Please.
I pull his fingers out.
Scooting forward, my ass is near the edge of the washer, and with my other hand around his shaft, I begin to lead his tip into me.
Thatcher takes hold of his cock, quickly stopping me. His strict eyes bear down on me. “Jane.” He grinds down his teeth, forcing back arousal. He takes a giant breath through his nose. “I’m not wearing a condom.”
My lower abdomen contracts. “Merde.”
We’ve never had sex without a condom, and I’m not buying into the theory that it’ll feel miraculously better without one. I’d rather be safe, most especially since I’m not on birth control.
But in this very moment, I can’t fathom him moving away from me. I’m willing to leap off a deep-end with Thatcher, no matter how terrifying.
“You can pull out.” My body is on fire as the words leave my lips.
He’s already shaking his head, and he squats down where I left my purse. He knows I keep condoms there, and his hand—his hand glides down with him. He holds my ankle like he refuses to let go of me.
Seconds later, he stands upright, all six-foot-seven of him, and he tears the foil packet with his teeth. He stops suddenly. Concern piercing his eyes. “What’s wrong?”
I realize I’m wincing. “I offered the pull-out method. Statistically speaking, one in five people who do pull-out get pregnant.” I know those facts by heart because I looked them up when I was fifteen and it’s been drilled in my head ever since. “But I offered it like it was nothing.” I shiver.
He rubs my shoulders for heat. “Because you trust me, Jane. You don’t need to feel guilty.”
I trust him. With my life.
With my body.
I’m so willing to just lay down on a freeway for him, and maybe it is trust because I’m certain he’ll stand in front of traffic protecting me. But it’s something else too. Because smart people don’t choose to lie down on busy roads.
An overwhelmed feeling avalanches suddenly and brims water in my eyes. “I don’t…know what this is…” I touch my chest, pressure mounting. But I do.
I know exactly what it is.
I’m just terrified that I’ve already given my entire self to him. And what if I’m half of what I was? What if…what if I’m not ready?
Thatcher keeps his hand on my thigh. “Take a breath. Jane. Look at me.” My eyes cement on him and he inhales deeply. His chest rising.
I follow him and do the same. My head feels light as air. I wipe my cheeks. He probably thought this insecurity was resolved. “I’m being unfair—”
“No.”
“You don’t deserve—”
“Jane.” His eyes redden. “I love you. I’m here for these moments. Every fucking one. We’re going through fear, shame, guilt, back to fear together. A hundred, million times if we need to.”
I feel like my ribcage is cracking in two.
We stare at one another for a long moment, just timing our breaths. The washing machine thunders below me.
“What if love makes me do stupid things?” I mumble. “Like almost having sex with you without a condom.”
“That wasn’t stupid.” His features harden. “It was in the heat of the moment, and I would try to stop you if I knew you were doing something you wouldn’t normally do, just because of love.” He presses his lips to mine, slow and sensual. Our kiss igniting a smothered flame. He breaks apart just to whisper, “I’m going to protect you. Sempre toujours.”
I breathe in, shock and something stronger crashing into me.
Sempre toujours.
The first word is Italian, the second French.
It means, always always.
“Sempre toujours,” I repeat, letting the combination of the two sink in deeply.
His reassurance shouldn’t be so comforting. Shouldn’t fill me up. But it’s the perfect remedy, and I’m ready once more.
“I still want to.” I nod to the condom. “If you do.”
Headiness coats his gaze, and the washing machine stops suddenly, the cycle finished.
I freeze.
He checks the door and simultaneously refreshes the webpage. No internet.
My ears catch muffled voices, but they seem rather far away. Thatcher reaches around my body to switch the dial again. Vibrations crawl through me like they live inside my limbs and veins.
I hold onto his carved biceps. “I’ve never really craved anal,” I admit. “But this is…it feels really good and kind of makes me more curious.”
The corner of his lip rises, a shadow of smile. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask me.”
Now I’m truly intrigued. “You think I’d like it?”
