The Only Wedding Picture Needed
At the end of the aisle, Luke took Lorelai's hand and pulled her insistently towards the back porch of the Dragonfly. Flinging the door open, he dragged her along, nearly running Christy over as she headed back outside to check on progress of the wedding. "Sorry!" called Lorelai behind her as they hurried away.
"Where can we be alone?" Luke growled, moving closer to the front door. If necessary, he'd put her in the truck and go far away from here. Whatever it took.
"My office," she choked, trying to keep up with him while navigating in her 3 inch heels and grabbing her dress to keep it from tangling between her legs and dragging them both to the floor.
He made a sharp right before the reception desk and headed into her office, slamming and locking the door after them.
"Luke," she started, but he stopped her with a decimating kiss, pushing her up against the door, his arms braced against the door frame while his lips attacked her mouth again and again.
He crushed his body against hers while his hands moved to her neck, his fingers slithering into the hair on the back of her neck, diving ever deeper into her curls.
His tongue dove into her mouth, demanding a response from her, which she gave as if a flare had been shot off at the center of her being. She grabbed his ass, pulling him closer, squeezing his cheeks, urging him on.
Faintly remembering her role as bride, she whispered, "Photographer," before she succumbed to his kisses and the urgency of his body again. "Pictures," she squeaked out.
"I don't care about any virginal wedding pictures to hang on a damn wall somewhere," he rasped. "When I'm 90 years old, lying in a nursing home, remembering what it was like to love Lorelai Gilmore, I don't want a posed picture with perfect lipstick and sparkly hair." He stopped, breathing like he'd run a marathon, and looked at her, passion and lust burning in his eyes.
"I want this picture – my Lorelai, looking as if she'd been kissed to within an inch of her life. Her eyes dark with desire, looking at me the way you're looking now, eyes half-closed, your hands reaching for me, wanting me, loving me, husband and wife, permanently, forever."
Every fiber of her being wanted this man right now, right here. "More," she said, bracing her arms against the door, waiting for what would come next. Turning her head to the right, she bared her throat for him, silently imploring him for more.
Strewing fiery kisses along her neck, Luke slid his arms behind her back and moved her to the sofa. She lay down, her head pillowed on the upholstered armrest, her back cushioned by accent pillows. She grabbed him by the lapels and pulled him to her, mussing his hair as she pulled him to her, biting and tugging on his lip until he moaned with desire.
"God, I'm so glad I didn't wear a veil," Lorelai said, knowing it would have been shredded by now. She pulled him closer to her, whispering, "Husband, I want you. Now."
He pressed hard against her, looking for access to her body. Her bodice imprisoned her breasts; he searched in vain for a quick access. He growled in frustration.
"Luke, one request," she panted, "Don't tear the dress."
He laughed throatily and planted kisses over her nipples, feeling the response through the layers of fabric, hearing her moan with pleasure. He grimaced as he realized he could get no closer, would not be able to elicit those mind-numbing moans and see the arch of her back as he sucked her nipples until she begged for relief.
Moving downward, he found he could breach the fortress on her lower body by brushing aside the chiffon panels, leaving only the underskirt, which he lifted up to her hips. The chiffon panels, which had floated about her legs as she walked down the aisle toward him, were now just gossamer barriers to the prize he sought. Finally moved aside, he found white satin tap pants, heavily embellished with soft lace. He ran his hands down from her hips to her mound as she clenched her butt and jerked up towards Luke's hands.
"Lorelai, those letters you sent. Each one made me burn for you. I loved the connection to you, but the waiting was devastating. All I could think of was the moment when I could have you again, make love to my wife."
He pressed his lips to her panties, the lace spilling down onto her thighs. Wet and ready. So delicious, so hot. Lorelai moaned as he pulled the panties down and off her legs, watching the lace slide over the pointy heels of the shoes she hadn't removed.
His need for her was so strong that it hurt. He pressed his mouth to her folds again, tantalizing her clit with his tongue, followed by multiple thrusts of his tongue into her.
"Luke, now, now, I need you in me now. Hurry, I can't wait." Lorelai squeezed her knees closer, trying to move things along even faster.
Swirling his tongue once more against her clit, he sat up, took one of the sofa's accent pillows and slid it under her hips, raising her entrance to an angle better suited to his knees as they were positioned between her legs. He stripped his jacket off and tossed it aside wildly. He dropped his pants and his boxers, entering her with one swift thrust, both of them groaning at the same time as they connected completely.
He paused, giving her time to adjust to his throbbing cock. She exhaled haltingly, enjoying the feeling of fullness. She watched him watch her adjust, reaching his thumb down to her clit, circling it gently until it became every bit as hard as his own shaft. Her mouth formed a circle as she panted softly.
Slowly he pulled out, almost to the tip, then slid back in, fast at first, then slowing to make sure he made contact with her uppermost wall. Hitting just the right spot at the right angle within a few strokes, she began her climb to the top. As he sped up, he released all self-control and thrust madly into her. She tumbled over the edge, taking him with her as they strained to stay as quiet as possible. He jerked forward as he spilled into her, his eyes closing as he released all the tension of the day.
Spent but still connected to her, his cock still twitching inside her, he reached for her left hand, bringing it to his mouth and kissing first her palm, then the ring he'd placed there only minutes before. "My wife, my Lorelai." His face, damp from the exertion, showed a triumphant expression similar to Lorelai's during her march down the aisle.
