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“You know you don’t have to do this,” Marianne said as Raphael whisked away her plate as they finished the final course of the meal he (with some help) had painstakingly put together to celebrate his anniversary with Marianne.
“Of course I know I don’t have to,” Raphael called over his shoulder as he unceremoniously put the dishes somewhere they could be washed later . “But I want to. Because I love you.”
Marianne’s expression slowly shifted to lovingly exasperated. Even after years of marriage, his professions of love still didn’t seem to fully stick , and that was…well, not okay , but Raphael was fine with telling her he loved her over and over until his dying breath, if need be. She’d believe him eventually. She believed him enough to marry him, which was a start.
“I don’t deserve your love,” she told him as he returned to her. She reached out to him and placed her hand on his bicep, her delicate fingers looking even smaller against his broad musculature.
“You deserve it and more,” Raphael assured her. “But, I’m ready for dessert. What about you?”
Marianne laughed slightly and said, “How can you think of eating anything else after that spread you prepared? I’m so full I can barely move.”
“Then you won’t have to,” Raphael said and bent down to pick up his wife in a bridal carry, her arms going around his neck like the most natural thing in the world. Even under his care, she was still as light as the birds they had initially bonded over at Garreg Mach, so carrying her was no chore, and he delighted in how her pale face gained color whenever he treated her like the precious treasure she was to him.
“I thought you said you wanted dessert,” Marianne said, a look of confusion briefly passing across her face.
“And I do,” Raphael confirmed as he brought her to their private quarters, leaving the public side of the tavern behind. “And I will have it.”
“In our bedroom? Did you hide something there when I wasn’t looking?”
There were times Raphael felt a bit guilty that his wife’s sheltered upbringing made it difficult for her to catch on when he was attempting to be flirtatious, but there was a certain relief in being blunt about his intentions–it was more his style anyway.
“No, nothing’s hidden there,” he said, chuckling as his face heated with his own audacity. “I’m bringing you to our bedroom because I want you to be my dessert.”
Marianne made a cute little eep as her face flushed cherry-red, and she buried her face in her hands. “Raphael!” She semi-reprimanded, giving him a frazzled look through gaps in her fingers.
“What? Nothing is sweeter than you are, my little bluebird,” Raphael said and nuzzled her coifed hair.
She leaned her face into his chest, and Raphael could feel the heat of her blush through his shirt. “Dear…”
“Yes?” Raphael asked as he hip-checked the door to their bedroom open and closed it with his foot before gently setting his wife down to sitting on the edge of their marriage bed.
Marianne seemed to have taken the time to compose herself, as she had a much more serious look on her face as he knelt in front of her, even if her face was still lightly tinged pink. She took his face in her hands and Raphael let himself be drawn into a slow, sensual kiss, his hands resting on either side of Marianne’s hips. He let her set the pace of the kiss and delighted in the low heat that was building in him. She drew out the kiss for blissful, tortuous minutes, but Raphael didn’t mind being patient when her kiss was intense, giving voice to her quiet, desperate need and all the emotions she never found the right words for in spite of her training in oratory.
When she finally let him go, her hazel eyes were dark with desire, and his heart thrilled at how her lips had plumped under his attention.
“Thank you for the palette cleanser,” Raphael teased, but even he could hear the need that added a slight growl to his voice, and which never failed to make Marianne’s breath catch in a good way.
Marianne laughed breathlessly and let go of his face so she could reach behind her and release her hair from its usual updo, the normally tightly coiled locks cascading down her body to her mid-back. She gave him a shy smile that squeezed his heart–she did not know how beautiful she truly was, and Raphael didn’t have the words to adequately describe it, so he showed her how beautiful she was through his adoration of her form. She brought him back in for another kiss once her hair was loose, but did not linger as long, instead pressing down lightly on his shoulders, a silent encouragement to kiss elsewhere .
Raphael let his lips trace the curve of her graceful neck, her pulse pounding against his lips as one of her hands lightly ran through his hair, the other resting on his shoulder. Her body relaxed and enveloped him, one of her feet resting on his calve as the other leg lightly, tentatively hooked around his waist. It was a quieter way of saying she needed him like he needed her, and he had learned all the ways she said things without words in their years together. His hands made quick work of her capelet, overdress, and petticoat, leaving her only in her underthings, her blush reaching from the tips of her ears to her collarbone.