“No idea.” He sheathes his length. “But I know you’re too curious not to try.” He must see the deep interest in me. “Just tell me how soon.”
“Today,” I say without pause. “After one vaginal orgasm.” I’m so eager and invested in this adventure that he lets out a laugh.
“I’ll fuck you better than just one.” He fits between my legs, his erection pressing against my inner-thigh. He sweeps me in a quick once-over. “You’re gonna need to hold onto something.”
I look around. Nothing really to grip. Not even above me. “I’ll be fine.” I’m confident about this.
Thatcher stares at me with a hard look.
“I’m not a porcelain doll—”
He pounds into me, and I immediately reach behind my back, planting a hand on the washer. “Ahh,” I choke on a cry, trying to be quiet. Pure pleasure rattles my senses.
His jaw tightens, gritting back a groan.
My thighs are in his strong grasp, and he thrusts in hard, quick movements. Bursting the nerves along my skin like cracking embers. Slowly each one catches fire to my body, and an orgasm already rips through me.
My spine arches, and I shudder. God.
Fuck.
Ahhh… “Ahh.” I can’t capture that noise, and he covers my mouth.
Sure enough, he was right: I don’t have a good grip. I fall back onto my elbows. Breasts exposed, skirt still on. Panties not even stripped off but pushed aside. It’s the raunchy sex I lust for, and I have the best view. He crashes into me with primal need, his jaw tensed and nose flared, breath mixing with curses.
His cock slides past my cervix—oh God. Lights dance in my vision as he finds the spot of my dreams. And he repeatedly pushes against the nerve-spindling place in rhythmic bliss and skill.
He annihilates me. Body and soul.
I lose time to pleasure. Pleasure to flesh. Until I’m melting under carnal sensations. All sweat and skin and pressured points.
After another wave of euphoria, I can’t hold myself up on my elbows any longer. I collapse to my back, and Thatcher slows, eking out the movement while I climax again.
He kisses the inside of my thigh, and still hard, he pulls out. I try to catch my breath.
“Too spent?” he asks.
“Not at…” I pant. “All.” I stare at his erection. He puts on a new condom and finds lube packets in my purse and warms them between his hands. “Ready?”
“Yes.” Curiosity returns tenfold. I wonder how different it’ll feel to have him inside my ass.
He hooks his ankle around a wooden stepstool and slides it over.
“How does this work?” I wonder. “Not the mechanisms of anal, just the position I need to be in.”
“Come here.” He holds my waist, and gently, he brings me down the washer/dyer. My feet touch the stepstool, and I feel so safe here. With him.
Thatcher bites open the packet. “I’ll bend you over, and you’ll brace yourself on the washer. We’re at a good height. Copy?”
“Oui.” I smile, excitement flip-flopping my nerves, and he turns me around. So I face the washer/dryer, and I grab hold to the machine.
With his ankle, he pulls the stepstool back just slightly. I’m sufficiently bent over for him, and I crane my neck over my shoulder. Watching very keenly as he lubes himself, the
n teases open my hole with his finger. His grip on my ass is protective, caring, and cautious.
He eases his cock in, not far at all, and I don’t have the best view, but it can’t be more than a half an inch. And then he pulls out. Breath caged, I continue to watch. Slowly, he slides in a bit deeper, gradually and carefully expanding me. And with his size, the pressure is…
I wince into my arm.
Excruciating. Like a hammer is being jammed into me.
He stops suddenly, pulled fully out.
“Keep going,” I urge. “I want to feel more.”
“It’s not going to hurt any less.”
I cringe at the idea. Pain doesn’t bring me pleasure, but my fascination isn’t exactly quenched. “Just a few more inches.” I haven’t even taken half of him.
“Hell no.” He snaps off his condom. “This isn’t curiosity fucked the cat. If it hurts, I stop.”
“Wise words.” I face him, and he’s already lifting me up. My back on the washer, legs over his shoulders as he bends in a lunge—he eats me out with such skill, and I turn my head, seeing him jack himself off.
