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It hadn’t been this way with Christopher, but something inside of Jean has since shifted, and she’s no longer an innocent farm girl. Now, she’s a woman, and if she’s wanton, if desiring her husband makes her lustful, makes her a sinner, well, she’ll gladly accept the label.

A steady thrum of desire beats out a tune beneath her skin, in time with the way Lucien’s stubble prickles at her shoulder, even as he captures a patch of skin between his teeth, low enough to be hidden by her collar later, and she lets out a moan, throaty and breathless all at once. His palms burn a path up her thighs, the tips of his fingers tracing out the faint lines of her stretch marks and her hips twitch as he finds what he’d been seeking.

Once, she might’ve been embarrassed by her stretch marks, but now, after he’d paid them so much attention through the months abroad, and here in their bed, after he’d kissed every one of them, traced them with his lips, like a path on a map, she can’t help but to moan out an approving yes, Lucien.

His fingers are gentle and warm and wet with her and another pulse of desire threads through her as he lets out a growl against her neck, and Jean lets out a needy gasp, even as his fingers seek out her entrance, not for the first time tonight, slipping through her slick folds with a precision that has her wound so tightly she might burst right then.

Later, Jean might be embarrassed at the way her cries echo off of the ceilings of their studio, but for now, her mouth falls open and the sweetest song fills the air. Between the way Lucien’s sweet mouth traces out the lines of her collarbones and his deft fingers playing her just so, it’s a wonder she can breathe, but then, then her fingers knot in the bedsheets, sweat-soaked and wrinkled, and her lungs seize and itsalltoomuch and she begs, begs.

Lucien lets out a pleased grunt, and she feels him hard against her thigh, and she wonders then if it’d been her arousal, or perhaps her cries, that stirred him so quickly again. Lucien brushes his thumb against her clit just right, and a shout, sudden and short, fills the air. Jean feels him twitch against her, and perhaps she’ll use that to her advantage later, but for now, she needs him. He hisses when she scrambles to grab his shoulders, her painted nails biting into his skin. She traces out the sinew and muscle of his shoulders, broad and inviting and capable of so much, but here, now, his entire self is dedicated to loving her, and the thought alone is nearly enough to bring tears to her eyes.

“Please, Lucien. Please,” she sighs out, and it’s broken and messy, and it doesn’t sound right to her ears, more rambling noises than anything, but he seems to understand, because then, in an instant, blue eyes are finding hers and his hands, still moist with her desire, are clasping around her wrists. In a breath, his cock is inside of her, his length warm and her core wanting.

Jean wants to press a hand to her mouth, wants to bite her palm against the pleasure that demands a tithe in the form of a breathless shout in the warm air. She can’t, not with Lucien above her, his own soft hands gentle around her wrists. He’d let go, she knows, if she had half a mind to ask, but even as she opens her mouth, even as her hips meet his in a frantic rhythm, one that they’ve perfected in the months since their vows, a long, hoarse moan escapes instead.

As she shuts her eyes, breathless against the torrent of arousal that threatens to tip her over the edge, she thinks she might remember the last image for the rest of her life– Lucien, above her, wild-eyed, soft curls pliant with sweat, blue eyes sparkling, even as he watches her every expression, the swirls of gold-leaf above their heads like stars, and warm sheets at her back.

Lucien lets out a huff, and he quivers, and Jean feels his hands trembling with the effort of staying upright, and then, his fingers are searching out her clit, and it’s all she can do not to whine with pleasure, even as he finally draws out her desire with a flick of his thumb and a final thrust that seeks to finish her.

Lucien! Jean’s body coils, as though a spring is wound to the brink of snapping, and then, and then, oh, there! Jean’s thighs shake with the exertion, her muscles in her calves suddenly tremoring and dangerously close to seizing, and her core clenches, launching her into a long, blissful moment of blessed release.

Her skin buzzes with the aftermath of her orgasm, and a heady thrill overtakes her as Lucien empties into her soon after, his body taut.

“You’re loud, Jeannie,” Lucien mumbles into her neck, where he’s slumped on top of her, and Jean laughs. Later, she’ll blush at the thought of how her shouts must have echoed through their home, but for now, she laughs loudly in the quiet, and traces his temple with her lips.