Page 37 of Tangled Like Us

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 andcomeandpulsearound 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.Orthat 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 whofills-infor the men who take off.”