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Emmanuelle	By : TippyMidget Category: Titles in the Public Domain > Les Miserables Views: 2022 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work fiction, based on Les Miserable by Victor Hugo.

Chapter List
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When Javert opened his eyes the following morning, it was to the sound of church bells tolling not too far away. He counted the tolls – nine o'clock.

He turned his head toward Emmanuelle. She stared back at him, wide awake, a smile crossing her lovely face.

“Good morning,” she said quietly, her voice calm and steady.

He responded by kissing her on the forehead. He rubbed his face hard with his hands and let out a low moan. What on Earth had he done to this sweet angel the night before? He'd been a sexual deviant!

“You just can't forgive yourself, can you?” she asked.

He shook his head, his face hidden by his hands.

Suddenly he removed his hands, his eyes wide, as if he'd had a revelation. He turned quickly to Emmanuelle and grasped her hands.

“Emmanuelle,” he said, his voice impassioned with a sense of urgency, “You told me that you are in love with me. Is it true?”

She looked confused but nodded vigorously. “Yes, of course it's true,” she said. “I love you.”

“And though I've known you for so short a while, you have awakened in me feelings that I have never known, feelings that I think must be love. You make me feel protective of you, and more than just lustful. I believe I am in love with you, as well.”

She grinned as if he'd just told her she'd won some fantastic prize, and she let out a delighted laugh.

“Since we love one another, and since you claim it is your mother's wish anyway, I believe that we ought to be married as soon as possible.” His voice was suddenly very businesslike.

Instantly, the grin was gone from her face. “Are you asking me to -”

"Yes. Will you be my wife?"

She was laughing and crying all at once within seconds. “Of course I will!” she exclaimed, pulling his face close to kiss him. He ran his hand down the curves of her naked body beneath the blankets and pulled her close to him, touching and fondling her all over. Soon, all of this would be his, in the eyes of the law and in the eyes of God.

Javert had office duty that day, and he had a good deal of paperwork to catch up on. Reports on criminal cases had stacked up on his desk, waiting to be filled out and signed. He strolled merrily into the police station, having returned his fiancée to her home some hours earlier. They'd made love after he proposed to her, and managed to get her dressed again and rearrange her elaborate hairstyle. He'd put on his full inspector's uniform, and they returned nervously to number 12 Rue Sainte Marguerite. Marie had acted as though Emmanuelle had simply gone for a walk in the park. Javert had asked to speak with the Madame, who was so delighted at the news of the engagement that she cried tears of joy. He was asked to stay for luncheon, which he had done, and they had discussed details of the wedding.

They would be wed in the church of Saint-Germain-des-Pres, quite nearby. Since Javert had no family or friends to speak of, and since Monsieur Douvant was deceased, there would not be a grand reception. Instead, Emmanuelle's grandfather, two aunts and uncles, and four cousins would be invited to the ceremony and to a dinner party at the Douvant house following. It would be a simple, small affair, and Javert was quite pleased with that. Emmanuelle was anxious to get to the dressmaker's to get a gown, and he would need to obtain a proper wedding suit, as well. Madame Douvant said she would speak with the abbess at Saint-Germain-des-Pres that very afternoon to set a date.

So when Javert strode into the police station on the Rue de Seine, he had much to be happy about. “Good afternoon, Beasse,” he said to his fellow inspector, and sat down at his desk, getting straight to work. He didn't realize he was humming a little tune until Beasse cleared his throat loudly.

“Javert? What on Earth has gotten into you?” Beasse asked, looking at Javert as though he had three heads.

“I beg your pardon?” Javert asked.

“You're smiling,” Beasse sneered. “You smiled at me when you walked through that door, and you're smiling and humming now.”

“I'm getting married,” Javert answered simply.

Beasse turned fully around in his chair, now very interested.

“Inspector Javert is getting married?” he asked incredulously.

“Indeed,” Javert affirmed.

“To whom, may I ask?”

“Emmanuelle Douvant,” Javert replied, anticipating Beasse's reaction.

“The witness in the Jacques Marnier case?!” he scoffed. “You've known her scarcely a week!”

“It has been enough time to establish that it is a good match.”

“She comes in here, faints, you carry her home, fall in love with her over the course of five days, and decide to marry her?!” Beasse was baffled.

“Yes.”

“Well, I must say, I am shocked, Javert. I thought you would never wed. I suppose congratulations are in order.”

“Thank you,” Javert inclined his head.

