Every now and then, the enormity of what this means slams at me.
The poor Italian-American boy from South Philly is marrying an American princess. I’m marrying into the Cobalt Empire. She’s marrying into my rowdy, obnoxious, and loving Italian family.
When I called them, they screamed so fucking loud I thought it’d burst the speaker. My mom and her wife put as many uncles and aunts on the line as they could.
Happy. Thrilled.
Crying.
“When’s the engagement party?!” they asked.
“Youse have a wedding date yet?! We gotta mark this down.” Doesn’t matter who the person is, if they’re family they assume they’re invited.
“What are you thinking?” Jane wonders, her eyes twinkling.
“That it’ll have to be a big wedding.” I watch her unconsciously scoot closer to my dick. My blood heats. “I have to invite everyone I know, unless I want to create about a hundred different lifelong grudges.”
“No grudges will be formed,” Jane says confidently, still smiling. It’s fucking contagious. “Our wedding will be giant and wonderful. We’ll play Italian music, most surely.”
That, right there, does a number on me. “Yeah?” Emotion fists my ribcage. My family means everything to me like hers does, and she remembers. Always remembers.
“Your grandma told me it’s the best part of Italian weddings. That and the food.” She was on the phone with my grandma and mom for an hour after the proposal.
We would’ve told them in person, but the news was going to leak fast. Jane’s blue-blooded grandmother overheard Rose talking, and no one trusted that Grandmother Calloway wouldn’t spill the engagement to the press.
She did.
Media have run a variety of articles. Most fixate on the timeline of the engagement.
Too fast, they say.
Doesn’t bother me. I couldn’t be more certain of where I’m headed. Life is short—I’ve known that since I lost my older brother. And while I’m on this earth, I want to be happy.
But to the world, Jane isn’t known as a spontaneous, wild Meadows girl. She’s seen as a logical, rational Cobalt—and in less than five months, she’s engaged to a bodyguard.
Pregnancy rumors are already circulating tabloids.
But the “Omega is fake” rumor is catching fire ten times more, ten times stronger. Entertainment journalists have been theorizing that Jane and I knew each other before I became a bodyguard—and that this wasn’t a shotgun engagement since we’ve been together for years.
I’m concerned about the other men.
SFO has to deal with fans aggressively pairing them off with their client (or ex-client in Donnelly’s case with Beckett). Because the media, fans, the fucking universe seriously believes they’re all real couples and fake bodyguards.
I don’t mention the media to Jane in bed. We’ve talked about tabloids enough.
As I lace her left hand in mine, we stare at one another, drinking each other in, and I say, “You’re going to be my wife.”
Her lips part in arousal.
I slide my large hand from her thigh up underneath her silk top, along the curve of her hip, and against her breast.
She grinds her hips.
I grit down on my teeth, blood rushing through my cock. I harden, and her fingers dig into my shoulder.
“Thatcher,” she murmurs achingly.
My lips a breath from hers, I whisper, “I’m the last man that’ll ever touch you here.” My thumb brushes over her perked nipple.
She gasps against my mouth.
My muscles contract, and with my other hand, I cup her pussy. “I’m the last man that’ll ever be inside you here.”
“Yes,” she moans the word. Temperature cranks in the room to a boiling swelter. I throb as she palms my erection that pushes against my black boxer-briefs.
I’m rock solid.
Her lips quirk. “I’m the last woman to ever touch your cock.” Fuck. Hot breath gathers in the pit of my lungs. Jane stares at me head-on, all confidence blistering inside. I love her. Every last part down to the bottom of her soul.
“Without a fucking doubt. I’m all yours, honey.” Swiftly, with both hands, I scoop Jane up by her gorgeous ass and easily flip her onto her back. Winded by the sudden movement, her chest rises and falls heavily.
I yank off her silk shorts and spread her thighs open with my knee. As I stretch her legs wider, she mutters, “Oh my God.”
I bend down to her ear. Very deeply, I say, “And you’re all mine.”
