Involuntary high-pitched sounds erupt out of Jane—I muffle the noise with my hand, covering her mouth.
Her back is already arching.
She speaks against my large palm. I lift my hand just a bit to hear. “Thatcher. Deeper, deeper .” I cover her mouth again as she cries in ecstasy.
My nose flares, arousal pummeling me. I could watch her come for eternity.
I’m not all the way in yet. I hoist her leg higher, hooking my arm underneath her knee. And I shift slightly.
Deeper. I go deeper.
And deeper.
Christ. My muscles contract, my nerves lit, and I reach a place inside Jane that causes her back to bow, toes to curl. Eyes to roll. I split my fingers apart on her mouth, afraid she’s not going to fucking breathe.
I hold her tighter and push into this spot in deep, slow strokes. Hitting this sensitive area in hypnotic succession. She’s almost completely gone.
I’m hanging on to a throttling edge.
Sweat drips down my temples, and tendons pull taut in my neck. Thrusting, thrusting , bringing her further into a mind-altering, levitating climax.
And then cats scratch at the door. Wanting in her room. Meowing incessantly—and I hear footsteps and creaking stairs. All while I’m fucking Jane.
Goddammit.
I turn my head and hawk-eye the door. The footsteps stop on the second-floor landing. Too early. This is why I usually sneak here later in the night. When everyone is already asleep or in their rooms.
I distinguish Maximoff’s voice. Hushed, his words inaudible. He must be speaking to her cats.
Right now, Jane is in another realm. Out of it, and I stop moving inside of her. But I don’t pull out.
A fist lightly raps the door. “Janie,” Maximoff calls, concern hardening his voice. “You want me to let them in your room? They’re all here, except for Toodles.”
I slide my hand off her mouth and cup her cheek. Her eyelids are fluttering, coming down from a fucking tidal wave. “Honey,” I whisper against her ear. “Jane . You need to respond to him. Breathe, breathe.”
She inhales a lung full, blinking repeatedly.
Almost there.
If Maximoff senses something’s wrong, he’ll smash down the door. Especially tonight when a break-in has already happened.
He knocks harder. “Janie, are you okay?”
She swallows a pant and turns her head. “Yuh…yes, yes .”
“You want me to let them in?”
“I…” Confusion bunches her brows.
She didn’t hear him ask. I mouth, your cats.
Realization bathes her face, but she’s too late to reply. Maximoff is worried, and the knob jiggles as he tries to come in. “You locked your door? If you’re scared, I can sleep in your room tonight.”
“No.” Her voice spikes, and she takes a breath to level the tone, then looks at the door while she speaks. “I’m fine, really. I’m actually having…personal time.” Her eyes flit to me. “And I’d rather my cats not watch.”
“Sorry,” Maximoff says fast. “Text me if you’re afraid later on.” He speaks in French, and I think he’s saying goodnight.
She replies back in the same language. Footsteps drift, and he manages to lead the cats away from the door.
Too close.
Other things are taking precedence than talking about that near-encounter. Jane stares down at my cock that’s disappeared between her legs.
Her voice is a gentle whisper. “I love how you feel inside of me.” Her hips arch against my pelvis.
I smother a grunt in my lungs, and I dip my head down more. To kiss her reddened lips and knead her breast, my thumb teasing her hardened nipple. Huskily, I say, “I love being inside of you.” I rock again.
Quiet.
Careful not to let the bed squeak, and she hangs on to my back. Building her up to another peak after some minutes, and I find a spot that sends her over. Deep.
Deep.
Again.
She cries against my palm, sounds deadened, her thighs quaking, and I fist her pink sheets with my left hand. Doing everything in my power not to make a fucking noise as a mind-exploding, blistering sensation crashes into me and ignites me on fire.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuckfuckfuck. I come hard with Jane in total silence.
34
JANE COBALT
Light streams into my room, a sore feeling making me smile. It feels like he’s still in me. I roll over…but to an empty bed.
Of course it’s empty, Jane.
