Wrapped in Lucas’s arms on the dance floor, I inhaled deeply and held the fragrant air inside my lungs. I wanted everything about this moment committed to memory—the light, lovely sweetness carried on the breeze from the lavender fields; the clusters of tiny diamond stars against the darkening sky; the soft glow of votive candles on each table top and lining the gravel paths surrounding the villa; the jubilant fizz of champagne on my tongue. In my ears, the hum of conversation mixed with the lazy rhythm of the vintage jazz ballad being played by musicians on the patio. Earlier, Lucas had been coaxed into joining them for a couple songs, one of which was La Vie En Rose, which had special meaning for us.
Despite the heat of the evening, my arms and back had tingled with goose bumps while he played, and every time he looked up from the strings and made eye contact with me, my stomach fluttered madly.
It did so again now as he pulled me in closer, close enough for me to feel the slight scruff on his jaw against my cheek. Exhaling, I closed my eyes and shivered. Could this be real?
“Cold, love?” Lucas squeezed me tighter.
“No. Just happy.” I opened my eyes just in time to see Coco and Nick abandon their seats at a table near the dance floor and slip into the moonlit shadows of the olive grove. Envy wrenched my insides. “But I’ll be even happier when we can escape this crowd.”
He laughed. “You, who obsessed and panicked and planned this wedding to within an inch of its life, want to leave early? What if something strays from the itinerary? What if someone goes off script?”
“Very funny.” I slapped at his shoulder. “But I do kind of want to leave. Not because it isn’t exactly what I wanted, but because I want to be alone with you. I really missed you last night. I know, I know,” I went on quickly, grinning at him sheepishly before he could tease me. “It was me who insisted we sleep apart the night before our wedding. And I had a wonderful night giggling and reminiscing and staying up way too late with Coco and Erin. But I still missed you.”
Lucas kissed my nose and then my lips. “I missed you, too.” He smiled, a mischievous spark in his dark eyes. “Mia Fournier.”
Giddiness ballooned in me so quickly I rose up on tiptoe. “I love the sound of that.” Our lips met again, a soft, lingering kiss, intoxicating in its sweetness. But deep inside me, something stirred and tightened.
I’d had enough sweet.
And judging from the erection swelling against my hip, he felt the same.
“Lucas,” I whispered, rubbing my lips back and forth over his. “Do you think we could—“
“Let’s go.” Without waiting for the rest of my question, without even a word to any of our guests, he took my hand and led me across the back of the house and inside the kitchen door. As we moved through it, Lucas lifted a hand in greeting to the caterers and tossed off something in French that made them laugh and nod knowingly. Blushing, I attempted to smile too, but I had a feeling Lucas had not bothered to hide our motive for escaping the crowd and sneaking in the back door. My heart raced in anticipation, and I gleefully recalled the barely-there French lingerie I had on beneath my wedding dress.
Ducking through an archway at the far end of the large, busy room, Lucas opened a door and gently pushed me into a narrow service stairwell. He unbuttoned his coat, making my core muscles clench, before pulling the door shut behind him.
In the sudden blackness, every sound was amplified—the bang of my heart against my ribs, the heavy breaths escaping my lips, the slow, dull thud of Lucas’s heels against the stone floor as he came toward me.
“What did you say to them?” I whispered as he backed me toward the stairs, hands stealing to my waist. When my heel hit the first step, he lifted me up on it and then dropped down in front of me.
“I told them,” he began, his accent edging beneath his words, the way it always did when he was turned on, “that I wanted a few minutes alone with the bride.” He slipped his hands beneath the frothy hem of my dress and as he stood, he slid them up the sides of my legs from ankle to thigh, lifting the heavy layers of tulle and silk in his arms. He pressed his lips between my breasts, in the deep V of my gown’s neckline. “But I told them not to tell her husband.”
A silly laugh escaped me as Lucas’s breath tickled my chest. My nipples tingled and tightened, and I arched my back slightly. “Don’t worry. It’ll be our secret.”
