Tangled Like Us Read Online Krista Ritchie, Becca Ritchie (Like Us #4)

Categories Genre: Contemporary, New Adult, Romance Tags Authors: , Series: Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie
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Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 141165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
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Thatcher lets go of my hand and clasps my wide hips. He drives deeper, deeper inside of me.

“Yes,” I cry. “Yesyesyes. ” I feel so full, and I reach a peak incredibly fast. He is just in me, and I contract around him. My head lolls back, my body arching. Sensations pummeling me like waves crashing to shore.

“God,” Thatcher chokes on a husky groan, and he takes a pause. Letting me catch my breath. He puts his hand to my heart that speeds out of control.

After a minute, he starts to thrust in and out, in and out. His pace mounts a euphoric friction in my body. I angle my head and I watch his cock disappear in me—oh my…

Pleasure drives straight to my core. I shake.

“Fuck ,” he grunts.

My moan pitches the air like a cry of ecstasy, and I clench and come around him. My legs twitching. “ThatcherThatcher…oh my God. ” Water wells the corners of my eyes, and I turn my head into the mattress, gasping.

“Christ , Jane,” he groans, and finding my hand again, he threads our fingers. He leans down, and our mouths meet.

I’m sweaty and my heart is beating rapidly out of my body again, but still, I desperately want his lips against mine.

We kiss, his tongue urging my mouth apart so sensually, and he’s rocking into me. Not having come yet, but he slows his tempo. Like he understands every inch of me is a tender hotspot. Gradually allowing me to build back up.

He deepens the kiss and then breaks away first. Just to ask, “Alright?” I’m nodding, but maybe he doesn’t believe I understand what he’s asking.

Possibly I look glazed and spent, but I’m not yet.

He reaches down between our bodies. His thumb skims my swollen clit. It’s tender but touchable, and I instantly crave more friction. I grind forward into him.

Thatcher shifts us slightly. He hooks his arm under my knee, and he braces his forearm to the bed, spreading me more while he drives harder inside of me. Oh God. Missionary, but with Thatcher cloaking me…

I hold on to his toned back.

Every thrust is long and deep and makes a loud screech on the rickety, iron bed, and with each push forward inside of me, the headboard naturally knocks into the wall.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump .

Sweat glistening between us, we’re intertwined. All restless limbs and unlocked passion.

He fucks me hard and so impossibly well, and I can’t think—my back arches, my toes curl. “Thatcher,” I cry, nearly blacking out in a realm I hardly ever reach. My heat contracts, and he groans my name, pounding deep.

He hits a strong climax, his muscles twitching. He empties himself in me, and with a few more pumps, he ekes out his pleasure. And then both of us start to come down with heavy breaths.

21

THATCHER MORETTI

We shower together in the attached bathroom and have sex again.

It has nothing to do with this op.

Nothing to do with the task at hand. No one can hear her gasps and high-pitched moans or my deep groans with water pouring. That’s fucking clear to me. It’s been clear to me that we’re kerosene together. And we’ve finally lit the match.

In my head, there’s no going back.

I should be concerned about the un-crossable line that I just leapt over with two middle fingers—but I’m not.

I’m just concerned about Jane. Because she’s spent. And if we were on the bed, she probably would’ve fallen asleep.

She assures me she can walk. Or else I’d carry her out of the bathroom. Her perseverance is something that I’m drawn towards. Been aware of that for a while.

When we return to the room, I rifle through my backpack and keep sweeping Jane.

She yawns into her palm, and then twists a towel around her wet hair, another around her body, and she’s eyeing me just as intensely while I put on a pair of black boxer-briefs. Lifting the elastic band to my muscular waist.

She homes in on my gold necklace and then crouches to her suitcase. Barely having enough energy to sift through her clothes, she picks out a fuzzy blue robe and slips it on.

“Can I get you anything?” I ask Jane.

A small smile tugs her freckled cheeks. “Um…I’m okay, really.” She takes out a notebook from her suitcase, and then heads to the bed.

My chest tightens, brows knitting together. It’s not a diary. She’ll scribble math equations on those pages, and I’ve noticed that she usually does this during high-stress situations. To stay focused and get her mind right.

I run a hand across my jaw. But she’s also really forthcoming. If something were wrong, I think she’d tell me.

I hope she would.

Especially after we just had sex. Multiple times.

Jane rolls down the comforter and climbs onto the clean sheets, notebook in hand. Completely exhausted, she slumps against the headboard.


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