“You’re beautiful,” he told her in a reverent whisper.
“You’re biased,” she demured with a soft smile.
“Yes,” Raphael confirmed unabashedly before returning to his task, kissing every inch of skin on her neck and shoulders that he could reach as he removed her bustier, replacing it with his hands. She groaned softly as he ran his callused thumbs over her sensitive nipples, and he savored as her body heated beneath his touch, a hint of sweat mixing in with the perfume she favored. Soft sounds of pleasure escaped her as his mouth traveled lower, replacing his thumbs on first one breast then the other, leaving them slick with spit once he was finished lavishing them with attention.
“Raphael,” Marianne panted as she positioned her legs so he could easily remove her underwear, the scent of her burgeoning arousal light, musky, and enticing.
“Yes?”
“I am glad you are my husband,” she said and pulled him back up for another kiss as his hands lingered low on her body and began to delicately explore her folds. Raphael’s heart soared as she deepened the kiss and his fingers dipped into her body to test how slick she was; not quite enough for their comfort, so he remembered the special spot she had shown him–first in a medical textbook and then on her own body–and began to stimulate it. She moaned into the kiss and her body jolted against his hand, seeking more .
More which he was happy to provide, and adjusted how he was touching her based on how her own fingers moved against his shoulder. When she finally broke the kiss, it was to nudge Raphael down with pressure on his shoulders, a pleading whimper escaping her lips.
This was when Raphael thought her most beautiful, when she stopped trying to be a ‘good’ wife and instead gave herself over to the pleasure that Raphael had learned how to provide to her. She seemed to have had so little pleasure in her life, that Raphael did his best to give her as much of it as he could now that they were a married couple.
His lips drifted down her body, paying attention to the scars of a hard childhood, to the self-inflicted wounds of a woman who thought herself cursed and did anything she could to feel human , to every place that made her flinch and gasp and arch into his touch. By the time he reached her belly button, the scent of her arousal was strong, and he could feel the heat and need radiating from her core, his fingers occasionally having slipped as her body produced its own lubrication.
He heard a flustered sound from her as his mouth drifted lower, and she eventually gasped out, her voice tight and thin with need, “I hope you enjoy your dessert.”
Raphael blinked, surprised at the uncharacteristic boldness, but gave her a bright grin in response and said, “I will!”
He took that as saying he had delayed long enough, that her body was ready, but a little extra anticipation hurt no one, so he took his time working down the rest of her body, past the dusky blue of her pubic hair to the glistening core. He carefully ran his tongue along her folds, tasting her from her entrance to the special spot and back, licking up all the lubrication that had escaped her as his hands had stimulated her. She let out a shuddering sigh and her fingers tangled in his hair, gently nudging him towards where she wanted him to pay attention. Raphael followed her lead as he devoured her like the finest delicacy in Derdiru, drinking down everything her body gave him as her increasingly lusty cries of encouragement echoed in their bedroom and spurred him on.
His body ached and strained for hers, to find the home he had built with her in her warmth and embrace, but he kept to his task, his tongue coated with the taste of her, his nose filled with the scent of her, his ears ringing with the sounds of her pleasure. Her fingernails raked through his hair, her legs pushing him insistently closer, and he lost himself in the heady high that accompanied her unraveling under his amorous attentions. Two fingers slid inside her easily and he crooked his fingers to put gentle pressure against that special spot inside her as his tongue tended to the outside one. She gasped, his name breathed almost like a prayer as he could feel her body start to tremble with her nearing climax.
He debated for a moment pulling back so they could find completion together, but did not stop in his stimulation, so the option was taken from him as she came with a keening cry, her body pulsing and fluttering around his fingers as more lubrication slickened his palm and lips. He continued to work her body until she had another, seemingly smaller orgasm, then he pulled away to rest his head on one of her inner thighs and his pleasure-slick hand on the opposite. He always adored watching her come down from her high as much as he enjoyed the process of getting her there, and it was easy to ignore the insistent strain at his pants in favor of watching her chest heave as she caught her breath, strands of her hair stuck to her sweat-slick torso, her eyes closed almost as if in reverent prayer.
His own physical release would come later; for now, it was enough to gaze upon the divine, disheveled beauty of the woman who made his heart whole.