I harden, and my blood cranks to a swelter. “Anything you want, honey.” With one swift movement, I pull her further down between us, so she’s in line with my cock, and a noise ejects from her mouth along with, “God.”
I sheath my long shaft with the last condom, and I stretch her leg higher over my waist. She extends her other leg as well as she can, holding steady beneath her knee.
Still on our sides, I cup her face, which is down at my chest, and the swollen head of my erection nudges against her glistening folds. I flex my hips forward, edging inside Jane, and she gasps, pleasure washing over her features.
I grit my teeth, jaw locking. Blistering sensations escalate towards a peak. Overwhelming. Sweat builds again as I rock against my girlfriend, her soft breathy gasps warming my chest.
This position is fucking tight as all hell, and her calf spasms. I gather her in my arms and seamlessly shift us upright, her back to the seat like she’s sitting.
My head almost touches the roof. With my knee on the cushion, my other foot on the floor of the car, I have two perfect handfuls of her ass and I thrust with a deep, annihilating pace. Jane watches my cock sliding in and out of her pussy.
“ThatcherThatcherThatcher,” she cries, fingers gripping my shoulder. “Yesyes, oh God.”
“Fuck,” I groan between clenched teeth, my muscles flaming in primal hunger.
She’s gone, just completely engulfed by our passion, and I love her—I love her.
I clasp her cheek again, and she looks up at me. I stare down while I pound into her pulsating heat, and she chokes on a gasp, then a sharp sound that rattles my core.
“You okay?” I breathe.
She nods. “Don’t…stop.”
I’m not. Warmth wraps around my cock, the friction skin-pricking, mind-numbing—and Jane rakes her nails down my back.
“Jane,” I groan, fucking her harder.
Her spine arches, and I have her in my arms. I’m not letting go, and we climb towards a soul-fucking climax that shakes her whole body. I tighten up, muscles flexed, and I come with a heavy grunt.
Fuuucking…
I start to milk the unbelievable feeling, pumping slowly inside her swollen pussy—but then, my ears pick up noise from outside.
Snow crunching. Like footsteps.
Shit.
Carefully, I pull out of Jane. She blinks through the fog of sex, questions surfacing in her big blues, and I tell her, “Someone’s here.”
Probably a local who spotted our car. Fog and morning mist coat the windows, so it’s not like they can see inside.
Jane and I dress fast. Pants on, jackets on, and I jam my feet into my boots before wrenching open the door—dammit.
It’s stuck.
Snow has barricaded us. If we were alone, we’re resourceful enough that we’d find a way out ourselves. But thankfully we have help now—and we don’t need to break a door or bust a window.
We share a look, light in our eyes. It’d be easy to be upset that reality has caught up. To wish away whatever person is here to help us.
But I think we’re both grateful for our fairytale and our reality—because we’re together in each one. We’re leaving this car as a couple when we entered it broken up.
“Jane?! Thatcher?!” Maximoff’s voice is unmistakable.
“Moffy!” Jane shouts. “We’re here!”
Not locals, then.
Surprise barely touches me. Because Maximoff Hale searching for a lost family member is in his nature the same way Jane hanging outside a window to tie a scarf to the car—in a fucking blizzard—is in hers.
Relief surges through me. Just knowing the help that’s arrived is capable and prepared for a rescue.
I try to force open the jammed door, budging a little bit more. Farrow and Maximoff dig us out in a matter of minutes.
Wind whips my hair, the sun hiding behind thicker, darker clouds. Hefty hiking packs lie next to the buried tires. I know they belong to Maximoff and Farrow. Both are dressed in full winter gear, their noses and cheeks reddened. Like they trekked here on foot through hellish weather. With a quick glance, I assess the car.
Fucking dammit. Deep in the snow, every door is obstructed, and the windshield is caked with ice. It’s not just that. The road is gone.
Just a valley of snow.
Even if we unburied the car, we wouldn’t be able to drive home.