I made Thatcher leave at 3 a.m. exactly, and I didn’t ask if he wanted to stay longer. We have structure for a reason. My bodyguard can’t be caught sleeping with me, and I’m not going to put his job in jeopardy.
But there’s no harm in just imagining mornings with him. Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to wake up to Thatcher in my bedroom. And my mind whirls, recalling all the moments of yesterday. He made an eerie, cold night safe and warm and loving.
I stretch my arms out, and then rub my eyes. Focusing on Thatcher’s side of the mattress. Made neatly already. Pink duvet pulled up, tucked in, and smoothed. On the pillow rests a yellow sticky note.
I prop myself on my elbow and read his legible handwriting.
Thanks for last night. See you in the day.
I feel my smile beneath my fingertips, and I notice a little arrow drawn underneath the word day. I flip the note over, more words on the back:
Coffee is downstairs.
He must’ve put a timer on the pot, so it’d brew around the time I normally wake.
No one has ever left a note for me. Not like this. My heart swells, and I stare longer at the note like it’ll disappear in my fingertips.
This is a Cinderella dream that’ll end, but I want to remember it all later. My favorite moments, these magical nights and days.
I scoot off the bed, slipping my arms into my robe, and I tie the belt around my waist. With the tug of my vanity drawer, I find a square tin and toss out the cotton swabs. Gently, I place the note inside and snap the tin closed.
Not letting this one fade.
35
JANE COBALT
“The condom broke,” I whisper to Thatcher, the ripped latex in my hand. I’m sitting on my vanity, my legs spread wide open for him.
Our bodies glistening in sweat, pulsating, and we do our best not to breathe loudly. He’s sheltered so many of my gasps just tonight. I think he’s the only man I’d want to cover my mouth. Because I know he’d only do so for my safety.
Right now, he’s buck-naked, incredibly masculine and confident, even as I said a phrase that would panic most.
Thatcher takes the condom out of my grasp. Inspecting it in the dim lighting. Only a candle lit on the nightstand. I hadn’t even tried to sheath his long erection yet.
I glance down. Bulging veins spindle along his hard shaft. He stands intimidatingly like he’s a man on guard in an ancient epic tale full of brawn and heroism.
I hold his round ass with two hands. “I must’ve torn it when I tore the wrapper.” Thankfully it didn’t rip while we were having sex. I wish I could say this is the first time I’ve failed at unwrapping a condom, but it’s sadly not.
Thatcher nods, lowering his voice. “It’s unusable.” He cups my sensitive heat, soaked. My body aches for his length. For that fullness.
He steps back, bending down and closing my knees together.
I pulse and watch him place the ripped condom in the trash bin.
We’re both trying to be painfully quiet. It’s much easier for him. After Moffy was close to catching us in bed the other night, we know we need to be more careful.
Thatcher can’t be in my bedroom that early ever again. And we’re already running out of time tonight. It’s 2 a.m.—one hour remaining.
“Where’s the box?” I murmur.
“That was my last one.” He doesn’t seem alarmed. His experience cloaks me like a hot blanket, and I want to wr
ap it tighter around my body.
Thatcher rises to his feet and dips his head down to me. Listening as I speak. Because he knows I’m going to suggest something.
“There are alternatives,” I whisper. “I could put you in my mouth.” I brush my fingers along his cock. “And then you could put a toy in me.”
His lips brush against my ear. “I could also go grab a condom so that I can thrust deep inside you.”
My hips arch towards him, and my hands fall to the vanity surface beside me. “Yes…I agree.” Really, I want .
He kisses my temple, and I ogle him as he walks buck-ass naked over to the rug. He bends down and picks up his boxer-briefs, and it hits me that I have no idea where he’s going.
I stand off the vanity and quickly find a clean pair of panties on the floor. I step into them. “Where are the condoms?”
He lifts the elastic to his muscular waist. Walking towards me, he whispers, “My brother’s room.”
