Sinful Like Us

by Ritchie, Krista

  Security has already swept every inch of this house, but double-checking gives him an excuse to turn his back to me.

  You’d need a fucking jackhammer to dent the tension in this room. I’m the world’s worst at apologizing. I should unlace my boots and place them against the nightstand.

  I should rack out and give him space.

  But fuck it all. I’m tired of shutting up when I crave skin-and-fucking-bones to make amends.

  Akara spends an extra long minute running his fingers down the window’s seal.

  “We’re going to have to talk at some point.” My voice sounds too loud in the quiet.

  He goes still. “We probably shouldn’t make that point today.”

  My muscles tense. “You need to get something off your chest? I can handle it.” I’d much rather him just ream me the fuck out. I’m used to superiors spit-yelling at me. I’m used to shackling on the blame, but I can’t do that until he gives me the weight.

  Akara turns around finally and leans back against the windowsill. He crosses his arms over his chest, and his expression is one of profound discontent. “Like I said, you don’t want to do this today.”

  “What if I do?” Just yell at me, goddammit.

  He shrugs. “It’s your funeral.”

  I nod, ready for it.

  Akara takes a breath and sizes me up. “Normally, I’d love this twin swap. Pulling one over on Epsilon—classic.” His eyes land on mine in a glare. “But I honestly hate this whole thing because I could have had a week without you. Joke is on me, per fucking usual.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Go back in time,” Akara says coldly. “The moment you started fucking your client, you come to me and tell me you crossed that line. That’s what I want, but we’re too late for that.”

  I grimace. “I didn’t want to put that on you—”

  “I’m your fucking lead.” He steps away from the window in hot angered movements. “You, out of everyone, should understand what that means, but instead of giving me the same respect I would’ve given you, you decided to shackle me and dump me on the bottom of an ocean. We could have come up with a solution together because that’s what friends do. But you and me, we’re not friends, are we?”

  Hurt claws down my back.

  I can count on my hand the amount of real, honest and good friendships I’ve made over the years. Ones where people don’t treat me and my brother like one person or an object or something to poke fun at.

  Akara might have been the most real friendship I’ve ever had, and I feel it slipping through my fingers, already obliterated to dust.

  “I blew it,” I tell him, my chest on fire. “I didn’t know how to tell you about Jane without implicating you.” I inhale sharply, bottling a stronger emotion. “Akara, I thought I was sparing you the blame.”

  “You’re on my Force. You’re one of mine.” He removes his baseball cap and bunches it in a tight fist. “Your mistakes are my mistakes. What you were trying to do isn’t even possible. And I feel like such…a fucking idiot.” He sighs in frustration and throws his cap onto the mattress.

  I’m rigid, muscles strained. “Are Price and Sinclair still giving you hell?”

  He glances over at me and raises his brows. “That’s what we’re not going to do. You lost the privilege to talk with me about that shit.”

  “You’re really going to shut me out?” I lower my voice. “Banks isn’t here. Who else do you have to talk to about that shit?”

  It was always him and me. My brother couldn’t give a rat’s ass about the lead position, but Akara and I were bred for this.

  “No one,” he says. “But lucky for you, we don’t have to spend another minute together.” He bends down and grabs the strap to his duffel. His eyes ping to the bathroom door. It’s a Jack & Jill style that leads to another bedroom where Jane, Sullivan, and Luna sleep.

  I shake my head, fucking confused. Maximoff and Farrow handed out room assignments, and they intended for me and Jane to use the bathroom as a way to secretly switch during the night. They also put O’Malley, Tony, and Will on the furthest side of the house, so they wouldn’t overhear Jane and me.

  But that plan involved Akara agreeing to it.

  He didn’t.

  “I don’t understand.” I rest my hand on my taut shoulder. “If I remember correctly, you said fuck no, I’m not letting you get laid every night.”

  He nods. “You don’t deserve it. But I realize in this moment that I don’t deserve having to share space with you. Have whatever sex you want, I’m out.” He aims for the door.

