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and I slowly sink down to my knees, my hand running along the curve of her hip and thigh before I kneel on the floorboards. Jane grasps my hair, her throat bobbing in arousal. “Thatcher.”
I hike her soft leg over my shoulder. She whimpers. “God.” Fire blazes in my veins, and my nerves light with kerosene. I kiss the inside of her thigh, watching her eyes drink me in and cling to me and beg me—and love me.
choosing us tonight and every fucking night hereafter.
I kiss her pussy, and her back arches in a soft cry. Fuck. My cock stirs more. Hardens more. Pre-cum glistens on the swollen head. I pull her closer, my hand stroking her ass while I taste the most sensitive part of Jane. She’s sweet, and her thighs vibrate as I lap my tongue over her clit.
“Thatcher,” she moans under her hitched breath. “God, yes. Please…more.” My pulse sky-rockets, and skin-pricked heat builds sweat along my whole body. I w...
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“Yes, yes.” Her fingers tighten in my hair, and her head hits the wall. Eyes rolling back already. I could watch her come every minute, and I waste no time. I kiss her heat before I rip her panties completely off,
I’m in another world with Jane. And I never want to leave. We devour one another, and I tear off her blouse, snap off her bra and throw it aside. Not a second after she’s bare, I clasp the backs of her thighs and hoist her up my body.
“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. I have her ass in my hands, and her palms track burning lines along my biceps.
“Look at me,” I whisper. 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. She wraps her arms around my shoulders and moans my name into the crook of my arm.
She gasps, almost choking. “Breathe, honey.” 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.” I pause and let her gulp air. She tries to grind on me. Christ. I grit down, my nerves snapping in pleasure. “I don’t want to stop,” she says in a single breath. “Keep going. Keep going. Please.”
“Would you rather survive with me or without me?” She clutches my biceps tighter. “With you.” My muscles sear in magma. “Would you rather live with me or without me?” “With you.” Then what are you so afraid of, Jane? I brace her shoulders to the wall and fuck her harder. Deeper and longer strokes, and I hit a spot that drives her over the edge.
“Fuck,” I grunt. Fuck. She glances back over her shoulder, lips split apart with each gasp as I ram into her, and I lean forward and kiss the hell out of my girlfriend. She has to arch back, causing me to slide deeper. “Thatcher,” she gasps against my mouth.
“Deeper, deeper,” she moans. I’m deeper than any man has ever been in this girl, and I’m not letting up. Not as her legs throttle. Not as I ascend a peak. Not as her fingers clench the blankets. We come together in a spine-tingling, head-whirling, body-transporting climax,
“It’s pretty much normal to need the person you love.” I slip my frilly pen in a binder pocket. “Do you feel as though you need Farrow?” “Yeah.” He nods a few times. “Christ, I think I needed him before he even joined security.” He makes a face. “Don’t tell Farrow that.” “Cross my heart,”
you can still survive on your own without Farrow. Correct?” He cracks a knuckle, lost in thought. “Maybe, but it’d be…” Grief clouds his eyes. “I don’t know. It feels like death.”
“He’s here for the long haul, so if it takes you a millennium to blurt out what you need to, he might still be around.” “I know.” Thatcher is too good for me and my insecurities. 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. Sadly, I mutter, “He deserves better.” “No,” Maximoff snaps.
“Tu es la meilleure. Il a même de la chance de respirer le même air que tu respires.” You’re the best. He’s lucky to even breathe the same air you breathe. “It’s hard to feel that way when he just had to announce how many times he thinks about fucking me in a single day.” Charlie made us flip a card an hour ago,
“Would you really want Thatcher to be the man I’m with forever?” Thatcher has been Farrow’s least favorite person, and Maximoff hasn’t been too fond of him in the past either. “Weirdly, yeah. He’s good to you, and he makes you happy.”
“But if he hurts you, I’ll slit his throat with a hacksaw—a rusted hacksaw.”
Oh well. Torn skirt, missing sequin—life could be so much worse. A rumor could hit the internet that I’m fucking my cousin.
