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Flames in the Moonlight	By : TheNerd Category: Titles in the Public Domain > Jane Eyre Views: 11192 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work fiction, based on Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte.

Chapter List
- 1-Flames in the Moonlight
- 1
This is how the story of Jane Eyre would have gone if she were just a bit smarter and less conservative. It begins on the night when Mr. Rochester's bed catches fire. It's my first story of this kind, so try not to laugh.

Flames in the Moonlight

Grace Poole has not been drinking too much, of that I am certain. Mr. Rochester may be wise in the ways of the world, but he is a bit foolish when the subject is closer to home.

I sit up and try to remember if my door is locked. A chilling laugh rings out in the hallway, and I light a candle to make me feel a little more secure.

Ever since I arrived at Thornfield Hall, they have been trying to keep her a secret. But I found out. The servants have a habit of speaking too liberally around little Adèle, and her tongue is easily loosed by a few sweets.

Mr. Rochester keeps his insane wife in the third floor, under the care of Grace Poole! I have been quite careful to keep this knowledge a secret, for fear of displeasing him. At first I did not understand why his secret should be kept from only me, but then I realized she may be a hindrance in his plans. I smirk as I imagine what they could be, then jump and turn to stare at the door.

She is trying to open it, but fortunately isn't persistent enough to break it in. I quietly step out of bed and wait by the door till I hear her eerie moans far down the hallway. She must be returning to bed. I sigh and crack the door open. There is a soft glow coming from the other end of the hallway, and an irritating scent drifting into my room.

“Fire!” I gasp.

I grab the basin of water off my dresser and race down to Mr. Rochester's room. Splash! I douse the bed curtains, quenching most of the flames. The danger is not passed, so I quickly locate his wash water and drown the rest, nearly drowning the sleeping man in the bed too.

“Phth! What is the meaning of his?” he shouts as he wipes his face off. He seems surprised to see me, and I wonder how I must look standing here with nothing but a thin nightgown, a candle, and a ceramic pitcher to protect me. “Why are you trying to ruin my bed?”

“The flames would have ruined it, had I not first, sir.”

“Flames!” He sees the blackened curtains and his expression turns almost as dark as they. “That woman can stay here no longer.” He turns to me, anxious that he may have revealed too much. “Did you see who did this?”

“No, sir, I did not. I had my door locked.”

His sharp gaze relaxes, and he approaches me, removing the candle and pitcher so he can take my hand in his. “Oh, Jane, I am glad you are safe, and I am indebted to you for your rescue.”

My heart jumps at the thought: I had pleased him! “No, sir-”

“Yes,” he interrupts, “and normally I despise being indebted to anyone, but with you it is not a burden.”

He stares at me so intensely that it sends cold shivers down my back and ignites a heat deep in my belly. I know that I long to stay, but instead I tell him, “Please sir, if you need no more, may I return to bed? It is late, and I must rise early.”

“Yes, I suppose you must.” When I do not move, he asks, “What? Why are you still here? What keeps you?”

I look down, then back up to return his intense stare. “You have not yet let go of my hands, sir.”

“Oh.”

He does, and I reluctantly turn to leave.

“You are leaving,” he whispers, almost to himself.

“Yes, sir.”

“Then goodnight.”

I flop down on my bed and stare at the ceiling. Why didn't I just stay a little longer? Why must I always hide my feelings behind such cold formalities? My strongest desire is to please him, but I know I will never be allowed such an opportunity if I don't reach out for what I want. I sit up and promise myself that I won't be so weak next time. I look out the window and see the bright moon smiling at me, offering me hope. I haven't noticed till now how bright it is, and I realize that it is because my candle had outshone it.

My candle! I jump up and try to calm my beating heart from the excitement of having an excuse to visit him again. I sneak down the hallway and slide into his room. I spot it across the room, but then turn my head when I hear deep groans by the window. My eyes are greeted with the sight of Mr. Rochester on the love seat gazing at the moon, with his pants around his ankles and his hand on his erect penis!

I feel the fire deep within me growing as I watch the motion of his hand, up and down, up and down. I fight against feelings of anxiety as I try to work up the nerve to approach him, but they win. I slip out just as quietly as I had entered and stand staring blankly at the closed door.

How can I possibly go to bed now? How can I stay? This debate goes on for a few minutes, when the door is suddenly opened, and I am face to face with Mr. Rochester, his trousers up, and his eyes burning into mine.

“What is it you seek?” he asks, his gaze not relenting.

I have a thousand responses fly to my lips, but can manage only to squeak out, “I have come to retrieve my candlestick, sir.”

“Yes, I have one for you.”

That response causes my heart to jump, but I coolly cross into the room behind him, and take it from his dresser. I turn to leave, but stop. His firey gaze provides so many reasons why I should stay, and I quickly work up the nerve to say something. “Are you able to sleep, after what has occurred?”

“No, I have been somewhat ... distracted.”

