“Let me stop you there,” I cut him off. “You wouldn’t be ‘dooming’ us. Fuck, I tattooed something that represented you when we weren’t even engaged yet.” I remind him of the pirate wolf tattoo on my lower back, which includes the initials ws. When I got that, I broke my one and only tattoo rule. Never get a tattoo that relates to a boyfriend. I blew past it for him. Always for him.
“It wasn’t my name, though.”
“So what?”
His brows furrow. “Isn’t there a rule about never tattooing names?”
I smile into a laugh. “There are no rules, wolf scout. You can do whatever the fuck you want.”
Maximoff smiles, a fucking gorgeous breathtaking smile, but unfortunately, his lips flat-line fast. “Still, I could be cursing you and me. I’m a Hale. Bad shit does happen to my family.”
I give him a look. “Don’t mention the Hale Curse.” I’m going to kill Donnelly for coining that bullshit. “Tattooing my name on your ass won’t curse anyone or anything.”
“It’s not going on my ass,” Maximoff says strongly, bypassing my light teasing. “If I’m tattooing your name on me, it’s going to be one-hundred percent visible. For the whole world to see.”
His pride thunders through me. Bursting emotion into a million vibrant colors that I’d never contain. I wipe an escaped tear with the heel of my palm and I nod more than once, letting this overwhelming feeling sink deep. “I love the fuck out of you, Maximoff.”
He rubs a hand over his heart, as though it’s beating out of his chest.
My lips rise.
He inhales. “I’m pretty sure I love you less. Like bottom-barrel love.”
Yeah right. I grin more.
He just moves closer.
I move closer. Like magnets, we slam together, our hands devouring before our mouths do. My blood cranks to a blistering simmer, and our tongues entangle and fingers grip. We wrestle for the advantage like we’re in a slow dance, giving and taking the lead.
In a split-second, Maximoff pins my shoulders to the black-painted wall.
“Shit,” I pant, my breath heavy and lip stinging under his force. I grapple with the hem of his shirt and tear the crewneck over his head. Our mouths find each other again. Muscle grinding against muscle. I skim my hand down his toned abs and veer to his ass.
I can only guess how this might go tonight. But I love roaming alongside his desires. Carving out the trajectory of his needs. Fulfilling his wants inside a sea of vulnerability and giving him that release. It’s what catapults me to mind-numbing peaks.
Maximoff rocks against my build, his forearm braced to the chalkboard wall. His daggered eyes are groaning fuck me, love me.
With my other hand, I encase his smooth jaw, and his lips part, basically drowning beneath the touch. Fucking.
Hell. My nerve-endings snap, lit on fire.
Deeply, roughly, I say against his lips, “You love my hands.”
His eyes wade across my features. “I love you.” Emotion and passion amasses too fast for our drawn-out movements.
Tension snakes us in a vice, and our eyes never detach, speaking more words we’re too choked to say. He’s twenty-three, cautious to trust anyone, and he’s trusted me entirely, fully—to an intimate capacity.
With his body.
His love.
And he’s my greatest love. The only man I’ve asked to marry me. The only man I’ve wanted to be with for a lifetime. Fuck, he’s my entire world, and I’ve vowed to protect him, even on the days where he says he can protect himself.
He rolls his head back, lost in the touch, and I suck the nape of his neck. He growls out a groan, “Fuck.” Maximoff fists my hair, and I nip his skin with my teeth. His guttural noise squeezes around my throbbing cock.
We kiss deeper, my tongue sliding against his, and his thumb teases my nipple piercing. Sweat beads up on my skin and his skin.
I put a hand on his shoulder when we catch our breath. His swimmer’s lungs definitely have me beat. But gently, I push him down to his knees.
He follows the movement without combatting me.
I smile. “Someone wants my dick in their mouth.”
“Shut up and unzip yourself, man.”
I roll my eyes and unbutton my slacks. “They should’ve taught you patience in Wolf Scout training.”
He flips me off, and his forest-greens are hooked on my fingers as I fish the button through the hole.