While I attach my radio to my waistband and fit in my earpiece, Jane hops out behind me. Her ballet flats sink in the snow. “Sorry I didn’t come home, old chap—”
Maximoff rushes to his best friend and wraps her up in his arms. Picking her off the ground in a hug and saving her feet from the cold. “You’re okay?”
“I’m okay.” She clings tighter to him.
Farrow comes to my side, and we both watch the people we love embrace. They whisper to each other, and Maximoff keeps sweeping her from head to toe. Making sure she’s in one piece.
“I never want to see him like that again,” Farrow tells me, his voice low.
My chest tightens. “That bad?”
“Man, you have no idea.” His brown eyes almost glass, carrying the hours where he watched Maximoff fear the death of his best friend.
I think of the car crash last May. “I have some idea.” I watched Jane face the possibility that Maximoff was dead on-site.
Farrow remembers and nods. We need to catch up, and I skim him: a black beanie covering his hair, one earring dangling, and a black snow jacket with black snow pants on. I don’t care if he came in looking like Captain Jack Sparrow.
His comms should be accessible. “Where’s your earpiece?”
He rolls his eyes. “I don’t know, Mom, where’s yours?”
“In my ear,” I snap.
“That you just put in,” he says, irritated. Comms are a hot button issue between us because this is the one thing that really grates on me after a while. I need him.
The team needs him.
I know he’s pretty much always accessible, but still, it’d be easier if I didn’t have to fucking badger him to get there.
I narrow my gaze. “The team could be trying to reach you.”
“They can’t be.” Farrow lifts the hem of his jacket, showing me his radio on his waistband. “I turned off comms an hour ago.”
I glare. “You what?”
“I turned off comms,” Farrow repeats. “To preserve battery. I lost signal thirty minutes after we left the house and static was draining the thing.”
I run my hand across my jaw. Irritable tension building between us for a second.
Maximoff tells Jane, “Wait a second, I brought your boots.” He unzips his hiking pack, and she digs inside.
Farrow angles more towards the car. Head tilted, peering inside just slightly, then eyeing me with raised brows. “Have fun?” Humor is in his rising smile.
He literally encapsulates the saying: don’t sweat the small shit. Letting go of insignificant rifts with the snap of a finger.
I rub my mouth, feeling my lips lifting some at the memory of Jane. “It was a good night.” Not denying that. “I have to clean the car before we leave. Her brother will fucking kill me.”
Farrow frowns, leaning casually on the car. “Who? Charlie?”
I nod strictly. “He’s not a fan of people fucking in communal places.” I change frequencies on comms, hoping to find a working signal. “He basically eviscerated Maximoff for hooking up with you on the tour bus shower, and I’m trying to avoid a war with my girlfriend’s brothers. Not start one.”
Farrow nods. “You have nothing to worry about, Moretti.”
My brows knot. “What do you mean?”
“Charlie doesn’t give a flying shit about people fucking in communal places. If he did, he would’ve called out Beckett for screwing in the bus’s lounge. He just wanted to hurt and provoke Maximoff.”
That doesn’t make me feel any better. “I thought that was more likely.” I adjust my earpiece. “But I just wan
t to cover my bases where her brothers are concerned.”
“You should worry more about Tony seeing the condom graveyard—and I’m going to be honest here: it’s not that you look like the aftermath of a hetero porn. You smell like one.”
Noted. “I’ll take a shower before I see Tony.” I hold out my hand for his radio. “Let me check the battery.”
“Sure, Mom.” He slaps it in my palm.
I almost roll my eyes now. “How long did it take you and Maximoff to get here?” I look up, just to check on Jane.
She’s lacing one boot, and her best friend ties the other for her. Both chatting and catching up like we are.
“At his pace, three hours. We would’ve been earlier, but we couldn’t leave the house until the wind died down.” Our eyes lift as snow flurries turn thick, sticking to the ground.
The sun is gone. Not good.
Farrow stands off the car. “The others wanted to come too.”
“Her brothers?”
“No. They just wanted Maximoff to go.”
That’s how much the families trust him as their leader. Charlie probably didn’t see a purpose in going if Maximoff was there.
