More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
“One more,” Thatcher says huskily. Our hands are still on each other, and his other palm has found a home on my hip. Mine are woven in his hair. “One more,” I agree. “Just in case they didn’t catch the photo.” His gaze already engulfs me. “Yes.” Yes.
His smell, his touch, drives me to carnal places that I haven’t reached in forever with another man. But this is different than all those other times. It feels different.
“And tell Thatcher to put his dick back in his pants and start using the right goddamn head.”
“Which headline is true? Should I be invitin’ her down soon?” my mom asks, humor in her voice. “She’s got Nicola’s approval already, but you know Nic would bake the devil a pie. It’s why I love her.” Nicola is her wife, my stepmom. “And your grandma is already crocheting Jane a scarf for Christmas.” We’re months out from December. “Ma,” I say tightly, but I hear my grandma shout to be heard from the background.
“So I’m the first guy you’ll be faking an orgasm with.”
“Factually, yes—but if we were really having sex, there’s a high probability that I’d orgasm.” I’m unblinking. Unmoving. Frozen. His biceps seem to flex. “Not a high probability.” “No?” I hang on the edge of his words. “If I put my cock in your pussy, there’s a hundred-percent certainty you’d orgasm in my arms. More than twice.” Oh my God.
I am parched. Just not for water.
“Jane,” he says with the perfect mix of tenderness and force. “Yes?” I balance on the creaking bed. “You’re gonna have to moan.”
I think my heart just came, if hearts could cum. Mine just did.
It’s been clear to me that we’re kerosene together. And we’ve finally lit the match. In my head, there’s no going back.
“I feel a little sore,” she admits. “Like you’re still inside of me.” I’m not choking on my water. Because I’m not that surprised. “You sure I can’t get you anything?” I ask. “Ibuprofen?” She was tight, but soaked, and I’m not small. “No, I don’t mind the feeling.”
She knows sex and her body well, and it’s flat-out attractive.
I’d rather talk about Jane, about what’s wrong, but I can’t backtrack. Because backtracking means not answering her, and I hate that.
Thatcher, “Heard you almost all night. Incredibly believable.” I’d hope so.
“You’re still good, honey.” My eyes bug and lips part—he called me honey. So innately and instinctively and with such tenderness. I inhale without exhaling, and I can’t help but turn my head to Thatcher. His attention is plastered to the street. “Jane, brake.” “Merde.” I slam on my brake.
Thatcher takes out a few hundred-dollar bills from his wallet. “Three, Farrow.” “Eh, let’s do four. I don’t want to barter with these fuckers.” It sounds like code, but they’ve been doing this for years. Neither one needs to say three hundred dollars to understand they’re referring to cash.
“I’ve never seen you like a guy this much.” I send him a furtive look. “It’s just physical attraction.” Maximoff gestures towards our bodyguards while he speaks. “Gawking at Thatcher, who looks like a six-foot-seven version of Jon Snow after he killed White Walkers and made friends with wildlings—that’s physical attraction. Liking when a guy calls you honey is…” He scrunches his face. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s not physical.”
“It’s like we’re partners in crime, you and I.”
“The team will love this.” He cups my cheek in affection before setting me on my feet, his hand pressed to the small of my back. “But not more than me.” I go to speak, but flush has overtaken my face and my tongue is tied.
“Eliminating anyone who wants to hurt you is the better path for me.” He sounds incredibly sincere. I trust him. And I’m fortunate to have him. “That’s…” I grapple for words that tumble in my head. “You know, I…” I take a breath. “I like…” You. I clear my throat. “I like that you feel that way.”
“They said it’s probable that our breakup will happen before Halloween.” His gaze softens a fraction on me. That soon? October just began. My eyes grow in shock. “Wow.” I let go of his hand and tuck a flyaway frizzed hair behind my ear. “Well, I suppose this isn’t terrible…we have a clearer timeline to work with now.” The bottom of my stomach has dropped, and I wish it’d float back to its proper anatomical position, please. His chest concaves with a constricted breath, and he’s about to speak—but Maximoff beats him to it. “Just tell the team that Jane wants this to go past October.” “I tried
...more
we were all raised by three extraordinary sisters who could summon hell and part seas together.
“I want to know all about you, but I can’t ask fast enough—and when I think about you, I wonder what your hands have held. What your eyes have seen.” My pulse has skyrocketed, but I keep speaking. “What your ears have heard and where your feet have landed.”
“No,” he cuts me off, one of the few times he ever has. “You’re an American princess. You being comfortable enough to say what’s on your mind in front of me—and to me—is something I don’t take for granted.”
“Sex feels different with you though.” We both tense at his admission. Treading carefully. “Good different?” I pry a little deeper. “Beyond fucking good, honey,”
“If you want to be my wingwoman, there’s something I need to tell you.” I stare up at him more curiously and prepare for impact. “I’m all ears.”
“I’ll still be here beside you at the end of everything.”
“Her new girlfriend Holly is apparently moving to Nebraska next week, and she just found out.” Jane presses her knuckles to her lips. “Not again.” Maximoff nods tensely. We all know about Kinney’s first girlfriend Viv, who moved to LA to be on some tween show so they broke-up.
They’ve found something rare in a profession where all the odds were against them. It can’t happen twice.
Being next to Jane would’ve been the best option. What I prefer. What I want.
“I’m sure Maximoff will give you a pity blowjob later.” Farrow smiles. “You’ll have to explain to me what a pity blowjob is, Oliveira. Never had one before.” “Donnelly can explain it to you. It’s all he ever gets.”