Yes.
This is better.
I would give him a world-class hand-job, but I’m not in reach. And I think he’d rather make my eyes roll back. Which they do.
Again.
We’re well and good. He reaches a peak, coming in his palm, and in the next few minutes, he has time to wash his hands and we clean up and begin to dress.
Bang!
I jump.
His head turns to the door. The bang is just a knock.
“Oh my God.” I touch my heart to see if it’s still inside me. Still beating. We finish putting on clothes at rapid-speed.
Just please don’t be Tony.
Please.
29
JANE COBALT
2 Days Snowed-In
After Thatcher unlocks the door, Akara enters, his red jacket wet. Snowflakes melt in his black hair, and ice crystalizes on his eyelashes.
Just seeing him makes me shiver. I pull my blanket back on my shoulders and clutch the whiskey.
Akara glances from Thatcher to me, back to Thatcher.
“We’re not staying alone together for that long,” Thatcher tells his lead. “I have a timer set on my watch.”
One hour.
We both agreed on the timeframe, and I bet we only have minutes left.
Akara shrugs off his jacket. “I wouldn’t push it any longer than that. Tony has already asked some of the guys if they thought you were acting weird.”
Thatcher nods and looks him over. “You found signal?”
“Yep. On the east end of the property.”
“How deep?”
“A hundred feet from the bird feeder.”
My mouth drops. “That far?”
“Yeah.” He throws his jacket in the hamper and blows on his palms. “Without walls blocking the spot, it’s freezing. I couldn’t spend more than five minutes there. But I spoke to Connor.”
I sway back. “You called my dad?” Out of all people, Akara chose to reach out to him.
Thatcher frowns. “You didn’t call Price or Sinclair?” The Alpha and Epsilon leads.
“I could only stand out there long enough to make two calls, and they were my third and fourth.” He speaks too urgently for me to interject. “Connor is going to relay our status to the families. I explained that we’re fine and waiting out the storm. On his end, he’s going to try and have people come up here and clear the roads…but this storm is bad.”
“How bad?” I swallow whiskey as tension mounts.
“Last time the snow fell this hard here, residents were stuck indoors for months.”
My jaw is on the floor. “Months?”
“Until March.”
“March?” My eyes have now joined my jaw. They live on the ground. I thought the only true fight we’d have is against boredom, but if we’re here past the New Year…
I picture my brothers going mad.
I picture Sulli terribly homesick.
And my cats…
They’re with Audrey. My sister is taking good care of them, but I worry. It’s not like I can easily call her and ask how they’re doing. What if one is sick? What if something happens while I’m away?
My maternal concern to six furry children escalates to new heights. Worse even: we don’t have enough food for seventeen people for that long.
I find my voice. “How did we not prepare for this?”
“We couldn’t have known,” Thatcher says strongly.
“I feel like a straight-A student who forgot to do her homework for an entire year,” I say aloud. “There’s precedent for snowstorms in this area, apparently.”
“This isn’t an annual occurrence here,” Akara tells me. “It’s only happened twice in the last thirty years.” He grabs the doorknob, about to leave. “One more thing.” His eyes are on mine. “I had to tell your dad about Beckett.”
My stomach somersaults, and I down another gulp of sharp whiskey. “Which part?” I lick the liquor off my lips. “That he wants a helicopter to fly him out of here? Or that we forced him on this trip because of his cocaine use?”
Akara gives me an apologetic wince. “Both.”
Merde. I fist the neck of the bottle.
“He didn’t seem surprised about either,” Akara says. “But with your dad…”
“It’s hard to tell,” I nod.
My incredibly intelligent father vaults his emotions like secrets inside Fort Knox. If he were shocked, he most likely wouldn’t let Akara know. It’s entirely possible that my dad and mom sniffed out the situation since Beckett took off dance for Scotland.
Which is a rarity in itself.
