Tangled Like Us (Like Us 4)

Now I’ve upgraded to a shower. One tall enough where I don’t need to hunch.

Eyes snapped shut, I fixate on the feeling that I crave. Nerves lit, muscles contracted in searing bands—I quicken my pace. Back-and-forth friction of my hand against my throbbing cock heats up every inch of my body.

Come.

Come, already.

An aroused grunt rakes my throat, straining my neck. Jaw aching as I grit my teeth down.

My mind is blank. Just in the present. Until an image pops up in my head. In strong waves, I’m thrusting my erection between her trembling thighs.

She’s clung to me on a mattress. Her legs trying to find support while I feed into her pleasure. I rock deeper inside her soaked warmth that tightens around my cock. And I watch orgasm after orgasm ripple through her body.

I see her clearly.

Brown wavy hair, frizzed pieces caressing freckled cheeks.

Long lashes that shade glimmering, overcome blue eyes.

“Thatcher ,” she gasps.

Fuck.

Instantly, my eyes break open and I freeze. My hand is immobile on my rock-hard dick, veins pulsing with one desire.

“Get it the fuck together,” I growl under my breath and slam the side of my fist at the tiled wall.

Come on. Don’t go there.

Un-fucking-professional doesn’t even come close to what this is. Every time I jack off, I picture my client. And I don’t have thirty minutes to fuck around. I need a quick release, and if I keep blue-balling myself when I’m on the edge, I’m going to leave myself pent-up and agitated all day.

I have to just ride whatever comes to mind. I’ll do some deadlifts later. Say a few Hail Marys. Try not to feel like shit.

But right now, I go with the moment.

Deeper breath, I kick-start the friction of my hand to cock.

And I try again.

I’m back thrusting.

Into her.

She gasps like she’s melting inside hot euphoria. High-pitched, pleasured noises jolt out of her parted lips. “Thatcher, Thatcher! ” Sweat beads around her perked nipples.

Tears squeeze out of her eyes.

Jane.

I give Jane the sex she deserves. Her orgasm arches her body up into my chest. Practically levitating her off the bed. I hold Jane in a protective grip against my build while her toes curl. I stroke the soft flesh of her inner-thigh. Down to her swelling clit.

Her eyes roll.

I kiss the tender nape of her neck.

Her head lolls back.

I fill her pussy.

I thrust.

And thrust.

And feed this unkempt hunger that I’ve left for dead in reality. Watching and feeling Jane come and come and come and pulse around my hardened need.

In the shower, I hit that peak and jerk forward in a powerful release. Cum washes down the drain. I draw out the climax with a few more strokes, and then a knock bangs the bathroom door.

“Thatcher!” Banks calls.

Christ.

I clean off quickly and crank off the water. It should be around oh-nine-thirty. I’ve been up since dawn, but the famous ones are probably waking up now. Once they leave their townhouse, we automatically go on-duty.

My brother could need to use the bathroom. Or he could be telling me he’s about to head out. Or that I need to go. My radio is on the ledge of the sink.

I step out of the shower, the cramped bathroom only big enough for a toilet, sink, and shower stall.

Banks raps the door more aggressively. “Thatcher!”

Concern kicks my ass into gear. Forgoing the towel, which fell behind the toilet, I trek across the bathroom in a few forceful steps. Wet footprints track the floor.

Buck-ass naked, I open the door, and I instantly sidestep.

Banks barrels into the bathroom.

I shut the door behind us, and my brother aims straight for the toilet. Dropping a knee, he grips the sides of the basin.

He’s nauseous.

He waits and takes a few controlled breaths.

My brows knit together. “Second one in two weeks.” He hasn’t had a migraine all summer, and now it’s a cluster-fucking short timespan.

Banks spits roughly in the toilet. “I must just be lucky like that.” He takes another measured breath.

My wet hair is dripping on my squared shoulders. Beads skidding down the ridges of my muscles, and more water pools at my feet.

I go grab my towel from behind the toilet.

About the same time, my brother eases backwards. “False alarm.” He lets out a heavier breath and slumps against the shower stall. Already dressed for work in a white button-down and black slacks with a radio attached.

His slacks soak in fucking puddles that I tracked, but he’s too spent to give a shit. “I’m supposed to be Oscar Mike in an hour.”

I dry my hair with the towel. “Take today off.”

He rubs his temple and shuts one eye. “I’m the man who fills-in for the men who take off.”

Yeah.

Every time Farrow has to take a med call, he needs a bodyguard to fill his spot protecting Maximoff, and Banks volunteered to be that bodyguard.

Which inadvertently made him a full-time floater on the team. Whenever a 24/7 guard has a family or health emergency, Banks takes over their spot. It’s not a demotion. It’s the hardest job in security. Every day he gets pulled in a dozen different directions.

He says he likes the spontaneity of the position.

But Banks took this role for me.

He said I was gasoline in a bottle. I made a massive mistake when I hit Farrow, and I couldn’t get out of my head. My brother wanted to be under the same roof as me again. Just so I wouldn’t light myself on fire with rage and fucking regret.

“You can still take off, Banks.” I dry water off my chest.

There’d be some reshuffling among the men, but we’d work it out.

Banks rests the back of his head on the shower door. “That means slamming the team with a headache which pretty much matches my headache. I’m not doin’ it.”

I give him a hard look and tie my towel around my waist. “How the fuck do you plan to go on-duty if you can’t even keep both eyes open?”

“Easy. I plan to have both eyes open and alert by then.” He tucks his hair behind his left ear, then right ear and motions to me. “I could use all you’ve got.”

He’s not asking for drugs.

Instinctively, I touch two horn pendants that lie against my sternum, and I feel along my deltoid and unclip the thin gold chain around my neck. Most of the time, I forget that I’m wearing a cornic’. Because I rarely take it off.

“Where are you needed?” I ask since he’s leaving in an hour and he didn’t say who he’s filling in for.

“I’m headed to New York. Tom needs a bodyguard until tonight because…” He lifts a shoulder. “I don’t know what’s up with Ian.” Tom Cobalt’s bodyguard. “I don’t ask. I just go.”

I near him.

He holds out his hand, and I drop the necklace in his palm. He used to have a cornic’. Until he lost it in the Middle East.

But there are two pendants on my chain. “I can get you a new chain and give you the other horn—”

“No.” Banks shoots me a glare like I’m out of my fucking mind. “His cornic’ stays on your chain.”

We don’t mention him a lot—but when he gets brought up, my chest tightens.

I just nod, and I watch my brother clasp the necklace around his neck.

He wants me to do the maliocch’ too. It helped last time I did it. But I’ll need to get oil from the kitchen first.

Before I go, I grab my radio off the sink. “Whose detail did you cover yesterday?”

“Audrey, then Kinney, then back to Audrey.”

That’s a lot. “Three transitions in one day.”

He touches the horns at his sternum. “Semper Gumby, man.”

I almost smile. It means

always flexible. Something from the Marines. It’s my brother to a fucking tee. Missions get fragged, and you’ve got to be ready for new orders. New direction.

Always flexible.

“Oorah,” I say lightly.

But I solidify. More rigid. Remembering something that I meant to tell my brother. But with the Cinderella ad at the fucking forefront—it just sat in the back of my head.

Until now.

“What is it?” Banks asks, studying my posture.

I unwrap the cord around the radio. “I told Jane that we served in the Corps.”

Banks laughs hard. “No you didn’t.”