Chapter 18 #2
Jane had made her way to his desk and she placed her hand on the top, leaning forward slightly, so Thomas had to look up at her.
He set the pencil down, rose from the chair and walked around the room to her in four steps. Jane did not move, unable to resist the familiar burst of warmth in her as his scent permeated the air around her once more.
“No one will see it,” he stated as a matter of fact. “I would not allow it.”
“You cannot guarantee–”
“Jane.”
He uttered her name in such a reverent manner, his voice low as though he could not bear to let any one else know of it.
“This is mine,” His eyes moved over her slowly and came back to her face. “All of this. What you've given me to look at. What I've put on that paper. It belongs to no one else. I would sooner burn it than allow someone else to –”
Thomas stopped as something moved through his expression, fierce and unguarded for just a moment. “You have my word.”
She believed him. That was the thing she kept running into – she believed him, and she had not expected to.
“What do you feel?” she asked, and then immediately felt the heat rise in her face, because she had not planned to ask that. “When you draw me. What do you – I only wondered if it was purely an artistic – if it was just –”
“No,” he said. “It is not simply artistic.”
She held his gaze. “Then show me.”
He was still for a moment. Then he reached back to the desk and picked up the pencil, and she thought he was going to return to the drawing, but instead he brought it to her skin. The blunt side, not the point – he drew it along her collarbone, slowly, watching her face.
“Here,” he said quietly. “The line of this. And here... and here as well.”
The pencil moved to the curve of her shoulder. Down her arm, the length of it, then up to her chest and down her sternum as she felt her breathing change.
“Every time I put this on paper, what I feel is –” He stopped as pencil traced the soft curve of her waist. “Want. I just want. There is nothing abstract about it.”
Her hand found his wrist.
Not to stop him. Just to feel that his pulse was as unsteady as hers.
He set the pencil aside. His hands – both of them now, warm and slightly rough from old war-scars – found her waist and drew her in, and she went along, pressing her palms flat against his chest. She could feel his heart through the fabric of his shirt, the strong, steady thrum of it calming her nerves slightly.
“We should go back,” she said, and made no move to do so.
“We should,” he agreed, and lowered his head.
His mouth found the curve of her neck – not kissing, not yet, just the heat of his lips against her pulse point, and she felt it everywhere, a warm current that ran from her throat to the backs of her knees.
“Thomas –” The word came out unsteady.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmured against her skin, “And I will.”
She didn't. She tipped her head back instead, giving him more of her throat, and his hands tightened at her waist, and she gripped the front of his waistcoat and decided that consequences were a problem that belonged to tomorrow.
His lips found hers hungrily, and the kiss weakened her further, eating away at every worrisome thought in her head. She could hardly breathe, her body overrun with need and desire.
Thomas had decided to take advantage of her bare state to the fullest, his hands sliding down her skin smoothly, grabbing at her buttocks, groping and feeling, before a hand came back to the front, to fondle at her breasts.
Jane gasped and arched into his touch, tightening her grip on him when he lifted her suddenly and placed her onto the table, just at the edge it. He continued to kiss her as he pressed closer, gently pushing her legs apart so he could stand between them.
His hands were at her breasts again, squeezing and pinching her nipples and when his mouth came to wrap around one of them, she pressed a hand to her mouth to keep herself from moaning loudly.
Her reaction seemed to amuse Thomas greatly, because he smirked, leaning down to bite at her nipple, not hard enough to hurt, only to stun her and flood her mind with clouds of need.
“Thomas,” Jane gasped, unable to ignore the growing moist heat between her legs. “Thomas, please – I n-need more.”
“I know, darling. I know,” he mumbled, guiding her backwards slowly so she could lay against the desk.
He kissed her again, his tongue dancing with hers intensely, and she moaned into his mouth, curling her hands together behind his neck. Thomas mumbled something she not quite get against her lips and then, he took her hand and put it on his head, smirking up at her as he sank lower and lower.
Her brows furrowed in confusion for a moment, and by the time she realized what he was doing, he was already lapping at the wetness between her legs.
She squirmed, her body moving away from the overwhelming sensations instinctively, but Thomas held her down with a hand on her hip, the other pushing away one of her thighs so he would have better access to her.
Jane writhed beneath him in pleasure, gasping as his tongue explored her most secret place, working at her nub intensely until she was certain she had begun to see sparks in the air.
“Thomas –” she whined weakly, tightening her grip on his hair.
He hummed, still licking and sucking at her center, pulling her closer and closer to the precipice of pleasure. Jane was trying not to let herself unravel, fighting to hold herself together at all costs.
But then he reached up and gripped at her breast and stuck his tongue past her folds, as far as he could reach and she felt her body recoil and break, wrought with waves and waves of pleasure.
She gasped and moaned, relieved to notice his lips on hers when she did, sharing the taste of herself on his tongue. He kissed Jane over and over until she had gotten back her air of calm.
“So beautiful,” he murmured, stroking her cheek gently.
Jane was still vaguely aware of the dangers that lingered at the edge of this bubble they were in, but she decided to ignore them, and burrow deeper into his arms.
At least there, she knew she was safe. If only for the moment.