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Every now and then, the enormity of what this means slams at me.
The poor Italian-American boy from South Philly is marrying an American princess. I’m marrying into the Cobalt Empire. She’s marrying into my rowdy, obnoxious, and loving Italian family.
When I called them, they screamed so fucking loud I thought it’d burst the speaker. My mom and her wife put as many uncles and aunts on the line as they could.
Happy. Thrilled.
Crying.
“When’s the engagement party?!” they asked.
“Youse have a wedding date yet?! We gotta mark this down.” Doesn’t matter who the person is, if they’re family they assume they’re invited.
“What are you thinking?” Jane wonders, her eyes twinkling.
“That it’ll have to be a big wedding.” I watch her unconsciously scoot closer to my dick. My blood heats. “I have to invite everyone I know, unless I want to create about a hundred different lifelong grudges.”
“No grudges will be formed,” Jane says confidently, still smiling. It’s fucking contagious. “Our wedding will be giant and wonderful. We’ll play Italian music, most surely.”
That, right there, does a number on me. “Yeah?” Emotion fists my ribcage. My family means everything to me like hers does, and she remembers. Always remembers.
“Your grandma told me it’s the best part of Italian weddings. That and the food.” She was on the phone with my grandma and mom for an hour after the proposal.
We would’ve told them in person, but the news was going to leak fast. Jane’s blue-blooded grandmother overheard Rose talking, and no one trusted that Grandmother Calloway wouldn’t spill the engagement to the press.
She did.
Media have run a variety of articles. Most fixate on the timeline of the engagement.
Too fast, they say.
Doesn’t bother me. I couldn’t be more certain of where I’m headed. Life is short—I’ve known that since I lost my older brother. And while I’m on this earth, I want to be happy.
But to the world, Jane isn’t known as a spontaneous, wild Meadows girl. She’s seen as a logical, rational Cobalt—and in less than five months, she’s engaged to a bodyguard.
Pregnancy rumors are already circulating tabloids.
But the “Omega is fake” rumor is catching fire ten times more, ten times stronger. Entertainment journalists have been theorizing that Jane and I knew each other before I became a bodyguard—and that this wasn’t a shotgun engagement since we’ve been together for years.
I’m concerned about the other men.
SFO has to deal with fans aggressively pairing them off with their client (or ex-client in Donnelly’s case with Beckett). Because the media, fans, the fucking universe seriously believes they’re all real couples and fake bodyguards.
I don’t mention the media to Jane in bed. We’ve talked about tabloids enough.
As I lace her left hand in mine, we stare at one another, drinking each other in, and I say, “You’re going to be my wife.”
Her lips part in arousal.
I slide my large hand from her thigh up underneath her silk top, along the curve of her hip, and against her breast.
She grinds her hips.
I grit down on my teeth, blood rushing through my cock. I harden, and her fingers dig into my shoulder.
“Thatcher,” she murmurs achingly.
My lips a breath from hers, I whisper, “I’m the last man that’ll ever touch you here.” My thumb brushes over her perked nipple.
She gasps against my mouth.
My muscles contract, and with my other hand, I cup her pussy. “I’m the last man that’ll ever be inside you here.”
“Yes,” she moans the word. Temperature cranks in the room to a boiling swelter. I throb as she palms my erection that pushes against my black boxer-briefs.
I’m rock solid.
Her lips quirk. “I’m the last woman to ever touch your cock.” Fuck. Hot breath gathers in the pit of my lungs. Jane stares at me head-on, all confidence blistering inside. I love her. Every last part down to the bottom of her soul.
“Without a fucking doubt. I’m all yours, honey.” Swiftly, with both hands, I scoop Jane up by her gorgeous ass and easily flip her onto her back. Winded by the sudden movement, her chest rises and falls heavily.
I yank off her silk shorts and spread her thighs open with my knee. As I stretch her legs wider, she mutters, “Oh my God.”
I bend down to her ear. Very deeply, I say, “And you’re all mine.”