  My pulse hammers, and I take a couple strides to intercept him. “Wait.” I grab onto his arm.

  He stares at my hand and then at my eyes.

  I don’t move. “If I had told you I was sleeping with Jane, do you really think the outcome would have been different? There was no way out of this, Akara. You: on this shit-end of Price and Sinclair’s judgment, and me: axed from her detail.”

  His face breaks into pity, and it’s like being swallowed by a black hole. Endless nothing on the other side. “You spent less than a year on Jane’s detail,” he says, his voice softer now that we’re closer to the door. “Do you realize that I spent more than three years as a bodyguard to a Cobalt? Two of those were on Connor’s detail. And you know what I learned from that time?”

  My stomach twists, a sickening feeling surging all at once.

  He looks up with that same pity. “There’s always a way out. You don’t have to fall on a sword because it’s sitting in front of you, waiting. You put together the team that’s going to find the right exit. You sidelined me. That’s on you.” He pushes my hand off his arm. “Move.” He reaches the door, gripping the knob, and leaves.

  * * *

  Akara just cock-blocked my mind.

  When he leaves and Jane enters, I wrestle with two conflicting sides. I want to fuck my girlfriend, to please Jane how she needs and deserves to be pleased, but it doesn’t feel right to be happy or satiated after everything I’ve done and everything he said.

  I untie my boots while Jane lights candles around the room, a tartan blanket warming her shoulders like a shawl, and we sneak these smoldering glances that burn my soul into blistered pieces—and I’ve craved to tear off her jeans, her shirt, her bra.

  To hoist her in my arms and kiss the nape of her neck. For her fingers to claw at my hair. To hear her hungered moans against my ear.

  I’ve never been with a woman who loves sex like I do. With an animalistic ferocity. Who needs carnal touch like water, quenching a desperate thirst. Jane is my match, my mate, and I swear to all that’s holy, I’d give her my breath, my body—but guilt is slowly destroying me.

  I set my boots against the nightstand, and I rise.

  She shakes out a match, waxy candles lit on an antique dresser. I near Jane, my muscles contracting and my blood pumping into my cock, and I watch her breasts push out with shallow, wanting breath. She eases back into the wall, waiting for the inevitable moment where we collide.

  I place a strong hand on the burgundy wallpaper. High above her head, and before she speaks, I have to lay down ground rules. “We’re doing things a bit different tonight.”

  Her brows quirk. “Are we?”

  I slip the button through her jeans. “You ready to go for hours and be spent in my arms?”

  She almost moans. “Yes.” Her hands clutch my ass, her hips bowed towards me. “But that’s not so different from most nights.” Curiosity sparkles her blue eyes.

  She’s flat-out beautiful.

  Gently, I peel her fingers off my body, and her lips part in confusion. I clarify. “You can’t touch my ass, my cock—I’m not getting off, only you are.”

  Jane frowns. “I don’t like this.” She searches my hardened gaze. “What’s going on, Thatcher?”

  I tell her everything about my conversation with Akara and finish with, “I’ve disrespected him enough, and having sex is another bullet in a
gun I’m firing.”

  She catches my wrist before I unzip her jeans. “We don’t have to have sex.” We’re breathing like we’re already making love against the wall.

  My gaze slips down my girlfriend in a sensual stroke, her wide hips still arched towards me. Her freckled cheeks are flushed and eyes big. She needs more. I need more. My dick twitches, and I expel another hot breath through my nose.

  “Okay?” she breathes, her fingers hooking my belt loop. Tension snakes around us, threatening to choke us to fucking death, and the cold house suddenly blazes at a million degrees.

  “No.” I brace my forearm to the wall, only a sliver of space separating our bodies.

  Jane melts. “Thatcher.” It’s a wanting, needing, pleading Thatcher, but she adds fast, “If you plan to punish yourself, then you better include me. We’re in this together. So if you can’t come, then I can’t either.”

  My jaw tenses. That will kill me.

  She tries to read my features. “Frankly…” Her voice softens. “I’d much rather you not punish yourself at all because it won’t make you feel any better.”

