He must’ve written and erased a dozen lines before settling on what exists. My eyes brush over his handwriting, his words.
If you’re reading this, it means we’re now married, and the sky didn’t fall in. We didn’t die before we could slip rings on each other. No doomsday or curse or hateful entity stopped us or separated us. It means you’re now Farrow Redford Keene Hale, and I can wake up knowing you’re mine forever. Thank you for giving the guy who has the world all the parts that he’s never seen or felt before.
I love you.
P.S. if this is too damn sappy, trash it.
- Maximoff
I’m never throwing this fucking card away. My love for Maximoff constantly overwhelms me. I inhale and I glance back at him. “It’s extremely fucking sappy.”
“Great, burn it—”
“It’s mine now.” I slip the card in my back pocket.
Maximoff drinks me in and he unbuttons his shirt. “Why are you so far away?”
My muscles contract, and with a lengthy stride, I reach him in seconds and hold his jaw with two hands. He disintegrates under my touch.
I tighten the grip, and he kisses me, our lips melding with passionate force. We snap together, pulses drumming. Desire boiling. Our strengthening hands and exploring mouths burst with power and love.
I reluctantly tear back with a short breath. The bodyguard in me isn’t shut off, and this leftover thing is going to nag me.
He wets his stinging lips and watches me walk backwards. I unbutton my black shirt, and I scope out the candlelit suite.
Maximoff gives me a hard look like I’m unnecessarily edging him. “Where are you going, man?”
“Still impatient as hell.” I smile and peer into the marbled bathroom. Clear.
I glance out the red-brick terrace. Moonlight dances over the celestial waters, and three domineering rock formations, the Faraglioni, project out of the sea like pillars.
Clear.
I latch the terrace doors, locked, and I draw the drapes closed. When I return to Maximoff, he has his cellphone out, brows cinched.
I frown. “Something happen?”
“I just got an email from our lawyer.” His shoulders constrict, standing rigid. “Scottie’s having a parole hearing next week, and our lawyer is pretty positive the court will shorten his sentence. He’s going to get out of prison way sooner than we thought, Farrow.”
I rub my mouth. “Shit.” I’ve wanted to wait to tell this other fucked-up thing to Maximoff. At least until we were back in Philly, but he deserves to hear this now. “Donnelly’s dad called me.”
“What, when?”
“Two nights ago.”
Maximoff has this toughened concern on his face. Fortified. “What’d he say?”
I run my tongue over my molars. “He implied that Scottie would be willing to give up parental rights for a price.”
“That sounds illegal.”
“No shit.” I expel a breath. “I’m not even completely sure they’re after money. Could be drugs or both.”
I wish Donnelly’s dad made that phone call while he was in prison. It would’ve been recorded. Most of the time, he’s careful with his wording. But he was really fucking blunt.
Maximoff stares far off at the wall. “So Donnelly’s dad is now involved in this mess.”
“We had a feeling he already was,” I remind him. “All we can do is take Scottie to court.”
His eyes narrow on me. “I’m hiring the best damn lawyers in the country. I’m not letting Ripley live with someone who’s using him.”
I nod and look him over, in love with Maximoff all fucking over again. We understand that we might lose the fight for this baby. He might not be ours in the end, and it’ll be devastating. But Maximoff has to try, with everything in his soul.
And I’m not giving up hope.
“We’re,” I correct him. “I’m right by your side.”
He yanks me close, and we kiss, slower. Strung with deep emotion that cradles and hugs. More forceful as our hands clench. He grips my hair, and I slide my palm across the back of his hot neck.
Fuck.
Tendons pull taut in my sweltering body. I nudge his lips apart in a sensual kiss, and an aching, rough noise scratches out of his throat. His gaze screams, love me, fuck me, never leave me.
Breath catches in my lungs, and we slam together, speeding up. Our tongues wrestle, and I rip his button-down open. He tears the sleeves off my arms.
Unclothing each other at a rapid-fire, forceful pace.
