“Rainariums,” I said, “and sauced duck…”
“To the impressive early acquirement of your business degree,” he said.
“Thank you.” I nodded, smiling.
“And to the freedom,” he said, his eyes darkening in the candlelight. “At long last, to be together. And to spend our time as we wish.”
“Yes,” I said, my heart fluttering at his words.
“Jane, I want you to know, you are…you are so very dear to me.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Likewise.”
“And I…I respect you…”
“Okay,” I said, confused. While I was glad to have his respect, this wasn’t exactly the kind of conversation someone had pre-sexy times.
“Before we go any further, tonight, I just think that I should—”
Music cut him off—an urgent refrain of violins that I recognized at once as the theme song for the Wicked Witch of the West from The Wizard of Oz film.
“Speak of the devil,” he said grimly, pulling his phone from his pocket. He silenced it, and set it face down on the table. “Before we go any further, I must burden you with some truth. My hope is that it won’t change anything between us. It certainly doesn’t for me. But I realized today that I don’t get to make that decision for you.”
“Okay, you’re starting to make me nervous now,” I said.
“No, I’m sorry, it’s just—” his phone buzzed and skittered across the table. He caught it just as it fell over the edge. He glanced at the screen, then looked up at me.
“Take it,” I said. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He nodded and rose from the table, then exited the French doors into the vast empty dining room beyond. I sipped my wine and watched the rain as it streamed over the windows, a steady rhythm that was both soothing and sad. I stole a glance through the doors and saw him pacing, his shoulders tight, one hand agitating his curls as he spoke. Whoever was on the other end of that phone was definitely not very dear to him.
I stood and began clearing the table, moving our plates to the sideboard, leaving only the candles and our wine glasses. I tend to clean when I’m bugged. Straightening my environment gives me some small measure of control over it. I was bugged right now, and I had a pretty good guess as to why. The only thing I wasn’t certain of, was how bad it was going to be.
The door opened and Thomas walked back in.
“I’ve turned it off completely,” he said. “We won’t be interrupted again.”
“Good. Sit.”
He walked to the table and sat down, and I did the same, reaching across for his hands, lacing my fingers with his.
“I should have told you,” he said, staring at our hands.
“That you’re married?” I said. “Yes, you should have.”
“I’m so sorry.” He stole a glance at me.
“I forgive you,” I said. “Because I assume you’re also about to tell me that you’re getting divorced.”
“We’ve been getting divorced,” he said, nodding. “For close to four years now.”
“My God. Why that long?”
He sighed heavily, pulled his hands from mine and took a deep draught of his wine.
“A number of reasons,” he said as he set his glass down. “The largest being money. My family has a lot of it, and she wants it.”
“Gross,” I said. “Greedy people suck.”
“They do indeed.” He laughed. “I really am sorry, Jane,” he said, placing his hands over mine again. “You deserved to know. My only defense is that I haven’t thought of myself as married for years. I didn’t intend to deceive you.”
“Well…” I sighed dramatically, withdrawing, then sitting back in my chair. “I am pissed.”
“Alright.” He nodded solemnly.
“That woman has seriously damaged the buzz we had going just before she called.” I winked at him.
“Then I shall do my best to rekindle it.” His expression relaxed into a grin. “If you’ll permit me?”
“I suppose…” I tilted my head and studied him, letting my eyes roam, appreciating his masculine beauty in the candlelight. “I might be persuaded.”
“Shall I continue courting you?” He smiled, and rising from his chair, he stepped towards me.
“Oh, I don’t know, that might be getting tedious. I got quite a lot of poetic texts this week—nearly enough to publish a chapbook. I’m thinking of calling it Sexts from the Professor.” I turned in my seat, facing him, and slid one high-heeled foot up the back of his calf.
“Minx.” He laughed. “I haven’t begun to court you.”
“Please, no more poetry. I can’t take any more.” I laid the back of my hand over my forehead and feigned exhaustion.
