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The charm of having their first visitor had worn off with surprising speed.
In the days before Cole’s visit, Anne had spent her time preparing the guest room, rhapsodizing about all the meals she would be cooking, and waxing poetic about the evenings they would spend in the parlor, with Cole working on his art and Anne working on her novel. She had barely managed to contain her excitement on the morning of his arrival, waking up an hour before Gilbert and as a result having a full breakfast prepared for him by the time he stumbled down the stairs with a yawn and a kiss for her.
Cole had arrived in a flurry of squeals and a fair amount of leaping up and down as Anne rushed him around the house, showing him everything from Gilbert’s study to the needlepoint that Marilla had made with her married name on it to the fresh flowers she had placed in his guest room. And then Gilbert had come home from work, looking tired and happy and satisfied with his day, and Anne had immediately realized the problem with opening one’s home to a guest.
She had pulled him into the pantry as she was finishing up dinner and kissed him lengthily before pressing a flurry of kisses against his cheeks, then lightly slapped his behind before exiting the closet, and she really did think that would be enough.
It was not enough.
The next week had been infuriating, to say the least. Parts of being married that Anne had taken for granted were now ripped out from under her, from going upstairs early to lazily kissing in the parlor to following Gilbert into his study whenever she wanted to sit on his lap and talk about his day. She misses the way he has taken to walking around barely dressed in the morning and the way she can lie across his lap and allow him to stroke her hair when she feels sleepy. Beyond that, she misses him. Being with him.
She’d never thought being with someone like that would be something she could miss, but Anne finds herself incapable of being satiated for too long when her husband is right next to her. When he passes her in the kitchen and squeezes her hip, when he speaks about his work using terms she just barely understands, when she wakes up to him hard and nestled against her, Anne feels something inside of herself heat up like fire through her blood.
There’d been a few near misses that had ended with Anne’s hand wrapped around Gilbert, guiding him towards her before they recovered their presence of mind, and one incident of Gilbert’s mouth underneath her nightgown before they both remembered that she hadn’t quite learned the art of being quiet yet.
After a week of denying their urges, Anne finds herself about ready to shoo Cole out of their home and lock the door behind him.
“I really did have a wonderful time,” he says again, hugging Anne tightly. “You two have a beautiful house.”
“I agree,” Gilbert responds, his eyes crinkling as he smiles down at Anne. “Anne certainly knows how to make a place feel like home.”
“Or how to help one find their own home,” agrees Cole, lingering in the doorway. Gilbert begins to answer him and Anne quickly elbows him in the side to keep him from beginning what she can only assume would become a lengthy monologue about her virtues.
She doesn’t want a monologue. She wants him inside of her. And the sooner he goes off to work, the sooner he can come home and give her just that.
“Well,” she says, “Gilbert really ought to be getting off to his office, so perhaps he can bring you to the station?”
“I think I can find my way,” Cole says, gesturing to the path. “I’d like to walk into town by myself. It’ll give me time to take in the details so I can sketch on the train. Gilbert, if you could just get me to the main road, I can go from there.”
“Of course,” says Gilbert, always well mannered despite the clench in his jaw at having to leave his wife in a blessedly empty house. He leans down, kisses Anne on the cheek, and then briefly on the mouth. “I’ll see you this evening, Anne-girl.”
“See you,” she echoes. He’d taken a bath last night and smells so much like himself that she almost whimpers when he pulls back. Moments later, Gilbert and Cole are heading down the path towards town and Anne is standing with her toes curled in her shoes, her cheeks flushed with need.
It’s going to be a long day.
Determined to keep her mind occupied until Gilbert gets home from work, Anne unties her shoes, places them in the corner, and heads upstairs to find something to do. She strips the bed in the guest room and is collecting laundry from their bedroom when she hears heavy stomps beating against the staircase.
The bedroom door flies open and there stands Gilbert, out of breath and flushed with exertion as he looks at her.
“I need—” he starts to say, but Anne throws aside everything in her hands and silences him with her mouth on his, kissing him with true abandon for the first time in a week.
“What did you need?” she asks breathlessly, pulling back, and Gilbert shakes his head in confusion.
“That, I needed that.”
Anne smiles, drawing him back down to her and standing on her toes to better explore his mouth with her tongue.