Our mouths welded, I undo his slacks and yank them down his muscular legs. Maximoff pulls my pants off, and I slow again as my fingers brush over his elastic waistband.
His palm dives down my black boxer-briefs, and he clutches my bare ass with a firm, coveting hand.
Fuck. Veins pulsate in my dick.
Maximoff watches my hand skate down from the waistband to his erection. And as I move slowly, his hard, mouth-watering length strains against his green boxer-briefs.
His chest caves. “Farrow.” His voice demands, don’t tease. He strengthens his grip on my shoulder, about to slam me into a wall, but I bend my knees and crouch at his legs.
Confusion fills his eyes. “What are you…?”
I skim my hand over the leather holster, the one strapped to his calf, and the wooden hilt of the tactical knife. I study his features.
Maximoff looks infatuated and as head-over-fucking-heels in love with me as I am with him.
My lips rise, and I unclasp the holster. He lets me take the knife off him, and as I buckle his holster around my calf, he looks like he might self-combust and marry me a second time.
I grin. “You want to make love to me or the knife?”
“You,” he says unwaveringly, powerfully.
It bowls me over, and when I stand, Maximoff seizes the back of my head and kisses the fuck out of me. I struggle to lead.
Because I’m disintegrating. He walks me backwards, our kiss swelling my lips, and I fall back onto the bed.
I hear the bronze tray and strawberries clatter to the floor. I tear our mouths apart, trying to catch breath. “Fuck.”
Maximoff is hardly panting, his swimmer’s lungs outshining me. He sheds his boxer-briefs, his gorgeous fucking cock standing at attention. Arousal knots my esophagus, and he frees my trapped erection, fabric off.
We’re naked in a candle-lit, rose-strewn suite tucked on the side of a cliff. I can hear soft waves splash against the rock. But mostly, I hear my shallow breath.
Fighting to catch up with Maximoff.
I’m the only one on the bed, and he leans over, kissing me with deep force and love that dizzies my mind. I grip his ass, my hand rising to his muscular waist. Trying to press him closer, chest to chest, so I can roll on top of him.
He breaks our lips apart before that can happen.
“Fuck,” I pant roughly.
Maximoff pries further away. Just to unzip a duffel, and I stroke my hot length, pre-cum slick on my palm.
He returns with lube, and I’m about to stand.
His hand touches my chest. “Stay there, man.”
It takes me a second—because it’s been so long—but I realize what he wants.
Maximoff lubes his shaft.
Part of me craves to question, why now? But I want to send Maximoff to that peak too much, and I’m too aroused to puncture the mood.
And he looks like he’s dying to be inside me.
I turn my back to Maximoff, and I keep one foot on the marble floor and one knee on the bed. He clutches my waist, one hand sliding between my ass cheeks.
Fuck.
He reaches around with his other hand and fists my erection. A gnarled groan rakes me, and I grit my teeth. Fuuucking hell.
When I glance over my shoulder, Maximoff leans in and our mouths crush together.
I clutch his jaw, breath shortening again, my lips stinging beneath his. I tear apart for more air. My eyes skim his eyes, and I whisper, “Yo
u sure?”
“Yeah.” He solidifies, his fingers teasingly close to my hole. “If you’re not into bottoming anymore—”
“That’s not what I said,” I say quickly, my pulse skipping. Shit. Last thing I want is for Maximoff to deep-dive into his brain over this. I strengthen my grip on his jaw. “I want you to fuck me.” Even saying the words, my cock twitches.
His nose flares, arousal pummeling him, and he places a hand on my back. “Bend over more.”
I lean further over, a palm sinking into the mattress. His fingers fill me, fuck yes. I blink back stars as he instantly finds my prostate and rubs against the sensitive nerves.
“Fuck,” I grunt, muscles flexing. Sweat beads up on my skin.
Maximoff is standing at the foot of the bed and working me open. Sending shockwaves through my fucking body. Desire pumps inside veins, and his fingers leave and his much bigger cock pushes slowly into me. He slides inside with purpose and careful force.