“Let’s see,” he said, capturing my hand and holding it in both of his. “I’ve done flowers, and gifts. I’ve bought you dinner twice now, and—”
“Poetry, don’t forget the poetry.”
“And poetry, we’ve covered that rather thoroughly as you’ve pointed out.” He patted my hand. “That leaves, chocolate and dancing, I believe.”
“Chocolate and dancing?” I sat up in my chair. “I like both of those.”
“Then come with me.” He pulled on my hand and I stood up, my body brushing up the hard column of his torso as I rose.
His arms circled my waist and he pulled me to him roughly, his lips slanted over mine, kissing me deeply, desperately.
“Thank you,” he said, his eyes searching mine.
“For what?” I whispered.
“For being you.” He smiled. “Now, come with me, for I know where there is chocolate.”
* * *
We raced down the hallway together, bare feet slapping and high heels clicking as we skidded around the bend into the kitchen.
“Holy crap!” I said.
“Indeed.”
“Nothing should surprise me about this house at this point, but Jesus, it’s just like, one epically stunning room after another, isn’t it?”
“It is,” he agreed. His voice was muffled and I looked over to see his body half buried in the huge refrigerator. He emerged, a white ceramic dish in his hands.
“Will you get the oven door?” he said, nodding at a bank of four doors to the right of me.
“Sure.” I pulled open the door of the only oven that was lit and obviously prepped for some purpose. “What’s that?”
“This,” he said, setting the dish on the oven shelf gingerly, “is Chef’s chocolate soufflé.”
“Oh, wow.” I peered in the oven window after he shut the door. “Neat. I’ve never watched a soufflé’ baking before.”
“And you won’t be now,” he said, laughing. “I promised dancing.”
We raced down the hallway again, stopping halfway on our way back to the dining room for Thomas to lift me, and carry me the rest of the way, since my high heels made it hard for me to keep pace. We were breathless and giggling when we arrived. Thomas sat me down and turned to a control unit on the wall to press a few buttons.
“What’s your fancy?” he asked. “Classical? Jazz? Latin? Easy Guitar? Whatever that means.”
“Easy Guitar.”
“Got it,” he said as music began playing. He walked to the French doors and threw them open, connecting our rainarium to the larger dining room. I followed him, watching as he knelt on the benches and vigorously turned handles attached to the windowpanes. They canted at his efforts, opening to the night air, a cool wet mist wafting in from the rainstorm.
He moved to the table, cleared it of our wine glasses, and set the candles on the sideboard, then folded the table itself and tucked it to the side of the room. He held out his hand to me and smiled.
I took it and he pulled me to him, tucking my hand in his, just under his chin, as his other arm circled my waist, strong and warm.
“Dancing,” he said, arching a brow playfully. He stepped into me, and I stepped back, just as slow and sexy guitar music began playing on the speakers.
His hips pressed into mine as he led us around the room, his feet never missing a step.
“You can dance!” I said, delighted.
“I can.” He unfurled our bodies, twirled me, then snapped me back to his arms. “Pricey English educations include dancing instruction.”
“I’m impressed,” I said as we glided. “Are you secretly James Bond or something?”
“With you I am,” he said with a laugh. “With you I’m….I’m…” We stopped moving and his hands coasted up my waist to cup my face. He kissed me, his lips pressed to mine, hot and soft—almost reverent, before he deepened the kiss and lifted me, holding me tight against him as he walked up the few steps to the dining table in the room behind us. He sat me on the table, and I spread my knees, pulling him to me, wrapping my legs around him, caging him to me. His hands stroked lower, over my thighs and down the backs of my knees. I shivered and he broke the kiss, then stepped back, lifted my ankle and slid the shoe from my foot.
“So this is really happening,” I said, breathless and wide-eyed. “This is really happening now.”
“This is really happening now.” He nodded, his blue eyes a dangerous shade of sapphire. “Finally,” he whispered, his hands finding my other foot and removing the shoe. He dropped them both to the floor and then slid his hands up my thighs again, searching for the strap of my garters.