The Four Drunk Stages of Jane Eleanor Cobalt are as follows: Feel-Good Drunk Jane Flirty Drunk Jane Sloppy Drunk Jane Black-Out (SOS) Jane
“Yeah, he’s pretty hot.” “Who’s hot?” Farrow slides in, very casual and cool as he chews gum. He gives Moffy a once-over. “Me,” Maximoff quips, stretching his arm across Farrow’s shoulders. Farrow rolls his eyes. “You’re definitely cocky.” He has trouble taking his gaze off his fiancé. “I didn’t come over here for you, smartass.” “But you’re staying here for me,” Maximoff rebuts. Luna looks between them with such happiness. Farrow sucks in a breath. “Technically, you can’t read the future to know if I’m staying.”
“I don’t love being the errand boy, but Omega wants me to tell you to stop giving your boyfriend ‘googly eyes’.” He uses air-quotes.
“Janie.” Moffy draws my attention back. Farrow raises his brows at me. “You were saying?” “Merde,” I curse. I’m making googly eyes. “Is Flirty Drunk Jane here?” Moffy asks me. “Almost,” I warn and pinch my fingers together.
is there a way to ask Tony to GTFO so he won’t follow Jane and Thatcher outside?” Luna rocks on her feet. “So she can make out with her boyfriend.” I love them.
Moffy takes his arm off Farrow and dances with his sister. Luna and Maximoff do the running man move together, and then he twirls her in a circle. I sway to the beat, and I notice how Farrow looks absolutely and without a shadow of a doubt in love with his future husband.
She slugs his shoulder. He just nods. Strange. I squint at their interaction and taste more whiskey. Usually Akara would fling a strand of hair in her face or slug her back just as playfully. Sullivan puts two fingers to her lips. “What’s wrong?” Farrow, Moffy, and Luna watch too. “I’m just doing my job.” Akara fixes his earpiece. “Is that it?” Her squared jaw tenses. “Yeah…” Akara nods, then he returns to the couch beside Quinn. “What the fuck was that?”
“Jane,” he greets deeply. I’m only a few feet away. My bones ache for him. I want to feel him inside me. I want the emotion, and I barely see concern tighten his eyes. Climb him, Jane. “I want you,” I whisper. “Jane.” “Thatcher.” I’m a drunken fool, but Flirty Jane doesn’t give a damn. I’m one second from straddling Thatcher when hands clasp my waist. Farrow pulls me back,
“Did she just call you Thatcher?” O’Malley asks. Tony laughs. “She’s just drunk. Aren’t you, Jane?” He thinks he’s being cute teasing me, but he’s nothing more than a patronizing prick.
“Thatcher?” I’m scared. “Thatcher?” “Jane—I’m right here.” He cups my cheeks. It alarms me, more than anything, that I didn’t call for Maximoff. I called for him. For a man I… I love him.
“I think it’s just hitting me…harder all of a sudden.” Because I moved. I walked and now I’m speeding rapidly through Sloppy Drunk Jane to Black-Out (SOS) territory. God, help me. A translation comes through my brain: Thatcher, help me.
When the matchup is Jane vs. Whiskey, I’d put my money on my girlfriend every time. And I’d lose that bet tonight.
I tuck her to my sturdy chest. Protective. One of my hands is lost in her blue skirt. Really, I’m cupping her ass, an effortless hold, and I press my other palm to the back of her head, whispering against her ear, “I have you, honey.”
he looks concerned. He’s probably seen her this wasted. Hell, I know he’s held her hair back while she’s puked. Before I came along, he’d be the one holding Jane, and the fact that he’s not upset that I’ve taken over—it means we’re making good strides.
I’m not as territorial as Farrow, but when it comes to my girlfriend being scared or panicked, my spine would have to be obliterated in a hundred places before I let another man carry her to safety. Especially Tony.