The candlestick shakes, and I feel myself growing weak. “Perhaps I can find something in the kitchen that will ease your spirit?”

He looks me up and down, and says almost to himself, “No, I have something much better in mind. Come join me,” he adds, with his characteristic cold tone of authority. He returns to his seat at the window, and I replace the candle and join him.

I cannot think of what to say, so I look out the window instead. The moon is very bright. My eyes adjust to its glory, and I smile in admiration.

“So beautiful – as the goddess Diana.”

I nod as he echoes my thoughts, then glance up to see him looking warmly at me. I blush and turn away.

Oh, how I long to please him! But how can I? There is no way a girl as inexperienced as I could possibly have anything to offer a man such as Mr. Rochester. Why bother staying even a minute longer?

I open my mouth to give some reason to be excused, when my thoughts are cut short by the feeling of a hand covering mine. I look at it, and follow as he lifts my hand and places it on his face. His eyes study mine as he traces my hand along his handsome features. He has such a well-sculpted face, not particularly lovely, but very intriguing. He has a firm chest, one I could rest my head upon with contentment. His arms are quite strong, and I close my eyes and picture them wrapped around me. His legs are so firm, his neck so soft, and his penis so hard.

He looks at me, judging my reaction as he leaves my hand in his lap and begins exploring my body. I gaze out the window and enjoy the feeling of his soft hands on my face. I lean my head back to give him greater access to my neck, and moan as I he continues down my body. His hands become more strong and sure as he kneads my breasts and caresses my curves. At the first delicate touch between my thighs, I gasp and grip more tightly at the bulge in his pants.

At that, he stops. I open my mouth to protest, but he touches it with his finger and says, “Tell me, Jane, is not your greatest desire to please me?”

I am stunned. I clearly do a far worse job of hiding my thoughts than I had realized. “Yes, sir. H-how-”

“It is quite evident in the way you abandon all other tasks when I make one tiny request of you, or the way you recall my preferences and incorporate them into everything you do. And Jane, do you think a man will not notice when for the first time in years he does not have to make any requests to mend his clothing? I am not an idiot.”

“You are right, sir.”

“Of course I am. But tell me this, Jane: do I please you?”

Knowing lying would be futile, I search within myself and whisper the unpleasant answer. “No, sir.”

He reaches up to brush back a wisp of hair from my face. “Come, sit in my lap.”

I wonder at his request, but follow it, sitting stiffly in front of him. He covers my arms with his, and pulls me close to himself. At the feeling of his hardness against by back, I tense up, but he just softly runs his hands over my arms, and holds me close again. I can feel his hot breath on my neck as he inhales my sent. Then I feel a quick, cool kiss on my shoulder.

One little kiss – it has such a great effect on me. “Oh!” The sigh escapes softly from my lips before I realize I have made it.

“Do I please you?” he whispers.

His breath in my ear makes me shiver, but I remain silent. He continues to kiss my neck and shoulders as his hands place themselves on my breasts. They linger there for a while, kneading the soft flesh before traveling down to my knees and back up to my thighs. I sharply inhale at the intrusion between them. His right hand gently strokes me as his left hand reaches up and unties my hair. I feel it come loose, and he buries his face in my soft tresses.

“Do I please you?”

“Mmm...” I moan as I feel increasingly hotter and weaker and more dependent on each next touch.

He suddenly stands me up and turns me toward him. I look down at his face, illuminated both by the moon shining behind me and by the lust burning within himself. His eyes look deep into mine, into my soul it seems. Without turning them away, he reaches up behind me and unbuttons my nightgown. I feel it pile around my ankles, and I watch his face as he finally turns thirsty gaze to my naked flesh, drinking it all in. With an expression of almost worship, he slowly leans forward and takes my tight nipple into his mouth. I close my eyes and focus on the firm suction of his lips on my sensitive skin. With a little nibble, he releases me and leans back.

“Do I please you?”

“Oh, yes,” I say, wondering what he will do next.

I do not have long to wait before he places his hand between my legs and slides it up, cupping my dark curls. With agonizing slowness, he slides a finger into my hot, wet folds, and I am shocked at how big it feels. I groan in pleasure and amazement when he adds another, and I feel them dancing within me. My breaths quicken, and my soft moans become more needy. The flames within my belly become a raging inferno, and I curl my toes into the carpet, wondering if I can stand much longer. He stares intently at me, as if knowing the effect he has on me.

“Do I please you, Jane?” he asks earnestly, as the fire within me suddenly shoots out into the tips of each finger and toe.

“Yes. Yes! YES!” I cry out before my legs go weak.

He catches me and lies me on his lap, stretching me out across the love seat. I gaze out the window and smile. The lady in the sky glows brighter than every, shining out her message of approval. Mr. Rochester strokes my hair as my breathing softens and my eyelids flutter. As my happiness fades into peace, I hear his rich voice above me.

“Oh, my beautiful Jane! I'll make you mine forever.”
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Flames in the Moonlight