Sinful Like Us (Like Us 5)

I force myself not to touch her. “I can’t promise that if you let yourself love me completely that you won’t want me or need me.”

She holds her body.

My eyes scald. “Because I love you completely, Jane, and I want and need you during the worst and best moments of my life.”

Her voice is a whisper. “You don’t have to placate me.”

“What I said is true.” I fight emotion that fists my lungs. “I fucking need you, honey. I’d be going out of my mind with guilt if I couldn’t turn to you. So many times I’ve thought about you, and you’ve made me feel good about myself.” I stop there, a rock lodged in my throat.

She has a hand to her mouth, overwhelmed.

Processing.

“I…” She swallows. “I’m still scared.”

I nod.

I gave her no reason not to be. Because I can’t fix this. A quiet moment passes. I’m unsure of where she’s mentally at.

“Can I touch you?” I ask.

“Yes.” She doesn’t hesitate.

I bridge the distance, my knee on the seat between her split thighs, and my other foot on the ground. I brace my hand to the door behind her shoulder.

Her breastbone rises and falls while I hover over her body. My right hand encases her face, my lips ghosting her lips as I whisper, “All I can promise is that I will love you and respect you, Jane. And I will never abuse your love or take advantage of what you offer me.”

Her tears wet my hand, and my eyes sear raw. She clutches my shirt with two fists. Slowly drawing me closer. We stare into each other. Frostbitten air trying to seep into the backseat, but together, we’re too volcanic to turn cold.

And we erupt.

Our lips meld in sensual, emotional force, and I hold her against my body while we dive deeper. My tongue slides against hers, warmth blazing me from inside out. She clenches her thighs around my waist, her fingers curling strands of my hair.

We’re tethered by something unexplainable, and I can’t let go.

Muscles coiled in taut bands, I’m on fire. I suck the nape of her neck, and her head tilts back, a high-pitched noise breaching her lips. She returns to kiss me like she can’t consume me fast enough, and we slow in heady, mind-spinning strokes. Our touch drawn out.

Magma.

I guide her back to the seat so she’s lying down beneath me, and we kiss and grind and with my forehead pressed to hers, she chokes out, “I want you back.”

Light explodes inside my chest. Fucking disorienting me, and with no doubt, I say, “You have me.”

Our hands touch every single inch of each other, eradicating the cold, and we live inside a fire-born passion that grows and grows.

The next minutes are things made of soul and carnal flesh. Stripped naked, my erection is swollen, veins protruding and aching in primal need for Jane.

I slide two fingers against her pussy—God, she’s soaked. And she writhes and whimpers, “Please, now. Now.”

She clutches my waist while I cover my shaft with a condom, and I push into her heat that wraps tight around me.

Fucking. My head spins, and I thrust and lift her by the hips so we’re at a perfect angle with my height—and she pulses.

“Thatcher,” Jane cries. “Thatcher, harder. Harder, please.”

Sweat glistens our skin, and I rock at a rougher, deeper pace that pushes me to a sensitive spot in her body. Holy.

Fuck. I grip the door handle, then her thigh, keeping her leg higher on my waist. “Jane,” I grunt. “Fuckfuck.”

Her mouth is broken open in overflowing arousal, and her soft, aching noises prick my veins and twitch my cock inside her.

“Yes,” she moans. “Yesyesyes.” Tears crease her eyes.

My muscles flex with each thrust. A gnarled groan scratches my throat. I knead her breast, her perked nipple, my hand skating down her wide hip and soft thigh, and she tries to hang on.

“More,” she cries. “More.”

I’m deep in the woman I love. My cock filling her pussy to the brim, and my abs contract with another push in. “I could fuck you all night.”

“Yes.” She clutches tighter. “Fuck me all night.”

Your wish is my command, honey.

My nerves pinch like something unholy, and she bucks her hips, her thighs spasm, back arching. Jane lets out an overcome cry, and that sound and her clenching shoots white light in my vision.

I slow, flexing to keep from joining her climax, and I fuck her softly. Gently. Eking out every second I’m inside Jane.

“All night?” she asks eagerly, catching her breath with heavy pants.

“All night,” I confirm. Staring down at her beneath me while I move.

Her lips part in another soft moan, but I can see an apology in her eyes. For breaking up with me, and I shake my head. I almost stop rocking, but she whispers, “Keep going.”

I push deeper.

Truth is, I’d rather Jane break up with me than be some kind of unfeeling robot. I’m with a human being, and we might not deal with our emotions well. But we’re both trying to deal with them together. “You did what you felt,” I remind her. “You don’t have to be sorry for that, not with me.”

She opens her mouth to reply, but my erection knows her well and finds that sensitive spot again. Her lips split apart and eyes roll back. Body quivering, and my muscles tighten, about to release.

26

THATCHER MORETTI

Morning light pierces packed snow on the windshield. Sun beginning to ascend. I hold a sleeping Jane in my arms, angled on our sides so I’ve cocooned her between my chest and the seat.

Cold bites my shoulders and triceps, my back exposed to the front of the car. I ensure she’s fully covered, tucking my jacket snugger around her hips.

She stirs a little, nestling her cheek into my warm chest. I don’t take for granted the mornings I have with Jane. Even if this one is really fucking different.

I assess our surroundings. Awake. Alert—I never shut my eyes. About an hour ago, I started seeing my breath smoke the air, but I welcome the chill after running hot all night. We’re both still naked under jackets and her sweater. Cum-filled condoms litter the area beneath the seats.

I fucked Jane until her intense orgasms forced her asleep, and upon her request, I stayed inside of her for an extended time, while she slept.

It was…unlike anything. She’s always been the best sex I’ve ever had, but in Scotland, the intimacy is on another level. We’re surviving together, withstanding the cold, and those notions were like pulsing heartbeats fa

stening us at the fucking soul.

I glance at my watch. Ten minutes. Then I’ll go outside to see how deep we’re packed in, and I’ll start the car.

Jane rustles against me again, and this time her eyelids gradually open.

“Are you cold?” I ask.

“Warm,” she murmurs, and our eyes latch in a strong beat. Both of us recollecting last night, and I press my lips to her temple.

“You sore?” I whisper.

She shifts her knees. “A little.”

I cup her pussy, protectively, and her smile dimples her rosy cheeks. She breathes, “I love you there, very…very much.” Her eyes soften. “I love you other places too.”

“Where?”

Jane rests her elbow on my muscular side, sitting up some. She takes my other hand, and our breaths shallow as she places my palm on the top of her soft breast.

To her heart.

I inhale deeply. “You trust me here?”

“Yes,” she says without pause.

Her heart thumps faster beneath my palm, and I glide my hand up higher, tracking across her collarbone in a sensual stroke. Ascending to the nape of her neck. She shudders with a desirous ache against me, and nestling closer, she peers over my side. Eyeing my bare ass.

“Are you cold?” she whispers, a second from shifting the sweater off her legs, but I stop her.

“No.”

Jane nods, and in the quiet, she smiles at the inked writing across my ass cheek—she’s already traced the letters a thousand times in bed.

Her big blue eyes are poised on me. “You’re my Cinderella, you realize.”

“I know.” My mouth curves upward. “I’m happy to be.” I’m living the fairytale. And this moment feels like one giant escape from reality. We’re stowing away from the bleak situation, where snow could still be falling. Where a long journey on foot could be ahead of us.

She’s more fixated on my rising lips than my words. Her smile brightens my whole world, and as she drops back in the cocoon of warmth I create, she whispers, “One more time, before we have to leave the car…can you…?” Flush stains her neck, but she never wavers. “Mr. Moretti—Thatcher.” She blushes more.