My hands trailed along the hem of my dress and curled around the edge, pulling it up, exposing the bare skin of my thigh. I lifted my gaze to his and he held it fast with his own. His fingers searched blindly for the clasp, found it, and popped it open, a smirk twitching at the corner of his lips as he did so. His fingers snuck under the lace band of the stocking and peeled it down, over my knee, my calf, until it slipped off my toes, leaving only the memory of spidery silk on my skin. He did the same with the other, then snaked his hands up under my dress. His eyes watched mine as he moved, fingers feathering over the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. I gasped and leaned into him, then pushed his hands away.
“My turn,” I said, rising to my knees. I steadied myself, hands on his shoulders and smiled. “I want to unwrap you, too.”
“By all means.” He set his hands at my waist and pulled me into him.
I pressed soft kisses along his jaw as I unbuttoned his shirt and spread it open, down over his shoulders, to his forearms.
“God, you’re beautiful,” I said, admiring his body as he took over for me, removing the shirt completely and throwing it to the side.
“I’m glad you think so.”
“I do,” I breathed. “I really really think so.” My hands ghosted over his chest, exploring, my fingers tingling at the contact. It was thrilling, his body so warm and hard under my touch. He watched me, inhaling sharply as my hands lowered to his abdomen.
“Uh-uh,” He captured my wrists and threw my arms around his neck. “My turn again,” he said, and sweeping my hair away from my nape, he tugged at the zipper of my dress and pulled it down.
He slipped the straps off of my shoulders and the bodice fell free, gathering at my waist. Thunder crashed outside, and I gasped as cool air hit my skin, my nipples hardening under the thin fabric of my bra. His hands cupped my breasts as mine found his waistband. I kissed him, hard and deep, unbuckled his belt, and whipped the leather from its loops with a crack, then sent the belt flying across the room.
His eyes darted to where his belt had flown, and he smiled at me, a menacing look that sent a flood of wetness to my core. He crushed me to him then, his tongue punishing my mouth, as my hands stroked over his hips, finding the hard length of him straining behind the fabric of his trousers. I slipped my hand inside, my fingers curling around his bare skin. He groaned against my lips.
“I want you in my mouth,” I said, and he groaned again. I pushed his trousers down, and watched as he removed them fully, kicking them off his bare feet and away. I licked my lips as his cock sprang free, thick and hot and jutting lewdly. I lowered myself to my hands and knees and kissed the blunt head, then flattened my tongue along the base and licked, root to tip, one long, hot, wet swipe before I sucked him into my mouth. His hands flew up, one tangling in my hair as the other gripped my jaw, tilting me so that he could see my face. I glanced up at him and smiled around his cock, swirled my tongue violently over the tip and then hollowed my cheeks on one hard pull before releasing him with a wet pop.
“Jesus Christ,” he growled.
“I haven’t begun to court you,” I said. I winked and flipped over onto my back, my head hanging off of the table. I grasped his ass and pulled him to me, fisting his cock to my lips. I guided his movements with my hands, back and forth, urging him to fuck my mouth as I sucked him inside.
He leaned over me, his hands braced against the table, hips thrusting slowly, slipping the engorged head of his cock over the wet skin of my lips, then pushing inside, to slide over my tongue, long, deep strokes, then back out again.
His hands moved over my arms and pushed the lace of my bra away roughly, my swollen breasts springing free, and he groped them, kneading my flesh with eager fingers, his hips still thrusting into my mouth.
I sucked on him, my lips stretching to accommodate his delicious girth. I whimpered and raised my knees, my hands sliding down over my thighs to touch myself. His hands caught mine, and he lifted them up over my head, then pulled back, slipping his cock from my mouth. He lowered his body, his face hovering just inches from mine.