“Moretti!” Tony calls, approaching us. “She’s not your responsibility. Take your hands off my client.” Like hell. I grit my teeth. Stay professional. I need to stay fucking professional on-duty. In Tony’s mind, I’m Banks, and my brother doesn’t deserve a tarnished reputation because of my bad calls. Don’t punch him.
“Man, just let Banks take care of her. She’s comfortable with him.” Tony sizes him up. “So you’d rather I switch details with Banks then?” He jabs a thumb to the bar. “I can go look after Maximoff for you.” Farrow glares.
Jane brushes her nose against mine, romantically. I try to shift my gaze and shove down any visible affection. I’m Banks. I’m my brother. …and she’s gorgeous.
“She’s comfortable here,” I tell Tony. “She’d be more comfortable with me.” He starts to fucking smile. I’m gonna kill him. “We’re not testing that.” “Afraid she’d like me more than your brother?”
“You do realize the goal is to sober her up, not make her puke?” “Thank you for reminding me.” Hale sarcasm is thick. “Let me just swing over to McDonald’s down the street. Order a Big Mac, some fries, a goddamn milkshake.”
Luna Hale is dirty-dancing with Donnelly. The kind of sloppy dancing you’d see at closing times from trashed guys and girls. But her and him—they’re completely sober. He cups her ass with two hands, holding her like I’m holding Jane, only she bounces on his lap to the beat of the music, and he sings the blaring song with Luna. If Maximoff sees this, he might flip his shit.
“What A Wonderful World” plays over a montage of clips. Ryke Meadows and Loren Hale are running at dusk. Lily Calloway stares strong but tear-streaked in the camera. Rose Calloway’s iconic black heels clap along a sterile hallway, and the image pans back to show another pair of feet. Sandals. Daisy Calloway walks with Rose, the sisters holding hands. It cuts to Connor Cobalt in a crisp expensive suit. He opens a door, and on the other side are flashes of images that I remember.
“Bro, just drop it. We’re on-duty.” He tries to walk off, but Oscar grabs his arm, and Quinn rotates and swings. “Quinn!” Joana clutches his waist and drags him back, but his knuckles already met Oscar’s jaw. That’s Fight 1 at my twelve o’clock.
Fight 2 on my three. “You forced me here,” Beckett sneers at his twin brother. “You want the truth? I expected this from Moffy and Jane, but not from you.” “Are you done?” Charlie glares. Beckett laughs with hurt, breath visible in the cold. “Get me out of here, Charlie.” “No.”
Akara sees and sprints after them. “Yeah? Looks like you’re missing your meth-head family reunio—” He grunts as Donnelly tackles him, and Akara wrenches him off O’Malley before either guy can throw a punch.
“Jane is drunk,” Tony snaps at me. “Incapacitated. She can’t consent to jack shit right now, which is why protocol dictates that her bodyguard take care of her—you aren’t her bodyguard, Moretti.” I’m about to ignite Fight 4.
“Right, you’re her boyfriend’s brother. Great.” He claps mockingly. “Just because there are two of you doesn’t mean you get double-dibs on the same girl. Unless you two are with her in some kind of weird twincest threesome thing. Which, really, isn’t that shocking considering you both stuck it in the same chick in high school.” Fucking lies.
I think of my mom, my mom’s wife, my aunts, my grandma, and I wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for a twelve-year-old girl who left Italy with no one and came to America with nothing. Brave. Bold. Strong women rule my world, and I love them.
I realize the best route for Jane is her best friend. Family outranks bodyguards, and if Maximoff wants to carry her, protocol says, don’t get in his fucking way. After a short conversation, Tony follows protocol and lets her cousin help. I hate passing my drunk girlfriend over to anyone, but she won’t be afraid in his arms. Maximoff cradles Jane while he climbs into the van, and she hangs onto his shoulders and murmurs, “Thatcher?” “It’s me, Janie,” he whispers.
“She could tell I wasn’t you within the first three seconds.” My lip rises. “What’d she say?” I’m assuming he explained the twin switch. “She said, you’re a buncha dumbasses, but I love you both the most.”