“Good.” His voice was low and raw. “Because I can’t keep my hands off you one minute longer.” He slipped one hand between my thighs, which were sticky with heat and desire. “I’ve been watching you all night, dying to touch you here.” He slid the side of his index finger back and forth along the tiny swath of lace between my legs. My mouth fell open, and I pressed the palms of my hands against the cool stone walls on either side of me. “Wider, princess,” he whispered, nudging my inner thighs apart with the back of his hand.
I did what he said, stepping out with one high-heeled sandal, moaning lightly as his thumb grazed my clit through the lace. “That’s it. I like hearing you, but not too loud. We don’t want to get caught in here, Mrs. Fournier. What would your guests think?” His fingers worked the lace aside and slid inside me, slow and smooth. “What would they say to a woman just married who let herself be handled this way by a stranger?”
“I don’t know,” I whimpered in response, my knees trembling as much as my voice. The game turned me on as much as the intimate touch. Lucas was so good at this—at surprising me just when I thought sex with him couldn’t get any hotter.
He crooked his finger, making a come-hither motion, and leaned in to whisper in my ear. “What would they think if they could see you like this, your pussy wet and dripping on my hand? If they knew how hard you made me? If they could hear you sighing, see your body begging to be fucked right here on the stairs in your wedding dress?”
“Yes. Please.” I licked my lips, relishing the way his words had tension coiling inside me like a rope. “I want you to. I won’t tell.”
“You want me to what, Mrs. Fournier?” He plunged his fingers deep, then drew them out to rub the silky liquid desire over my clit. “Tell me exactly what you want me to do.”
“I want you to fuck me,” I whispered breathlessly, rocking my hips over his hand. “Right here on the stairs. In my wedding dress.”
“You’d like that?”
“Yes.” I took one hand off the wall and reached between his legs, running my palm up and down his solid erection through his trousers. My lips brushed his ear. “I want you inside me.”
His body swayed forward at my touch, and I undid the button and zipper on his pants. Wrapping my fingers around his hot, hard cock, I pumped my hand up and down only a few times before he groaned with impatient pleasure. “Hold your dress.” I took the bottom of the gown in my arms and he dropped down, pulling my lace panties to my ankles. When he stood, I kicked them off one foot. “That’s it. Now spread your legs.” Reaching beneath my dress, he positioned himself at my center and slowly pushed inside. Then he hooked his hands around the backs of my thighs, hitching my legs around his waist as I clutched his shoulders, my dress trapped between us.
“Yes,” I whispered as he moved my body up and down his cock, my fingers digging into the thick fabric of his suit coat. Back at home, I’d watched him lay out the suit on our bed for packing, and I’d been unable to resist brushing my palm across the dark blue summer-weight wool, my insides jumping when I realized the next time I touched it, I’d be his wife.
The thought of it sent a fresh wave of desire coursing through me. My eyes had adjusted to the dark just enough to make out his features, and I held his gaze as he buried himself deep within me, his breath warm on my lips. When he let me glide all the way down, I moaned at the luscious fullness, at the way our bodies fit together so exquisitely. He turned, bracing my upper back against the wall.
“Fuck,” he murmured, slowly pulling out and sliding in again. “Your husband is a lucky man.”
I laughed, low and sultry, savoring the little zing I felt every time the base of his cock reached my clit. “Right now I feel pretty lucky myself.”
He squeezed my ass in his hands, his fingers kneading my flesh as he held me tight to his body, grinding against me. “He better be good to you.”
“He is,” I whimpered, the hum at my center growing hotter and stronger. My blood rushed in molten streams through my veins, and my skin prickled with heat. “Oh God, he is…so good to me…”
“Does he fuck you like this? Does he make you come? Tell me.” Lucas demanded in a hot, gravelly whisper, his cock driving deep with quick, steady strokes. “Tell me.”