I step out of my slacks and kick them like a football across the room. Resting my shoulders on the wall, I roll down the elastic of my Calvin Klein boxer-briefs. Freeing my erection.
Buck-naked.
He drinks in my tattooed body and piercings. I clasp the back of his head and also my hard shaft. Guiding him.
Maximoff lets me, and one further, his two hands voyage from my hips to my ass. Settling there, and he’s not trying to bring my body forward to control the movement.
Our chests rise and fall heavily, acknowledgment passing between our eyes. He wants me to steer this ship.
My lip curves up. Anytime, wolf scout.
His tongue laps the swollen head of my erection before I push him closer, and he takes me in his mouth. Wrapping around me. Fuck yes.
I grit down on my teeth, breathing through my nose as arousal nails my senses. I move his head back and forth, but he shoots me a look like, not that.
Slowing down, I rake his hair back a few times, and I go another direction and stand up straighter, shoulders off the wall. I cup his skull, our eyes latched, and carefully, I rock my hips toward his mouth.
His fingers dig into my ass, his muscles constricting and eyes bathing in pleasure. Nearly rolling back, and I thrust in and out, his lips building hot friction around me.
Good fucking God. He’s usually the one trying to face-fuck me, and the fact that he wants this, right now, wields a sharp band of emotion. We’re staring so cavernously deep into each other. It jabs tightly wound sentiments into my body. Ramping up my pulse.
Coiling my muscles.
Fuck.
I have two strong, protective hands on his head. He basks in this embrace, in the way I’m cradling his jaw and cheek, and that gets to me.
“Fuck, Maximoff.”
Tendons sear in my neck, and I bite down, pummeled with the pent-up feelings that threaten to explode.
A groan is muffled in the back of his throat. I feel the vibration, and I can’t. I can’t.
I immediately pull out of his mouth before I come.
We’re not speaking, the intensity too heightened. He’s on his feet while our mouths meet again. Kissing fervently, while I unbutton his jeans. He yanks them off, and then his boxer-briefs reach the floor.
He rubs himself, and I swat away his hand and stroke his hard length. I walk him backwards to the twin bed.
The back of his legs hits the frame. Easily, Maximoff hikes himself on the Spider-Man comforter and pulls me down on top of him.
Between breaths, he chokes out, “I want you all over me.”
Damn.
Fuck. My knees split apart his legs, and I’m consumed by him, just as badly as Maximoff is consumed by me. Falling into a rabbit hole of feelings with no visible escape.
My thumb trails the thick scar across his collarbone. From the car crash.
He watches, his breath shortening.
I sweep him constantly, just to ensure he’s not favoring his shoulder. I won’t put him in pain, but since he’s been healed, I can be as rough as he wants me to be.
I reach over and grab a bottle of lube from the nightstand. He’s eager to kiss me again when I return, and my lips rise against his lips.
We rock together, our erections brushing with hot friction. Fuckfuck.
I root a palm to the pillow beside his head. And I tear our mouths apart to catch more breath. His large hand drags down my tensed triceps. He’s not flipping me or pushing against my chest.
I skim him. He’s really content under my weight.
See,
I want to ask if he’s okay, but I also don’t want to freak Maximoff out. Nothing is wrong. But we haven’t talked about his newfound love of bottoming. Any changes in his habits surrounding sex are a big deal to him.
I forget that thought when my fingers skate across the gray paracord bracelet around his wrist. My brows jump. “You can take this off, you know—”
“I know.” His voice is firm.
But he hasn’t taken it off yet. Not since I replaced it with the one he lost in the fire.
My leg slides against a leather holster on his calf. I glance down at the tactical knife. “Are we going to talk about that then?”
He’d glare if he weren’t so into me right now. “No. Just fuck me, man.” He licks his lips, his chest collapsing. “Make love to me.”
I clutch his face. Cradling his trust and affection is this euphoric, indescribable thing.
And I’m fine with surfacing these conversations later. Honestly, I thought having sex in his teenage bedroom would be a hang-up and rip him out of the moment. He overthinks and contemplates metaphorical symbolisms and shit. But he hasn’t descended into his head yet.
