Tangled Like Us (Like Us, #4)

by Krista Ritchie

“This is just practice,” she reaffirms in a shallow pant, lips reddened from the force. I nod. “Just practice.” “Practicing is very professional of us.” Her palm warms my chest, and we kiss deeper. Again, and again.

“You’re meant to be in my arms, Jane.”

I fight against conflicting emotions. I want to set her down, kneel at her feet, hike her leg over my shoulder and eat her out until she hits a trembling peak. I want to take care of Jane and satiate her fucking needs,

my purpose, my reason for being. My responsibility. My client. Jane.

Being her bodyguard strengthened a feeling of duty that existed, I’ll give my brother that, but I wasn’t thinking about breaking Jane’s knees apart and sinking my cock into her—because that’d be fucking wrong.

“Just a fair warning: if you fuck with Jane during this fake-dating stunt, I won’t come for you,” Maximoff says firmly, spearing a territorial glare into me. “Because I’ll go after your brother instead, and I’ll break both of his kneecaps and stake his head on a fucking pitchfork.”

another classic moffy fair warning but this one is extra brutal damn 💀

Her ability to be comfortable in her own skin—it’s gorgeous.

I sweep her with more concern. She’s getting stressed, and they should be able to tell as much as I can.

“I’m just letting Thatcher know that we know that he knows what’s happening here.”

“That could’ve used ten times more clarity, but D-minus for the effort.” Maximoff grimaces. “It’s called A for effort.” “You’re more like a D-minus, wolf scout.” His face falls blank. “Thank you for that inaccurate grading scale.” “Anytime.”

“My announcement,” she continues, “is that I’ve chosen a career. I may be a passionless human being, but I will no longer be aimless.”

I relate to Jane being passionless so hard 😭

“That was very good? We did well?” I question. “Security said chaste and that was the virgin strawberry daiquiri of kisses, no? I could’ve easily straddled you—not that I would’ve, because boundaries.”

“It was good,” he confirms. “But it wasn’t a virgin daiquiri.” I, so eagerly, want inside his head. “It was a dirty martini?” I swear his lip tics upward in a momentary smile. “More like a Guinness.” It’s his favorite beer.

A stout, full-bodied beer. A stout, ful...

“Do we have eyes on their grandmother?” I ask, opening the fridge. “Twenty-four-seven,” Akara confirms. “You can thank Jane’s dad for that.” Connor Cobalt.

of course Connor has eyes on her 💀

“Is it odd to say that I’m actually excited? I’ve never faked an orgasm before. Usually I just tell the guy that they didn’t please me, and I’ll provide pointers and then let them solve the rest. So this is a first—the faking orgasm part.”

an icon for women everywhere

Thatcher grabs at my collar with two hands and like the fabric is made of paper, he tears my shirt into two pieces. Oh… My… I think my heart just came, if hearts could cum. Mine just did.

Trying to catch some breath, I manage to say, “You’re very…knowledgeable…” He holds my gaze in the hottest vice. “I love your pussy.” Cut and dry. To the point.

“Jane.” His chest is taut in need. “I want to put my cock in you.” I clench around his fingers. “I want you to.” Thatcher has a choice to make, and he does. “Fuck it.” He eyes me strongly. “I’m fucking you.” Yes, God. I’ve never loved five words more than those.

“I love your voice.” My stomach flutters. Most people find my constant chatter grating after a while, but he makes me feel so very desired. And safe. And terribly beautiful.

Either facts turn Jane on or me saying a bunch of facts does.

He’s safety, the forceful gravity that grounds me, that helps stop me from rattling sideways inside a world that tries and tries to shake me.

Maximoff grimaces and smiles all at once. Trying to hide his affections. I give my best friend a weak 4 out of 10 this time, deductions for poor effort.

“I want you to take as long as you need,” I tell her, not breaking our gazes. “I’ll still be here beside you at the end of everything.”

Farrow blows a bubble and pops it in his mouth. “Yeah, we’d have to get Donnelly to tattoo hypocrite on his ass.” If that’s what it took to make things right with him, I’d fucking do it.

“Tom called you an honorary Cobalt this morning on the phone,” she says. I didn’t know that. Charlie overhears and he calls out to us. “Until you two stop fake dating.” His yellow-green eyes pierce me. “Then you turn back into a pumpkin.”

