Involuntary high-pitched sounds erupt out of Jane—I muffle the noise with my hand, covering her mouth.
Her back is already arching.
She speaks against my large palm. I lift my hand just a bit to hear. “Thatcher. Deeper, deeper .” I cover her mouth again as she cries in ecstasy.
My nose flares, arousal pummeling me. I could watch her come for eternity.
I’m not all the way in yet. I hoist her leg higher, hooking my arm underneath her knee. And I shift slightly.
Deeper. I go deeper.
And deeper.
Christ. My muscles contract, my nerves lit, and I reach a place inside Jane that causes her back to bow, toes to curl. Eyes to roll. I split my fingers apart on her mouth, afraid she’s not going to fucking breathe.
I hold her tighter and push into this spot in deep, slow strokes. Hitting this sensitive area in hypnotic succession. She’s almost completely gone.
I’m hanging on to a throttling edge.
Sweat drips down my temples, and tendons pull taut in my neck. Thrusting, thrusting , bringing her further into a mind-altering, levitating climax.
And then cats scratch at the door. Wanting in her room. Meowing incessantly—and I hear footsteps and creaking stairs. All while I’m fucking Jane.
Goddammit.
I turn my head and hawk-eye the door. The footsteps stop on the second-floor landing. Too early. This is why I usually sneak here later in the night. When everyone is already asleep or in their rooms.
I distinguish Maximoff’s voice. Hushed, his words inaudible. He must be speaking to her cats.
Right now, Jane is in another realm. Out of it, and I stop moving inside of her. But I don’t pull out.
A fist lightly raps the door. “Janie,” Maximoff calls, concern hardening his voice. “You want me to let them in your room? They’re all here, except for Toodles.”
I slide my hand off her mouth and cup her cheek. Her eyelids are fluttering, coming down from a fucking tidal wave. “Honey,” I whisper against her ear. “Jane . You need to respond to him. Breathe, breathe.”
She inhales a lung full, blinking repeatedly.
Almost there.
If Maximoff senses something’s wrong, he’ll smash down the door. Especially tonight when a break-in has already happened.
He knocks harder. “Janie, are you okay?”
She swallows a pant and turns her head. “Yuh…yes, yes .”
“You want me to let them in?”
“I…” Confusion bunches her brows.
She didn’t hear him ask. I mouth, your cats.
Realization bathes her face, but she’s too late to reply. Maximoff is worried, and the knob jiggles as he tries to come in. “You locked your door? If you’re scared, I can sleep in your room tonight.”
“No.” Her voice spikes, and she takes a breath to level the tone, then looks at the door while she speaks. “I’m fine, really. I’m actually having…personal time.” Her eyes flit to me. “And I’d rather my cats not watch.”
“Sorry,” Maximoff says fast. “Text me if you’re afraid later on.” He speaks in French, and I think he’s saying goodnight.
She replies back in the same language. Footsteps drift, and he manages to lead the cats away from the door.
Too close.
Other things are taking precedence than talking about that near-encounter. Jane stares down at my cock that’s disappeared between her legs.
Her voice is a gentle whisper. “I love how you feel inside of me.” Her hips arch against my pelvis.
I smother a grunt in my lungs, and I dip my head down more. To kiss her reddened lips and knead her breast, my thumb teasing her hardened nipple. Huskily, I say, “I love being inside of you.” I rock again.
Quiet.
Careful not to let the bed squeak, and she hangs on to my back. Building her up to another peak after some minutes, and I find a spot that sends her over. Deep.
Deep.
Again.
She cries against my palm, sounds deadened, her thighs quaking, and I fist her pink sheets with my left hand. Doing everything in my power not to make a fucking noise as a mind-exploding, blistering sensation crashes into me and ignites me on fire.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuckfuckfuck. I come hard with Jane in total silence.
34
JANE COBALT
Light streams into my room, a sore feeling making me smile. It feels like he’s still in me. I roll over…but to an empty bed.
Of course it’s empty, Jane.
I made Thatcher leave at 3 a.m. exactly, and I didn’t ask if he wanted to stay longer. We have structure for a reason. My bodyguard can’t be caught sleeping with me, and I’m not going to put his job in jeopardy.
But there’s no harm in just imagining mornings with him. Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to wake up to Thatcher in my bedroom. And my mind whirls, recalling all the moments of yesterday. He made an eerie, cold night safe and warm and loving.
