A/N: M-Rating
XLI
Lucien woke slowly. He became aware of light coming through the curtains. There was a weight on top of him as he lay on his back preventing him from rolling over. And there was a light touch on his face, tracing the line of his beard. Lucien indulged in the gentle feeling for a moment, feeling at once comforted and loved. And of course, he knew the only cause for such a feeling.
He smiled and blinked his eyes open. Jean's brilliant turquoise eyes shone as she looked down at him. Her hands were softly caressing his face. Lucien's smile grew. He caught one of her hands in his own so he could press a kiss to her fingertips, and with his other hand, he reached up to pull her face down to his.
The moment their lips met, he felt the sparkle of magic between them. His whole body grew warm and tingled with want. And, of course, it helped that she had perched herself on his lap. He'd not fully noticed, at first, that her bare thighs were resting on top of his. They'd fallen asleep naked in each other's arms and woke up just the same way.
After a few sensuous kisses, Jean pulled back. "Good morning," she whispered.
"Good morning," he replied. Her voice had been soft and gentle but his was gravelly from sleep.
Jean brushed back his hair and smiled. "I'm glad you're here. I like having you wake up with me."
"I'll wake up with you any morning you'll allow, Jean," he vowed. "Until my dying day."
"I think it's a bit early for dramatics," she chided lightly. But she smiled, letting him know she was teasing.
But Lucien meant it. It had been less than twenty-four hours earlier that he had renounced his vows as a priest. He'd been overwhelmed by it all, the prospect of being transferred away from Jean, the realization that their secret life had been nearly discovered, the terror of having everything good in his life be torn asunder. And so he'd thrown it all aside and run straight to Jean. There was no one else he wanted or needed in all the world but her. He realized, of course, that he would need to find a job and a new way to find something to keep his mind busy. He loved Jean more than anything, but it wasn't fair to either of them to expect her to be the sum total of his world.
Just for now, however, he wanted to focus solely on her. They'd recovered from the shock of their changed circumstances the day before and made the rather obvious decision to not go to Mass. Jean made dinner and Lucien helped her with the dishes, and they fell into bed making love well into the night. Hopefully Jean had the same idea for the morning, for that suited him just fine.
Jean knew they'd have to get out of bed and start the day and figure out their lives soon enough. But just for now, she did not want to think or worry. She only wanted to be with him. She only wanted to feel the strength of his body between her thighs and the scratch of his beard on her skin and the power of his love inside her. Perhaps it was delaying the inevitable downfall she knew would find them, but it would not and could not find them here in her bed. And so they would stay here a little longer.
She leaned in to kiss him deeply. His hands were roaming her body, up and down her bare back and massaging her breasts. Her own hand snuck between their bodies and stroked his hardening cock. She wrapped her delicate fingers around his length and gave it a light squeeze. He whimpered against her mouth, making her laugh. It was a heady thing, to feel power over a man as powerful as Lucien. He was so strong and so imposing so often. But Jean knew he was putty in her hands. Or, at this precise moment, he was marble in her hands.
When he was ready, she sat up, panting and smiling. Jean got up on her knees and lined him up with her entrance. And slowly she sank down upon him. The groan of deep pleasure that escaped Lucien's lips was a sound she treasured. She felt so good, so full, so glorious. Her hips gyrated as she found her pleasure on him. His hands had moved by now to the swell of her bum and he squeezed her flesh enough to make her bruise. But oh she did not care. Let his passion mark her body just as it had marked her very heart and soul.
Jean started to ride him, bracing herself on his muscled chest. He thrust up into her, matching each movement of her increasingly frenzied rhythm. They were both sweating and breathing hard and repeating each other's names in the holiest benediction imaginable.
And when she felt him sputter and spurt inside her with his completion, her own body clenched down on him in rolling waves of her own pleasure. Lucien had once told her that they were the most sacred and most profane thing in all of existence. Here and now, she felt it.
Lucien indulged in the passion and ease of the morning with Jean. After they collapsed sated in each other's arms, they dozed off for a little while to regain their strength. Then, they'd taken a bath together which had somehow eventually achieved its purpose of cleaning them both off. But by then, they were both starving. Jean made him breakfast in her own kitchen for the first time instead of in his.
That was an abrupt realization for him, as he helped her wash the breakfast dishes. It wasn't his kitchen anymore. It wasn't his house. The rectory was the residence for the priest. And Lucien was no longer the parish priest.
"Jean, I've got to go to the rectory later today," he said.
She nodded. "I figured we'd go pack up your things at some point. But perhaps you should go and speak to Bishop Lascelles again, now that you've calmed down. You'll need to know what all the Church expects of you during this process."
He frowned. That was not something he wanted to consider, that he might still owe something to the clergy that had been his prison. He felt so free and hopeful now that he'd left. Though that might also have been the effect of spending the morning in bed with Jean. Nevertheless, she was right. He'd need to speak with Bishop Lascelles. "I should go on my own. I would like your help in packing up my things, once I know how quickly everything will have to be out."
"Of course," she answered. "You just tell me when. It's not as though I've got a job anymore."
Lucien felt a little stunned at that. He'd not realized…he'd been Jean's employer. She made her livelihood from the wages he paid her from the parish budget. "Oh Jean, I'm so sorry…"
"Don't be," she insisted. A wry smile came over her face. "I can ease a bit of my guilt now, finally. The inheritance I received from your father will be more than enough for us to get by until we figure something out. After all, it's his money I used to buy this house. And now we can both live in it."
"You…want me to live here? With you?"
