Sinful Like Us (Like Us 5)

“Jane.”

She tilts her chin. “Would you be so kind to spread my legs and fill me?”

I harden, and my blood cranks to a swelter. “Anything you want, honey.” With one swift movement, I pull her further down between us, so she’s in line with my cock, and a noise ejects from her mouth along with, “God.”

I sheath my long shaft with the last condom, and I stretch her leg higher over my waist. She extends her other leg as well as she can, holding steady beneath her knee.

Still on our sides, I cup her face, which is down at my chest, and the swollen head of my erection nudges against her glistening folds. I flex my hips forward, edging inside Jane, and she gasps, pleasure washing over her features.

I grit my teeth, jaw locking. Blistering sensations escalate towards a peak. Overwhelming. Sweat builds again as I rock against my girlfriend, her soft breathy gasps warming my chest.

This position is fucking tight as all hell, and her calf spasms. I gather her in my arms and seamlessly shift us upright, her back to the seat like she’s sitting.

My head almost touches the roof. With my knee on the cushion, my other foot on the floor of the car, I have two perfect handfuls of her ass and I thrust with a deep, annihilating pace. Jane watches my cock sliding in and out of her pussy.

“ThatcherThatcherThatcher,” she cries, fingers gripping my shoulder. “Yesyes, oh God.”

“Fuck,” I groan between clenched teeth, my muscles flaming in primal hunger.

She’s gone, just completely engulfed by our passion, and I love her—I love her.

I clasp her cheek again, and she looks up at me. I stare down while I pound into her pulsating heat, and she chokes on a gasp, then a sharp sound that rattles my core.

“You okay?” I breathe.

She nods. “Don’t…stop.”

I’m not. Warmth wraps around my cock, the friction skin-pricking, mind-numbing—and Jane rakes her nails down my back.

“Jane,” I groan, fucking her harder.

Her spine arches, and I have her in my arms. I’m not letting go, and we climb towards a soul-fucking climax that shakes her whole body. I tighten up, muscles flexed, and I come with a heavy grunt.

Fuuucking…

I start to milk the unbelievable feeling, pumping slowly inside her swollen pussy—but then, my ears pick up noise from outside.

Snow crunching. Like footsteps.

Shit.

Carefully, I pull out of Jane. She blinks through the fog of sex, questions surfacing in her big blues, and I tell her, “Someone’s here.”

Probably a local who spotted our car. Fog and morning mist coat the windows, so it’s not like they can see inside.

Jane and I dress fast. Pants on, jackets on, and I jam my feet into my boots before wrenching open the door—dammit.

It’s stuck.

Snow has barricaded us. If we were alone, we’re resourceful enough that we’d find a way out ourselves. But thankfully we have help now—and we don’t need to break a door or bust a window.

We share a look, light in our eyes. It’d be easy to be upset that reality has caught up. To wish away whatever person is here to help us.

But I think we’re both grateful for our fairytale and our reality—because we’re together in each one. We’re leaving this car as a couple when we entered it broken up.

“Jane?! Thatcher?!” Maximoff’s voice is unmistakable.

“Moffy!” Jane shouts. “We’re here!”

Not locals, then.

Surprise barely touches me. Because Maximoff Hale searching for a lost family member is in his nature the same way Jane hanging outside a window to tie a scarf to the car—in a fucking blizzard—is in hers.

Relief surges through me. Just knowing the help that’s arrived is capable and prepared for a rescue.

I try to force open the jammed door, budging a little bit more. Farrow and Maximoff dig us out in a matter of minutes.

Wind whips my hair, the sun hiding behind thicker, darker clouds. Hefty hiking packs lie next to the buried tires. I know they belong to Maximoff and Farrow. Both are dressed in full winter gear, their noses and cheeks reddened. Like they trekked here on foot through hellish weather. With a quick glance, I assess the car.

Fucking dammit. Deep in the snow, every door is obstructed, and the windshield is caked with ice. It’s not just that. The road is gone.

Just a valley of snow.

