Storms and Dreams (Becoming Jane Book 3) (4 page)

“Oh my God, Sash. I’d love to do that.”

“Mmmm.” She laughed. “I thought you might.”

“Holy crap, that would be amazing. But…”

“What?”

“Well, if I move to New York… Thomas, he’s here, in Maine.”

“For now,” she said. “I assume he’ll be going back to England eventually.”

“Right.” I swallowed hard, sad at the thought of never seeing Thomas again.

“Each decision as it comes, darling,” Sasha said. “My car’s here. I’ve got to run. Take care, love.”

“Thanks Sasha. I will.”

“
O
h God
, you are a treasure.” Thomas’ voice hummed from the kitchen doorway. “Coffee, muffins and what’s that?” he said, sniffing the air. “Bacon? You’ll spoil me.”

“I’m giving it a try,” I said, glancing up to smile at him. He was bare-chested in a loose pair of trousers. Beltless, they hung low on his hips, the barest trail of dark hair peeking from the waistband. “It’s the least I could do after this amazing weekend you put together.” I swallowed and turned back to the bacon that was crisping in the pan on the stovetop.

“Tell me,” he said, sidling up next to me, pulling a coffee mug from the cupboard and pouring himself a cup. “Which part do you like best? The five-star meal served by a one-star chef, the power blackout that subsequently plunged the whole house into nearly freezing temperatures, or waking in the dead of night, to find your host blubbering in the rain?”

“Oh stop it,” I said, lifting the last of the bacon to a paper towel to drain. “It was fine.”

“A-ha, so it’s the blubbering, then,” he said as he leaned against the counter opposite me. Lips pursed, he blew on his coffee, arched an eyebrow and smiled over the rim of the mug. “I don’t do that for all the girls, you know. You’re special.”

“Thomas,” I said, giggling. I set the plate of bacon on the counter next to him and rubbed his arm reassuringly. “It’s okay.”

“Really?” he said, capturing my hand. He set the coffee mug on the counter and stopped my retreat. “Last night’s unfortunate display didn’t damage the picture of masculine perfection that you no doubt held of me prior?”

“Picture of masculine perfection?” I laughed nervously as his eyes traveled over my body. He stalked towards me, backing me into the cabinets on the opposite wall. “That’s a pretty lofty assumption you’re making there, buddy.”

“If I recall correctly,” he said, skirting a finger under the collar of my shirt, “you rather like it when I’m, lofty.”

“Um, yeah,” I said, swallowing hard, a picture of the night before, that last time we were in the kitchen, coming into my mind. I tingled at the memory, me folded in his arms like an origami doll as he sunk his cock into me over and over, and clenched my thighs together to ease the dull ache that was starting to throb between my legs.

“I like your shirt.”

“It’s yours,” I whispered.

“Yes,” he said, chuckling. “Yes, I know. But you look better in it than I do. It’s terribly becoming on you.” His hands settled at my waist, his fingers massaging me through the fabric.

“Your breakfast is getting cold,” I said, smirking up at him.

“So it is,” he said. And with that, he looped an arm around my waist, lifted me in one swift movement and deposited my satin covered ass on the cold hard counter top, right between the bacon and the pile of muffins I’d made earlier. “I do enjoy a hot breakfast,” he said, pushing my knees apart with his hands. He stepped between my legs and then dipped his head low for a kiss, his tongue sweeping into my mouth to claim me, his fingers snaking beneath the hem of his shirt, up to the edge of my panties. He tasted of coffee, his kisses feverish and urgent. His tongue sparred with mine, coaxing, promising, as he pulled my panties from my hips, down my thighs and over my knees. My pulse fluttered when I felt the fabric give way, falling to the floor, and I moaned into his kiss. His hands circled my hips, fingers splaying over my ribcage and up, to cup my breasts, his thumbs stroking over my nipples as they knotted under his touch.

WHA-WHA-WHA-WHUH-WHA-WHA-WHA

Thomas’s hands flew off of my breasts so fast one hand caught in the shirt for a moment before he managed to untangle it, and fumbled for the pocket of his trousers.

“What the fuck is that?” I yelped.

“That is the dreadfully ill-timed serenade of the Dean of Wagner University,” he said, pulling his phone from his pocket, which continued to blare.

“What a fucker!” I said as I reached for a piece of bacon, folding it into my mouth.

“What a fucker indeed,” said Thomas. Pushing a button, he silenced the ring and set the phone on the counter. “Now, where were we?” he asked.

“Breffist,” I said through a mouthful of bacon. I cupped his face in my hand and pinched his cheeks together, puckering his lips, then stuffed a piece of bacon in his mouth while he eyed me, bemused.