“Yes,” I cried, forgetting to be quiet, as the buzzing heat between my legs had my stomach and leg muscles clenching tight. “Fuck yes, he does. He makes me come so hard…oh God, Lucas, don’t stop, don’t stop…” My words fell off as the blackness of the stairwell exploded with the light of a thousand stars, so bright I slammed my eyes shut against its brilliance. My head knocked back against the hard stone. “Yes, yes, yes!”
Through the pulsing wetness, Lucas thrust harder and faster, his breath escaping his lungs in ragged bursts between clenched teeth. Finally, his body stiffened and stilled, the only movement between us the surging throb of his climax deep inside me. I gripped him hard with my legs, holding him tight to my body. Forever, I thought blissfully, deliriously. He was mine and I was his and this feeling was ours forever. It was the most unbelievable euphoria I’d ever experienced, enough to bring tears to my eyes.
When the spasms ceased, Lucas tipped his forehead to mine, breathing hard. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” I slid one hand inside his coat and beneath my palm, I felt the thunder of his heart and smiled. I hope we always do this to each other.
“And I take back every negative thing I ever said about getting married. Because this married life thing is fucking amazing.”
I laughed. “We’ve only been married for a couple hours, Lucas.”
“I don’t care.” He pressed his lips to mine. “Do we have to go back to our wedding?”
“Yes. But,” I continued when he groaned, “I’d say after another hour or so, we can probably make our final exit.”
“Another hour or so until I can get you out of this dress?” He shook his head. “Sorry. I won’t make it.”
I laughed again, giving him a squeeze with my core muscles that made him moan. “You’ll make it. And then we’ll lock ourselves in for the rest of the night. Promise.”
He grunted in response.
“Come on, you’re French. You’re supposed to have more patience than me.”
“I’m only half-French. I’m also half-impatient-American, and right now that half is winning.”
“It will be worth the wait,” I whispered. “I bought something special to wear.”
“Oh, Jesus. Is that supposed to help me right now?” Sighing heavily, he picked up his head. “But I suppose I can try.” He brushed his lips across my cheek. “And you’re always worth the wait, love. In anything and nothing.”
My heart swelled as Lucas set me back on my feet, gently helping me adjust my dress before doing up his pants. “You probably need a bathroom, huh?”
Warmth was trickling down the inside of my leg. “Um, yes. Can I sneak upstairs?”
“Of course. But,” he went on, bending down and scooping up my little lace panties from the floor. “I’m keeping these in my pocket. And if you try to make me stay longer than an hour, I’m going to pull them out and sniff them in front of everyone.”
I gasped. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.” He opened the door and light slanted into the stairwell, making me squint as I watched him shove my underwear in his inside coat pocket. Giving me that knowing half-grin that set my heart beating faster two years ago, he said, “Come on, now, Madame Fournier. Clock’s ticking.”
I was Madame Fournier.
How crazy was that?
In the bathroom off the bedroom we thought of as “ours” at the villa, I cleaned up and freshened my makeup, frowning slightly at the rumpled mass of brown waves spilling over one shoulder, which had been knotted so artfully this morning. Guess we shook a few pins loose. I smiled at my flushed reflection.
A small price to pay.
I touched up my lip gloss and removed a few flecks of mascara that had fallen under my eyes before turning out the light. In the bedroom, I went to the dresser and opened the top drawer, searching for another pair of panties to put on. The gorgeous Yvett bra, panties, and garter set I’d splurged on from Agent Provocateur tempted me from their hiding place—nude silk overlaid with black lace and fishnet, tiny pink flowers embroidered on the lace, little black bows at the top of each strap. The back of the panties was nothing but French fishnet…a little more modest than a thong but just as sexy. Black silk stockings with a seam up the back and sky high heels would complete the ensemble—the perfect blend of naughty and sweet, which I knew Lucas loved. The moment I saw it, I knew I had to have it for our wedding night.
Our wedding night!
