Wedidng night gilbert anne
The Salt-Sweet Song of the Tide
The silver bars of moonlight had shifted across the floor of the House of Dreams, tracing the passage of time as the deep, velvet stillness of the night settled into the small hours of the morning. Anne lay nestled in the curve of Gilbert’s arm, her head resting on his shoulder. The exhaustion that had claimed her after their first union had softened into a languid, heightened awareness. Every inch of her skin felt sensitized, humming with the memory of his touch.
Gilbert stirred, his fingers idly tracing patterns across the bare skin of her arm. He seemed unwilling to let the connection break, even in sleep. When he felt her shift, he pressed a kiss to her temple, his breath warm against her damp skin.
"I thought you were asleep," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated through her chest.
"I tried," Anne whispered, turning slightly to look up at him. The shadows defined the strong line of his throat and the messy tangle of his dark hair. "But my mind is like a restless bird tonight, Gilbert. It keeps fluttering back to the realization that tomorrow—well, today, I suppose—I shall wake up and you will still be here. And the day after that. It’s a very solid sort of magic."
Gilbert smiled, his eyes dark and full of a soft, predatory tenderness. "It’s not magic, Anne. It’s a contract signed in salt and soul. You aren't getting away from me now."
He shifted, pulling the quilt lower, exposing the ivory curve of her shoulder to the cool night air. The contrast of his tanned, capable hand against her pale skin made Anne’s breath hitch. She watched, fascinated, as he leaned down to taste the hollow of her collarbone again, his tongue tracing the delicate bone with agonizing slowness.
"Gilbert," she breathed, her fingers winding into his hair, pulling him closer.
The tenderness of their first encounter began to sharpen into something more urgent, a second wind of desire that caught them both by surprise. The initial tentative exploration was gone, replaced by a hungry curiosity. Anne felt a bold spark ignite within her—the same fire that had once fueled her temper was now channeled into a desperate need to know every inch of the man who had waited so long for her.
She reached out, her hands sliding down his chest, feeling the hard ridges of muscle and the frantic thrum of his heart. She marveled at the strength of him, the sheer physical reality of the boy she had once thought of only as a rival.
"You’ve grown so much since the day of the slate," she teased, though her voice broke as his hand found the sensitive inner curve of her thigh.
Gilbert let out a low, breathless laugh against her skin. "I’ve spent years imagining what it would be like to hold you like this, Anne. To have the right to touch you without the world watching. You have no idea how much restraint I’ve had to practice."
"Don't practice it now," she whispered, her eyes shining with a wild, fey light. "I don't want the doctor tonight, Gilbert. I want the man who loves me."
He groaned, a sound of pure surrender, and captured her mouth in a kiss that was no longer a question, but an anthem. It was deep and possessive, tasting of the unspoken promises of their long courtship. Anne met him with equal fervor, her body arching off the mattress to press against him, seeking to bridge the infinitesimal space between them.
He moved his hands with a new, confident hunger, discovering the places that made her gasp and the places that made her quiet with intensity. He found the dip of her waist, the swell of her breasts, and the secret, aching heat that bloomed between her legs. Anne felt as though she were being unmade and put back together again, a creature of fire and sea-foam.
When he moved over her this time, there was no hesitation. The moonlight caught the sweat glistening on his shoulders as he braced himself above her. Anne reached down, her fingers guiding him, her gaze locked on his. She wanted to see him—to see the love and the raw, honest lust in his eyes as they became one again.
The sensation of him filling her was even more profound the second time, the slight sting replaced by a rich, heavy fullness that made her toes curl into the sheets. Gilbert began to move, his pace steady and relentless, driving them both toward a precipice she hadn't known existed.
"Anne... my beautiful, red-haired Anne," he gasped, his forehead dropping to hers, their sweat mingling.
"Gilbert, oh, Gilbert," she cried out, her voice echoing in the small room. She felt the world beginning to tilt, the rhythm of the sea outside matching the rhythm of his thrusts inside her. It was a symphony of sensation—the scent of his skin, the sound of their ragged breathing, the friction that felt like lightning trapped in a bottle.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, wanting to consume and be consumed. The pressure built until it was almost unbearable, a golden tension that wound tighter and tighter around her heart. Then, with a sudden, violent grace, the tension snapped.
Anne felt herself shattering into a million brilliant stars, a kaleidoscope of pleasure that left her sobbing for breath. Gilbert followed her almost instantly, his body tensing with a sharp, guttural cry as he poured himself into her, his muscles quivering under her touch.
They collapsed into each other, a tangle of limbs and racing hearts. The silence that followed was heavy and sweet, broken only by the distant cry of a gull and the rhythmic wash of the waves.
A long time later, Gilbert eased his weight off her, though he kept her tucked firmly against his side. He pulled the heavy patchwork quilt over them, shielding them from the chill of the approaching dawn. Anne pressed her face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the scent of him—a scent she knew she would recognize even if she were blind and deaf for the rest of her days.
"I think," Gilbert said, his voice regaining its steady warmth, "that the House of Dreams is going to be a very lively place."
Anne laughed softly, a tired, happy sound. "Marilla would be scandalized if she knew how much of a 'heathen' her Anne-girl has become in just one night."
"Marilla knows that you do nothing halfway, Anne," Gilbert replied, his hand stroking her hair. "Whether it’s falling into a brook or falling in love, you go into it with everything you are. It’s why I love you. It’s why I’ve always loved you."
Anne propped herself up on his chest, her hair falling around them like a silken curtain. "Even when I hit you with that slate?"
"Especially then," he grinned, his eyes sparkling in the dim light. "That was the moment I realized you were the only person in Avonlea who was a match for me."
She leaned down and kissed him, a slow, lingering kiss that tasted of peace. The frantic passion of the night had settled into a deep, abiding contentment. The sun would be rising soon over Four Winds Harbor, painting the sky in shades of pearl and rose, but for now, the world was small and private, contained within the four walls of their bedroom.
"Gilbert?" she asked after a moment of comfortable silence.
"Yes, Anne?"
"Do you think we shall ever get tired of this? Of each other?"
Gilbert took her hand, interlacing his fingers with hers. He brought her hand to his lips, kissing each knuckle with deliberate devotion. "I’ve spent the better part of a decade wanting you, Anne Shirley. A lifetime won't be nearly enough to satisfy that. We’ll grow old, and your hair will turn to silver, and my eyes will probably fail me, but I will still be reaching for you in the dark. And I suspect you’ll still have something poetic to say about it."
Anne smiled, a tear of pure happiness pricking at her eye. "I probably will. I’ll say that our love is like the tide—always returning, always deep, and full of treasures from the deep."
"See?" Gilbert teased, pulling her closer. "I told you."
As the first pale grey light of morning began to filter through the curtains, Anne finally felt the pull of sleep. But it wasn't the lonely sleep of the girl in the east gable, dreaming of imaginary friends and haunted woods. It was the sleep of a woman who was cherished, known, and utterly home.
She drifted off to the sound of Gilbert’s steady heartbeat, knowing that when she woke, the dream wouldn't end. The House of Dreams was theirs, and the first chapter was only just beginning.