I’m about to kneel, but he seizes my waist, his hand rising up my ribs. “Wait.” His jaw tenses, and he kisses me again, slowly, and against my mouth, he whispers, “Come on me first.”
Did I hear him correctly? One of the most straight-laced men I’ve ever met wants me to come on him?
Our eyes hit, and he sees the shock in mine. For one, I never thought he’d be this experienced. Despite saying that he has a lot of sex, that he loves sex—to me, he’s still five years younger. Five years less experienced.
For another, I thought he’d be wound-tight and vanilla. But he likes to be bit. Possibly scratched and choked. Now this.
Maximoff Hale has his kinks, and they make him really vulnerable for a few seconds. Yet, he commands every action, too. I dizzy in thought, and I run my tongue over my stinging bottom lip.
He rubs my cock fast, fuck. I lean forward, forearm on the brick by his head. I hold his face in a tight grip. “You want me to come on you?” I ask huskily.
His head tries to arch back against the brick. He growls out a groan, “Goddamn.” His breath is ragged and spiked, and I’m only grasping his face.
His large hand squeezes around me—and I grit down, my muscles ablaze, my tendons pulling taut. My head thumps, blood rushing downward. I breathe hard through my nose. His hand changes speed, slower and tighter. The perfect pressure wells up inside of me, mind-numbing.
My head wants to loll back, but I remain eased forward, my forehead nearly against his forehead. He changes his pace and clutch again.
Fuck.
I’m going to—I jerk forward, coming by his fucking hand. His abs glisten, and with a breath knotted in my throat, I drop down to my knees.
I stroke his hard length a couple times with a skilled grip. He watches my fingers intently, and he pushes my damp hair out of my face.
I smile before I slide my tongue down him and cup his balls. He shudders and curses, “Fuck, Farrow.” That fuck said, stop teasing. I try not to laugh.
I suck his tip and then wrap my mouth around him completely. I go all the way, in and out, back and forth, his cock between my lips. Gripping his shaft at times.
I love having him in my mouth, but even more than that, I’m hooked by the way he’s staring deeply at me. Like I’m a fantasy. Like I’m something made of heaven and stars that he’s dreamt of—and I never thought to ask what a celebrity who could have anyone in the fucking world fantasizes about.
And I wonder how long it’s been me.
I feel myself hardening again. I clutch his ass and take him to the very back of my throat. I taste him on my tongue. He mumbles a curse, his eyes rolling back and then set into a glare at the ceiling. It’s the hottest cum-face I’ve ever seen.
I pull back and swallow.
When I rise, we start kissing feverishly, our arms hooked around each other, and I hold his muscular back against my chest and suck the base of his neck. He moans as I bite his flesh, and then he spins. We keep wrestling for the advantage, more compatible than most would believe—like two men playing for the lead. Not fighting.
I smile wide as he guides my hand to the brick, his chest up against my back now. We’re caked with sweat. His hands roam down my waist and ass, tracing the inked lines of my scattered tattoos.
I crane my neck over my shoulder and hold the back of his head. We kiss twice before he says, “Don’t move.”
Maximoff leaves to his nightstand. I lean on the brick with my forearms, almost in a relaxed lunge, watching him grab a box of condoms and lube.
“He bought my favorite,” I tease.
Maximoff wears his irritated, pleasured smile like a champ. I could stare at that face all day, every day. I basically already do.
“This is your favorite?” he says, sarcasm present, breath still heavy. “I would’ve returned it, had I known.”
I whistle. “Be careful. You’re seconds away from losing your honesty merit badge.”
He can’t hide his smile, but as he comes up behind me, our gazes devour each other again. The air strains, and I don’t even need to work him up. He’s hard as a rock again.
Damn. He collects a condom, tosses the box aside, and tears the wrapper off with his teeth. I watch him sheath his cock, then lube himself and his fingers.
His confidence wounds a hot ball in my throat—I want him inside of me. Now.
I face forward, my head hanging slightly, and I relax my muscles. He clutches my waist, and then he slides one finger along me until he pushes inside.