Stomach jumping, I ran my fingers over the silk and lace, tucking one side of my lower lip between my teeth. How much longer before we could really be alone?
Music from the reception below drifted in through the window screen, and a loud burst of male laughter had me wandering over to look out.
“Oh no. No, no, no.” Among Lucas’s brothers and their group of friends, it was apparently tradition to throw the groom in the pool, and I watched in horror as Lucas was borne on the shoulders of his two older half-brothers and ceremoniously heaved into the aquamarine water on the count of trois.
“That beautiful suit,” I moaned as Lucas sputtered to the surface, laughing and tossing his hair from his eyes. “And the shoes—the shoes!” Lucas had been wearing a gorgeous pair of brown leather Italian-made dress shoes. Had they bothered to pull them off before throwing him in the water?
Not that Lucas appeared to care. In fact, he looked downright delighted as he climbed out of the pool and grabbed his brother Gilles by the elbow. More shouting and laughter followed as Lucas dragged Gilles to the edge and struggled for a moment but finally succeeded in shoving him in. He went in himself a second time, but not before I noticed that he was, thankfully, sans shoes.
“Boys,” I muttered, shaking my head at the two of them now engaged in a water fight. But Lucas looked so happy I had to smile. A couple years ago I’d looked out this same window and figured my crush on him could never amount to anything beyond a vacation fling—now here I was, his wife, wearing a ring and a wedding gown…sans panties.
I smiled. Maybe I’d keep it that way.
“I thought French men were supposed to be more sophisticated than this.” I handed Lucas a towel as he shrugged out of his dripping jacket.
“They are.” Gilles hauled himself over the edge of the pool and slapped Lucas on the shoulder. “But he’s half American. And he started this tradition at my wedding, so he deserved it.”
I handed Gilles a towel as well, shaking my head ruefully. “I supposed he did.”
Lucas grinned as he wiped his face off and shook the water from his hair like a puppy. I couldn’t help smiling at how adorable he was, even when his hair was hanging in his face. Especially when his hair was hanging in his face. As I watched him try to dry himself off, I recalled the night we first met, the way I’d wrinkled my nose at his floppy hair and unshaven face. But even then, I’d liked the invitation of his smile, the warmth of his eyes.
And the shape of his butt. I’d liked that too.
In fact, I like it right now. His wet clothes clung to his trim, toned body. “At least you took your shoes off.”
“I didn’t, but Jean-Paul yanked them off before they threw me in.”
“Thank God for Jean-Paul. But your poor suit,” I moaned.
“Yeah, not sure this thing will survive.” Lucas held up the dripping jacket, and my eye caught the glint of his wedding ring. Without thinking, I reached up and brushed my thumb across the smooth platinum band.
My throat tightened unexpectedly, my vision blurring with tears. How ridiculous—I hadn’t even cried at the ceremony, and now I got weepy?
“Hey.” Lucas dropped his arm and put the other one around me, pulling me close and pressing his lips to my forehead. “You OK? You’re not mad, are you? Groom Thrown in Pool probably wasn’t on the wedding list.”
I sniffled. “No, silly. I’m not mad. I just saw your ring and it hit me how happy I am. The ceremony was over so quickly, I didn’t even have time to take it in—I mean really take it in that we are married. Married.”
“We are.” His voice cracked, and he squeezed me even tighter. “And I’ve never been happier.”
“Me either.” Laughing, I pulled away from his damp body. “But if you want to hug me, maybe go change your clothes first.”
He studied me for a moment, and I could see the fire in his eyes rekindling. “I’ll go change, but when I get back down, we’re saying goodnight. Fuck an hour.”
Damn. I hadn’t even told him I wasn’t wearing underwear. “Really?”
“Yes. I’m done sharing you, wife.”
Grinning, I wondered how long it would be before my stomach stopped flipping every time he called me that. “Sounds good to me. I’ll wait here.”
