Sinful Like Us

by Ritchie, Krista

“That was my plan,” I tell her stiffly. “Except you’re not a part of it.” I hold out my hand for the flashlight.

  She doesn’t move.

  “Jane, your shoes.”

  She glances at her leopard-print ballet flats. Our boots are back at the house, still drying from yesterday’s thunderstorm. Only difference is that I had an extra pair.

  Jane sighs at the sight of her shoes. “And here I thought you were being over-prepared by bringing two pairs of the same boots to a week-long trip.” She brushes a strand away from her eyes. “My mom would call you intuitive.”

  I shake my head. “It’s just a habit. I’m a size 15 shoe. I can’t run to the store if anything happens to my boots.” I stop and then push myself to say more. “As soon as I started making good money in security, the first thing I bought was an extra set of shoes for each that I own.”

  “I love how practical you are.” She flushes immediately. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that. It just slipped.” Her eyes are reddened from crying earlier. “Which, I suppose, is why they call it a slip of the tongue. And I’ll just stop talking…”

  I want to tell her to never stop.

  I want to tell her that I could listen to her forever.

  We’re broken up.

  I fight between being a pushy asshole and giving her space that she needs—and I land over on respectful ground.

  Give her space.

  I keep my mouth closed.

  She passes me the flashlight, the plastic thudding into my palm.

  “You’re okay staying here?” I ask, just to confirm

  She nods. “We don’t need to have another problem to deal with, and me getting frostbite on my toes would surely fall into that category.”

  I take a good look at her—head to toe—one last time before I grab my jacket from the backseat and leave.

  Brittle air and freezing winds bite my exposed skin and burn my eyes. I tug on my gloves. No time to waste, I bend down and clear snow off the exhaust pipe.

  And then I stand and try to wrench open the iced trunk. I forgot to unlock it.

  I step back, wind whipping my hair and snowflakes wetting my cheeks. My lungs burn from the cold, breath visible in the dark, and I pull my jacket higher, covering my mouth.

  The trunk pops.

  Suddenly. Without me doing jack shit.

  Jane.

  I almost smile again.

  And then I remember we’re not dating anymore. Don’t think about it. I reach into the trunk and fumble through the bags and consolidate some of the items into two.

  When I shut the trunk, my stomach sinks at what I see.

  Jane is outside of the car. Or at least half of her is. She leans out the driver’s side window and ties her purple scarf to the side-mirror.

  In case we get buried under snow.

  Her body is exposed to the elements, flurries kissing her brown hair and wetting the strands.

  I’m about to help, but she’s so quick. In a blink, she’s back inside the car, window rolling up. Good job, honey. I want to tell her those words, but somehow I know that staying in the blistering cold might be more comfortable than sharing a cramped car with her all night long.

  We’re not together anymore.

  She made that clear.

  I double-check the exhaust pipe one more time before climbing into the backseat. Some food and supplies now accessible, I tear off my gloves and stick them in a seat pocket.

  Jane is still in the driver’s side, reading the time off her wristwatch. “We should turn off the car in a couple minutes to preserve battery. And only turn it back on every two or four hours after that. I’ve also cracked this window about a half-inch to avoid carbon monoxide poisoning. Just in case snow covers the exhaust pipe while we’re asleep.”

  I won’t be going to sleep tonight, but I don’t tell her that. “Looks like we’re all squared away.” I lean back, but my body is a cement block. “We should do four-hour increments, not every two-hours.” I’m not taking any chances.

  If we can dig the car out tomorrow morning, we might be able to drive. But if the car dies because we fucked the battery, then we’ve lost that opportunity. Suffering the cold tonight in favor of better odds tomorrow—that’s the plan.

  She inhales a deeper breath and angles her head, watching me unlace my boots and take my feet out of them. Her eyes feel like hot lasers on me, scorching each inch of flesh. I shrug off my jacket, damp from the snow, and I stuff it behind my head in the gap between the back window and seat.

  Silence.