  I know she’s right.

  But I’ve never known how to let myself off the hook that easily.

  I shake my head. “I deserve hell.”

  “You deserve to be happy,” Jane combats with so much conviction, and I hear my grandma’s soulful voice—be happy.

  It’s not a single step into happiness. Not for me. To let myself have that is five-hundred klicks away, and my trek only just began when I chose something happy in my life, for once.

  When I chose Jane.

  I cup her cheek. The plaid blanket slips off her shoulder, heat brewing between us.

  I put words into the quiet. “I can be happy without sex for a night.” Really, I might be fooling myself this one particular night.

  She lifts her chin. “So can I.” She puts her hands on my flexed abs in attempt to shove me back, but she applies no force.

  We stare into each other.

  We breathe heavier.

  “I don’t need you,” Jane suddenly whispers.

  Something sharp impales my chest. “Say again?”

  “I don’t need you.” In the candlelight, I can see her eyes reddening. “I can get myself off.”

  I go rigid. “I don’t doubt that, but would you rather have your fingers or my cock, honey?”

  She intakes a staggered breath. “My fingers.”

  I squint at her, my pulse on a seasick free-fall. “You’d rather have yourself than have me?” I’m confused as all hell.

  Jane blinks rapidly, shaking cobwebs out of her head. “Your cock is just an appendage. It’s a fact.” She’s trying to isolate feelings from sex.

  I glare at the window, then try to soften my eyes when I set them back on her. “My cock is attached to my body, and trust me when I tell you that every time I’m inside your pussy, it’s never some vapid, emotionless thing.”

  She opens her mouth, but words are stuck on her tongue. “I…”

  “My cock is yours, but I’m not a sex toy. I’m better because I love you, and I will fuck you with nothing less than love, Jane.”

  She holds onto my waist like her knees are about to buckle. “I…yes—no. No.” She inhales. “I’m fine with my fingers.”

  “You are?” I think she’s conning herself.

  Jane blows out a measured breath. “I don’t need your love.”

  It sucker-punches me.

  “I want it,” she clarifies quickly. “But like in this instance, I don’t need it. I can survive on my own.” She looks pained, and she holds my hand that encases her cheek. Like she doesn’t want me to let go, but her palm still rests on my abs, a millisecond from shoving me back.

  We’re both at war with ourselves.

  I force down a raw emotion that I’ve never felt before, not like this. I’m realizing in my attempt to punish myself, I’m pushing her away from me and towards whatever’s been pressing her lately. I’m going to lose Jane if I keep this same masochistic course.

  It’s all or nothing.

  And I want all of her. I always have.

  I dip my head and whisper against her ear, “What if I don’t want to survive without you?”

  An aching noise expels from her lips, and I release my hold of her cheek and fist the back of my shirt, pulling the fabric over my head. Bare-chested, I undo the buckle of my belt.

  She fixates on my movements that write a story of devotion. I step out of my slacks. I take off my boxer-briefs.

  Naked.

  Erect, and I slowly sink down to my knees, my hand running along the curve of her hip and thigh before I kneel on the floorboards.

  Jane grasps my hair, her throat bobbing in arousal. “Thatcher.”

  I roll down her pastel jeans, revealing her velvet blue panties, and I hike her soft leg over my shoulder.

  She whimpers. “God.”

  Fire blazes in my veins, and my nerves light with kerosene. I kiss the inside of her thigh, watching her eyes drink me in and cling to me and beg me—and love me.

  I pull aside her panties.

  “Wait, wait,” she pants.

  I go still. “Jane—”

  “Am I allowed to touch you? I have to be certain because you can’t get me off if I can’t get you off. Together, remember?”

  I hold her gaze in a vice. “You can touch me all you want.” She might think I’m choosing sex over celibacy, but I’m choosing us tonight and every fucking night hereafter.

  I kiss her pussy, and her back arches in a soft cry.

  Fuck. My cock stirs more. Hardens more. Pre-cum glistens on the swollen head. I pull her closer, my hand stroking her ass while I taste the most sensitive part of Jane.