She pushes my chin back towards her mouth—fuck—and just like that our lips collide. Crashing together in a hungry wave. Rocking against her pussy, friction mounts between us. I lift her ass, pushing her heat up against my hardened length.
She shudders, a high-pitched noise breaking apart her lips.
The room blazes with our knockout passion. Gripping my muscles and senses.
We devour each other. Hands not touching fast enough. Ravenous and primal like being starved for years. Seamlessly, I tuck her to my chest and toss a pillow near the side-edge of the bed.
My kneecaps dig into the mattress, and I lay her down, folding the pillow snug beneath the small of her back. At perfect alignment, I shed my boxer-briefs, and she soaks up my muscular build as I kneel between her spread legs.
“Thatcher,” she whimpers, raising her hips. Bucking into me.
Sweat glistens along my abs and biceps. I clutch the soft flesh of her hips and thrust against her pussy, pink panties obstructing me from her warmth.
“Please, please.” She tilts her head back, hanging slightly off the bed.
“Jane,” I grunt. Fuck. I watch her pull herself up onto her elbows. Higher. Just so her palms can explore every inch of me. Rounding up my ass cheeks.
She pants, her big blue eyes asking, can I?
I extend over to the nightstand in arm’s reach and grab a bottle of lube. Go ahead, honey. I rock harder before she can even touch the lube.
“Oh…God,” she gasps.
My dick bangs against her entrance, and she almost falls off her elbows.
I groan into a choked noise. God-fucking-dammit. I need inside her. Urgently, I pry the pink fabric to the side, exposing her soaked pussy. I don’t even have to waste time to grab a condom. She’s been on birth control since we got back from Scotland.
Veins pulsate in my cock.
Christ, I want in.
“Wait,” she pants and sits further up. Collecting herself, she snatches the lube, and I breathe hard. As much as I love Jane playing with my ass, I crave to sink my dick deep in her right now.
“Be quick,” I say, parting my knees more, which only opens her wider.
She gasps and touches her sensitive pussy.
I move her hand aside and thumb her bundle of nerves, then slip two fingers inside of her.
She moans, eyes almost rolling, “Wait…don’t move.”
I keep my fingers still inside her warmth, and she swallows a ragged breath. Collecting herself for a second time, she lubes her finger.
Jane clasps my ass with one hand and slips her other finger into my hole—fucking…my abs flex as she finds my prostate and makes a come hither motion. Rubbing the sensitive spot, full of nerve endings that shoot electric currents through my veins.
I breathe hard through my nose, tendons stretching my neck. Fucking fuck—I thumb her clit, and her thighs shake.
Her pleasured cry ripples down me.
“Jane,” I say through gritted teeth. The head of my cock is swollen. Ready to fucking be inside her, and the longer she’s back there, the more her hand will cramp.
So I draw her wrist out, and I reach back to the drawer. And I grab a prostate massager. She hasn’t used a toy on me yet, and her eyes spark with a thousand yeses.
Jane removes her finger, and I push her back down. She wiggles, and I drink in her whole beautiful frame in the morning light.
Fuck. “I love your body.”
&nbs
p; Flush ascends her cheeks.
I lean closer and suck on her perked nipple, trailing hot kisses down her wide hip, belly, and soft thigh. My tongue flicks over her clit, and she squirms. “God, Thatcher.”
Swift movements, no pauses—I sit back up and clutch her hips again. Her mouth is in a perpetual gasp as she watches me drive my erection inside her heat.
She’s mine.
I rock, only about halfway in, and her legs tremble, head falling back.
She lets out a louder cry of pleasure, and I ease in and out, never deeper than four-inches. I work my thumb over her swollen bud, and every muscle in my body is fucking burning.
I crave to fill her up until my cock disappears completely. But the look on her face—I’m unable to stop what I’m doing.
She’s lit up.
“Thatcher,” she chokes, wrapped completely in spinning pleasure.
Her whole body seizes and her back arches in a beautiful, earth-shattering climax. It takes all my energy not to come right here with her.