She reached over her head to the end table next to the sofa, feeling around for a box of tissues. She pulled a few out to wipe her brow and neck, handing the box to Luke. He carefully cleaned the area as they separated, taking care not to dampen the dress or his pants. Kissing the inside of each knee, he ran his hands down her stocking-clad thighs before standing and helping his wife to her feet. The pillow he slid under the desk for her to retrieve some other time.
They stood together a moment, kissing, as their heartbeats drifted back to normal. Luke rolled her leather desk chair around to the side of the desk and seated himself, pulling her onto his lap. He nuzzled her shoulder, enjoying the feel of the fabric over her soft skin, then smiled to himself.
"I understand weddings now," he said, holding her waist as she smoothed the wrinkles out of her dress. She raised her eyebrows as she got up long enough to go to her desk drawer and pull out a small toiletries kit and a bottle of water, then returned to his lap. She opened the bottle and handed it to him. He drank deeply, finishing the half-liter rapidly.
"You understand weddings?" Lorelai smiled, combing his hair back in place. Humoring him, she added, "Tell me about weddings."
"It's a fertility rite, bent on preserving the species. The family imprisons the groom and tortures him for a day or more under the pretext that his bride 'must be made ready' for him, as if in modern times, she hasn't already 'been ready' for him over and over again before the wedding. Then, once he's reached the breaking point, they're allowed to be together again. His need for release is so strong the family is practically assured of procreation."
Continuing, he added, "There are ceremonies of separation, like the bachelor party, where he is taunted with images of other women, who he will never experience again in his life."
"Then comes the wedding day. The groom is locked away, told not to look, not to touch. His precious bride is bathed, decorated, primped, all to make a beautiful image that lasts one moment."
"She's decorated with precious jewels," he continued, fingering her bracelet. He looked at her tiara. "A crown is placed on her head. Her skin is bathed in scented oils," kissing her wrist and smelling her lingering perfume. "Her eyes are darkened with black markings, enhancing her desirability." He touched his thumb to the corner of her eye.
"Finally, the groom is led to the altar, where he spends a small eternity watching for his bride, while those gathered take their measure of him. He pines for her in the public square."
"Finally she appears, unworldly, beautiful, and untouchable. She's so far away I can't reach her." His rant slipped from the generic to the personal, betraying his longing, what he suffered while waiting for her today.
"Lorelai," he said, abandoning his rant, "I can't believe how hard it was to be away from you for just seven hours." He buried his face in her hair. "I'm completely lost without you. We're going to go broke, because I don't want to go to the diner while you are someplace else. I'll have to give it up and become a bellman at the Dragonfly, just to be near you 24/7."
"We'll be fine," she reassured him, caressing the sensitive skin behind his ears, sending shivers down his spine. "You'll get your diner mojo back. We'll have some ridiculous argument and you'll need to go to the diner so you don't kill me. Of course, I'll follow you there, because of the coffee and my hot, hot husband. Don't tell him I'm following you around, OK?"
She re-tied his tie and smoothed his shirt as she tucked it back into his pants. He closed the zipper, buttoned and belted his pants himself. She led him over to the full-length antique mirror in the corner and he made the final adjustments. She held his coat for him, smoothing it over his shoulders as he buttoned it.
"Beautiful," she said, kissing him on the back of his neck, before turning to her own hair and makeup. A few minutes was all it took to get her back into a photographer-ready state. She looked a little different, a little disheveled, but was still very much a fresh happy bride.
"Aw, your dress is wrinkled," Luke said, "Won't that spoil the pictures?"
"Not since the invention of Photoshop. The photographer can eliminate tiny flaws like these. Our pictures will make Emily proud. And you, my friend, will have the memory of what happened just before the photos were taken."
His eyes crinkled as he made a mental picture of the past quarter hour. "No, now you do have to wait," she cautioned as he reached for her again. "My hair can't handle another round."
"How long have we been gone?" he asked.
"Long enough to do what we needed to do, but not so long that people will talk."
"Do Christy and Michel know?" She nodded and he looked embarrassed, bumping his forehead against her arm.
"Don't worry, they'll be tactful. Wedding organizers and photographers are used to these 'delays' after the ceremony, if you know what I mean. We see this pretty often with our weddings here. You and I are by no means the first."
She turned him so they could see themselves in the mirror. "The perfect couple." He reached for her again, but she silently pushed him toward the door.
With the practiced poise of an experienced wedding planner, Christy stood watch at the back door of the inn, discreetly encouraging guests to stay out on the lawn. The photographer chatted with her about upcoming gigs as he smoked a cigarette a little further away on the porch.
Turning her head slightly, Christy saw Luke and Lorelai leaving the office. She nodded to the photographer, who went inside with her to meet them.
"The pictures of the bride and groom only will be taken on the front porch and the main rooms off the lobby," she instructed. "We can move to the back porch when we're making the group photos."
Neither Luke nor Lorelai were particularly interested in prolonging this part of the wedding, so Christy kept the number of shots to a minimum. Since the bride's shots before the wedding were extensive, they were able to limit the number of group photos as well.
"I think my favorite shot is of you with Jess and Jackson. Such tall, handsome men," Lorelai said as they headed down the steps to the reception area. "Let's go party!"