“Need anything else?” she inquires, tugging him by the shirt lapel and causing them both to stumble sideways in the process. He laughs as they topple into the dresser, knocking the mirror back against the wall with the combined weight of their bodies.
“I do,” Gilbert says solemnly. He takes a moment to brush his fingers down her cheek. “That alright with you?”
Anne sucks her bottom lip into her mouth as she nods. Gilbert kisses her, nipping lightly at her lip to get her to release it. He makes a sound low in his throat as he frames her face with his hands and gently tilts her head to the side so that he can kiss her more deeply. Everything feels like it’s floating, like Anne’s heart and soul are being replenished by Gilbert’s mouth on hers.
“This week has been agony,” she pants against him, loosening the buttons on his shirt with more dexterity than she never knew she possessed. Apparently desperate times lead to nimble fingers.
“Let’s never have houseguests again,” he suggests, shoving the shirt to the floor before kissing his way from her temple to her neck, tucking his face there as he goes for the buttons at the back of her petticoat.
“I think that would be wise.” Anne steps out of her petticoat and moves her hands out of the way when Gilbert immediately goes back for the buttons on her shirt, pressing his mouth against every new piece of exposed skin.
She expects him to continue until her shirt is off, but instead he presses a kiss against her sternum and sinks to his knees in front of her, dragging her bloomers down with him. Her heart begins stammering in her chest, an aggressive thump against her ribcage at the sight of her husband looking up at her with utter adoration in his eyes.
“Can I?” he asks, so sweet as he touches her leg softly. The first time he had done this to her, they had just gotten married and she hadn’t been able to relax enough to shove away the nerves enough to enjoy it. He’s asked each time since, and the hope in his eyes always makes her unbearably wet. There’s something captivating about how greedily Gilbert wants to make her feel good. She can’t ease into it every time, but today she is buzzing at the sight of him on his knees in front of her, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip.
He does this with the same curiosity he does everything else, dedicatedly learning her in ways she’d never dreamed someone would want to.
“Yes,” Anne says firmly. It’s been a week since she’s had him, and if that’s what he wants, she isn’t going to deny him. She can see him straining against his trousers, and the fact that he would set his own need aside to taste her is so arousing that Anne barely needs Gilbert’s hand to guide her stance wider so that he can bring his mouth closer to her center.
There’s something primal about how much she loves this image. She loves it in the same way she does when he comes inside of her. It’s romantical, in many ways, to be receiving pieces of each other that no one else gets. It’s messy and loud and unlike anything Anne has imagined romance being, but at the same time, everything that they do when they are like this is the truest expression of her feelings for Gilbert, and therefore the most romantic. She knows it feels good when he tastes her like this, so it can’t be wrong— knows that he likes doing it and she likes it even though she’s never quite gotten all the way to her peak when his mouth is there. But it’s not something she’s able to talk about with anyone else, how Gilbert will bury himself inside of her in a way that cannot possibly produce children but is one of the most incredible things Anne is capable of feeling. She loves and trusts him so completely in moments like these that it sometimes feels akin to bleeding.
He kisses his way up her inner thigh, parting her folds curiously with his fingers, running two of them lightly through the smooth skin that is for him only. When she feels his index finger near her entrance, gathering the wetness there in a way that feels like a promise, Anne grips the edge of the dresser. She wonders if she’s made a terrible mistake in delaying the moment when they will be joined. Already, she is so wet, so eager to have him inside of her, to feel his heat against hers. Instead, she has to cope with the sight of her husband kneeling on the floor with his fingers in his mouth, sucking the taste of her off of himself. She’s practically delirious and he’s barely begun.
“Anne,” he whispers, his breath fanning across her hot skin, and a moment later he has her leg over his shoulder, kissing the outside of her before he drags his tongue from where she is wettest towards the top of her. She trembles as he repeats it, slow and purposeful, going further up at each pass as he nears the place where she is swelling and throbbing for him.