“What will this do to the Marnier case?” Beasse asked, raising his eyebrows.

Javert paused. He hadn't thought of that.

“It won't look good,” Beasse continued, “The victim and the inspector, the only key witnesses, being engaged to be married, or even married, by the time the trial rolls around.”

Javert bit the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. “The case against Marnier is strong,” he said, “and I am prepared to defend my relationship with Emmanuelle in testimony. It is the truth that we had never met before I arrived on the scene of that crime.”

“Well, then, perhaps you ought to thank Marnier for introducing you to your wife,” Beasse laughed, and turned back around to his desk to work.

Javert and Emmanuelle had pledged to one another not to have relations again until their wedding night, but it was a promise Javert was finding quite difficult to keep. He had to see her in public places, mostly, until the wedding, so he could control himself. He saw her every day in the three weeks leading up to the wedding. They had lunch together in a café, they strolled through the Tuileries, not minding the bite of cold in the late autumn air, they attended the opera. One day, a week before the wedding, he went to 12 Rue Sainte Marguerite around two in the afternoon on a day that his shift started at seven. Marie let him in, and told him Emmanuelle was reading upstairs. He went up to her room. He hadn't been there in weeks, and memories washed over him.

The door was slightly ajar, and he peered in. She was sitting at her writing-desk, a book open in front of her. He couldn't tell what she was reading. Her long hair was tied with a green satin ribbon that matched the dress she wore – the same dress she'd worn the day they met. He smiled and pushed the door open.

She turned around, startled, and then smiled at him. “What are you doing here?” she asked, mischief in her voice. “I thought you said no house calls.”

“I just wanted to surprise you,” he told her.

“Consider me surprised,” she answered. “Come sit with me on the bed.” She rose and shut the door, turning its lock.

“Emmanuelle,” he said, with warning in his voice.

“We'll just kiss,” she said, and they did, but her kisses awakened a fire in his belly that burned hot and strong. Her tongue was agile in his mouth, and she let out little sounds of delight that only fueled his fire.

“Mmm – stop,” he finally said, when he was fully aroused and feeling ravenous. “I can't take any more.”

She pulled away from him and ran her hand over the lump in his trousers. He shivered, sighing heavily at her touch.

“How can I make it go away?” she asked impishly.

“Stop touching it, for one thing,” he laughed, clutching her wrist and dragging it from his trousers. She let out an indignant little huff.

“Just talk to me,” he said, “and go unlock the door.”

She did as he asked, and even opened the door a few inches. He moved from the bed to the chair at her writing desk, and she sat on the edge of her bed.

“Better?” she asked.

“It will be,” he said. He was still intensely aroused. “Is your dress ready?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, her eyes glittering. “It's beautiful.”

“I know you'll look like an angel,” he told her, smiling gently. “I bought my wedding suit.”

“Good,” she said. “I know you'll look handsome, as always.”

“I'm most comfortable in my uniform, you know that,” he said, grinning.

“You can not marry me wearing an inspector's uniform,” she giggled.

“Why not?” he asked puckishly, wearing an exaggerated frown.

“I know you would if you could,” she said, shaking her head and smiling.

“I have procured a maid and fixed up the servant's quarters in the attic,” he told her then.

“You did?” she asked gleefully. “What's her name?”

“Jeanette. She's forty, a spinster. But she can cook, and clean, and help you get dressed, and draw water for your baths. There is another room up there for a nanny,” he said.

She smiled sincerely at him then. He wanted a child. He hoped she did, as well. He thought she would make a splendid mother.

“I won't want a nanny,” she told him. “I'll want to take care of my own children.”

He laughed. “Let's wait and see.”

“The movers are going to move all of my belongings to your flat during the wedding. It's all been arranged,” she told him. He nodded.

“I'll give your mother a key,” he said.

“It's all so real now,” she said, and tears welled up suddenly in her eyes.

“Are you upset?” he asked, rushing to the bedside.

“No!” she exclaimed. “I'm just so happy.”

The wedding ceremony was perfect. It was beautiful and serene, and Emmanuelle did indeed look like an angel in her white silk gown, which was elaborately embroidered and had an impressive train. Javert had tears in his eyes as she walked down the aisle toward him, her grandfather being the man to give her away. He couldn't take his eyes off of her during the entire Mass, and once their vows had been said, his heart swelled with such delight he thought it might explode right out of his chest. When at last the priest announced them as husband and wife, and the church bells tolled madly above them, he kissed her passionately, not minding that other people could see.