“I meant Oscar, Donnelly, Quinn…Akara,” Farrow tells me. “Omega.”
I freeze, hand on my mic cord, then surprise leaves me in a breeze. “For Jane,” I realize.
Farrow nods. “And you.”
It slams me back. Almost hard to believe. Hard to accept. “You’re bullshitting me.”
He laughs. “Fuck, I’d come up with better bullshit.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a stick of gum. “Sulli was dying to go to, and the only reason they’re all not here is Tony.” He pops the gum in his mouth. “That dipshit was determined to rescue Jane. And most of us were concerned he’d walk into this.”
This.
He’s referring to me and Jane sleeping together. The twin switch could’ve been blown, and the consequences are heavy if Tony finds out and tells the Alpha lead. Banks could lose his job.
I could lose my job.
Tomorrow is December 20th and we’re flying back to Philly. I barely have a day left pretending to be Banks. I can’t fuck this up, especially this close to the end.
“So Akara told everyone to stay back and Tony listened?”
“Basically.” Farrow chews gum. “Tony was fine with Maximoff and me going.” He doesn’t add why Tony would be okay with just them, but I already know the reason.
Farrow is essential. A doctor. And Maximoff is resilient enough that most of the team believes he could protect himself and then some.
As the weather worsens, we wrap this up and get what we need. They brought two extra packs, and we stuff some groceries in them. It should be a six-hour hike back, but that’s not even what’s bearing on our minds.
We all look up at the angry sky.
“Do we think this’ll let up by tomorrow?” Maximoff asks.
Jane inhales, normally in preparation for a battle but none of us expected to face Mother Nature over and over again. “God, I hope so.”
27
JANE COBALT
“What do you mean we can’t leave?” Beckett stops at the bottom step of the wooden staircase. Luggage is piled near the door of Mackintosh House, overloaded with backpacks, suitcases, and duffels. Our flight leaves tonight, but we’re supposed to make the long car ride to the airport this afternoon.
Delayed is a kind word for what’s happening here.
And unfortunately, Beckett—of all people—has risen early enough that he’s stepped into an informal meeting about the situation.
My palms warm around a mug of steaming coffee, and I stand uneasily in the foyer where wet jackets hang on a coat rack and frost resembles spider-web cracks on the door’s windowpanes. I’m the only female at this tense gathering, and Maximoff is the only family member of mine. Until Beckett arrives.
The other six men here are Security Force Omega: Thatcher, Akara, Farrow, Oscar, Donnelly, and Quinn.
And I wish I had better news for Beckett. He already has on a blue snow coat, Ray Bans on his head, and a duffel bag strapped across his chest.
Beckett gestures to the door, his arm gliding with more poise than hostility—even his voice is even-tempered. “The exit is right there.”
I step forward. He’s my brother after all, and I put him in this mess. “We’re snowbound, Beckett.” I explain how temperatures have fallen to the negatives, and snow and ice dominate the remote village with no reprieve just yet.
His face contorts like he can’t believe what I’m saying.
Seeing my naturally calm brother look so pained drives a wedge in my ribs.
“Wait, wait.” He squeezes his eyes shut, then opens them. “But we can leave in a few hours?” His chest rises and falls harder.
I open my mouth, but I struggle to say the truth that we both know exists.
Thankfully, the Omega lead steps in. “You can physically leave,” Akara explains, “but you won’t make it far. Every car is packed beneath snow.”
“We can shovel them out,” Beckett says like this is just another thick snowfall in Philly. He looks to Moffy. “You’ve shoveled out two-feet of snow before. This is easy for you, and I’ll help.”
SFO goes more rigid.
Maximoff cracks a knuckle. “It’s not just the cars, Beck.”
“Roads aren’t plowed,” I tell my brother.
Akara nods. “We have no way to reach the airport, and even if we do, the planes are probably grounded.”
“Probably.” Beckett blinks a terrible ton. “So no one knows for sure?”
I step closer, only a couple feet from him. “The phone lines are down. No one has service, not even to check the internet. But before we lost cable, Akara saw local news. They’re calling this a big freeze, and they suggest residents and winter visitors wait out the cold front and ration provisions.”