I cage oxygen, the fullness mind-numbing. Good fucking God. I grit my teeth and breathe pleasured breath out of my nose.
“Fuck,” he groans as he eases deeper.
I reach back with my free hand and grip his ass. Feeling Maximoff flex into me. A moan breaks my lips and fights through me.
“Maximoff, fuck.” Shit.
I blink hard, and I glance back at him, his eyes cast down on my inked body while he rocks in me at a pace that nails my senses to another plane. I watch his facial reactions, hot-burning desire.
His eyes skewer the ceiling with a heady feeling that is swallowing me fucking whole.
I rock my ass into his dick.
He thrusts harder, and I lower onto my forearm. Deeper. “Fuckfuck,” I moan between my teeth. I edge further up the mattress, lifting my other knee to the bed. Maximoff follows the movement, climbing on the bed. Hooking his arms underneath mine, he bears down into me.
His sculpted body presses against my tattooed back.
Fucking…I can barely see. I groan into the mattress.
He moans, “Fuck, fuck. Farrow. Christ.” Deep grunts surge through him as he fucks me too fucking good.
His fingers brush over my nipple piercing, and light dances in my vision.
I can barely breathe.
We’re slick with sweat. Boiling hot together, and my fingers tighten around the comforter. Holding on. Being underneath him is an indescribable feeling, but what turns me on more is seeing his raw need and want for this.
I lift my head and angle to meet his gaze. Our lips find each other, heat building to unparalleled heights.
He rams harder, and I have to break from his mouth. A grunt expels while my pulse bangs.
“Don’t come,” he demands.
Fuck. Not an easy request, especially as his cock is in me and pushes against my prostate at a pace that could have me exploding in a millisecond.
I grit hard and flex harder. Not coming. Not yet, at least. And I hang onto the carnal feeling as he drives into me.
47
MAXIMOFF HALE
Holy fucking shit.
I’m unable to stop thrusting, the pressure and friction driving me up the wall. I want more. Closer. Deeper. Harder.
Farrow grits his teeth, tendons pulled taut in his neck as pleasure overrides him. “Fuck, Maximoff,” he grunts.
We’re all sweat, flesh, and burning hunger. I plant a hand on the bed, and he eases back onto his knees, on all fours, and I rise, knelt behind him. Sinking deeper into Farrow, I create hot friction with our bodies.
My pelvis pounds up against his ass. I hold his tattooed hip as I pump into him, his body a beautiful portrait of black ink.
I haven’t been inside him in a long damn time. That fact blasts in my head like a mental fuck, jerking off my brain. It steals breath from my starved lungs.
I feel like I’ve never had him—like this is our first time again. First time inside him, first time making love, first, first, first.
How the fuck can someone make me feel like every moment is as significant and powerful as the last?
How can this be possible?
Farrow rocks his ass back into my dick, and I thrust forward into him. “I’m going to come, man,” I warn in a heavy breath.
“Fuck.” He reaches back and roots a hand on my flexing ass. “Stay inside me,” he grunts. “…while you come.”
Goddamn. That does me in. I slam into the euphoric peak. Detonating. My eyes roll into a glare. Fucking Christ. I milk the climax, pumping slowly, and then I pull all the way out.
He rolls onto his ass, still hard, and I’m about to give him award-winning head. But he grips my broad shoulder, forcing me stationary, and his other hand wraps around his shaft.
I’m on my knees, sort of leaning over Farrow, and I don’t even have to ask. He’s fulfilling a blistering desire. With two strokes and the buck of his hips, he releases on me, and cum slides down the ridges of my abs.
Fuck me.
I harden. I’m not fucking kidding. Just like that.
He grins, his breath still shallow. “Before we go again, I just need to know one thing.”
“What?” I lie back next to him, and we kiss strongly. Farrow makes it too brief.
I glare and rest my head back, eyeing his cum on me.
Farrow rests a hand beside my shoulder, staring down into my eyes. “What made you want inside me tonight?”