He doesn’t give her what she wants that quickly. Instead, he looks up at her as he kisses her just like he would kiss her mouth, the soft noises making her heart swell with fondness for him. His lips open and close around her just a few times before she begins to wonders if her knees will buckle from anticipation alone. Anne reaches out to grip his arm where his hand is wrapped around her hip and Gilbert seems to like that because he finally fits his mouth around her so tight that his nose gets smushed against her skin. He strokes up with his tongue, locating the place where she is throbbing and rubbing at it a few times with his fingers before he wraps his lips around it, alternating between sucking and a soft fluttering motion with his tongue, trying to see which one makes her legs shake the most.
Anne can’t help it— she undulates her hips towards his mouth, raising the leg that is over his shoulder higher up and supporting it against the dresser.
“Your fingers,” she manages to gasp out as it builds. She feels so empty, clenching around nothing as she waits for him to show her his mercy. “I need your fingers.”
“Yeah.” He says it like it’s his responsibility to give her exactly what she needs, like it’s a job he takes with the utmost seriousness, and moments later when his index and middle fingers are sliding into her, Anne finds herself grateful for his studiousness. He’s starting to learn which reactions mean what, where to press when he’s using his fingers, what kind of pressure is too much and what makes her breathe almost, almost, almost into his shoulder.
She grips his hair as he flutters his tongue just right against her clit, finally finding the pace that makes her mind go blank.
“There,” she says pleadingly, taking a hand through her hair. Her carefully pinned updo is effectively ruined now, pieces of hair falling around her waistline. “Right there, that’s it.”
As his fingers press up into her, Anne holds her hips away from the dresser and as close to his face as she can, the muscles in her stomach quaking as she fights to stay still enough for it to build. Perhaps it’s how desperate she is, or maybe how long it’s been, or it could be the way his determined eyes refuse to break away from her gaze and she can hear him breathing heavily through his nose. Regardless, she barely has time to tug his hair before her body seizes up, leg shifting towards her torso, toes pointing, knuckles gripping the edge of the dresser to hold on. She only comes down from it when her head knocks back against the mirror, shooting a spike of heat down her spine when she thinks about it. Their dresser. It would feel scandalous if she weren’t too boneless to care about much of anything but getting more Gilbert.
Unable to remain standing any longer, Anne sinks to her knees with her husband, marrying her mouth to his as he pants heavily. She can taste herself on his tongue, on his lips, on his cheek near the corner of his mouth.
“It happened this time, right?” he asks eagerly between kisses. He’s never been able to bring her all the way up using his mouth; she’s been too self conscious for it in the past. She doesn’t know how to tell him that it’s the biggest one she’d ever had, that she’s almost certain her vision had whited out from the feel of it.
“It did,” she confirms, fishing him out of his trousers. She knows he likes to see her slick on him, so she reaches between her legs and massages it down his length, then gathers the wetness at his head where it is leaking. Anne understands that the wetness there is what could give them a baby, and she’s eager for it, to look at it as she slides it up and down him, watching the way his skin moves underneath the easy grip of her fingers.
Her hair slips over her shoulders, brushing against Gilbert’s upper thighs and his length, startling his eyes open. He moans when he sees it, her hair brushing against his skin where he is hard for her, and Anne has a feeling she is never going to have enough of him, this human who boggles her mind and makes it click into place at the same time.
“Oh,” he groans when she leans down to kiss his head and suck it into her mouth briefly. She can taste both of them on him, and that’s when she decides that she’s not in the mood to give without receiving.
Perhaps that makes Gilbert a better life mate than she is, but Anne can’t bring herself to care when she’s this wet.
“Now,” she directs him, almost humorously winded considering the fact that they haven’t even been able to move to the bed yet.
“We’re on the floor, Anne-girl,” says Gilbert, chuckling, but Anne doesn’t care, kissing him deeply as she takes the rest of her top off. She hadn’t been wearing a corset, and when she leans in to whisper in his ear, she makes sure that her hard nipples brush against his chest, causing a shudder to jerk up his torso.
“I think you made my knees too weak to stand,” she tells him. “We’re going to have to suffer the consequences.”
He doesn’t seem to mind when she takes him in hand and eases herself down onto him, having to muffle her cry against her fist when he fills her for the first time in a week.
“Don’t,” pleads Gilbert, pulling her hand away from her mouth and pressing her fingers against his lips. “I like hearing you.”
