Page 189 of Tangled Like Us
“Can you…?” Jane whispers, breathless.
I grip and tug my cock. What she wants to see. My large hand stroking my need. I hold the back of her head.
Jane watches, open-mouthed, her arousal building back up. Her eyes glimmer and she toys with my balls—my breath knots.
Christ.We kiss deeper, more urgently, and I can’t jack off anymore. Swiftly, I hoist her up, and she sinks back down on me.
Pressure overwhelming me again.
I thrust up. Careful with each pump, watching her reaction, and then I create more friction.Faster.More heat.Deeper.I shelter her high-pitched moans against my palm.
Quiet.
She kisses my palm and then licks it. A groan scratches my throat. Lights blink in my vision. I’m holding my breath.
My muscles stretch beyond fucking taut. Pulled into a raw visceral place. Our eyes embrace, clinging. I never turn away from Jane. Never look away, passion overgrown, and she cries out against my hand. Her body vibrating all over again.
God.
I push up. And erupt, releasing hard into an explosion of emotion. My chest rises and falls heavily.
We both come down, and as I pull out and we naturally shift to our sides under her pink sheets, I hold Jane and feel her heartbeat slow against my chest.
Her eyes flutter closed.
Exhaustion tries to sink me too. I’m almost there.You can’t spend the night.I should leave now, but heaviness and the warmth of her body draws me in.
I don’t want to disturb her.Not yet.She’s sleeping peacefully. Safe and content.
I shut my eyes, and the world goes dark.
* * *
Radio static fills my ears.“Phantom Two One, this is Phantom Two Actual. Maintain speed.”
“This is Phantom Two One. Roger that.”
Humvees on gravel and dirt mix with the static. “Viper Two Two, cleared hot.”
I wake.
Eyes snapped open. I’m covered in sweat. My head pounds.
Jane sleeps soundlessly next to me, her freckled cheek on my bicep. I check the clock. Zero four hundred hours.Unholy shit. I overslept.
I needed to leave an hour ago. I carefully shift my arm out from under Jane. Lifting the sheet and blankets higher on her bare, beautiful body.
I stand off the bed. Cats greeting me, all five rubbing up against my calves while I find my clothes, as quietly as I can.
I move in systematic order. Boxer-briefs on, black slacks on—I pull a black crewneck over my head, and then I grab my radio, holster my gun to my waistband.
And I find her sticky pad on the end table. About to jot down a quick note, but I notice her illegible handwriting. I trained myself to decipher it when I was a lead.
I read the words clearly.
Merci mille fois. Pour tout.
xoxo Jane