“My turn,” he growled, then kissed me, brutally, before spinning my body on the table, the satin of my dress turning easily on the slippery surface. He caught my knees, and yanked me to the edge of the table. His fingers slid up under my dress where he unhooked the garter belt and flung it to the side, then returned his hands to my dress and lifted it, exposing my thighs and my stomach. He walked along the side of the table, peeling the dress up over my arms and off of my body. He dropped it there above my head, a black satin puddle on the table, then retraced his steps, one finger extended, gliding along the length of my body as he moved.
“What was it I said to you?” he asked, trailing his finger along my cheek to my neck.
“What?” I stammered. “When?”
“In the laundromat. I promised you something.” He smiled at me. “Oh, yes. I said I would have you, your thighs spread wide, your body displayed for my pleasure.” His finger traced over the pink tip of my breast, pausing to roll my nipple.
I gasped and trembled at his touch, his finger painting ecstatic ribbons everywhere.
“I said I would see,” he said, his hand tickling across my stomach to my waist, “that pretty little cunt of yours,” he settled between my knees again, and hooking a finger into the band of panties, ripped them from me with one powerful movement, “glistening with hunger.”
He lowered his body, pulled a dining chair behind him for support, placed his hands on my knees and pushed them apart, and up, so that my sex was open to him, waiting. His face hovered low over my pussy. I could feel warm, wet breath against my skin. I reached for him, wanting to touch him, searching for connection. He caught my hands and knotted our fingers together, holding my hands to the side as he lowered his mouth, his gaze holding mine. He licked his lips and smiled, a slow, smug grin that sent a thrill up my spine.
I bucked when his mouth closed over me, and he squeezed my hand, pressing soft kisses to my skin in reassurance. His tongue slicked into my folds, swirling over my clit and down to probe gently into my core. My whole body shuddered and I ripped one hand from his, my fingers clawing at his hair as his mouth clamped down on me powerfully now, sucking and licking, mercilessly massaging the hard bud of my arousal with his tongue until I cried out, melting against his mouth, my thighs shaking violently with release.
“Oh God!” I said as he rose and climbed over me. “Oh God, oh God, oh God.”
“That was glorious.” He grinned down at me.
I didn’t speak, I just pulled his face to mine and kissed him. He owned me, his tongu
e thrusting inside, mimicking the same movements he’d used below.
“I want you completely naked,” he said as his hands roamed to my breasts, pulling the bra away.
“Yes,” I said, nodding. His tone had changed, going from playful to controlled in the span of a few short seconds.
“All of you, just for me.” His eyes were grave and shadowed with lust.
“Yes,” I said again. I was mesmerized by his voice, lost in his eyes, and desperate for more of him.
He jumped off the table and gathered me into his arms. My legs circled his hips and my arms gripped his shoulders as he carried me that way, back into the smaller room, to the benches just under the windows.
“As soon as I saw this room,” he said, caressing my cheek, pushing me back against the cushions, “I knew I’d have you here. In the rain, with the moonlight on your skin.”
I felt drunk, high on his kisses, addicted to the feel of him under my hands, craving the sound of his voice. My eyes scanned over his body, desperate to see all of him, to etch his face, his form, into my mind forever. Thunder crashed outside once more, and I felt it in my chest, reverberating through every nerve in my body. He hung over me, and drawing my thighs up on either side of his legs, he settled his hips to mine, and I arched into him.
I crushed him to me, clawing at his shoulders as his arm circled behind my back and cradled my head. He pulled one of my hands away and pressed it in his own, holding it above me, as his eyes locked on mine, pinning me with that dark gaze. His hips rolled and I felt the head of his cock slick between my folds and notch against my opening.
I was panting, my breath labored with arousal. My eyes closed and I relaxed my head into his hand. His lips moved along the line of my jaw, and pressed against mine, sweet, soft kisses, teasing my lips open with his own.
“Open your eyes,” he breathed. “I want to see your eyes when I enter you.”
My body thrilled at his words, a shock of electricity bolting through me so strongly that for a split second I thought I’d been hit by lightning and had succumbed to the storm. I opened my eyes and saw the truth—that was exactly what had happened. But the storm was Thomas’s eyes.
Commencement (Becoming Jane) Page 13