As soon as I say the word “ration,” his entire face falls. Beckett steeples his fingers on the bridge of his nose and the corners of his tightened eyes.
I wince just seeing him wince. “I’m so sorry,” I breathe softly. “But we’ll make the best out of this…” I trail off as he shakes his head once.
Silently and kindly telling me to shut up.
I do.
Akara pushes his hair back, and the black strands fall back forward. “Look, I don’t want to be the bad guy here, but no one can leave the house until the roads clear. It’s just too dangerous.”
Beckett drops his fingers and his pain is on me. “You told me one week.”
I take a tight breath, the heat of eight pairs of eyes bearing down on me. Most of them are consoling, the only ones that pierce and shred are my brother’s.
Suddenly, Thatcher comes up to my side, and I stare up at him like my archangel has swooped in to defend me. “Respectfully, Jane didn’t know we would be snowed-in.”
Beckett pinches his eyes, as though that’ll change our fate. “She knew there could be a chance.”
“A slim possibility,” I say quietly. “If we could foresee the future, we wouldn’t have brought you here.”
“Bullshit,” Beckett says smoothly and takes his duffel off his shoulder. “I’d still be here, sis. I have a hard time believing you wouldn’t love a week to turn into two weeks, three weeks—however long you think it’ll take for me to kick a problem that I don’t have.”
Thatcher almost touches me. His fingers lightly brush against mine, and I ache for his comfort. A hand in my hand.
He can’t.
Not while he’s pretending to be Banks. Tony or O’Malley could walk in, and the thought of the twin switch extending beyond the one-week plan…is harrowing.
My body ices over. I want to tell my brother, I wouldn’t love a week to be longer, but possibly, he’s right. Of course I’m glad he won’t touch cocaine for another day.
“Janie isn’t the only one that dragged you here,” Maximoff says as he comes closer. “Don’t just blame her for tha
t.”
Beckett rubs a hand down his face. “Trust me, I’m not feeling that kind towards you either. She’s just in my line of sight.” He shakes his head, upset. Frustrated. Rightfully angry. “I’m leaving in three hours.”
I wince. “Beckett, you can’t. We’ve just discussed this. The roads—”
“I don’t care.” He massages his tensed hands. “I’m leaving.”
“Don’t freak. We’ll figure this out, man,” Donnelly says consolingly while seated on a hard-shell suitcase.
Beckett glances at his ex-bodyguard, then cuts his yellow-green eyes to the scuffed floorboards. Their exchange only seems to flood more grief into my brother. He straps his duffel back to his chest. “Three hours, and I’m gone.”
“How do you plan on going home?” Oscar wonders. “This isn’t Oz. You can’t click your heels.”
“Helicopter,” Beckett says tightly.
I gape. “That is outlandish.” I’d expect that more from Charlie, but Beckett’s desperation starts to cling to the air like fog.
His joints lock up. “You don’t understand. None of you understand. Your jobs are here right now while mine is in another country. I can’t miss any more performances.” He blinks rapidly, on the verge of tears, and he keeps smearing a hand over his face. “My career is going to go to shit.”
I inhale an agonizing breath, practically sucking in glass shards. I did this. I fucked up his life. “I’m sorry.”
Maximoff gestures to my brother. “When we go home, we’ll do what we can so you won’t lose out on anything.”
I nod. “We’ll make this right.”
“I don’t want you two to pull strings.” He takes his Ray Bans off his wavy brown hair. “I earned my spot in the company, and the only way for me to keep it is if I’m there. So I’m leaving.” He glances at the grandfather clock near the staircase. “Three hours from now.”
Dear God. He’s still stuck to that. “Did you just pick an arbitrary time frame?” I ask. “Why not seven or eight hours from now?”
“Because I think it’ll take about three hours for a helicopter to arrive.”
Beckett. He’s not thinking this through. We have no access to a phone or internet, and before I say so, Akara chimes in, “None of us can call for a helicopter.”
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