I mingled a little, chatting with guests and dancing with friends, until I saw Lucas walking across the gravel toward me, every step coiling my desire a little tighter. He wore a loose-fitting white shirt, untucked and unbuttoned a third of the way down, beige linen pants, and an expression that said Say Goodnight Now, Princess, The Wedding Is Over. When he reached me, he gripped my hand and whispered in my ear, “Time’s up.”
I smiled. “Let me just say goodnight to my parents and Coco and Erin.”
We made one goodbye round, accepting hugs and kisses and well wishes from friends and family, and suffering a lot of bad jokes and wiggling eyebrows from Lucas’s brothers, Erin, Coco, and Nick. After thanking Henri and Jean-Paul once more for offering their beautiful villa for the wedding, we escaped the crowd and slipped into the house hand in hand. When we reached the base of the large center staircase, Lucas tugged my arm.
“Give me a second.” He kissed my cheek. “I want to grab a few things from the kitchen and I know once we’re in our room, I’m not going to want to leave for the rest of the night.” Leaning closer, he said, “Nor will I let you out of my sight.”
I giggled. “What are you going to do, chain me up?”
His eyes glittered, his fingers tightening around my forearm. “Don’t tempt me.”
Dear God. For a moment I entertained a fantasy of Lucas cuffing me to the headboard in my wedding gown, although silk was more his style than metal. But the idea had its appeal. I watched him disappear into the dining room, my hands curling into fists. I couldn’t wait to get him naked—my husband. My husband.
How did I ever think of spending my life with anyone else? Sometimes it still amazed me at how close I came to missing the chance to be with Lucas entirely. What if I hadn’t gotten on that plane? What if I hadn’t wandered into his bar that night? What if he hadn’t been covering someone else’s shift? It was incredible how much in life was open to chance, the blind luck of blundering fools—that’s why having a plan was always a good idea in my book.
As Lucas came back around the corner and smiled at me, I made a plan for tonight.
- Go up to our room
- Torture husband with lingerie
- Have sex
Yeah, that was pretty much it.
Sometimes simple is good.
“Ready?” He carried a bottle of champagne and two glasses, but offered me his arm to climb the stairs. “I asked them to put an ice bucket in our room earlier. But if it isn’t there, I’m not going to worry about it.”
“Me either.” Slipping one hand inside his elbow, I held up my gown with the other as we ascended. “I don’t care about anything right now but being alone with you.” I tilted my head to his shoulder for a second. “Feels like it’s been so long.”
“It has. Too long.” We reached the top of the stairs and moved down the hall toward our room. “But we’re going to make up for that.”
I liked his plan too.
Lucas opened the door to our room and stood back to let me enter first. Right away I noticed the candles—they hadn’t been there earlier, but now there were dozens of ivory candles of various widths and heights along every flat surface in the room. I gasped at the way the entire room glimmered with soft, warm light. “Oh my God, it’s so beautiful,” I whispered, turning around to take it all in.
Lucas shut the door behind us and set the glasses on the dresser. “I’m glad you like it.”
“I love it. Thank you.” I peeked into the bathroom and saw that candles even lined the sink and tub. Mmm, I had some nice memories of being in that tub with Lucas. Some loud memories—my voice really carried off those tiles. “Honey,” I said, glancing at the window behind me. It was still open. “Think we should shut the window now?”
A grin stretched his lips as he unwrapped the foil from the top of the champagne bottle and untwisted the wire. “So we don’t disturb the peace?”
My cheeks warmed. “Ahem. I’m not exactly quiet, you know.”
“I thank God for that every day.” Then he aimed the cork across the room, worked it up till it released with a loud pop, and shouted, “Oh my God, I love Paris!”
I groaned, recalling how embarrassed I was that I’d actually yelled that out during sex the first night Lucas and I were together. “Jeez, are you ever going to let me live that down?”
His shoulders shook with laughter as he poured. “Never.”
