HELLO! Sorry for the delay, but THANK YOU to all the recent follows and reviews where people were asking for MORE LCJ! :oD always lovely to hear! And I have good news for LCJ fans! First, I will try to post Chapter 35 within the next week or so, but *also* starting Sunday, Sept. 21, LCJ will be updated weekly, every Sunday, as an alternative to DA S5 for anyone who is seeking that...or just another bonus story to read ;oP but yes! Be on the lookout for weekly updates starting Sept. 21 and throughout all the weeks S5 airs in the UK!
Now, onto this chapter. It's short, but there's fluff and lots of heavily implied smut ;o) basically, it's Tom's recollection of the wedding night and the day after, all in his own words. I do hope you enjoy, and again, THANK YOU for your continued support and readership of this story!
Chapter Thirty-Four
June 9, 1919
The last time I wrote an entry in this, I was still a bachelor. An engaged bachelor, but none the less, still a bachelor.
So begins my first entry as a married man…
…And I honestly couldn't be happier.
…
…
God, what she does to me…
As she awoke yesterday morning before the sun rose, I awoke today. She's still sleeping, and I honestly don't have the heart to wake her. She looks so peaceful, and beautiful, of course. She's pulled the sheets up to her chin, though the chill in the room isn't as bad as yesterday morning. But…I look at her, and I just…I tremble. She's always had that power over me, but now…
I once said to her back before she had made her decision, in a moment of emotional frustration, "…It's just that when I look at you…not being sure if you're mine, I feel I may explode!"
I've realized that that feeling never really goes away. I still feel like I may explode…because the love I feel, I just…it's so strong, stronger than anything I ever could have imagined. It's completely consuming, and at times, frightening…but also strengthening as well.
And the most amazing part of it all is, is that…she loves me too. This amazing woman—so strong, so brave, so…wonderful…
She loves me as deeply as I love her.
Loves me and desires me, which is truly amazing, not to mention very humbling.
Oh Sybil…
Never in my wildest dreams…and there have been some that have been rather wild, perhaps too wild, hence why I burned the pages after writing them down…but…yesterday…and the night before…
…
I remember Mam was mending some fine lady's dress when I was child. My hand brushed the fabric, and it was softer than anything I had ever felt before. Mam told me it was called "silk".
Sybil's skin is softer than the finest silk.
God…I'm shivering at the memory, the way her body just…arched into mine, the way her skin brushed against him, and then pressed, and then molded against my body. The way her arms wove around me, how her thighs cradled me, the silken cocooned created by her legs as they enfolded my body, and sweet Jesus, the feel of her breasts, supple and full, just…flush against my chest…
…
She teased me yesterday about how quickly I seemed to "rally" when we're together. How on earth did I manage to walk anywhere in her presence? It's true; yesterday I seemed to have been in a constant state of arousal! And a part of me wonders if that will ever go away, if I'll ever be able to walk out of our flat normally.
…And a part of me hopes that's impossible to do.
…
I can't stop smiling…
I look at her, and…not only do I feel my heart quicken, but…it's impossible not to smile. God, she's beautiful. Even her snores, and yes, bless her, she does snore, but I don't care, I love it, I will gladly listen to her snore in my ear for the rest of my life if it means having the opportunity to share a bed with her.
And that's the thing, the most amazing thing, that after so many months and years of just…imagining…I know what it feels like to lay down, to rest my head on a pillow beside her, to hold her soft, naked form in my arms, and fall asleep with her heart beating next to mine.
…
It's impossible to write, because I can barely see. I can't stop smiling, and yet at the same time, my eyes can't stop tearing up…
…
…
Nor can my hands stop trembling, it seems.
…
She's so passionate!
I mean, it's to a surprise because of how passionate she is in her beliefs and opinions, but…again, not in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine how…
No, that's not true. I did dream about her passionate response, her kissing me back, taking my breath away, because she does take my breath away, she's done that ever since I saw her in that gorgeous frock, but to dream about it, and then to live it…
…
And no matter how vivid my dreams were, they will never be able to compare to the reality of…
…
…
…Of being inside her.
…
Oh God, I can't help groaning, and my sweet Sybil stirred, before rolling over and pressing her face into the pillow.
But it is true, just…the warmth, the softness, the…the wetness of her body—hot and tight…
…
…
I'll wake her if I keep groaning like that.
…Not that is an unpleasant thought. It's early yet, we still have a few hours before we need to leave to meet her sisters.
…
I can still feel her nails digging into my shoulders, scoring down my back…God, it was heavenly. And the way she moved, finding the rhythm, matching it, creating it and beckoning me to join and mimic...
And her taste; oh God help me, I couldn't get enough—can't get enough! Just…the memory of her thighs on either side of my head, her legs over my shoulders, and…her, just…open, sweet and pink and—GOD!
…
…
…
There's a part of me that's screaming at me to go back to bed, and then there's another part of me that's telling me to go straight to the tub and soak for an hour in cold water (though I'm not sure that will completely numb my desire for her—I don't think anything could).
Oh God, and now I can't stop thinking about what she did last night when I was in the tub. Her hand, soft and small, but by no means weak…
…
…
I'm starting to see why Lust is considered a deadly sin, not because I think my desire for Sybil is any way "sinful" (my greatest desire for her is her happiness), but…really, how on earth do people get anything done? How are we going to manage getting out of bed tomorrow, and going back to our jobs? Oh God, how are we going to manage meeting her sisters?
Perhaps for that reason in of itself, it's best to take a long, cold soak?
…
But truly, despite this overwhelming physical desire that I feel, the thing I long for the most, the thing I crave above all else is her happiness, and knowing that she is happy. That is both my greatest hope as well as my worst fear, that I disappoint her and make her…regret…marrying me. I promised to devote every waking minute to her happiness, and I meant it…just as I meant it when I told her that I would wait forever.
…
I've never felt anything like this before. It terrifies me; while at the same time…gives me such strength! I truly do feel I can do and be anything—that all those dreams I once had can be ambitions, like she believes. That's her power, that's her gift…
Tom put his pen down. He couldn't go on.
He looked over at his sleeping wife, and his heart swelled to the point he was sure it would burst.
He rose from his chair and quietly moved back to the bed, gently lifting the sheets and gathering the quilt which had fallen to the ground at some point in the middle of the night, and wrapped it around their bodies.
Sybil immediately snuggled into his side, her face burrowing against his chest, and in her sleepy haze he heard her murmur, "Tommmmmmm…"
Despite the lust that had been coursing through him but a few minutes ago, he wanted to do nothing more than just hold her, and feel her soft form nestle against his own. He wouldn't dream of waking her, not when she was smiling so sweetly. They had set the alarm, and they did have a few hours before they needed to rise.
He smiled down at her, and lowered his lips to brush against her temple as he gathered her even closer, his fingers slowly trailing up and down her back and across the arm that was curled against his chest.
His wife. Sybil Crawley, now Sybil Branson, was his wife, and she loved him.
He could spend hours if not days trying to describe what that felt like in his journal; he would barely begin to skim the surface.