My jaw just unhinges, the pressure enough to cage breath in my throat. He grazes against my prostate. I moan, “Fuck, Maximoff.”
I try to breathe full, deep breaths. He pushes another finger inside, teasing me open for a while. I glance back when he retracts his fingers.
Maximoff grips his shaft and pushes up against me. His warm breath heats my ear. “Do you need me to go slow?”
I’d smile if I weren’t burning up alive. “No.” I look back and seize his gaze hard. “Take me however you want.” That idea fists my erection.
Both of us still standing, he gently eases into me, and my head turns towards the brick, my eyes nearly shutting at that body-shaking pressure. When I take all of him, his chest welds to my back, and he starts thrusting.
Fuck…I let out tangled, low moans. My hand in a fist on the brick. His fingers dig into my hips, his pace is deep and fast and hypnotic.
I lose myself to the rhythm. My mind floating off without my fucking body. With my free hand, I reach down and stroke myself. Only twice because his right hand drops off my waist, and he grips my hard shaft. Maximoff adds friction everywhere.
I extend my arm backwards and grab his ass. His muscles flex beneath my palm with each thrust deeper.
I moan and grit down. Fuuuck.
Our bodies buck forward with the intense rhythm, and I clench my teeth, the pleasure rippling through my red-hot veins. Barely even looking at the brick in front of me—my eyes are in the back of my head.
I come, and his groan thunders low in my ear, “Farrow.”
His body rocks against me, milking his climax while I catch my breath. I rest my forehead on my bicep, sweaty palm on the brick.
He wraps his arm around my abs, very compassionately and comfortingly. I can honestly say that I’ve never been fucked that well.
Maximoff Hale is something else, and from start to finish, I can’t imagine anyone else having him but me.
19
MAXIMOFF HALE
MULTIPLY MY FANTASIES times a fucking gazillion and that’s how I’d describe last night.
It surpassed anything my mind could conjure.
Farrow set his phone alarm for 5:40 a.m. before we fell asleep in my bed. Just so he could leave before Quinn notices he’s missing. Somehow we wake an hour earlier.
Must be the newness, excitement—or my idiotic brain thanking me repeatedly for giving into its six-year-long demands.
I lie on my side. Beneath my white sheets and orange comforter. Turned towards my bodyguard. Buck-ass naked, both of us. Farrow is propped on his elbow, and he runs his hand through my hair. Inspecting the roots.
“You need to dye it soon,” he tells me.
I lick my lips, thinking. I have a routine with one-night stands. I never talk about myself. Never ask them anything too personal, not about to lead them on. I walk them downstairs and call a private driver to take them home safely.
I never see them again.
This is so fucking different.
Farrow’s hand drops when I sit up against my headboard. He follows suit and studies my sharpened cheekbones and downcast eyes. I’m staring at my knuckles. And I realize, I’m nervous.
“Sore subject?” he asks.
I look at him, his stabbing gaze and neck tattoos naturally intimidating. I find comfort in all of it. “Why do you think I dye my hair?”
Farrow pauses for a millisecond. “You love your dad.”
I nod, a smile trying to appear. He knows me. Ne
rves infiltrate fast. He knows me. I sit up straighter, my shoulders binding.
Farrow watches me closely, but neither of us speaks. He checks the time on his phone, and then he climbs out of bed. All six-foot-three of him, lean and muscular. And bare. Towering.
Christ.
He’s everything I pictured and more.
Farrow collects his boxer-briefs from the floorboards. He pulls the elastic band to his waist. “Are we going to talk about why you’re nervous?” He glances at me. “Think I didn’t notice?”
I bring my legs up beneath the comforter and set my arms on my knees. “I just thought you wouldn’t care.”
“I care.” He nods and finds his cotton pants. “I care a lot.”
I take a tight breath. “I know sex. I don’t know anything else. Whatever happens after this, beyond fucking each other—it’s a massive mystery to me.”
He’s in the midst of pulling his pants to his waist, and he smiles, his brows arching at me. “Rent a movie.”
“What?”