I had to smile too as I went to the window, cranked it shut, and pulled the curtains across. “I really do love Paris, you know. Can we still spend a few days there before we go home?”
“We can do anything you want.” He handed me a glass of golden bubbly. “You want Paris? I’ll give you Paris. You want to go to the beach in Turkey? I’ll give you the beach in Turkey. You want to ride a camel in Morocco? I’ll give you a camel in Morocco.”
I grinned. “I want it all, eventually. But I’m so exhausted from all the wedding planning stuff, I don’t really want to take a big trip right now. Paris with you sounds like heaven to me.”
“Then Paris it is.”
“And let’s do all the things we did the week we met.”
“You mean have sex constantly? Works for me.”
“No! I mean, yes, sure, but I was talking about visiting places like Père Lachaise and the Musée Rodin. You can be my tour guide again,” I said happily, “and I’ll think dirty thoughts about you.”
“I had plenty of dirty thoughts about you, too, believe me.”
“And that’s why we’re so good together.” I clinked my glass to his. “Cheers, husband.” We drank, the fizz tickling my tongue and throat.
“Husband.” Lucas shook his head. “I can’t get used to it.”
“Me either,” I admitted. “But I love saying it.” Our eyes met and desire simmered between us. My dress felt heavy and hot. “Think we’ll be too warm in here with that window shut?” The villa didn’t have central air.
Lucas shrugged, setting his glass down and reaching for me. “If we are, we’ll open it again. I don’t give a fuck who hears us.” He kissed me, his hands winding around my waist, his tongue searching for mine, cool and tingly from the champagne. As the kiss grew hotter and deeper, desire for him flared at my center and need pulsed between my legs.
“Want to help me out of this dress?” I whispered. Setting my glass on the dresser beside his, I turned away from him so he could unfasten the closures at my lower back. He worked the hooks and eyes free and slipped the filmy straps from my shoulders, catching the dress in his hands.
“I love your back,” he said, kissing each shoulder blade, then each vertebra in a long, slow trail down my spine. Gooseflesh cascaded down my arms, and my breasts ached to be touched. Lucas pressed close behind me, and I could feel him getting hard, his erection nudging my tailbone. I reached around and rubbed him through his pants, my breath coming faster as he thickened and lengthened beneath my palm.
He moaned softly. “We better get this dress off you. Another minute of that, and I’ll just work around it.” Crouching, he lowered the gown and I stepped out. “You weren’t wearing underwear?” he asked in disbelief.
I smiled down at him. “Not since I met the stranger in the stairwell.”
He straightened, his hungry eyes traveling slowly up my body from my heels to my hair. “Stranger, huh?”
“There might have been something familiar about him. He certainly knew my body well enough.” I swayed closer to him, put my hand between his legs again and whispered in his ear. “And his cock was incredible—so big and thick. He fucked me against the wall so hard…”
“Yeah?” Lucas’s voice was hushed and gritty. “You like to be fucked hard?”
“I do. Hard and deep.” Beneath my hand I felt his cock jump and thought I’d better hang up my dress and change into my new lingerie before things got out of control. I knew how quickly Lucas could go from simmer to boil—and how fast he could take me there too. “I should hang up my dress, baby. And then I need a few minutes to change into your surprise.”
“No.” He threw the gown on the bench at the foot of the bed and swept me off my feet. “No more waiting.”
“What? I thought you said I was worth the wait,” I protested as he carried me over to the bed.
“You are worth it, love. And you deserve a man who’d wait all night.” He tossed me onto the bed and braced himself above me. “But I am not that man.”
But I have wedding night lingerie, I wanted to argue, but when his mouth closed over my breast and his fingers slipped between my thighs, I stopped thinking about what I wanted to put on and thought only about what I wanted to take off—like everything Lucas was wearing.
“See?” Lucas whispered, easily sliding one finger, and then two, inside me. “You don’t want to wait either.” His tongue circled one hard, pink nipple before taking it into his mouth and sucking.