At least not in a negative way.
So I don’t prolong what we’ve started.
I lean down, and we kiss with yearning and hunger, pulling my body flush against his body in a missionary position.
Until I sit up, and I kneel between his spread legs.
He fixates on my movements. How I grab the nearby bottle. How I tug my shaft, lubing my hot skin and bulging veins.
I soak up his body too. Lean muscle ripples across his torso like Maximoff is chiseled from marble. His dark-brown hair disheveled and lips reddened. He’s striking.
Gorgeous.
But I’ll always be more enamored with who he is—so good, so pure—and fuck, how he’s looking at me. Like I’m his world.
His salvation.
In lonely hours and hollow days and nights.
Maximoff breathes hard. “Come back down, man.” He motions me towards his chest.
I draw back to his sculpted muscles, his lips crushing against my lips. Heat singes my skin. We grind for closer contact, and my lube-slicked fingers find his hole. I carefully stretch him open. Slipping a finger inside him, I rub his prostate, and he contracts.
“Fuck,” Maximoff moans against my mouth. “Fuck. Christ. Farrow.” His broad shoulders dig into the mattress. Pre-cum soaks our chests, our cocks begging for a fucking release.
My jaw tenses as I grit down.
Our heady eyes connect, and I remove my fingers and shift his muscular leg. He’s partially on his side now, basically in a lunge position.
I’m not spoon-fucking him tonight. I kneel behind his ass, bent close. To where he reaches up and wraps an arm around my shoulders. His other bicep is underneath the pillow, where his head lies.
We kiss, but I break our mouths apart while I push my cock into him. Carefully.
Slowly.
“Fuck,” I breathe. No matter how many times I’m inside him, he’s still tight as hell. “Relax.”
“I am.” His arm is hanging onto my shoulders. I check him out. He’s more eased, like I’ve rolled out all the kinks in his muscles and he’s floating with the current.
I shift my knees slightly and arch my hips, rocking an inch deeper, but God… “You’re so fucking tight.” I watch his reaction for signs that I’m hurting him. And I flex in further.
In and out.
His mouth is open with trapped breath, watching me take him. “Holy fuck.” He groans into the pillow. “God.” His face reddens, our muscles strained, and I keep pumping inside Maximoff, finding a mind-numbing rhythm.
We look into each other, a silent, tender awareness that he’s let go, and I’d never hurt him. I want him to feel real, tangible peace in all areas of his life—for the rest of his life—and I know I can take him there. The fact that he’s allowing me is a profound feeling that seizes every fucking part of me.
My mind splinters.
I sink my cock deeper, and while Maximoff holds onto my shoulders, I flick my tongue over his nipple. I almost see the whites of his eyes. My hand glides up to his neck, and very carefully, I choke him.
He loses it. His body vibrating and muscles spasming. “Fuuuck.” Tears escape the corners of his eyes. “Christ.”
Fuckfuck.
Fuck.
I rock and rock into him. He feels…too fucking good. “Maximoff,” I grunt, tension fisting my entire body.
And then a knock raps the door.
Shit.
Shit.
Worst timing.
I stop moving and look between him and the door.
At least it’s locked and won’t break open like in Scotland. Where Jane walked in on us. Personally, shit happens. I’d usually let that roll off my shoulders.
But Maximoff is private about his sex life, and to have someone see him and me in the act bothered him a little bit. Not to mention, it was his cousin. All I could do is be there for him. And I know he didn’t want to make Jane feel worse than she already did.
Right now, he buries his face in the pillow, not prepared for this shit.
I don’t pull out. He has a firm hand clamped on my ribs like, do not.
Yeah, yeah, I’m not going anywhere.
“Farrow? Moffy?” Lily calls, his mom speaking against the door.
Shit.
Maximoff barely blinks out of a sex haze.
I call back, “Everything okay, Lily?”
“Yeah! Some RSVPs came in the mail. I’ll set them by the door!” She sounds unaware of interrupting anything. As fun as it is living with his parents, this is a huge fucking reminder that we need our own place.
“Thanks!”