  It eats around us. Painfully, uncomfortably. She’s the only person who could make me despise the quiet. Before her, it never really bothered me. I craved it. Pined for it. Now silence is too loud, too blistering, and I’m begging for her voice to deaden it.

  I rub at my lips, frustration building. Not at Jane, but at this situation. I didn’t want to do this here where there’s not an exit for her. Where she can’t run away into another room if she wants.

  But I can’t wait.

  I can’t spend the next however-long in this fucking cramped car with nothing but the sound of pelting snow and howling winds.

  I just fucking can’t.

  “Jane,” I say her name a little too loud. My ears ring. “We should talk.”

  She hesitates for a long moment like she’s trapped in her brain. And then she says, “I agree.” She ties her frizzed hair to the side. “Give me a moment.” She shuts off the car and drops the keys in the cup holder. I watch as she crawls over the middle console.

  I shift towards the door, giving her room.

  Now in the backseat with me, we’re staring at each other head-on.

  “Ready?” I ask.

  Her gaze dips down to my crotch. She blushes and raises her blues back to my face. “I didn’t mean to look at your dick. It was involuntary. You usually ask that during sex. And I shouldn’t even be thinking about us having sex right now.” Her words come out rushed and she touches her temple, eyes squeezed closed. “I am so incredibly sorry. I don’t know how to do this.”

  “Do what?” I wonder because she’s losing me. I’ve been lost by her verbal derailments before, but this is different. It feels heavier.

  “Talk to an ex-boyfriend.”

  I don’t blink.

  This is worse than I thought. She’s already filed me under the ex-boyfriend category. I should have prepared for this. She’s the type of person that will slice you open but immediately cauterize the wound.

  By breaking up with me, she thinks she’s protecting me from herself.

  But I don’t want her protection.

  “I’m your ex-boyfriend,” I say bluntly, gauging her reaction.

  Jane swallows hard, eyes bloodshot, and she opens her mouth but closes it quickly. Even lost for words, she doesn’t break my gaze. We hold it, and somehow the contact feels even more powerful than a single, brief touch.

  I continue, my voice never wavering. “To be clear, you broke up with me because you feel like you’re not treating me well.”

  “Precisely.” She places her hands on her knees, gripping them tight. “You don’t deserve to be pulled in and then pushed away by anyone. And I can’t promise I won’t keep doing it. My head is a jumbled mess.”

  I run a rough hand through my hair. “Most people don’t have thousands of strangers bearing down on them with their shit opinions. Acting like they have a say in your life and know who you are—I understand if that’s fucking with your head. It’d drive anyone insane.”

  She breathes in sharply. “Just…wait for a second. It’s…” She shakes her head, blinking. “It’s far too hot in here.”

  It’s not that hot.

  Really, with no heat in the car, the chill starts to creep in. The window next to me is like a block of ice.

  She hurriedly tugs off her fuzzy sweater, her elbow catching the sleeve. I’m about to help, out of instinct, but she frees herself. Brown hair strewn in every direction, the elastic tie lost, she strai
ghtens her pink-and-yellow striped blouse. Her freckled cheeks are rosy-red, maybe partly from the cold.

  She’s beautiful.

  One readying breath later, her eyes land back on mine. “What you just said—it’s the problem.”

  I don’t get it. “Why?” I ask. “Because I’m wrong?”

  “Because you’re right.” She fists her crumpled sweater, balled in her hands. “Because you’re making me feel better, and that’s the issue, Thatcher. You are helping me when everyone says I should be helping myself. These aren’t horrible comments about my weight or appearance or upbringing. They’re attacking my independence…and for me, that’s…” Tears well up in her eyes.

  “It’s your identity,” I finish for her, understanding fully now. Complete realization washes over me like a tidal wave. “And you feel like you’re losing it to me.”

  Which is why she’s been pushing me away.

  Pain twists her face as she nods. “I’ve never had to rely on a man for emotional support…I’ve never wanted that. But I find myself wanting your reassurance, your help, your everything. It terrifies me to know that want inside of me could turn to need, and there are moments I feel myself suffocating under the weight of that fear.”

  My chest constricts.