I groaned, arching my back and threading my fingers through his hair. “No, I don’t want to wait. I just wanted to—oh!” I gasped when he bit me, but moaned in pleasure when he soothed the sting with his warm, wet tongue. “I just wanted to give you something pretty to look at.”
He picked up his head. “Nothing is prettier than what I have right here in front of me. Just you, your body, your skin. Every inch of you.” He planted kisses down my stomach and pushed my thighs apart, making my insides tremble. “Let me taste you.”
“Yes,” I whispered as his tongue swept up the seam of my body. “Yes,” I whispered as he swirled delicious little circles around my clit. “Yes,” I whispered as he flicked it lightly before sucking it into his mouth. “Oh God, that feels so good.” I kept my hands in his hair, holding his mouth right where I wanted it, becoming greedier and needier with every passing second. “I love your mouth on me,” I said, looking down at the dark curls buried between my legs. “I love it when you fuck me with your tongue.” He groaned, pushing his hips into the bed.
“Lucas, I want you inside me. Now.” I fisted my hands in his hair and pulled him up. I was one breath away from an orgasm, but I wanted to wait for him.
My fingers fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, finally working them free. I tugged at it, and he shifted his weight to his knees just long enough to wrest it from his arms and throw it to the floor. His pants and underwear followed, and a moment later his body covered mine again, and he was sliding into me.
Looking up at him, my heart pounding, I thought how lucky I was that this gorgeous man had spoken vows to me this afternoon. Yes, the wedding had been everything I’d dreamed about and all the details had been perfect, but if I forgot the taste of the champagne or the sound of the guitar or the scent on the breeze, I wouldn’t care. Because I had this, this, for the rest of my life. This feeling of opening myself to him, being filled by him. As he moved over me, his hips thrusting slowly but pushing deep, I wrapped my legs around him and swept his hair back from his face. “I loved today. But I’d have eloped, you know. All I wanted, all I will ever want, is right here.”
“I know. But today made you happy. And seeing you happy is everything to me.”
I smiled. “Then I guess you have everything, because I am insanely happy right now.”
“I do,” he whispered, rocking into me with a little more pace. “I do have everything—even a wife.”
“Oh God—I love—being your wife.” My hands moved down his sides and over his ass, and I pulled him tight to my body, lifting my hips to take him deeper, feel pressure and friction just where I needed it. “I love—everything—about it. Especially—“
“My cock?” Lucas finished for me, fucking me harder and faster.
I laughed deliriously—at the joke, at the way he could read my mind, at the way he made me fall deeper in love with him when I didn’t think it was possible.
And then words were lost to us as our bodies spoke another language, one of sighs and gasps and incoherent cries of pleasure as we took each other to the brink of rapture, and then beyond.
In French, orgasm is sometimes called la petite mort, which, when translated literally, means “the little death.” When Lucas first told me that, I argued that, on the contrary, I never feel more alive than when I have an orgasm with him.
“It’s not that it kills anything,” he explained. “It’s more like…it takes something from you. Some element of life force, or energy, and that’s why you feel so depleted and exhausted afterward.”
I could definitely see that.
But that night, our wedding night—a night of many little deaths, let me tell you—I began to understand the phrase on a different level. It’s not that I hadn’t had a thousand blissful climaxes with Lucas before, but somehow, now that we were willingly, timelessly bound to each other, it felt different. Somehow I had a deeper appreciation for the exchange of intimacy—we were giving one another something more than pleasure, something more than love, even. Something that resided deeper inside us than flesh and bone, deeper than mind and heart. A piece of our souls?
I don’t know if I believe in soul mates or fate or one perfect person that complements you in some cosmic, enchanted way. But when I think about taking some part of Lucas inside my soul and keeping him there, I am completely at peace—for me, it is heaven.
So if I have to die a little death to get there, I’ll do it willingly. Thoroughly. And hopefully, often.
Those French really know their stuff.