Sinful Like Us (Like Us, #5)

by Krista Ritchie

“It’s not to say that I wouldn’t…I mean, I…” She buried her face in her palms, and I sat on the bed beside her and drew her to my chest. I hugged Jane, and she mumbled against my body, “This is all so…” “Soon,” I finished. She looked up at me. “I was going to say new.” “Right.” My muscles tensed. Unsure of where her fears exactly stemmed.

I hadn’t thought much about Jane being pregnant. I hadn’t thought a lot about marriage or our children—and I shouldn’t be remembering any of this now. We need to crawl through the first round of barbed wire before we can contemplate what lies ahead of us. The cards, this twin switch, and Tony. If we can haul through this together, then maybe that door will open.

“Where do you want to go?” Until this plane takes off, I’m still attached to him, and I’ll follow him wherever he wants to sit. But I’m hoping he chooses next to his sister. He fixes his bed-head hair. “Back to New York.” “I meant on the plane.” “I know,” he says softly.

She lingers and eyes the tattooed, shirtless, and lean but muscular ballet dancer next to me. He rests against the bathroom door. “I’m Beckett.” He nods in greeting. “I’d shake your hand, but…” He hoists his cuffed wrist and tries not to jerk mine. Jo’s brows rise. “Kinky.” He speaks calmly. “If it were kinky, I’d be enjoying it more.” She snorts and readjusts her backpack strap. “How many times have you used that line?” “It’s not a line.” He studies her in a quick sweep. “Believe me, you’d know if I was using a line on you.” Intrigue sparks her brown eyes. “Why is that?” “Because you’d already be in my bed.”

“It’s okay, Banks.” Jo fits on her other backpack strap and stares right at Beckett. “I don’t speak douchebag so I didn’t hear a thing.”

All the while Beckett watches her ass as she goes. “Don’t,” I warn. “I wouldn’t hurt her.” “I never said you would.” He might think I’m protecting Jo, but I’m trying to protect him. He doesn’t need SFO on his ass. “Oscar and Quinn are going to kill you if you even look at her sideways.” “Yeah, well…” He exhales a deeper breath and steps away from the bathroom. “We’re preparing for a wedding, might as well have a funeral too.”

He kisses me in the narrow bar, pumping adrenaline in my lungs and a fire beneath my heart, and then we part as though we were strangers in…love. I smile all the way back to my seat, and the dance we play happens more than once, more than thrice, more than I can count—and by the time we land, I long to be back in the air with him again.

Charlie meanders towards the garden, studying the relic of a building. He has a quiet love of old architecture.

I begin to smile. I’m truly happy that this is a viable option for my best friend’s wedding. It’s peaceful here. Maximoff and Farrow also chose this remote spot in the countryside because it’d be an absolute pain for paparazzi to reach. It wasn’t even easy for us.

But I love a good logic puzzle, and I haven’t been this excited in a while. Something must be in the Scottish air or the fact that Thatcher keeps stealing glances as we head inside.

“I love it,” I announce. Oscar passes me. “Retro Granny Realness.” He raises his hand for a high-five, and I tap his palm with a smile before he treks upstairs.

Luna snaps photos on her phone. “Kinney is gonna love this.” She inspects the picture she just captured. “Or she’ll hate that she’s missing out.” The young girls couldn’t ditch their last week in school before winter break.

I blow a frizzed hair off my lip. Oh… He’s…exceedingly tall. While I’m down here, on my knees.

He is incredibly inviting. All six-foot-seven of him. Oh-so-warm and…hot. So eloquent.

He seems so put-together in this moment, and I’m still frazzled like an awkward mess. Yet, I love how he makes me feel utterly unraveled. As though he’s the only man who can reach a rare piece of me and pull and undo me at the seams.

He has that look again. Like he’s staring directly into the brightest, hottest sun.

His mouth dips towards my ear, his voice low and gentle. “Why are you afraid to love me?” I shake my head on impulse, and a cold pain stabs my lungs. “I don’t…I’m…” I lean to the right.

I ran into his body for safety. It overwhelms me, my throat swelling.

“I understand.” He softens his gaze on me. “Look, I’m crawling through this with you—” He cuts himself off and his features lose all emotion, completely professional. “Be careful, Jane.” He’s still clutching my wrist.

Possibly Thatcher is a magnet and I’m pulled in no matter the occasion, and I’ve really lost all sense of reality. And measurements. Spatial measurements. Because three inches from him to me doesn’t feel close enough. God, even zero inches is far too little. I desire him closer, deep in the epicenter of my soul, and it’s absolutely… Petrifying.

he smiles at me and leans in close to whisper, “Have fun with your boyfriend.” I smile brighter. “I will. You have fun with your fiancé.” He grimaces, crinkling his nose. “I won’t.” I laugh. Maximoff looks lovesick and Farrow isn’t even in the kitchen.

He carries two woolen tartan blankets, plaid with a red base and deep green lines. “Want what to happen?” he asks us. “Nothing,” I say. “Absolutely nothing to happen. It was a figure of speech.” Donnelly frowns. “Really? ‘Cause I thought you were talking about sex.” He walks off ever so casually like he didn’t just explode a miniature bomb at my feet.

His gaze consumes mine and holds me and hoists me and pushes up against me—but we aren’t touching. We aren’t speaking. I ache and ache, soaked and ready for him. I swallow, cross my ankles, and I lean further away from my boyfriend. He notices and nods like I’m doing well. This is the plan. But as he departs for the pantry, his body heat is replaced with a sudden biting cold.

My flaming hellscape consists of ugly burgundy wallpaper and two brass twin beds assigned to me and Akara.