  She’s sweet, and her thighs vibrate as I lap my tongue over her clit.

  “Thatcher,” she moans under her hitched breath. “God, yes. Please…more.”

  My pulse sky-rockets, and skin-pricked heat builds sweat along my whole body. I watch her mouth break open with heady gasps.

  The only time I pause is to reach over and grab a condom out of my bag. I tear the foil with my teeth and slide one on over my shaft.

  “Yes, yes.” Her fingers tighten in my hair, and her head hits the wall. Eyes rolling back already. I could watch her come every minute, and I waste no time.

  I kiss her heat before I rip her panties completely off, and she nods rapidly, hand to her forehead like her brain is spinning. I drop her leg and stand, and she claws hungrily at my body while our lips crash together.

  I’m in another world with Jane.

  And I never want to leave.

  We devour one another, and I tear off her blouse, snap off her bra and throw it aside. Not a second after she’s bare, I clasp the backs of her thighs and hoist her up my body.

  She gasps against my mouth, her legs weaving tightly and readily around my waist, and I can feel her heart pounding like we’re banging a drum together.

  Candlelight flickers along her flushed face, and I bring her higher so our lips align. We share each inhale. Each exhale. Her body thrums against me.

  Alive with ferocious energy.

  “Please,” she breathes. “Thatcher.”

  “Jane,” I groan.

  We kiss in aggressive passion, our tongues tangled and lips stinging. Like we can’t be close enough, and deep isn’t deep enough. I have her ass in my hands, and her palms track burning lines along my biceps.

  I lower her just slightly down my body, until her hips are in line with mine. It breaks our mouths apart.

  She tries to catch her breath, but she watches my erection push against her wet folds.

  “Look at me,” I whisper.

  Jane lifts her gaze, and as soon as she sees the affection in mine, tears crease the corners of her eyes.

  “I love you. I love you. I love you,” I emphasize as I bridge us together, carefully and slowly fitting inside her pussy.

  She wraps her arms around my shoulders and mo
ans my name into the crook of my arm. High-pitched and staggered.

  Fuck, the pressure of Jane around me is mind-numbing. She squeezes and clenches, and I move her body up and down on my shaft.

  She gasps, almost choking.

  “Breathe, honey.”

  Jane puts a hand to her heart like it’s beating out of her chest, involuntary tears soaking her cheeks. My eyes are raw with emotion, and I hold her against me with one hand and use the other to clasp her face. “Breathe.”

  I pause and let her gulp air.

  She tries to grind on me.

  Christ. I grit down, my nerves snapping in pleasure.

  “I don’t want to stop,” she says in a single breath. “Keep going. Keep going. Please.”

  I rock my hips into her. Gently.

  Slowly.

  Almost teasingly, and she gasps again, our eyes locked.

  I sink deeper. “Would you rather survive with me or without me?”

  She clutches my biceps tighter. “With you.”

  My muscles sear in magma. “Would you rather live with me or without me?”

  “With you.”

  Then what are you so afraid of, Jane?

  I brace her shoulders to the wall and fuck her harder. Deeper and longer strokes, and I hit a spot that drives her over the edge. Right when she bucks into me, her legs shaking, I press her closer to my chest and I carry her to a twin bed.

  Her pussy contracts in pulsating waves around my cock, and I flex my abs to stop from coming.

  But I’m throbbing inside Jane, craving a release. I move her off my shaft, and I set her knees on the mattress. She practically collapses on her stomach, melting into a post-climax, and I let her stay in this position and tuck a pillow beneath her hips.

  “Mmm,” she says, the cooing noise familiar and approving of my hands and actions.

  I kneel behind her, spreading her legs wider, and I pull her ass back and drive into her heat. She tightens and pleasure builds at the new position.

  Another high-pitched sound pitches its way out of Jane.

  “Fuck,” I grunt. Fuck.

  She glances back over her shoulder, lips split apart with each gasp as I ram into her, and I lean forward and kiss the hell out of my girlfriend. She has to arch back, causing me to slide deeper.