She pushes my chin back towards her mouth—fuck—and just like that our lips collide. Crashing together in a hungry wave. Rocking against her pussy, friction mounts between us. I lift her ass, pushing her heat up against my hardened length.
She shudders, a high-pitched noise breaking apart her lips.
The room blazes with our knockout passion. Gripping my muscles and senses.
We devour each other. Hands not touching fast enough. Ravenous and primal like being starved for years. Seamlessly, I tuck her to my chest and toss a pillow near the side-edge of the bed.
My kneecaps dig into the mattress, and I lay her down, folding the pillow snug beneath the small of her back. At perfect alignment, I shed my boxer-briefs, and she soaks up my muscular build as I kneel between her spread legs.
“Thatcher,” she whimpers, raising her hips. Bucking into me.
Sweat glistens along my abs and biceps. I clutch the soft flesh of her hips and thrust against her pussy, pink panties obstructing me from her warmth.
“Please, please.” She tilts her head back, hanging slightly off the bed.
“Jane,” I grunt. Fuck. I watch her pull herself up onto her elbows. Higher. Just so her palms can explore every inch of me. Rounding up my ass cheeks.
She pants, her big blue eyes asking, can I?
I extend over to the nightstand in arm’s reach and grab a bottle of lube. Go ahead, honey. I rock harder before she can even touch the lube.
“Oh…God,” she gasps.
My dick bangs against her entrance, and she almost falls off her elbows.
I groan into a choked noise. God-fucking-dammit. I need inside her. Urgently, I pry the pink fabric to the side, exposing her soaked pussy. I don’t even have to waste time to grab a condom. She’s been on birth control since we got back from Scotland.
Veins pulsate in my cock.
Christ, I want in.
“Wait,” she pants and sits further up. Collecting herself, she snatches the lube, and I breathe hard. As much as I love Jane playing with my ass, I crave to sink my dick deep in her right now.
“Be quick,” I say, parting my knees more, which only opens her wider.
She gasps and touches her sensitive pussy.
I move her hand aside and thumb her bundle of nerves, then slip two fingers inside of her.
She moans, eyes almost rolling, “Wait…don’t move.”
I keep my fingers still inside her warmth, and she swallows a ragged breath. Collecting herself for a second time, she lubes her finger.
Jane clasps my ass with one hand and slips her other finger into my hole—fucking…my abs flex as she finds my prostate and makes a come hither motion. Rubbing the sensitive spot, full of nerve endings that shoot electric currents through my veins.
I breathe hard through my nose, tendons stretching my neck. Fucking fuck—I thumb her clit, and her thighs shake.
Her pleasured cry ripples down me.
“Jane,” I say through gritted teeth. The head of my cock is swollen. Ready to fucking be inside her, and the longer she’s back there, the more her hand will cramp.
So I draw her wrist out, and I reach back to the drawer. And I grab a prostate massager. She hasn’t used a toy on me yet, and her eyes spark with a thousand yeses.
Jane removes her finger, and I push her back down. She wiggles, and I drink in her whole beautiful frame in the morning light.
Fuck. “I love your body.”
&nbs
p; Flush ascends her cheeks.
I lean closer and suck on her perked nipple, trailing hot kisses down her wide hip, belly, and soft thigh. My tongue flicks over her clit, and she squirms. “God, Thatcher.”
Swift movements, no pauses—I sit back up and clutch her hips again. Her mouth is in a perpetual gasp as she watches me drive my erection inside her heat.
She’s mine.
I rock, only about halfway in, and her legs tremble, head falling back.
She lets out a louder cry of pleasure, and I ease in and out, never deeper than four-inches. I work my thumb over her swollen bud, and every muscle in my body is fucking burning.
I crave to fill her up until my cock disappears completely. But the look on her face—I’m unable to stop what I’m doing.
She’s lit up.
“Thatcher,” she chokes, wrapped completely in spinning pleasure.
Her whole body seizes and her back arches in a beautiful, earth-shattering climax. It takes all my energy not to come right here with her.
