Page 143 of Sinful Like Us
He reaches out and sightlessly refreshes the page.
I scoot closer into his hand between my legs. But also so I can clutch his ass. I dive my hands beneath his sweatpants and bite his bicep.
“Fuck,” he grunts and his eyes make love to me a thousand different ways.
He tears off my peach-hued blouse, then pulls up my bra to my collarbones. In one swoop, my breasts are exposed to the chilly air, and I’m grinding into his hand. “Please.”
He holds the back of my head like I’m his to protect. And to love and to supplymanyearth-shattering orgasms.
He curls the crotch of my panties aside, his large fingers pulsing in me, and I let out a whimper, my limbs trembling. His other thumb feels feather-light over my hardened nipple.
“Jane.” He says my name like he’s already fucking it.
Wetness pools between my thighs, and I see the sheer length of his hardness against his sweatpants.
Oh…
My.
His lips crash against mine again. Hands begin exploring. I move away from his ass to take hold of his cock, his waistband falling low past his muscular hips.
I rub him in deep long strokes. He curses under his breath, and I want him in me too fiercely. Our bodies are reacting in hungered need for closer contact.In me.
Please.
I pull his fingers out.
Scooting forward, my ass is near the edge of the washer, and with my other hand around his shaft, I begin to lead his tip into me.
Thatcher takes hold of his cock, quickly stopping me. His strict eyes bear down on me. “Jane.” He grinds down his teeth, forcing back arousal. He takes a giant breath through his nose. “I’m not wearing a condom.”
My lower abdomen contracts. “Merde.”
We’ve never had sex without a condom, and I’m not buying into the theory that it’ll feel miraculously better without one. I’d rather be safe, most especially since I’m not on birth control.
But in this very moment, I can’t fathom him moving away from me. I’m willing to leap off a deep-end with Thatcher, no matter how terrifying.
“You can pull out.” My body is on fire as the words leave my lips.
He’s already shaking his head, and he squats down where I left my purse. He knows I keep condoms there, and his hand—his hand glides down with him. He holds my ankle like he refuses to let go of me.
Seconds later, he stands upright, all six-foot-seven of him, and he tears the foil packet with his teeth. He stops suddenly. Concern piercing his eyes. “What’s wrong?”
I realize I’m wincing. “I offered the pull-out method. Statistically speaking, one in five people who do pull-out get pregnant.” I know those facts by heart because I looked them up when I was fifteen and it’s been drilled in my head ever since. “But I offered it like it was nothing.” I shiver.
He rubs my shoulders for heat. “Because you trust me, Jane. You don’t need to feel guilty.”
I trust him. With my life.
With mybody.
I’m so willing to just lay down on a freeway for him, and maybe it is trust because I’m certain he’ll stand in front of traffic protecting me. But it’s something else too. Because smart people don’t choose to lie down on busy roads.
An overwhelmed feeling avalanches suddenly and brims water in my eyes. “I don’t…know what this is…” I touch my chest, pressure mounting. But I do.
I know exactly what it is.
I’m just terrified that I’ve already given my entire self to him. And what if I’m half of what I was? What if…what if I’m not ready?