  I won’t lie to Jane. “I can’t promise that your fear won’t come true,” I tell her.

  A tear rolls down her cheek.

  I force myself not to touch her. “I can’t promise that if you let yourself love me completely that you won’t want me or need me.”

  She holds her body.

  My eyes scald. “Because I love you completely, Jane, and I want and need you during the worst and best moments of my life.”

  Her voice is a whisper. “You don’t have to placate me.”

  “What I said is true.” I fight emotion that fists my lungs. “I fucking need you, honey. I’d be going out of my mind with guilt if I couldn’t turn to you. So many times I’ve thought about you, and you’ve made me feel good about myself.” I stop there, a rock lodged in my throat.

  She has a hand to her mouth, overwhelmed.

  Processing.

  “I…” She swallows. “I’m still scared.”

  I nod.

  I gave her no reason not to be. Because I can’t fix this. A quiet moment passes. I’m unsure of where she’s mentally at.

  “Can I touch you?” I ask.

  “Yes.” She doesn’t hesitate.

  I bridge the distance, my knee on the seat between her split thighs, and my other foot on the ground. I brace my hand to the door behind her shoulder.

  Her breastbone rises and falls while I hover over her body. My right hand encases her face, my lips ghosting her lips as I whisper, “All I can promise is that I will love you and respect you, Jane. And I will never abuse your love or take advantage of what you offer me.”

  Her tears wet my hand, and my eyes sear raw. She clutches my shirt with two fists. Slowly drawing me closer. We stare into each other. Frostbitten air trying to seep into the backseat, but together, we’re too volcanic to turn cold.

  And we erupt.

  Our lips meld in sensual, emotional force, and I hold her against my body while we dive deeper. My tongue slides against hers, warmth blazing me from inside out. She clenches her thighs around my waist, her fingers curling strands of my hair.

  We’re tethered by something unexplainable, and I can’t let go.

  Muscles coiled in taut bands, I’m on fire. I suck the nape of her neck, and her head tilts back, a high-pitched noise breaching her lips. She returns to kiss me like she can’t consume me fast enough, and we slow in heady, mind-spinning strokes. Our touch drawn out.

  Magma.

  I guide her back to the seat so she’s lying down beneath me, and we kiss and grind and with my forehead pressed to hers, she chokes out, “I want you back.”

  Light explodes inside my chest. Fucking disorienting me, and with no doubt, I say, “You have me.”

  Our hands touch every single inch of each other, eradicating the cold, and we live inside a fire-born passion that grows and grows.

  The next minutes are things made of soul and carnal flesh. Stripped naked, my erection is swollen, veins protruding and aching in primal need for Jane.

  I slide two fingers against her pussy—God, she’s soaked. And she writhes and whimpers, “Please, now. Now.”

  She clutches my waist while I cover my shaft with a condom, and I push into her heat that wraps tight around me.

  Fucking. My head spins, and I thrust and lift her by the hips so we’re at a perfect angle with my height—and she pulses.

  “Thatcher,” Jane cries. “Thatcher, harder. Harder, please.”

  Sweat glistens our skin, and I rock at a rougher, deeper pace that pushes me to a sensitive spot in her body. Holy.

  Fuck. I grip the door handle, then her thigh, keeping her leg higher on my waist. “Jane,” I grunt. “Fuckfuck.”

  Her mouth is broken open in overflowing arousal, and her soft, aching noises prick my veins and twitch my cock inside her.

  “Yes,” she moans. “Yesyesyes.” Tears crease her eyes.

  My muscles flex with each thrust. A gnarled groan scratches my throat. I knead her breast, her perked nipple, my hand skating down her wide hip and soft thigh, and she tries to hang on.

  “More,” she cries. “More.”

  I’m deep in the woman I love. My cock filling her pussy to the brim, and my abs contract with another push in. “I could fuck you all night.”

  “Yes.” She clutches tighter. “Fuck me all night.”

  Your wish is my command, honey.

  My nerves pinch like something unholy, and she bucks her hips, her thighs spasm, back arching. Jane lets out an overcome cry, and that sound and her clenching shoots white light in my vision.