As her feet drift off, I rub Maximoff’s thigh. “You good?” I whisper.
“Hmm…” His eyes still pinch closed, and I’m wondering if he’s even processed who was on the other side of that door. I don’t mention it, wanting to stay in the moment.
It takes a couple more minutes to work back up. Slowly. Carefully. Our breathing growing heavier with each passing second. I move slightly inside Maximoff, and his muscles constrict in taut bands. More tears slip out of the creases of his eyes, his mouth back open with a guttural moan.
And my eyes are wet with build-up of feeling that just avalanches. This is insane.
“Holy…fuck, Christ,” Maximoff cries deeply.
I shift us so his forearms fall to the mattress. His chest pressed against the Spider-Man comforter. I shove my hips forward, and my two hands grab his hands. I lace our fingers, my chest melded to his back. I flex my ass with each pump.
“Fuck,” I groan, riding a high.
We’re on another level together.
He turns his head, and we kiss as I thrust. Until he growls in a choke, “Harder.”
I ram deeper, hitting his prostate on repeat. He comes so fucking hard, hands-free, that I feel his body tighten and release beneath me.
I erupt. “Fuck.” Fuckfuckfuck. I detangle our hands and grip his waist. I milk an explosive climax, watching my cock slide in and out of his ass.
I hear him groan out into the pillow, “Come on me.”
Maximoff. I smile and press a kiss to his deltoid. “You’re too slow with your command.” I gently ease out. “I came in you already.”
We’re drenched in sweat. I kneel in front of him, one of our hands threaded together, and I locate a towel in the nightstand.
Maximoff grabs it out of my clutch, and he pulls himself up against the headboard. “More like you’re too fast.” He cleans off.
My brows lift. “You came first.”
Maximoff tries to hide a growing smile. He’s very satiated. “Did I?”
“Wow, I really fucked you well—”
He throws the towel at my face.
My mouth hikes upward, and I’m about to lie back on my hands. But his eyes fasten on nothing. He’s gone deep-sea diving in his brain.
Good o
r bad, I’m about to find out.
“Maximoff?”
Shit, he looks upset. His brows knot, lips downturn, and my stomach clenches. I wave a hand at his face.
He focuses on me.
Concern seizes me completely. “Talk to me, wolf scout.”
His nose flares, quiet. I’m guessing he needs me to say more before he does.
I don’t mind. “Is it about your mom knocking on the door?”
“No.” Maximoff is rigid.
I glance around the room and pat his Spider-Man comforter that we never rolled down. “It’s about fucking on your teenage bed?”
He grimaces. “No, but thanks for the painful reminder.”
I’d smile, but I can’t when he’s this tormented by something. I sit back on my ass, close enough that I rest my elbow on his bent knee. And I ease into this conversation. “You haven’t been that aggressive in bed lately.”
Maximoff nods slowly, and I’m certain this is the issue that’s plaguing him. I expect him to add more, but he says, “Are you thirsty?”
I tilt my head, studying him. “I could get a drink.”
“Yeah, me too.” He slides stiffly off the bed and grabs boxer-briefs. I do the same, and fuck, I crave to hold him. To wrap my arms around him. He looks like he simultaneously needs me and space.
Waiting to embrace him is fucking torture.
Ditching shirts, we just go downstairs in drawstring pants. The kitchen is dark and quiet. We don’t turn on the lights.
I lean against the island while Maximoff tugs open the fridge, the glow inside illuminating his sharp features.
“It’s okay,” I say easily and quietly, my deep voice sounding louder down here. “Nothing’s wrong with you.”
He swallows hard and shuts the fridge door without grabbing any shit. Turning to me, Maximoff says, “52 days—actually, tonight makes 53.”
I frown. “I’m not following you, Maximoff.”
“I haven’t been inside you for that long, man.”
My brows shoot up. “You’re counting?”
“I have to.” His eyes redden.
I stand off the island, and I want to close the distance and touch him. Badly.
But I detour to the fridge. I open the door, grab two water bottles, and shut the thing in one seamless, calm movement. When I rotate to Maximoff, I hold out a water for him.
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