“Just a heads up—there are no cupcakes or donuts here,” Sulli says, but she carries a stack of pastries on a small plate. “Fucking waste of a good tea party.”

“Oh Sullivan, dear, did you not get the email about the dress code?” “Got it, but I asked my dad and he told me it was fucking optional.” Sulli smiles into her next bite of pastry. In reality, her dad told her to wear what she wanted and blame it on him.

I love Ryke 😂

“You are very big,” I say what’s on my mind.

“In a very pleasurable way. The best of ways. I love your dick.” I’ll leave it there. It’s a fine endnote. He’s already told me he loves my pussy, so there is no harm in mentioning the fact that his cock is also very appreciated.

All I wanted was for someone to reach out of the computer and give me a hug. To tell me that I’m beautiful. And that I never made a mistake. That my body is mine. And it’s unique. And it happened to say you’re going to get stretch marks this month. But that’s okay. Because it loves you. You love it. And really that’s all that matters. And I did eventually hear all of those things. When I went home and my mom hugged me and told them to me.

“We’re all going on a Cobalt social media blackout,” he says. “In solidarity.” A social media blackout. He quickly explains that means deactivating our Twitter accounts. Deleting all Instagram photos. They hurt one of us. We’re all going dark. Yes. This is a perfect plan.

She doesn’t need to defend me. Also, I don’t want her in a fucking fight. I will kill anyone who tries to lay a hand on her.

this were ancient Sparta, all her enemies would be dead right now. I’d kill them. No question.

This girl is heaven-sent, and I’m fucking an angel. And gripping a one-way ticket to hell.

I’m looking at this glowing, freckle-cheeked angel with a honey-dripping, heart-exploding voice. A girl who loves her family like an extension of her fucking soul.

“I don’t know why you’re here or how you know about the fake dating op, but one thing’s certain—you don’t know me and you sure as fucking hell don’t know my type. If you did, you’d realize it’s the girl right next to me.”

“Why would you say that?” Jane questions hotly, like she’s putting him on trial. Tony motions to me. “He’s an identical twin.” “Yes, and clearly identical twins are not the same person. They’re two people with two separate thoughts and feelings—” “We don’t know that for sure,” Tony interjects. She huffs. “It’s scientific fact—” “Is it?”

“Don’t cut her off again.” It’s a threat. He gives me an aggravated look. “You’re not on-duty, Moretti. Your client can defend herself.” “I quite like a right-hand,” Jane says strongly. “And you’re being positively rude to him.” “He can defend himself too,” Tony shoots back. I tell him point-blank, “I like a right-hand just as much as Jane.”

Jane and I are both alphas, and I’m attracted to that part of her. Anyone who thinks I’m less of a man because I’d rather uphold all of who she is, including her dominance—they can go stand on their own dick and spin around in twenty circles. Their opinion will never fucking matter to me.

“How many cats is too many cats?” I ask Thatcher. His brows knot the longer he looks at Pumpkin. “Before I met you,” he says. “I’d have said three.” “And now?” He shakes his head. “I don’t really know.”

But it’s just so easy to toss aside my obligations for other things. My family. Cats. I do love cats.

Guys on the team say Connor Cobalt is all-knowing, all-seeing like the Wizard of fucking Oz and if you have the honor of protecting him, you’ll come back with a higher IQ.

She’s gorgeous. It’d be a sin to think she’s anything short of that.

I don’t like getting into raw places with anyone, but I keep finding myself wanting to dig there with Jane.

They ragged on her like that because they knew her parents prefer BDSM and the public compares Jane to her mom every day. And because they’re immature shit-fucks. Who probably feel entitled to girls. To women. To her. Like they’re toys to fuck with.

“Their snickering was always the worst,” Jane clarifies, arms loose around her legs. “Between each question…they’d laugh like I didn’t realize I was the butt of the joke. It was shrill and…ugly.”

I set my glare on the drapes because it’s caustic as all hell. And I don’t want to glare at Jane.

I’d rather crawl through barbed wire first and push it out of the way.

I knew Jane wouldn’t want more strangers walking through her house. Not that night. So no one called a cleaning company. I scrubbed the floorboards while Moffy was with Jane. Farrow came in and helped me. In dead silence we cleaned the attic room and threw out the shredded mattress. Hauled in a new one that Quinn went out and bought. So it looked like nothing ever happened. It was our responsibility, and we’d do it all over again. In a heartbeat.

🥺🥺🥺