“Fanks,” he said, chewing.

“Why is your ringtone for the Dean, Charlie Brown’s teacher?”

“Because that’s all I hear when that man is talking,” he said. “He’s appallingly dull.”

“You’ve got a fancy ringtone for the ex, too.”

“Yes, I like ringtones,” he said, shrugging. “It’s a hobby.”

“That so?” I said, narrowing my eyes at him. “What’s your ringtone for me?”

“Oh, that’s a good one,” he said, excited. “I recently changed yours, it’s fantastic.” He snagged his phone and scrolled, before hitting a button and holding the phone up. As soon as the refrain started playing, I recognized the tune. You can’t be named Jane and not be familiar with it. The sultry tones of the Cowboy Junkies echoed in the room and I smiled when I heard the vocalist croon “Sweet Jane” over and over.

“Told you it was good.” Thomas grinned at me.

“That’s a cover, you know,” I said, taking a sip of his coffee. “The original is by—”

“The Velvet Underground, I know. God, what do you take me for, madam?” He eyed me, feigning offense.

“Okay, okay, sorry.”

“I’m a big fan, actually. But forgive me if I don’t want to listen to Lou Reed’s caterwauling every time my girl calls me.”

My girl?
My heart flip-flopped at the endearment.

“So what was it before?” I asked, changing the subject, hoping he didn’t notice that my cheeks had flushed at his words.

“Hmmm,” he said. Setting his phone on the counter, he cupped the back of my head and dove in to nuzzle my neck. “I just played it.”

“No, you said you recently changed it,” I said, gasping as he nipped a sensitive spot just under my jaw.

“No I didn’t,” he said. Sucking my earlobe into his mouth, he nibbled.

“Yes you did,” I said, pushing at his chest. “You totally did, and the fact that you’re now denying it makes me all the more curious.”

“Damn. Good job, Grayson,” he grumbled under his breath and picked up his phone. A moment later I heard it, the wailing grind of a guitar and then David Lee Roth declaring “Got it bad, got it bad, got it bad, I'm hot for teacher.”

I gritted my teeth and straightened my spine, then leveled my eyes on Thomas’s. “What a fucker.”

“Yes.” He grinned sheepishly, then palmed my thighs, running his hands over my hips and up under the shirt again. “I’m a fucker.”

“You’re awful,” I said.

“That I am.” He nodded and yanked me to him, squaring his torso between my knees.

“That ringtone was just so…so…” I said, clenching my jaw tightly to bite back the laugh that was bubbling up inside me.

“Accurate?” he said, arching a brow.

“Oh! You are just….you are terrible…” I set my hands on his shoulders and pushed at him. It was like trying to move a mountain, and honestly I’d barely put any force behind it at all.

“I’m the worst,” he agreed, the words tickling my neck. He sank his teeth into the tender skin at my collar, biting softly. “I’m a villain, a beast,” he growled, one stealthy hand sneaking between my thighs. His fingers probed, sliding through my folds to circle my core, sinking two fingers deep inside.

“Oh god.” I moaned and arched into him, my pussy melting around his hand as he drove into me. He pulled my head back by my hair and ran his tongue up the length of my neck, then took my lips, our mouths mating hungrily, each plunge of his fingers working in time with his tongue.

WHA-WHA-WHA-WHUH-WHA-WHA-WHA

“FUCK!” Thomas shouted as we both jumped this time. “What do you want, you horrible man?” he yelled at his phone.

“Only one way to find out,” I said, leaning my head against his shoulder as he withdrew his fingers from me. “And he’s called twice now.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” he said, grimacing at me as he picked up the phone and answered. “Hello, Roger. What can I do for you?” He set the phone on the counter, tapped the speaker button, held a finger to his lips and mouthed “Shhh”.

I nodded my understanding.

“Hello, Tom,” said the voice on the other end. “I called once already, but you didn’t answer. So I thought I’d just try you again. Are you busy?”

It was a lazy voice, slow in cadence, and thick with self-importance. I’d never met the Dean of Wagner University but I had to say, after listening to just a handful of words from the man, I agreed with Thomas’ assessment. Appallingly dull was, perhaps, a kindness.

“I am,” Thomas said breezily, walking the fingers of one hand up my thigh. “Very busy.”

“Oh, did I interrupt something important?”

“You did, which is why I didn’t answer the first time you called,” Thomas said, rolling his eyes at me, as his fingers attended to the buttons of my shirt, releasing them one by one. “I’m sure you can understand.”

“Right, good thing I called back, then.”