Jane is too sensitive to touch, so I remove my thumb off her clit and keep thrusting while she pulsates around my cock. Little noises pant from her lips before she brushes hair from her eyes. Our gazes meet in a strong beat.
She sits up on her elbows, silk top twisted and hair messy. She’s spent, but curiosity glimmers in her eyes and awakens her enough. “Can I?” she asks subtly while I’m fucking her—her voice raspy and fingers curling around the sheets.
She’s hot as all hell.
I nod, and I pull out of Jane. She crunches up towards my chest, the prostate massager already in hand and lubed.
Still kneeling, I move closer to her body, which purposefully tugs her legs higher, the backs of her knees under the palms of my hands. She returns to a state of aching need.
She quivers. “And I thought…I was terrific at sex.”
I almost smile. “You’re the best there ever could be, Jane.” I feel pressure on my asshole as she reaches under me. I breathe in, and she’s careful as she inserts the toy.
Oh…fucking…Christ.
Vibrations against my prostate send extra shockwaves through my nerves—and ragged breath comes harsher through my nose.
Watching Jane—her eagerness and excitement—just throbs my cock even more. I stroke my shaft a couple times.
“How’s that?” she asks after fitting the massager inside me.
“Good.” Every time I clench around the thing, my nerves prick a million eye-rolling ways—and my biceps and traps flex into stretched, searing bands.
I pull her ankle, drawing her further onto the bed. She collapses off her elbows with a wanting noise, and I stretch her right leg higher, filling her back up with my length.
Carnal, visceral need.
I fuck her. Deep into her pussy. Over and over. Mounting towards a peak. She loses hold on my shoulders, her fingers slipping and her body trembling. She contracts around my cock, and I just rock through her orgasm without pause. No break.
Each thrust forward, my ass flexes and the massager nails my senses. Light bursts in my vision. God-fucking-dammit—a groan scratches my throat. “Jane.”
“Thatcher.” Tears prick her eyes, and I brush them away with my thumb. “Deeper,” she whispers as her eyes start fluttering.
My whole body thrums, blood rushing, head splitting. I’m on another level, and she’s just as far gone. Wedging a second pillow under her bottom, I bend her legs more and curl my arms around them higher against my chest. Sinking in faster and deeper. Building and building until there’s nowhere to go.
One more thrust, and a prostate orgasm rips through me. I come hard into a mind-numbing bliss. I bask in every fucking second, a few more pumps, and I ease out of my fiancée.
Jane is gathering awareness of the room and her body. Still breathing like she’s racing up a hill. “That…was…” She blinks and remembers the toy. “Do you need…?”
I reach under and pull the thing out. “I’m good.”
“Did it work?” she asks curiously.
“Hell yeah.”
Jane smiles, looking satisfied and satiated.
We end up lying back down together. Under the sheets at the head of the bed—and I notice Ophelia perched near my ankle. Honestly, I’ve noticed her there for a while, watching us.
By now, I’m used to the feline audience.
Jane turns into my chest. Our lips meld together, and she rubs my dick lightly before she yawns. It’s still morning, and she’s about to fall right back to sleep. But she fights exhaustion.
“Go back to sleep,” I whisper. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She playfully pats my cheek. “Sounds like a terribly wonderful idea…but first I have to tell you something.” She battles a deeper yawn. “Or rather, two somethings.”
We just had deep sex, and I’d prefer Jane to relax and not force herself awake. But she folds her arms across my chest and rests her chin on her forearm.
And I see slight concern in her eye. Which pushes me to shut up and let her speak.
“I’m not sure how you’ll take this,” she starts.
I stroke sweaty pieces of hair off her face. “Try me.”
“I’ve always dreamed to one day be there for Moffy the way that my mom was there for her sister. I plan to extend the offer now that he’s with Farrow. I’d love nothing more than to do this for them…you look utterly confused.”
“I’m not.” I understand what she’s saying, what she’s referencing.
