Storms and Dreams (Becoming Jane Book 3) Read Free Page A

drive me.
    “God, yes.” I answered the question he hadn’t voiced. “Please, just fuck me.”
    He captured my mouth then, and slammed me down onto his cock, lifting faster and stabbing deeper, harder, his hips slapping against my ass in a steady, punishing rhythm. All the while we watched ourselves in the window, the sound of the rain outside muffling under the sharp wet slap of skin on skin, the heavy panting of labored breath, and the low keening moan of ecstasy that escaped my lips each time he drove his cock home.
    My orgasm crashed over me without warning, and I bucked in his arms, clawing at his shoulders as I came hard around him. I cried out when I felt him join me, felt his cock erupting inside me, filling me with his release. He guided my legs around his hips, and I locked my ankles together as his arms slipped over sweaty skin to clasp me to him. His kiss ravaged my mouth, his lips taking every last tremble from mine, until my body stilled and we stood together still connected, in the candlelight. He stroked my hair and soothed my shaking with sweet murmurs and gentle kisses.
    “Sweet Jane,” he said, smiling against my lips before resting his forehead to mine. “That was a spectacular dessert.”
    And with that, the walls buzzed and popped. The power had gone out again. “Oh no.” I laughed and buried my head in his neck.
    “Bloody hell.”
----
    T he power came back on again in the middle of the night. I knew this because the lamp on the bedside table flicked on, waking me. I sat up and reached for the lamp pull, turning it off quickly before it could wake Thomas as well. He’d carried me from the kitchen to the bedroom hours earlier, candelabra in his hand, my tablecloth shift trailing on the floor as he walked. He looked like a gothic hero carrying a swooning damsel off to a shadowy lair. We’d showered together in the dark, laughing as we bumped noses and soaped our soft bits. Soft bits that swelled and flushed in each other’s hands, and had Thomas lifting me again, taking me once more, tenderly this time as the water pounded on my back. We fell into bed together, naked and exhausted. He drew me to him, enveloping my body with his. We slept, limbs entwined, connected.
    I felt the loss of that connection now. Shivering in the cold night air, I turned towards him, hoping I might crawl back into his arms without waking him.
    But he was gone. The bed was empty and I was alone.
    I rose to my knees, pulling the satin sheets around my body, and as my eyes adjusted to the light I could see the sheer white curtains that lined the four poster bed were drifting softly. There was a breeze. I moved to the edge of the bed and pulled the curtains back. The sliding glass doors at the far end of the room were open just a crack, just enough to chill the air, just enough that I could hear the sound of the rainstorm as it beat down on the wood of the balcony on the other side of the glass. I rose from the bed, pushing curtains out of my way as I walked towards the doors, then stopped when a figure came into view. Thomas stood on the balcony, his back to me, a pair of jeans clinging to his legs, the fabric of his T-shirt transparent in the rain. His head was bowed, and his hands gripped the balcony’s railing with such force that his shoulders were shaking. I rushed forward, concerned that he was hurt, but as I drew closer I could hear him, faintly, between the swells of the storm. He was crying.

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    M y heart lurched , and my hands flew to the door, sliding it back even as my head cautioned me against intruding. The door glided open and thumped against the frame. Thomas jolted upright, wiped his hands over his face and turned around.
    “Hello, beautiful,” he said, clearing his throat and running a hand through his wet hair. His smile was grim and forced, a too-casual attempt at cheerfulness.
    “Hello,” I whispered, looking up at him, shielding my face with one hand as the rain whipped through the open door