the men in Ballarat had accused her of being in all those years since she had been widowed?
"Jeannie, I'm afraid I've made a right mess of things so far. And I don't want to. But it seems I have no idea what I'm doing."
She raised her brows in surprise. "You have done this before."
He laughed nervously. "Yes, of course. But never with you, my darling. And never with anyone I've loved and cared for as much as you. So I need you to help me."
"Oh?"
"Tell me what you like. What you want. How can I pleasure you, Jean?"
Her breath caught in her throat. The ease with which he made the request was full of care. But Jean didn't know how to answer. "I…don't know. It has been a long time, Lucien. And I don't quite know what I'm doing either," she admitted, looking at the bedsheets instead of at him, hoping the dim lighting didn't reveal the bright blush she was trying to suppress. "What…what do you like?" she asked him, hoping he could just do that and see where it got them. All Jean knew was that she'd needed Lucien to take the lead to save her from this deep, unending need for his touch, but he seemed to be facing a similar predicament.
Lucien ran his hand through her hair. "All I know is that I like you, very much. I want to kiss you." He brushed his lips against her mouth. "I want to touch you." His hand found its way under the sheets to her waist. "I want to hear the noises you make when I touch you." His hand drifted from her waist back around to her bum, and he began massaging her flesh through her silk nightgown.
Jean felt her pulse quicken and her body gravitate closer to him. "Mmm, yes, let's start with that."
Her voice was almost a moan, and Lucien immediately wanted more from her. He had no idea if she would be a vocal lover, but he certainly hoped he could make her one. He balled the fabric of her nightgown in his hand, pulling it up to her hips. He reached under the covers and felt the soft, sensitive skin on her thigh for the first time. She gasped slightly at the contact and he swallowed her breath, covering his mouth with hers.
Lucien pulled her flush against him and rolled them so she was lying on her back underneath him. His knees were on either side of her legs, supporting his body over her. Jean's hands were all over his arms and chest and back and neck, caressing every bit of him she could reach. When he moved his mouth to her neck, she grabbed hold of his singlet and pulled it up so she could touch his stomach and chest. Lucien sat up to remove the item and toss it away, needing to return his attention to the creamy skin on her throat.
Jean was panting and gasping at the feeling of his teeth grazing her neck, his lips sucking the skin raw, his tongue soothing every mark he was surely making. She gripped his shoulders, digging her nails into his muscles.
"I want to see you," he murmured, asking for the privilege rather than expecting the entitlement.
Her heart skipped a beat. He'd certainly been eager up till now, but did he really understand what it meant that she was a woman in her forties with two grown children? Nervously, she nodded and waited for him to climb off her so she could remove the nightgown.
Lucien helped pull it over her head. He pushed the bedcovers out of the way, knowing they'd just be in the way. He kneeled in front of her, his hands following the path of the hem of her nightgown, up her hips and waist. When her naked body was finally revealed to him, his eyes tried to drink in every inch of her. She was illuminated by the moonlight and the dim lamp beside the bed. "Beautiful," he whispered for what felt like the millionth time that day.
Jean tried not to watch him look at her. She was distracted by his bare chest. He was all muscle under tanned skin and coarse blond hairs. All she wanted to do was touch him. She reached out her hand but stopped herself, feeling like perhaps she was being too wanton.
"What do you want, Jean?" he asked, trying to encourage her. Having her naked in front of him seemed to take away his nerves. He was too aroused by the sight of his wife in bed with him to worry about pleasing her. He knew what he wanted to do, and he was confident she'd enjoy it. He desperately wanted her to feel the same way, to trust in him and to feel comfortable to try anything she wanted.
"I…want to touch you," she said in a small voice.
"Please do. I want to feel your touch," he replied with a gentle smile.
Jean reached out again and ran her fingers down the center of his chest. Lucien watched her hand and hummed in appreciation. Feeling emboldened, Jean sat up on her knees and put her hands on his shoulders, trailing them down his body again. She let her nails rake his pectoral muscles, lightly scratching his nipples. He hissed and groaned, feeling the sensation go straight to his groin. Before she reached the edge of his pants, Jean moved her hands back up. She took his face in her hands and leaned in for a searing kiss.
He wrapped her in his arms, reveling in the feel of her bare back under his hands. Even more enticing was the way her breasts pressed into his chest. He moaned into her mouth as she rubbed against him.
In a rather bold move, Lucien let his hand go down to her bare bottom, squeezing and kneading it, before slipping his fingers between her legs, searching for her hot center.
Jean pulled away from the kiss and gasped. Lucien was certain she would push him off her in revulsion. But she moaned, "Oh god, yes!"
He moved his hand back to her waist. "Do you want me to touch you?" he growled into her ear.
"Yes, please," she begged.
He gently laid her back down against the pillows on the bed. He settled himself between her open legs. She certainly seemed to know what she wanted now. Lucien was trembling again, but this time in excited anticipation. He watched her face carefully as he moved his hand down her stomach toward his goal. He began by gently stroking her with his thumb. Her hips bucked against him as she gasped. Lucien noticed she was already very wet. He put two fingers between her folds to coat them with her juices, stroking her gently while pressing his thumb to her nub. A loud, high-pitched moan escaped her lips. Lucien felt his member twitch with arousal. He wanted more. He inserted both fingers inside her, thrusting with a slow, steady pace. Jean's breathing was quick and filled with low groans and hums of appreciation. Hoping to get her to scream out, Lucien leaned forward to put his mouth on her breast.