  I slow, flexing to keep from joining her climax, and I fuck her softly. Gently. Eking out every second I’m inside Jane.

  “All night?” she asks eagerly, catching her breath with heavy pants.

  “All night,” I confirm. Staring down at her beneath me while I move.

  Her lips part in another soft moan, but I can see an apology in her eyes. For breaking up with me, and I shake my head. I almost stop rocking, but she whispers, “Keep going.”

  I push deeper.

  Truth is, I’d rather Jane break up with me than be some kind of unfeeling robot. I’m with a human being, and we might not deal with our emotions well. But we’re both trying to deal with them together. “You did what you felt,” I remind her. “You don’t have to be sorry for that, not with me.”

  She opens her mouth to reply, but my erection knows her well and finds that sensitive spot again. Her lips split apart and eyes roll back. Body quivering, and my muscles tighten, about to release.

  26

  THATCHER MORETTI

  Morning light pierces packed snow on the windshield. Sun beginning to ascend. I hold a sleeping Jane in my arms, angled on our sides so I’ve cocooned her between my chest and the seat.

  Cold bites my shoulders and triceps, my back exposed to the front of the car. I ensure she’s fully covered, tucking my jacket snugger around her hips.

  She stirs a little, nestling her cheek into my warm chest. I don’t take for granted the mornings I have with Jane. Even if this one is really fucking different.

  I assess our surroundings. Awake. Alert—I never shut my eyes. About an hour ago, I started seeing my breath smoke the air, but I welcome the chill after running hot all night. We’re both still naked under jackets and her sweater. Cum-filled condoms litter the area beneath the seats.

  I fucked Jane until her intense orgasms forced her asleep, and upon her request, I stayed inside of her for an extended time, while she slept.

  It was…unlike anything. She’s always been the best sex I’ve ever had, but in Scotland, the intimacy is on another level. We’re surviving together, withstanding the cold, and those notions were like pulsing heartbeats fastening us at the fu
cking soul.

  I glance at my watch. Ten minutes. Then I’ll go outside to see how deep we’re packed in, and I’ll start the car.

  Jane rustles against me again, and this time her eyelids gradually open.

  “Are you cold?” I ask.

  “Warm,” she murmurs, and our eyes latch in a strong beat. Both of us recollecting last night, and I press my lips to her temple.

  “You sore?” I whisper.

  She shifts her knees. “A little.”

  I cup her pussy, protectively, and her smile dimples her rosy cheeks. She breathes, “I love you there, very…very much.” Her eyes soften. “I love you other places too.”

  “Where?”

  Jane rests her elbow on my muscular side, sitting up some. She takes my other hand, and our breaths shallow as she places my palm on the top of her soft breast.

  To her heart.

  I inhale deeply. “You trust me here?”

  “Yes,” she says without pause.

  Her heart thumps faster beneath my palm, and I glide my hand up higher, tracking across her collarbone in a sensual stroke. Ascending to the nape of her neck. She shudders with a desirous ache against me, and nestling closer, she peers over my side. Eyeing my bare ass.

  “Are you cold?” she whispers, a second from shifting the sweater off her legs, but I stop her.

  “No.”

  Jane nods, and in the quiet, she smiles at the inked writing across my ass cheek—she’s already traced the letters a thousand times in bed.

  Her big blue eyes are poised on me. “You’re my Cinderella, you realize.”

  “I know.” My mouth curves upward. “I’m happy to be.” I’m living the fairytale. And this moment feels like one giant escape from reality. We’re stowing away from the bleak situation, where snow could still be falling. Where a long journey on foot could be ahead of us.

  She’s more fixated on my rising lips than my words. Her smile brightens my whole world, and as she drops back in the cocoon of warmth I create, she whispers, “One more time, before we have to leave the car…can you…?” Flush stains her neck, but she never wavers. “Mr. Moretti—Thatcher.” She blushes more.

  “Jane.”

  She tilts her chin. “Would you be so kind to spread my legs and fill me?”