My eyes widen, and I snatch my pair of jeans off the vanity stool. “There’s a higher probability you’ll run into a bodyguard if you return to security’s townhouse.” I hop into my pants and snap on a bra.
“Jane, Jane .” He catches my wrist, drawing me more against his chest. “Explain.”
I fit my arms through the sleeves of my sequined blouse. “It’ll be much easier for me to just grab condoms from Luna’s room.”
During the beginning stages of my sex hiatus, I gave all my condoms to Luna. I thought I’d have no use for them.
And Luna has recently begun to adopt the one-night stand tactic like her older brother used to.
“I know your size is in there,” I whisper to Thatcher. “And Luna’s bedroom is barely five steps from my door.”
His brows harden. “She could ask questions. Like why you need a condom.”
“So could Banks,” I say quietly.
Our heads turn at a sudden noise. It sounds like paws pattering up the stairs.
Thatcher focuses on me. “Banks learning we’re having sex has less consequences. My brother will keep his mouth shut.”
“It’s not like I’m asking my brothers, who would inquire unto my untimely death. It’s Luna,” I whisper. “If I tell her I need one just in case, she won’t bat an eye.”
He checks his watch.
“She might not even be in her room,” I add. “You running in and out of security’s townhouse has inherently more risk. You could bump into Akara or Quinn.”
He’s a natural leader. He makes calls and executes, and I’m a valuable asset in our mission to have intercourse.
He sees this. “Be careful.”
“I will try.” All dressed, I put my hand on the doorknob.
“Jane,” Thatcher calls out under his breath, but I hear the firmness. “Your shirt.”
I stop and look down.
Sure enough, my yellow sequined blouse is inside out.
“Merde.” Heat bathes me as I remove my top. Hurry, Jane.
I spin around for him, arms outstretched. We inhale. We both stare at one another like we ache to be nearer. Me wrapped up in his arms. His cock inside of me.
Less than an hour left.
He mouths, good to go.
I slip out of my room.
Muffled voices come from downstairs. I tiptoe softer, wooden floorboards creaking, and I strain my ears. I had no clue people gathered downstairs.
They weren’t here when Thatcher snuck over, and he’s going to have a harder time sneaking out.
I hear a familiar voice, but I can’t distinguish words.
My brother.
Beckett.
He must be stopping by to see Sulli, his best friend. He could have a rare night off from ballet rehearsals. It’s not unheard of.
I catch a recognizable laugh and snort.
Sulli , most surely.
I smile and close my door gently. Carefully, I head over to Luna’s bedroom. Directly across the landing. I knock. “Luna?” I whisper.
There’s no answer. If she brought a one-night stand over, Quinn Oliveira would be outside her door on-duty. But so far, she hasn’t hooked up with a stranger in this house.
She goes to their place or a hotel.
I don’t believe she went out tonight. So I’m assuming she’s with Beckett and Sulli downstairs.
Search the room.
Find the condoms.
I try the knob. The door is unlocked.
I easily step inside—I freeze. Luna is under the neon-green sheets on her bottom bunk, but her face is exposed. Her lips in an O . And by the other body shape and movement happening under the sheet, she’s not alone.
A guy’s head is definitely between her legs.
My feet don’t move and my eyelids don’t work properly when I need them to. She spots me quickly and also tenses.
“Shitshit,” Luna curses.
I open my mouth, but the guy’s head pops out of the sheet in a flash. He stares up at Luna with wide, concerned eyes.
I know him.
Chestnut brown hair, tattoo sleeve, and cut muscles, trained in MMA—he’s a twenty-seven-year-old Omega bodyguard.
Paul Donnelly.
“What’s wrong?” he asks Luna, worried. He’s already turning his head towards the entrance.
Towards me.
I’m frozen.
She’s frozen.
Donnelly is like water on a hot summer’s day. Thawed completely, he moves. Carefully slipping out of the bottom bunk while also keeping Luna covered with the sheet.
He’s wearing black pants, but he grabs a tattered Van Halen tee off the floor.
Luna watches him, then looks to me, more wide-eyed.