“Pity blowjobs are better than fake fucking a girl.” Donnelly shovels a spoonful of cereal in his mouth. “Thatcher would know,” Farrow says. It sounds too easygoing to be a real dig at me. My brows knit, surprised and somewhat confused as to why they’re including me all of a sudden.
“What about real-fuck and tell?” I shake my head. Oscar fixes pieces of his ruffled hair. “If Moretti really fucked his client, there’d be consequences.” My pulse solidifies like cement in my veins. I’m not looking at them. Farrow blows a bubble and pops it in his mouth. “Yeah, we’d have to get Donnelly to tattoo hypocrite on his ass.”
“Aren’t you two dating Maximoff Hale and Jane Cobalt?” Protocol: do not engage more than necessary. I’m about to brush them off, but Farrow does it first. He loosely crosses his arms. “Who’s Maximoff Hale?” “We’re not idiots,” the brunette snaps, coming to a full stop in front of us. “You’re clearly Farrow Keene, and he’s Thatcher Moretti.” “Why are you coming in so hot, Barbra?” Donnelly asks the brunette. “Who the fuck is Barbra—and aren’t you the bodyguard to Beckett Cobalt? Where is he?” She stares around the hall like Beckett will materialize out of thin fucking air.
“Jane motherfucking Cobalt,” the brunette gapes. “We love your mom.” “She’s our idol,” the blonde says. “Mine too,”
“Fake boyfriend or not, you don’t have to be here. But you are. So thanks.” It’s a curt thanks. To the point. But sincere.
“How do I look?” she asks. Beautiful. But I feel the hot gazes of Charlie and Farrow. They’re quiet, which means they’re listening. Fuck it. “Beautiful,” I tell her. Surprise parts her lips, but her smile reaches her eyes. “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.” We hold each other’s gaze. He’s calling me the Cinderella in all of this.
She’d be on the table. Legs open. Ready for my tongue. Then my cock.
“You are so much like your mother.” “I’m not her,” Jane says with a shake of her head. “If I were, I wouldn’t be standing here. You would have received one scathing voicemail and then never hear from me for at least a year. And I’ve contemplated doing that, but instead, I’d truly love to sit down and speak with you.”
It took a while before Jane could cut in and tell her what needed to be said. That she shouldn’t have done something that involved Jane’s personal life without Jane’s permission. That if anything like this happens to her siblings or cousins, there will be hell to pay. Jane was firm. Resolute. And she even got a half-hearted I’m sorry from her grandmother. I’d take all the fucking underhanded comments about where I’m from and how I don’t fit into high society just to see and hear all of that over again.
“I like when you do that.” “Do what?” I open the door fully now. The hallway clear. “Say only one or two words to get your point across. Like that’s all it takes. And for you, it does.” She holds my gaze for a strong beat. “I just really like that.” I can’t name another person who said they like my brevity or quietness.
“I’m ninety-nine percent sure that’s Wesley Rochester’s older brother. I’ve never met him. I think his name is Will.” She’s already told me about her first kiss. Kindergarten. Wesley Rochester. How she thought she was fated to be with him just because of his last name and her namesake—Jane Eyre. Wesley grew up to be a prick, according to Jane, but I’ve never met him. And his older brother Will is an unknown variable.
“So you may have noticed that I have stretch marks,” I say briskly, trying to spit this out. “And I’ve never felt the need to explain them to any of my past friends-with-benefits. They didn’t need to know why I have a freckle on my butt cheek any more than why I have stretch marks on my belly.” I keep going, barely a pause. “But you’re different. I actually care what you think of me.” Because I really, really like him. More than I’ve ever liked anyone before.
I’m not plus-sized or curvy in all the right places. I’m not skinny. I’m not fat. I’m an odd in-between, a size that the media hardly ever shows. In the end, I consider myself chubby.
“Jane.” He looks at me with a level of seriousness that steals my breath. “I love your stretch marks.” He says as plainly and definitively as he said I love your breasts earlier. I smile. “I love your lips,” I tell him. “They are quite soft and kissable.” Light reaches his eyes. “I love your freckles.” “I love your ears.” They’re prominent when he tucks his hair behind them. They frame his face very well. He leans in closer, our mouths a breath apart. “I love your thighs.” His hands dip down between them. His lips on mine. Our tongues caress in a frenzied, hot kiss. I only part to breath out,
...more
“One of Beckett’s…hookups…took screenshots of their texts. They’re all on the internet.” Oh my God.
Can we do that thing we did last time? ;) BECKETT Sure, baby. Call me? I don’t love texting. Can’t call. I’m in a lecture. Do you think that I could bring my friend? Chelsea. She’s super sweet. Open to threesomes. You’ll love her. As long as she signs the NDA. Sure. Won’t be a problem. Are you going to the party? It’s leather night. Yeah That’s the last text. But it’s enough for the public to decide that Beckett is not only into threesomes, sex parties, and leather, but he’s also a short rude texter to a girl he’s supposedly sleeping with.
“It’s very attractive. But you already know that I’m attracted to you. So that’s redundant. But important. An important redundancy.” My eyes sweep her for a second. “I don’t think our attraction to each other has ever been a question, honey.”
Jane is fisting my shirt, her fingers tightened on the fabric. I have one arm wrapped behind me, hand on her hip and pressing her chest up against my back. My other hand shoves a cameraman in front. Create a path. Clear the way. Objective: her Beetle. Distance: one block. Targets: every shitbag in my vision.
“Vanilla.” My voice is stringent. No-nonsense. Still on-duty. “Is that also your kink preference?!” someone shouts. “Highly rude!” Jane yells back. I squeeze her hip. 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.