I stretch my arms out, and then rub my eyes. Focusing on Thatcher’s side of the mattress. Made neatly already. Pink duvet pulled up, tucked in, and smoothed. On the pillow rests a yellow sticky note.
I prop myself on my elbow and read his legible handwriting.
Thanks for last night. See you in the day.
I feel my smile beneath my fingertips, and I notice a little arrow drawn underneath the word day. I flip the note over, more words on the back:
Coffee is downstairs.
He must’ve put a timer on the pot, so it’d brew around the time I normally wake.
No one has ever left a note for me. Not like this. My heart swells, and I stare longer at the note like it’ll disappear in my fingertips.
This is a Cinderella dream that’ll end, but I want to remember it all later. My favorite moments, these magical nights and days.
I scoot off the bed, slipping my arms into my robe, and I tie the belt around my waist. With the tug of my vanity drawer, I find a square tin and toss out the cotton swabs. Gently, I place the note inside and snap the tin closed.
Not letting this one fade.
35
JANE COBALT
“The condom broke,” I whisper to Thatcher, the ripped latex in my hand. I’m sitting on my vanity, my legs spread wide open for him.
Our bodies glistening in sweat, pulsating, and we do our best not to breathe loudly. He’s sheltered so many of my gasps just tonight. I think he’s the only man I’d want to cover my mouth. Because I know he’d only do so for my safety.
Right now, he’s buck-naked, incredibly masculine and confident, even as I said a phrase that would panic most.
Thatcher takes the condom out of my grasp. Inspecting it in the dim lighting. Only a candle lit on the nightstand. I hadn’t even tried to sheath his long erection yet.
I glance down. Bulging veins spindle along his hard shaft. He stands intimidatingly like he’s a man on guard in an ancient epic tale full of brawn and heroism.
I hold his round ass with two hands. “I must’ve torn it when I tore the wrapper.” Thankfully it didn’t rip while we were having sex. I wish I could say this is the first time I’ve failed at unwrapping a condom, but it’s sadly not.
Thatcher nods, lowering his voice. “It’s unusable.” He cups my sensitive heat, soaked. My body aches for his length. For that fullness.
He steps back, bending down and closing my knees together.
I pulse and watch him place the ripped condom in the trash bin.
We’re both trying to be painfully quiet. It’s much easier for him. After Moffy was close to catching us in bed the other night, we know we need to be more careful.
Thatcher can’t be in my bedroom that early ever again. And we’re already running out of time tonight. It’s 2 a.m.—one hour remaining.
“Where’s the box?” I murmur.
“That was my last one.” He doesn’t seem alarmed. His experience cloaks me like a hot blanket, and I want to wr
ap it tighter around my body.
Thatcher rises to his feet and dips his head down to me. Listening as I speak. Because he knows I’m going to suggest something.
“There are alternatives,” I whisper. “I could put you in my mouth.” I brush my fingers along his cock. “And then you could put a toy in me.”
His lips brush against my ear. “I could also go grab a condom so that I can thrust deep inside you.”
My hips arch towards him, and my hands fall to the vanity surface beside me. “Yes…I agree.” Really, I want .
He kisses my temple, and I ogle him as he walks buck-ass naked over to the rug. He bends down and picks up his boxer-briefs, and it hits me that I have no idea where he’s going.
I stand off the vanity and quickly find a clean pair of panties on the floor. I step into them. “Where are the condoms?”
He lifts the elastic to his muscular waist. Walking towards me, he whispers, “My brother’s room.”
My eyes widen, and I snatch my pair of jeans off the vanity stool. “There’s a higher probability you’ll run into a bodyguard if you return to security’s townhouse.” I hop into my pants and snap on a bra.
“Jane, Jane .” He catches my wrist, drawing me more against his chest. “Explain.”
I fit my arms through the sleeves of my sequined blouse. “It’ll be much easier for me to just grab condoms from Luna’s room.”
During the beginning stages of my sex hiatus, I gave all my condoms to Luna. I thought I’d have no use for them.
And Luna has recently begun to adopt the one-night stand tactic like her older brother used to.
“I know your size is in there,” I whisper to Thatcher. “And Luna’s bedroom is barely five steps from my door.”
His brows harden. “She could ask questions. Like why you need a condom.”
“So could Banks,” I say quietly.
Our heads turn at a sudden noise. It sounds like paws pattering up the stairs.