I can’t predict what they’ll do once Beckett goes home, but I feel like I’ve thrown him in boiling hot water when I only intended a light simmer to start.
Akara continues, “Connor said if things get serious, they can send a rescue team. But it’s not advisable unless someone’s safety is at risk. Other people need those resources, and I consulted with Jack. He said a helicopter picking up rich white kids stuck in a million-dollar house would be bad publicity.”
Those headlines and the fallout could destroy Beckett’s career more than a couple absent weeks from ballet. My brother has been banking on the skies to clear, not wanting to wait for road transportation. But the helicopter scenario is solidly down the drain.
“You have to tell Beckett,” I say. “I can’t do it. He won’t want to hear it from me.”
Akara agrees and then turns to Thatcher. “The snow is accumulating, and today might be the only time we can exit the door without having to shovel our way out. Anyone who needs to use the sat-phone, needs to use it today.”
Thatcher glances at the door.
Akara adds, “I’ve already spoken to your brother.”
“What?”
“He was my second call.” Akara pushes back his wet hair, visibly shivering. I lean towards him and outstretch the bottle of whiskey. He’s not exactly on-duty while we’re in a secure house, so he takes the bottle with a quick, “Thanks.” And downs a large gulp. “Banks is fine. He doesn’t want either of you to go call him.”
Thatcher glares at the ceiling, then rolls his eyes.
“He’s more concerned about you.” Akara passes back the whiskey. “Said to tell you not to be a dumbass or a jackass. But we both know it’s too late for that.” He steps out of his wet snow pants, sweats underneath, and the door to the laundry room creaks open wider.
My pulse thumps in my throat. If Tony just overheard us…
“Hey.”
I calm as soon as I see the chestnut hair and tattoos of Paul Donnelly.
“Any of you know how to sew?” He raises a sweater, and I recognize the orange and green stitching as Luna’s handiwork. One she knitted for him in exchange for a tattoo design. “I pulled out a thread and now there’s a hole.” He seems laidback about the whole ordeal.
“
No,” Thatcher answers him.
Donnelly looks to me.
“Unfortunately, I can barely thread a needle. Luna and Beckett are the only ones I know who could fix it.”
His face saddens at the mention of Beckett, and then he nods to Akara. “Got any thrifty nifty skills, boss?”
Akara cracks a crooked smile. “Not at sewing.”
Donnelly throws up a hand gesture that means love, like he didn’t just meet bad news, and he struts out of the room, as unconcerned as he came.
Akara nods to Thatcher. “You’re relieved of your duties. With the sat-phone working, we don’t need to worry about emails.” He leaves, not giving Thatcher a chance to reply.
Their friendship is still on shaky ground, and I wish I could help, but their issues seem too deep and personal.
With Akara’s abrupt exit, the laundry room becomes eerily quiet, and then feet pound above us, dust billowing off ceiling rafters. Voices heighten in chaotic madness.
“Something’s wrong.” Thatcher finds his radio. Comms work only inside the house, and he fits in his earpiece.
I climb off the washer/dryer and pick up my purse. Readying. I wait for his response, my pulse gaining speed.
His eyes land on me. “Pipe burst.”
I wonder if this is an omen of what’s to come. Broken pipes, interpersonal fights, and all of us just trying to hang on…till March?
“We shouldn’t tell my brothers that we could be here for months.”
“Agreed.”
30
THATCHER MORETTI
3 Days Snowed-In
“‘Tell us if you’ve ever paid for sex.’” I read a lion-decaled card out loud and gnaw harder on a fucking toothpick. Which I’m only chewing because Tony keeps walking past the parlor. He thinks my brother is standing in for me with the Truth or Dare game.
Oscar and Farrow lean on the doorframe, deterring Tony from entering to bug the holy hell out of me. And the dwindling deck of cards is spread over a baby grand piano, where Jane and I stand close (but not too close).
Charlie sits at the piano and slides his fingers over the keys. “And?”
Sinful Like Us Page 28