My vocal cords loosen. “I’m so sorry, Luna.”
Never did I imagine I’d walk in on my almost-nineteen-year-old cousin receiving oral sex. Let alone from a bodyguard. I haven’t even accidentally walked in on Moffy having sex with his bodyguard.
I’m having sex with mine.
Oh my God.
This just became dreadfully more complicated.
“I’m going to come back later,” I manage to add quickly. I head to the door, backing away from this.
“Waitwait!” Luna whisper-hisses. “Don’t leave before I can explain.”
Curiosity has me in a vice. I waver.
I cave beneath the pleading look in her eyes. I do as she instructs and come forward. She shimmies up the headboard and snaps on a bra.
I have many questions. Like why Beckett’s bodyguard is in her room and going down on her.
I shut the door behind me. I’d love for Thatcher to be here, but he’s not even supposed to be in my bedroom. So I can’t call him in as a right-hand.
Donnelly fixes his safety pin that’s functioning as a cartilage earring, and he sits down on an alien beanbag. He appears cool, calm, like I didn’t just interrupt him.
Luna wiggles her shorts on underneath the sheet, and then she slides out of the bunk. Landing on her butt, rather than her feet.
She leans on the bedframe, hugging her legs. “So Donnelly was here to design my tattoo.”
Donnelly nods, slipping a cigarette behind his ear.
I notice his sketchbook on the floor. “I see.”
Luna points to the desk near him. “Donnelly, that’s for you, by the way. Just as payment for the design. I have cash for the actual tattoo.”
He’s in arm’s reach and stretches. Grabbing a burnt orange sweater, a green alien peace sign stitched in the middle. “Sick. Did you make this?”
“Yeah, I knitted it.” Luna shrugs.
Donnelly pulls the sweater over his head. It stops well above his belly-button. He smirks and leans back on the beanbag. “Fits perfect.”
Luna smiles, then to me she says, “Alrighty, so me and him—we’re here for the tattoo design.”
“I believe you, but that doesn’t really explain what I saw.”
She clarifies, “We were in my room going over the design, and I asked him if he could
show me what good head feels like.”
I’ve recently asked my bodyguard to put his cock in me, so…
I can relate to Luna, I suppose. On some level.
Recently, Luna has said she prefers one-night stands than having to muddle through the dynamics and complications of an actual relationship.
I’ve shared the same views, so I understand where she’s coming from.
I’m just…
A little stunned that I’m not the only one secretly hooking up with a bodyguard at the current moment.
I steeple my fingers to my lips, thinking. “More facts,” I say. “You and you.” I point from Luna to Donnelly. “Hooked up just because you wanted to see what good head felt like?”
“I knew you’d get me,” Luna says into a nod. “I just can’t really tell the good sex from the bad ones. They all feel pretty good to me, so I came up with a scientific study. Have a baseline that everything is compared to.”
Donnelly raises his hand. “I’m her baseline.”
“I followed that.” My brows crinkle at Luna. “You don’t even like science.”
“Exactly,” Luna says. “Tom, Eliot and I have this theory that you can make anything fun, given the right circumstances. I’m making science fun. With sex.”
I love her.
And we’re both silly grinning right now. But I have to put on my best friend hat because my best friend happens to be her older, very protective brother.
“Maximoff—” I start.
“Can’t know,” Luna says adamantly. “I can’t even imagine what his reaction would be if he knew Donnelly and I hooked up—for scientific purposes—but still.” She looks to Donnelly. “Moffy goes three-fourths Loren Hale, and there is no universe you’d ever survive one-half of my dad if he found out.”
She’s right.
Uncle Lo would surely do damage.
But this is Maximoff. And I’m already keeping one giant secret from him. I can’t imagine holstering another.
I take a sharper breath. To keep so much from him—it will break my heart. It hurts imagining him doing that to me.
Luna notices my wince. “Jane,” she pleads. “It was just a one-time thing. He really doesn’t need to know.”
Tangled Like Us Page 32