The sensation of his beard scratching her chest was unlike anything Jean had ever experienced. The coarseness of the beard matched with the warm wetness of his lips and tongue, coupled with the thrusting of his fingers were sure to tip her over the edge. Her hands had been gripping at the bedsheets but now they tangled in his hair, pressing him to her, encouraging everything he was doing. "Oh, yes, Lucien, yes," she chanted over and over.
Lucien increased his speed and pressure as he moved his mouth from her left to her right breast. His fingers curled inside her, searching for the place that would bring her to climax.
Jean writhed and jerked and shuddered, her head thrown back as she screamed his name. The pressure he'd built inside her came crashing through, pulsating all over her body, radiating from her center.
Before she recovered from the aftershocks, Lucien removed his hands from her and scooted himself further down the bed. He licked and nipped at her inner thighs. Jean hadn't even caught her breath when his mouth closed between her legs. His nose nuzzled her, and his tongue lapped up every drop of wetness dripping from her. If Jean hadn't been brought from one orgasm to a second in a matter of moments, she might have protested what he was doing—his mouth shouldn't be there, should it?! But as her mouth went dry and her heart continued to beat out of her chest, Jean know that yes, his mouth most certainly should be right there.
He allowed her to rest and recover from her second climax, lazily kissing his way back up her body, licking the salt of her sweat from the valley between her breasts, sucking on the marks he'd already left on her neck, before kissing her deeply. Jean could taste herself on his tongue, and she groaned into his mouth, unbelievably turned on by everything he'd been doing.
"I need you," she moaned as his kisses moved to her cheeks.
"Tell me what you need," he commanded.
"I need you inside me." Her own command was clear and strong. And to prove her point, she reached down and shoved his pants down, clawing at his hips.
Lucien was more than happy to oblige. He had been throbbing in need of her for far too long now. He wasn't sure how long he'd be able to last, but he'd do his best for her. Somewhere in the back of his consciousness, the phrase 'third time's the charm' came to mind. But his mind went completely blank when he pushed into her, feeling her sheathe him in her warmth.
Jean readjusted her hips to accommodate his length and wrapped her legs around his hips to pull him in deeper. She moaned as he filled her. Sound seemed to escape her without her awareness as he moved within her. "Oh god, Lucien."
Hearing his name on her lips in that unrestrained, lustful moan was surely going to finish him off. He groaned in appreciation. "Is that good?" he asked, growling into her neck.
"Harder," she whispered, digging her nails into his back.
Lucien arched at the pleasurable pain and acquiesced, pounding into her. Her breath was coming in sharp yelps from each thrust of his hips. He was very close, but he wanted her to come with him if he could. He reached his hand between them to stroke her in time with his thrusts. Her hips raised to meet him and within seconds, he could feel her contracting around him. Being inside her as she climaxed sent him over and he spilled into her with a final few jerks of his hips.
With the last bit of his strength, Lucien rolled them over so she was laying on top of him. He slid out of her to allow them both some much-earned rest. He placed his hand on her back, as he tried to catch his breath.
Jean pressed her cheek into his chest as she gasped for air. She quite liked laying like this, the entire expanse of her body in contact with his. Their hot, sweaty skin seemed to melt together.
"I hope I found some things you liked, love," Lucien quipped, once he'd regained the power of speech.
She laughed lightly, her breath causing a chill on his chest. "For all our fumbling, I think we certainly rose to the occasion."
He grinned. "You're quite loud," he noted.
Jean pushed herself up slightly, resting her chin on her hands against his chest so she could look at him. "Isn't that what you wanted?"
"Oh yes. I feel quite proud, actually."
She smirked. "You should. I had rather high expectations, and you exceeded them."
"What expectations were these?" he asked curiously.
"Lucien, I've wanted you from the first moment I saw you."
He was shocked. "You did!?"
"If I were a different sort of woman, I'd have snuck into your room on your first night in the house wearing nothing under my dressing gown."
"Jean!"
She laughed. "As I said, if I were a different sort of woman, perhaps I'd have done that. But instead we had to wait years to be married, didn't we?"
He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I wouldn't have it any other way, my darling. Though I do like the idea of you coming to my bed wearing nothing under your dressing gown."
"Well, perhaps as a dutiful wife, I'll do that. Provided, of course, my husband make it worth my while."
"Oh I'll make it worth your while." Lucien reached down and squeezed her bum, causing her to squeal in delight. "And as a dutiful husband, I promise you'll never go to bed unsatisfied."
"I am very satisfied now. Three times, actually."
He grinned with pride. "I don't know how often I'll manage that, but I'll do my best."
"This was just the first time, and I know you're quite clever and very creative." She kissed him sweetly. "I have no doubt you'll figure something out." Jean climbed off him and got out of bed. "I need to clean up a bit. Would you mind fixing the bed?"
Lucien saw that the sheets and comforter had half come untucked and spilled onto the floor. "Ah. Of course." He rearranged everything as neatly as he could—the skills he'd learned in the army were rusty, but he could still make a bed quite well.
Jean came back from the bathroom wearing her dressing gown.
"Nothing under that, I hope," he teased, going past her into the bathroom.
"Not at the moment, but you've got to promise to keep me warm all night."
Lucien put his hands on her shoulders and leaned in for a soft kiss. "I will keep you warm for the rest of our lives."
Jean's lips curled into one of her half-smiles of satisfaction. "Hurry back to bed, love."
He quickly cleaned himself up and returned to her. Dr. and Mrs. Blake settled into bed. She turned out the lamp and nuzzled into his embrace.
"Goodnight, my husband," she whispered.
Lucien pressed one last kiss to her hair. "Goodnight, my darling wife."
They soon fell asleep, exhausted from the happiest day and the best night of their lives.