I lick my lips, my neck hot. “I’ll tell you after you fuck me.”
He rolls his eyes. “No, but nice try.” Farrow gives me a long once-over that contracts my muscles.
I shake my head, my hair damp with sweat. “Besides just feeling like it, I think I just wanted to recall our first time together.”
His brows hike up in surprise.
My face reddens. “You didn’t hear that.”
“Don’t take it back,” he tells me.
It almost wells my eyes, and we’re kissing again. Pulse thumping.
We turn on our sides, seamless movements. Our bodies understanding each other, knowing our idiosyncrasies and needs and desires.
I have my back to him, and Farrow tucks me to his chest. Our fingers thread, wedding bands warm, and our clasped hands brush against my heart. “Relax,” he whispers against my ear.
I breathe out.
He opens me and eases in.
Oh fuck. “Holy…” I moan into a rough, aching growl.
God, I’ve never been so comfortable with one singular person in all aspects of my life. I trust Farrow with every part of my body and fucking soul.
He’s my husband.
Tears crest my eyes.
We move together like a rolling, endless wave, and while he rocks against me, Farrow clutches my jaw, and I turn my head a bit. We kiss until I have to breathe.
He lets go of my hand, his arm curving around my hip, and he jerks me off in a perfect grip.
I hold the back of his head behind me. Fingers clenching his black hair.
This is a slow-burn fuck. Undoing me at an aching, lagging speed. No single concern tenses me. No fear.
Just vulnerable and bare. He presses his lips to my jaw, to my shoulder, to the ink on my bicep—the heart around our initials. He rakes his teeth over my skin and bites, and my eyes roll.
Lost in love and so much damn feeling.
His lips brush against my ear, and deeply, Farrow whispers, “I love you.”
It takes a while for us to move after we release, and then we hop in the shower and fuck again. Dried off, I change into sweats, and he raises his black drawstring pants to his waist.
We leave the candles lit for a while longer, wax dripping and wicks blackened.
I climb back into bed. Leftover cake fills a container on my lap. Farrow holds a to-go carton of eggs and bacon. We were so busy tonight we barely ate at the reception. But I think I like this better.
I buy a pay-per-view movie, a pretty new action film that neither of us have seen, the volume low, and Farrow scoots closer to me. He eyes my cake
. “What is that one?” He points to the slice I’m avoiding.
“Lemon, I think.”
He scoops the largest bite, and I make a face. He’s laughing at me mid-chew. “You concerned about me?”
“More like concerned about your taste buds. Mixing cake and scrambled eggs is disgusting.”
“Eh, I’ve had worse.” He wraps an arm over my shoulder and focuses a bit on the movie. I take it all in. Roses, candles, epic physical and emotional sex, eating leftover wedding cake in bed afterwards, showering together—watching a movie.
Ordinary.
Romantic.
And timeless. It’s always been the little things.
48
FARROW HALE
Nostalgia is a creature that I meet every now and then. It stuns me that a while back, the only thing that had ever really terrified me was being conditioned to love medicine from birth. To be bred to follow a familial legacy of pretentious assholes.
Since then, I’ve been tested a lot more. Met more fears. Been afraid to lose what I love most. Shit, I’m still afraid of that, but that fear is how I know I’m completely, unfailingly in love with Maximoff and the life we’re building together.
Because losing him or our son would be a change that I couldn’t stomach or bear.
I heave two giant cases of water out of the trunk and into my arms. Shirtless, the mountain air cools my inked skin, the morning sun slowly rising above the rocky peaks and rustling maple trees. I’m sure it’ll be scorching hot this afternoon.
It’s still July.
Not even thirty minutes ago, Maximoff and I rolled up to our honeymoon destination, and we could’ve flown anywhere. But after all the international traveling, we decided on a familiar, tranquil place off the beaten path.
The lake house in the Smoky Mountains.
No paparazzi, media, fans or hecklers can bug the shit out of us here.
Carrying water towards the mammoth house, my boots crunch gravel, then soft grass.
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