No diversions. No glimpses away.
I head towards the task at hand, closing in. Our noses brush, heads turning, and this should be slow, should be gentle.
Our lips finally meet, and we combust.
I pull her harder against my body in an untamed, blistering kiss, and her arms and thighs tighten around me.
“Thatcher.” A breath expels from her lips into my mouth, and her delicate hand slips along my jaw.
My biceps flex, muscles scalding a billion degrees. We ransack all the passion that has been vaulted shut. All the heat and the fire.
I hold her soft ass, and I shift my other to her freckled cheek, hot as all fucking hell. I slide my tongue against hers, and she grips my shoulders to hang on and then bucks into me for more. Fuck.
Jane.
My dick aches against the fabric of my slacks.
Do not bring her to the bed.
Do not bring her to the fucking bed.
Lip-locked, I walk towards the bed, still tucking Jane protectively against me, but I only go for the wooden bedpost.
Her back meets the beam. I keep her in my strong arms, and her hands dive underneath my shirt and trace the ridges of my abs while I deepen the kiss.
I taste her need and longing against my tongue, and when I suck on her bottom lip, a strangled noise is trapped in her throat like she’s trying to suppress the high-pitched sound.
A grunt scratches against my lungs, and I hold her closer. She trembles against my body. Sweat building up on my skin.
I slow down with Jane, and our stroking eyes say more than they should.
“This is just practice,” she reaffirms in a shallow pant, lips reddened from the force.
I nod. “Just practice.”
“Practicing is very professional of us.” Her palm warms my chest, and we kiss deeper.
Again, and again.
Speeding up the tempo each time she arches her waist into me. She’s practically dry-humping me—don’t go there.
Yeah, I’m so far over there at the moment.
We pull back for a half second. Catching breath.
“If I’m too heavy, you can set me down,” she says conversationally. “I don’t mind.”
My chest tightens, and I narrow a stern look on Jane. “I could bench press you all night.” Did I make her feel…? Concern draws my brows together. I clasp her face, my large hand enveloping her flushed cheek. “You’re meant to be in my arms, Jane.”
She pulses against me and sets her laced fingers along the back of my neck. “I…um.” She shakes out her scrambled thoughts. “We’ll be experts in the art of fake-dating in no time. Don’t you think?”
I nod, not wanting to set her down yet. I’m on another point. She’s clearly in need of a release—I am too—but guilt gnaws at me for bringing her here without setting her off.
Leaving her like this…
Either my features aren’t padlocked or she’s getting better at reading them because she asks, “How many people are downstairs?”
“All of SFO, Jack, and three of your cousins.”
“That’s quite a lot of ears that could hear…things.” She lifts her chin and straightens her off-kilter headband. “Rain check? For other things besides your cock in my pussy.”
My nose flares.
I fight against conflicting emotions. I want to set her down, kneel at her feet, hike her leg over my shoulder and eat her out until she hits a trembling peak. I want to take care of Jane and satiate her fucking needs, but also do it when there aren’t ten people downstairs.
I want to obey my orders and the leads.
I have to obey the leads.
I want Jane.
In another beat, I exhale a tensed breath. Readied for my purpose here, and it’s always to keep her safe. Anything less is un-fucking-acceptable.
I tell her, “We can work out more details later.” She’ll want more structure, and after I go through security meetings, there won’t be gray areas concerning what we need to do in public to pull this off.
She nods. “Bien.”
We stare at each other like we could kiss for another hour.
I haven’t let her go.
Come on, Thatcher. I need to move the fuck out, but I notice how she eyes the cord to my mic and earpiece.
I’m her bodyguard. Kissing me is just part of a security op.
We’re aware.
Slowly, gradually, I lower Jane, and her feet gently touch the floor.
I start heading to the door, but on instinct, I glance over my shoulder to check on her.
Curiosity bubbles up in her eyes. Her lips are more pink and swollen because of me, and she’s hanging on the bedpost again.
Move to the fucking door.
My body wants to go back to her.
She’s staring through me now.
Like she wants me to come back.
Door.
Door.
Go to the fucking door.
I’m there. Hand on the knob.
“Goodnight, Jane,” I say stiffly.
I crack open the door.
“Goodnight, Thatcher.”
I leave.
All the while, her voice stays inside my head.
14
JANE COBALT
“It was practice,” I explain to my best friend. “A practice kiss.”
Maximoff stares at me like I’m talking in a foreign language. Hair damp from a morning shower and towel tied around his waist, he rubs a fist against our bathroom’s fogged mirror. I try not to bump him while I take out my basket of skincare products from the sink cabinet.
We went from sharing this townhouse with just each other to now having three extra roommates: Farrow, Luna, and Sulli.
It makes mornings difficult since we all share one bathroom. Later jumpstarts to my day just means more time to chat with Moffy. At least, that’s the bright spot since we’ve both chosen to take the bathroom last.
I can’t keep secrets from Moffy, and Thatcher can’t keep them from Banks. And I need someone to know this happened.
I cannot take it to my grave.
“Say something,” I tell him.
“You and Thatcher kissed.”
“Say something that doesn’t involve stating facts,” I rephrase and squirt cleanser on my palm.
“Did you like it?” He reaches for his toothbrush.
“Oui.”
He looks at me through the mirror. “Did you do anything else?”
“I wanted to, but we’ve just begun fake-dating. It seems…premature and out of bounds.”
His brows furrow. “Did he want to?”
“Most surely.” I smile, liking how Thatcher and I keep finding ourselves on the same page. I remember my leg brushing his bulge as he lowered me off his waist.
That night, I went to bed with a vibrating sex toy. Imagining that he’d just taken me right there. I understand why he didn’t. I respect the boundaries of his job and the parameters that are set.
“He was hard,” I explain to Moffy, but I quickly clarify that I didn’t actually see anything. I pause in another realization. “Unless his bulge feels that big when he’s soft. I suppose I wouldn’t know. But he seemed hard to me.”
Maximoff solidifies in thought. “Your bodyguard has a literal hard-on for you.”
I lather cleanser on my cheeks. “And yours, you.”
He reanimates, pushing aside razors and grabbing a tube of toothpaste. “Say that a little louder next time you see Farrow. He keeps thinking I’m the one who’s obsessed with him.” He lets out a dry laugh. “In his dreams.”
I smile, but it fades as I see more concern swim in his forest-green eyes.
He’s worried about this situation with Thatcher and me.
“He’s very professional,” I remind Moffy. “Even pretending to date me, he somehow found a way to make that professional.”
I explain the boundaries and how Thatcher and I are not to do anything that doesn’t involve practicing to fool the media.
Which means no sex.
“I just want you to be happy,” he reminds me, “and what you two are doing sounds like edging with no climax.” He squirts toothpaste on bristles. “Which is pretty much torture.”
He’s still cautious about me driving down one-way streets and facing heartbreak since Thatcher is too strict to break rules. But that’s not what’s happening here.