You’d need a fucking jackhammer to dent the tension in this room. I’m the world’s worst at apologizing. I should unlace my boots and place them against the nightstand. I should rack out and give him space. But fuck it all. I’m tired of shutting up when I crave skin-and-fucking-bones to make amends.

“You, out of everyone, should understand what that means, but instead of giving me the same respect I would’ve given you, you decided to shackle me and dump me on the bottom of an ocean. We could have come up with a solution together because that’s what friends do. But you and me, we’re not friends, are we?” Hurt claws down my back.

Akara might have been the most real friendship I’ve ever had, and I feel it slipping through my fingers, already obliterated to dust.

He looks up with that same pity. “There’s always a way out. You don’t have to fall on a sword because it’s sitting in front of you, waiting. You put together the team that’s going to find the right exit. You sidelined me. That’s on you.” He pushes my hand off his arm. “Move.” He reaches the door, gripping the knob, and leaves.

I untie my boots while Jane lights candles around the room, a tartan blanket warming her shoulders like a shawl, and we sneak these smoldering glances that burn my soul into blistered pieces—and I’ve craved to tear off her jeans, her shirt, her bra. To hoist her in my arms and kiss the nape of her neck. For her fingers to claw at my hair. To hear her hungered moans against my ear. I’ve never been with a woman who loves sex like I do. With an animalistic ferocity. Who needs carnal touch like water, quenching a desperate thirst. Jane is my match, my mate, and I swear to all that’s holy, I’d give her my breath, my body—but guilt is slowly destroying me.

Curiosity sparkles her blue eyes. She’s flat-out beautiful.

“Frankly…” Her voice softens. “I’d much rather you not punish yourself at all because it won’t make you feel any better.” I know she’s right. But I’ve never known how to let myself off the hook that easily. I shake my head. “I deserve hell.” “You deserve to be happy,” Jane combats with so much conviction, and I hear my grandma’s soulful voice—be happy. It’s not a single step into happiness. Not for me. To let myself have that is five-hundred klicks away, and my trek only just began when I chose something happy in my life, for once. When I chose Jane.

“My cock is yours, but I’m not a sex toy. I’m better because I love you, and I will fuck you with nothing less than love, Jane.” She holds onto my waist like her knees are about to buckle. “I…yes—no. No.” She inhales. “I’m fine with my fingers.” “You are?” I think she’s conning herself. Jane blows out a measured breath. “I don’t need your love.” It sucker-punches me. “I want it,” she clarifies quickly. “But like in this instance, I don’t need it. I can survive on my own.”

We’re both at war with ourselves. I force down a raw emotion that I’ve never felt before, not like this. I’m realizing in my attempt to punish myself, I’m pushing her away from me and towards whatever’s been pressing her lately. I’m going to lose Jane if I keep this same masochistic course. It’s all or nothing. And I want all of her. I always have.

I dip my head and whisper against her ear, “What if I don’t want to survive without you?” An aching noise expels from her lips, and I release my hold of her cheek and fist the back of my shirt, pulling the fabric over my head. Bare-chested, I undo the buckle of my belt.

She fixates on my movements that write a sto...

I kiss the inside of her thigh, watching her eyes drink me in and cling to me and beg me—and love me.

She might think I’m choosing sex over celibacy, but I’m choosing us tonight and every fucking night hereafter.

She’s sweet, and her thighs vibrate as I lap my tongue over her clit.

I’m in another world with Jane. And I never want to leave.

Her body thrums against me. Alive with ferocious energy. “Please,” she breathes. “Thatcher.” “Jane,” I groan.

We kiss in aggressive passion, our tongues tangled and lips stinging. Like we can’t be close enough, and deep isn’t deep enough.

Jane lifts her gaze, and as soon as she sees the affection in mine, tears crease the corners of her eyes. “I love you. I love you. I love you,” I emphasize as I bridge us together, carefully and slowly fitting inside her pussy.

Jane puts a hand to her heart like it’s beating out of her chest, involuntary tears soaking her cheeks. My eyes are raw with emotion, and I hold her against me with one hand and use the other to clasp her face. “Breathe.”

When we’re done, I pull Jane in my arms, and she splays on my chest like she’s lounging belly-down on a pool floatie. I make sure she’s under the blankets, as the night grows cold, and our eyes stay on each other for minutes upon minutes. She’s lost energy to speak. I’m not sure if I can say what needs to be said, and in time, we both drift to sleep.

We relax on the small sofa section, nestled around a fireplace and mounted TV. I love the old charm of northern Scotland.

Oscar and Charlie are talking at a high-top table near the fogged window, and I hope my brother plans to stay longer.

Charlie even asked genuine questions about catering, and I thought Maximoff’s smile would shatter the window. It’s almost like high school again, the three of us on good terms.

“Janie.” Moffy scoots closer on the tufted leather sofa. “It’s pretty much normal to need the person you love.”

“God,” I murmur. “I don’t want to feel like I’m dying if my boyfriend isn’t with me.” Sudden panic scorches me, and I waft my sequined pink sweater. “I think I lied to him last night.” “Wait, what?” “I told Thatcher that I’d rather survive with him than without him, and sitting here, talking to you, I know that I’d rather be able to survive on my own more than anything else.” Yet, my throat closes like that’s not entirely truthful either, and my cheeks crinkle in a wince. “I’m not being logical, am I?” He hugs my shoulders with a tough arm. “I don’t know if there’s a lot of logic in love.” That frightens me. I lean into my best friend and stare off at the wall.

I’m not so sure I deserve to have a man who’s sacrificed everything for me and who also has to wait forever for me.