She gave him an odd look. "Lucien, where else would you go?"
He knew she was right. He had nowhere else to go. And he had left his position for her, to be with her. But he certainly did not like the idea that she would have to be the one to support him until he found a way to make a living to support them both. After all, the first thing he'd thought of when he'd hurled his resignation at Father Lascelles was that he was now free to marry Jean. And he would marry her. Just a soon as he could guarantee some security. Until then, he'd just have to swallow his pride and live in the house that his father's money had bought. That did ease the awkwardness a little. "You're sure you don't mind?" he asked, hoping he would not have to blatantly address the fact that they would be living out of wedlock for some time.
Jean leaned over to kiss him sweetly. "I want you right here with me each day. Besides, I've got a feeling that things will not be very easy for us quite soon. Best that we have each other to see us through."
Lucien smiled at that. "Quite right."
"And I spent months taking care of you physically when you were too drunk to stand. Now I can take care of you financially as well," she teased.
He laughed. "Jean, whatever would I do without you?"
She smirked and kissed him again. "You'll never need to find out."
Jean spent the afternoon doing the laundry, since she and Lucien had made an absolute mess of the sheets. She needed to get some towels and extra things for him, now that they'd be sharing the bathroom and every other part of her little house.
She smiled to herself. She'd meant what she'd told him, that she wanted him here with her. And it was nice to finally have him in her home. She loved him and she loved her house, and now she could have them both.
At just past four, when Lucien had been gone for well over an hour, Jean heard a voice out in the front yard. It made her pause and take a peek out the bedroom window.
"Father Blake!" little Joseph Collins called. "Why weren't you at catechism class? Is Mrs. Beazley sick again? Why are you dressed like that?"
Lucien was walking up the road toward Jean's house when Joseph saw him. "Mrs. Beazley is doing very well. I'm here to see her. We weren't at catechism because I'm not a priest anymore, which is why I'm dressed like this, and Mrs. Beazley doesn't work for the church anymore either."
Jean noticed that Lucien's explanation was straightforward and yet somewhat vague. Probably for the best. She also noticed that he had thankfully been able to change his clothes so he wasn't in the rumpled things he'd been wearing yesterday when he'd come to her.
"Father Blake, how come you're not a priest anymore?"
"There are things that are very important to me that I cannot do as a priest," he said. "And actually you can call me Lucien now, since I'm not Father Blake anymore."
"But I liked you as our priest," Joseph said sadly.
Lucien ruffled the boy's hair affectionately. "That's very sweet of you to say. And I liked getting to teach you. But I'm sure the new priest will be a good one."
But then, disaster struck. "Father Blake, is that you?"
Jean's heart sank. Mrs. Collins had come outside. Jean couldn't see her from this angle, but she could hear her neighbor's voice. Mrs. Collins had always been a wonderful neighbor and a friend to Jean. But she was very devout, and Jean did not know how she might receive this news.
"Mum, he's called Lucien now," Joseph corrected.
"What do you mean?"
Joseph explained, "He's not a priest anymore."
"What!?" Mrs. Collins gasped.
"It is true, I'm afraid," Lucien told her.
Mrs. Collins did not quite understand just yet. "What…what are you doing here?"
"I'm here to see Jean."
That made Mrs. Collins gasp again. "I thought… I thought Mrs. Williams was just jealous that you'd let Mrs. Beazley assist you when no one else was ever given the honor but…Mrs. Williams was right, wasn't she?"
Jean connected those dots very quickly. She'd never told Lucien about that confrontation she'd had with Mrs. Williams that day Lucien had taken her knickers and hid them in his desk, the occasion that led to all of this, in fact. But apparently Jean was not the only person the old woman had addressed these concerns with.
"I'm afraid I don't know what Mrs. Williams has said," Lucien said. His words were polite but his tone was terse and cold. Jean knew he had some inkling of what Mrs. Williams might have said.
"Joseph, go inside," Mrs. Collins snapped. And a moment later, presumably after her son was no longer in earshot, Jean heard her say, "You're a priest. You're not supposed to be taken in by some jezebel like that. With her tight skirts and her lusty, sinful flowers! How could you!"
"I can assure you, Mrs. Collins, that Jean Beazley is no jezebel, though such a term is highly offensive for any woman, and I'd hope you, as a woman yourself, might have a bit more kindness and understanding for another woman, particularly a neighbor and a friend."
"That whore is no friend of mine. Or anyone else's in this town," she hissed.
There was no sound for a moment. Jean looked out the window and could only see part of Lucien's back.
"What are you smiling about?" Mrs. Collins spat.
"I was just thinking about the interesting differences between men and women. There's no real male equivalent for the term 'whore' as you so ineloquently used it. If there were, I'm sure it would apply more to me than 'whore' does to Jean. And I must say you are quite fortunate for those differences between men and women, Mrs. Collins, for if you were a man and not a woman, I would have already beaten you to the ground for daring to say such a thing about Jean Beazley."
The next thing Jean knew, Lucien had stormed away from Mrs. Collins and entered the house, slamming the door angrily behind him. He looked up to see Jean standing right there.
"You heard all that?"
She nodded.
His shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry you had to."
Jean swallowed the lump in her throat. "It's just the beginning, Lucien. Surely you know that."
"I'd hoped…"
She cut him off. "You cannot be so naïve. Mrs. Collins and Mrs. Williams and everyone else in this town is going to think the exact same thing as soon as the news gets around."
Lucien's face was utterly heartbroken. Jean wished she could comfort him. She wished he could comfort her. But there was nothing for it. Not really.