Even if we unburied the car, we wouldn’t be able to drive home.

While I attach my radio to my waistband and fit in my earpiece, Jane hops out behind me. Her ballet flats sink in the snow. “Sorry I didn’t come home, old chap—”

Maximoff rushes to his best friend and wraps her up in his arms. Picking her off the ground in a hug and saving her feet from the cold. “You’re okay?”

“I’m okay.” She clings tighter to him.

Farrow comes to my side, and we both watch the people we love embrace. They whisper to each other, and Maximoff keeps sweeping her from head to toe. Making sure she’s in one piece.

“I never want to see him like that again,” Farrow tells me, his voice low.

My chest tightens. “That bad?”

“Man, you have no idea.” His brown eyes almost glass, carrying the hours where he watched Maximoff fear the death of his best friend.

I think of the car crash last May. “I have some idea.” I watched Jane face the possibility that Maximoff was dead on-site.

Farrow remembers and nods. We need to catch up, and I skim him: a black beanie covering his hair, one earring dangling, and a black snow jacket with black snow pants on. I don’t care if he came in looking like Captain Jack Sparrow.

His comms should be accessible. “Where’s your earpiece?”

He rolls his eyes. “I don’t know, Mom, where’s yours?”

“In my ear,” I snap.

“That you just put in,” he says, irritated. Comms are a hot button issue between us because this is the one thing that really grates on me after a while. I need him.

The team needs him.

I know he’s pretty much always accessible, but still, it’d be easier if I didn’t have to fucking badger him to get there.

I narrow my gaze. “The team could be trying to reach you.”

“They can’t be.” Farrow lifts the hem of his jacket, showing me his radio on his waistband. “I turned off comms an hour ago.”

I glare. “You what?”

“I turned off comms,” Farrow repeats. “To preserve battery. I lost signal thirty minutes after we left the house and static was draining the thing.”

I run my hand across my jaw. Irritable tension building between us for a second.

Maximoff tells Jane, “Wait a second, I brought your boots.” He unzips his hiking pack, and she digs inside.

Farrow angles more towards the car. Head tilted, peering inside just slightly, then eyeing me with raised brows. “Have fun?” Humor is in his rising smile.

He literally encapsulates the saying: don’t sweat the small shit. Letting go of insignificant rifts with the snap of a finger.

I rub my mouth, feeling my lips lifting some at the memory of Jane. “It was a good night.” Not denying that. “I have to clean the car before we leave. Her brother will fucking kill me.”

Farrow frowns, leaning casually on the car. “Who? Charlie?”

I nod strictly. “He’s not a fan of people fucking in communal places.” I change frequencies on comms, hoping to find a working signal. “He basically eviscerated Maximoff for hooking up with you on the tour bus shower, and I’m trying to avoid a war with my girlfriend’s brothers. Not start one.”

Farrow nods. “You have nothing to worry about, Moretti.”

My brows knot. “What do you mean?”

“Charlie doesn’t give a flying shit about people fucking in communal places. If he did, he would’ve called out Beckett for screwing in the bus’s lounge. He just wanted to hurt and provoke Maximoff.”

/> That doesn’t make me feel any better. “I thought that was more likely.” I adjust my earpiece. “But I just want to cover my bases where her brothers are concerned.”

“You should worry more about Tony seeing the condom graveyard—and I’m going to be honest here: it’s not that you look like the aftermath of a hetero porn. You smell like one.”

Noted. “I’ll take a shower before I see Tony.” I hold out my hand for his radio. “Let me check the battery.”

“Sure, Mom.” He slaps it in my palm.

I almost roll my eyes now. “How long did it take you and Maximoff to get here?” I look up, just to check on Jane.

She’s lacing one boot, and her best friend ties the other for her. Both chatting and catching up like we are.

“At his pace, three hours. We would’ve been earlier, but we couldn’t leave the house until the wind died down.” Our eyes lift as snow flurries turn thick, sticking to the ground.

The sun is gone. Not good.