Rose Calloway was a surrogate for Daisy. She carried her sister’s child, and almost fifteen years ago, Rose gave birth to Winona Meadows.
“You want to be a surrogate so you can help Maximoff have kids?” I ask if I’m right.
“Precisely.” She smooths her lips. “Since you and I are building a future together, I want to make sure you’re okay with this before I tell Moffy and Farrow.”
She’ll be pregnant with their baby… “From what I remember, Winona is still genetically Daisy and Ryke’s child, right?”
“Right. My mom just carried her, but obviously Maximoff and Farrow need an egg, and I thought…well, I’d be willing to give them mine.” She looks more nervous because this changes things.
She’d be the kid’s biological mom. They would have Jane’s DNA, her features.
“Moffy and Farrow might not even say yes,” Jane says quickly, but I can see that she hopes they do. “Say something, please.”
I realize I’m stoic, nothing passing through my hardened face, and I let go and stare deeper into Jane. In awe of her kindness and love. “You’re a beautiful person. I hope you know that.”
She starts crying.
I hold her, and I kiss the top of her head and whisper, “I love you, and I’m by your side in everything.” After a few minutes, she dries her eyes and looks back up at me.
I nod. “The second something?”
“Yes. It’s good news.” Her cheeks dimple in a smile. “Remember how we agreed not to get married before Moffy and Farrow?”
“Yeah.” I remember.
Jane doesn’t want to take the spotlight from her best friend, and I can appreciate that. If roles were reversed and Banks were Maximoff, I’d want my brother to get married first.
When my mom asked me about the wedding date—I told her the truth. We didn’t have one, and it probably wouldn’t be for years.
Maximoff and Farrow have always wanted a long engagement. Two years, they said. Which would make our engagement even longer.
I can wait decades, but I’d love nothing more than to call Jane my wife. I’d marry her tomorrow if I could.
Her lips lift in a smile. “Maximoff said he doesn’t want my engagement to last so long just because of him. Farrow agreed. They’re getting married this year.”
I’m blown back for a second. Emotions surging. My eyes burn, overwhelmed, and I rake a hand over my mouth. I’m going to marry her sooner. Maximoff and Farrow gave that to Jane because they love her. She gi
ves up everything for everyone, and maybe they could see that she shouldn’t have to give something up for them.
“Jane,” I breathe and touch the top of her head. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything.” She lightly presses her fingers to the creases beside my eye. “I see it.”
We just stare at one another, love flooding us.
I wish love could be enough to carry me through dinner tonight. But knowing her brothers, I could strap on a million pounds of adoration for their sister, and it still wouldn’t be good enough.
43
THATCHER MORETTI
The logistics of tonight can go straight to hell.
I’d have preferred driving my fiancée to her childhood home. But I’m not her bodyguard, and I’m still dealing with the fact that Tony is on her detail. He has one month left. One month.
After that shit, he’ll be transferred to Charlie’s detail—which puts Oscar in a bind.
And on top of that shit, he’ll be promoted to Omega lead.
All I see is shit.
I remember Akara’s words. Don’t worry about it, he said.
I am worrying about it, but I trust him. When we were leads—when it was me and him—he’d explain more of what’s happening. Now I’m just left to follow.
And that’s the easier part. I’d follow Akara into darkness time and time again.
Banishing the aggravation and pure dislike I have for Tony is more difficult. It’d have been simpler, if I could’ve accompanied Jane to the Cobalt Estate.
But she said that she wanted to talk to her siblings before I arrive. To make sure they won’t slaughter me tonight.
I feel like I need swords, axes, and a fucking trebuchet to attend this dinner.
Making it out alive without causing a Cobalt Civil War is my main goal.
To make matters more fucked, all the cars in the garage are gone. Which means I have to take one of the security SUVs on the curb.
When I step out onto the sidewalk, I’m met with a succession of flashes. Glaring in the night.
Paparazzi—their voices topple on top of each other, fighting to be heard. I raise a hand to my eyes, trying not to be completely fucking blinded on the way to my car.
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