The next stop was the clerk's office, where they'd received their legal marriage certificate. As far as the law, Javert's master second only to God, was concerned, Emmanuelle was his wife now.

The dinner party was pleasant enough. Emmanuelle's family was curious to know all about the inspector's life. He had a rather shameful background, so he sidestepped that as much as he could, and focused on his career as a lawman. He told them how he had worked as a prison guard in the quarries at Toulon, then had been an inspector in the town of Montreuil-sur-Mer, and how he had been promoted several years ago to the Parisian police force. He told them there was a fugitive he'd spent a considerable amount of his career hunting – Jean Valjean was his name, and it was thought he was somewhere in Paris. Javert told them he was determined to hunt the parole violator down, and they seemed to admire his resolve.

After the dinner party was over, the family wished Emmanuelle and Javert well, and they climbed into the hired carriage outside for the quick ride up the street to Javert's flat. He carried her over the threshold and called for Jeanette as they stood in the foyer. A rather plump, middle-aged woman came trotting down the two flights of stairs from the attic and curtsied to Emmanuelle.

“Madame Javert,” she said, “I am very pleased to be at your service.”

“Jeanette,” Javert said, “Please take Emmanuelle upstairs to her dressing-room, and get her into a nightgown.”

“Of course, Monsieur,” Jeanette curtsied again, and led the way. Emmanuelle gave Javert a fleeting kiss and followed the maid upstairs.

Javert waited a solid minute and then ascended, going into the master bedroom. He took off his wedding suit and packed it into a trunk in the corner of the room. He put on a nightshirt and climbed into bed, waiting for Emmanuelle to walk through the bedroom door.

When she did, it was just like the dream he'd had of her weeks ago. Her hair had been taken down from its elaborate style and flowed freely down. She wore a filmy, flowing white nightgown, and she slid under the blankets beside him. He kissed her, gently at first, but his kisses grew more urgent, and she moaned into his mouth. Underneath the blankets, he hiked up her nightgown to find she had on no undergarments beneath it, and he groaned. He rolled up his own nightshirt and climbed on top of Emmanuelle. He hiked her gown up further, until she slid it off, and he leaned down to suckle her left breast as he fondled the right. She sighed audibly as he sucked and lapped at her hardened nipple. He moved his kisses to her neck, now rubbing and squeezing both breasts in his hands. She gasped when he kissed sensitive areas beneath her ears, moaning and driving her head back into the pillow.

Javert positioned himself to enter her. She was slick now, and he pushed in with ease. After only a few thrusts, though, he stopped. He was going to lose it too fast. It had been weeks since they'd made love, and he wanted her so badly. The internal ache was too great. This wasn't going to last very long. He gingerly began thrusting again, concentrating on not finishing. But he could hear her voice making little mewling sounds, and it pushed him over the edge. He could feel that he was past the point of no return, so he began thrusting vigorously, until his seed sprayed into her in streams. It felt good to not pull out, to finish inside of her. He could feel that the amount was copious – it would get all over the sheets, he knew.

He laid beside her and she snuggled against his chest. They rested there and talked about the day – about the wedding, and the dinner party – for a half an hour. Javert began to absentmindedly stroke the length of Emmanuelle's body, feeling her curves under his hand. He felt the stirrings of an arousal building inside of him again, and she sensed it. She climbed on top of him, kissing and stroking his torso and arms. Her kisses were light and fluttery, and he shivered beneath them. She massaged his trembling body and placed his now-erect member inside of her. As she moved up and down on him, her own body began to shake, and Javert could sense that her own orgasm was near. He ran his hands up and down her body as she rose and fell, and then suddenly she stopped, and she contracted around him, squeezing intermittently as she came. She let out a loud moan and threw her head back. She started moving again, for him, and he tried this time to finish for her. It didn't take long. Again, he let himself come inside of her, but he watched as some of it leaked out while she was mounted on him.

With a chuckle, he placed her beside him and said, “I hope you want a child, because I probably just gave you one. I think I filled you to the brim.”

“I do,” she said, smiling at him. “But right now, all I want is you.”

They situated themselves back under the covers, and Emmanuelle stayed nude. Huddled together in the dark, Javert could feel her heart beat and hear her breathing, and he smiled contentedly to himself.

“That,” he told her, “should have been the first time.”
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Emmanuelle