Thomas shook his head and snarled at the phone, and I clamped a hand over my mouth to stifle my laugh.

“What can I help you with, Roger?” Thomas pressed a finger to my lips, his eyes full of mirth and warning. “Shhhh,” he whispered against my ear, as he pushed the shirt from my shoulders, pulling it off completely and throwing it to the floor behind him.

“Well, I tried to catch you Friday, but you’d already left for the day…”

The Dean’s words faded into the background as Thomas plundered my mouth. Hooking his hands under my knees, he wrapped my legs around him and shoved one hand back between my thighs, sliding his thumb through my wetness and up to circle my clit.

“Gahhh…fuuu…” I moaned and Thomas covered my mouth with his hand, then looked wide-eyed at the phone.

“What was that?” said Roger.

“Nothing, just the television. Go on, Roger.” Thomas grinned at me and pushed me back against the cold counter till I lay flat in front of him, fully exposed.

“Oh right, don’t watch much television myself really. Julie does, loves all that reality housewife….”

Thomas uncovered my mouth and ran both hands appreciatively down the length of my torso, and back up, stopping to fondle my breasts. He waggled his eyebrows at me mischievously and I shook with laughter, then whispered one word at him. “Villain!”

He pressed a finger to his lips “Shhh,” then rubbed two fingers to the side, twirling an imaginary mustache.

“Me, I prefer golf, you know…” the Dean droned.

“Yes, you’ve mentioned that. Which was your favorite course again? I’ve forgotten,” asked Thomas.

I frowned at him and mouthed “What are you doing?”

Thomas held a hand up, in a “wait for it” gesture and winked at me.

“Oh that’s hard to say really. I played on quite a few courses. I suppose Augusta…” the Dean said, his tone suggesting he was settling in for a lengthy ramble.

Thomas grinned at me, triumphant, and slowly lowered his face inching closer to my hips by incremental degrees.

“No! No! No!” I mouthed, shaking my head furiously and clawing air, trying to grab him and keep him from doing what I knew he was just about to do.

“Oh yes,” he mouthed back at me, nodding slowly before burying his face between my thighs.

I waited for it, braced for it, yearned for it—the hot lick of his tongue over my center. But it didn’t come; instead, Thomas popped up, his mouth twisted in a wry smile, lifted both of my hands and folded them firmly over my mouth. Then he disappeared again, and this time, thank God, I was gagged. This time, I screamed.

He licked me open and held me so with his fingertips, his tongue applying firm pressure, slow and steady, a whirlpool of sensation surrounding my clit. Three fingers sunk deep inside me and curled, while his mouth suctioned to my skin, sucking my clit into his mouth. He rolled and massaged it with his tongue. The orgasm hurtled through my body, and I bucked against his hand so hard that he placed his free palm on my stomach to steady me, his fingers pumping in and out, hard and deep. I ripped one hand from my mouth and thrust it into his hair, clenching his face between my thighs as I screamed out my release into my fist.

“What was that?” Roger’s voice crashed back into my consciousness. “Did you say something, Tom? I think this connection has gone funny.”

“No, no. Sorry,” Thomas said as he rose. He loomed over me, caging me between his arms, leering at me, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “That was me, just enjoying an especially, uh, succulent…bite of breakfast. Put a smile on my face. Sorry, go on.”

“Oh, there is nothing like a good breakfast, I agree. And a nice cup of Arabica coffee. Although, I suppose you prefer tea…”

I covered my face with my hands, closed my legs and curled into the fetal position on the countertop.

This is what dying of embarrassment feels like.

Thomas picked up his phone and crawled onto the counter next to me, pulling me into his chest. He held the phone aloft above us and nodded at it stoically.

“Uh huh, yes. Absolutely, yes you’re so right. Sorry, Roger, not to interrupt but you said Julie wanted you to call me?”

“Oh yes, she wants you to come to our holiday party, tomorrow evening.”

“Oh, that’s lovely but I’m afraid…”

“Oh no, you can’t say no, Tom. She’ll have my head. I’m already in hot water since I forgot to give you the invitation last month.”

“Last month?” I mouthed, realizing that any party that sent out the invitations that far in advance was probably a pretty big deal.

“It’s quite the party, one of the best of the season, Tom. You have to come. We’ve got senators that fly in for this party, you know. Authors and artists, a few dignitaries. Naturally we try to invite some of the Wagner faculty. But there isn’t room for everyone. But Julie was insistent, you must come.”

Thomas ran a hand over his face and glanced at me, questioning.

“It’s okay,” I mouthed.

He frowned at me, and then sighed heavily. “Roger. Do I get a plus one? I’d like to bring a date.”