There’s no reason to be shy, not when she can feel how much he’s enjoying this, so instead Anne focuses on rising and falling against him, her legs on either side of him, her feet resting against his thighs, knees on the floor to control pace and depth. When she rises upwards to place her hand on the bottom of the mattress, using it as something to lean on, to keep her upright and moving, it causes her to stretch higher, so that her breasts are near Gilbert’s mouth. He sucks on her nipples greedily, kneading her behind with his hands as she settles herself over him again and again and again.
“I’ve been thinking about this all week,” she manages to stutter out. “Sleeping next to you, not being able to touch you like this… it was torture, Gil.”
At that, he surges up into her with a particular vigor and Anne cries out, a knee-jerk reaction, her head falling backwards and exposing her neck to him. Gilbert kisses the column of her throat, open mouthed and sloppy, sliding his tongue against the vibrations of her moans.
“If I were a better man I would tell you to learn to be quiet,” he says roughly. “But, selfishly, I can’t bring myself to do that.”
He’s entirely too smug considering what they’re doing. Feeling the need to tug at least a portion of the smirk off of his face, Anne slows their pace. She rocks against him so that they’re moving in an easy back and forth, give and take. She takes the time to kiss his jaw, his shoulders, his hair, before the hand on the foot of the bed reminds her that they’re on the floor due to an absurd lack of patience, not an abundance. It’s her turn to soothe the fire for him just as he had done for her.
She lifts herself almost all the way off of him, then drops fully down again, causing them both to cry out as she resumes her quicker pace.
“You’re so warm,” Gilbert says, almost dreamily. Anne feels a laugh shake through her at his tone of voice, one which promptly dies in her throat as his hand slides around her bottom and helps her find a rhythm. “You’re perfect.”
“You know more than anyone that I am certainly not that,” she teases, but Gilbert doesn’t take the bait.
“Perfect for me, then,” he says decisively, bringing a hand against the back of her neck to pull her to him so that he can kiss her. Anne likes the angle, so she adjusts to it, dropping her head so that it rests against the mattress and widening her stance to make it easier for Gilbert to control their pace. He jerks into her harshly, his breath quickening when he hears the sound of their skin slapping together. With a long groan that sets Anne’s insides on fire, he spills inside of her, wrapping his arms all the way around her so that he can hug her body tight against his.
When Gilbert Blythe loses control like this, she knows without a doubt that, despite his insistence, he is the perfect one. She finds him so incredibly beautiful in moments like these, with the tenseness in his face and the set of his jaw and the way he rumbles out his moans in a husky, desperate tone. There is something so hopeful about watching him finish and feeling it happening inside of her.
For a few moments, they simply sit there, catching their breath. Gilbert softens inside of her but she doesn’t move off, instead finding herself wondering how quickly she could get him hard again. Perhaps with her mouth? Oh, and maybe he could put his fingers in her while she did that, using them to press his seed deeper inside of her.
Anne shudders delightedly just started the thought but doesn’t make good on it. It’s still a weekday morning, after all, despite the fact that it feels more like they’re on their bridal tour.
“You have to go to work,” she says in time, words muffled by his shoulder.
“You’re spoiling the effect,” he replies flatly.
Anne laughs.
“Can doctors call in sick?”
“No,” sighs Gilbert. “But I admit that I’ve never wanted to before.”
“I want to stay like this too,” Anne murmurs, pulling back to stroke her cool fingers against his cheek, his jaw, his forehead. He’s flushed red, so delectable that all Anne wants to do is keep him here with her. “But you have lives to save.”
“You make it sound far more dramatic than it is. I could certainly stay home today. The town will be fine.”
He’s mostly joking, but it’s the small edge of seriousness that makes Anne climb off of his lap, doing so slowly to savor the feeling of him inside of her.
“How about you come home to me early instead?” she suggests, searching the floor for her shirt before hauling herself up to the bed. “Perhaps we can make it to the bed that time?”
“Oh, Anne,” says Gilbert, looking slightly stricken. “I truly wouldn’t bet on it.”
She’s still giggling at the look on his face when he crawls up onto the bed with her, blanketing her body with his and blocking out the rest of the world as he does so.
At the end of the day, it’s just the two of them for each other. Regardless of how the rest of Anne’s day goes, she is certain that being alone with Gilbert at the end of it is all she will need.