“Rent any romantic movie—though the hetero ones aren’t great. But just rent a movie, watch two sappy people do stupid, ordinary shit together, and there you go, Maximoff.”
I growl out my irritation, but I keep repeating his words in my head. I catch myself smiling. Jesus. “It’s not that fucking simple, Farrow.”
“Besides the fact that I’m your bodyguard and we need to sneak around, yeah it is.” He nears my side of the bed and rests a knee on the mattress. “You just like being well-informed before you do anything.”
“Thank you,” I say dryly.
“You’re welcome.” He runs his thumb over a bite mark on my shoulder. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” I swallow my arousal, and he bends down and kisses me on the lips. So this is what it’s like, huh? I can kiss someone the next morning. I can expect to see them in an hour.
I can do it all again and again.
Something lightens in my chest.
Feels like freedom.
SHOWER WATER RAINS DOWN on me. My phone is docked in a speaker on the tiny sink. Playing a Spotify playlist that Farrow made yesterday. Full of old nineties rock. I have no clue why he likes that genre.
“Cannonball” by The Breeders blares in the bathroom, and I feel like someone is pouring gasoline straight in my bloodstream.
I squirt citrus-scented dollar shampoo on my palm. Lathering my hair with both hands. And then the door swings open. Shower glass is half permanently frosted from the waist-down. The top is just fogged, and I rub the steam with my fist.
Janie yawns sleepily at the sink, pink eye-mask on her head and blue granny jammies on.
“Bonjour, ma moitié!” I shout over the water and music.
“Just you and me, old chap,” she yawns wider and opens the mirror’s cabinet for her toothbrush.
I almost smile. Then I remember I’m hiding something from Janie. I’ve never hid anything from her, and the feeling isn’t great. It’s like lying to half of myself. If I can’t be honest with her, then I’m never going to fully invest in whatever’s going on with me and Farrow.
Just how it is.
With a mouthful of toothpaste, she shouts to me, “It’s raining today, great and miserable thunderstorms!” She spits, rinses. “Chance of the media snapping photos of my frizzy hair, one-hundred percent.”
I barely hear that last part over the song. “Music off,” I call out, and “Cannonball” abruptly stops.
“I should try to curl some pieces for the College Merit luncheon today. Try a new look…where is my…curling iron?” She digs beneath the cupboards.
“You’re not supposed to join anymore charity luncheons,” I say, kind of meanly. College Merit is an H.M.C. Philanthropies program, giving college financial aid to low-income students. “Aren’t you shadowing a forest ranger today?”
She plugs in her curling iron. “I was, but…I mentioned the forest ranger to my brother—”
“No,” I growl out, knowing where this is headed.
Janie fiddles with the buttons on the old iron. “You didn’t see the way Ben looked at me when I said he could take my place. He even hugged me, and he called me cool, Moffy.” She inspects a pimple on her chin in the nearly fogged-up mirror.
I wash shampoo out of my hair. “I’ll call you cool every damn day for the rest of our lives. Just focus on yourself for your deadline’s sake.” Partly, I’m happy she’ll be with me today—but it’s selfish. If she graduates Princeton and still hasn’t found a career path, she’ll refuse to take time for herself like she is now.
Jane will say, I’m wasting time on a fruitless search for a passion that may not even exist. My time is better spent doing charity work.
“Tomorrow, the next day, I will,” she says, but Jane’s overwhelming love of her family is her greatest asset and greatest weakness. I can’t predict whether that’ll ever change.
I finish rinsing my hair. Unsaid things start weighing on me. I grab a bar of soap next to facial scrub and razors. “Janie?” I wipe the mist off the shower glass again.
She curls a brunette strand. “Yeah?”
“I’m seeing someone,” I say, flat-out.
Jane startles, the iron slipping out of her grasp. Burning her wrist before thudding to the tiled floor. “Merde.”
I instantly crack open the shower door, ready to help, but she raises a hand like wait. Jane picks up the iron, sets it aside on the sink, and then runs her reddened wrist beneath the faucet.
I wait a couple seconds. Half-hidden behind the door. I don’t retreat or shut it.
When she rotates fully, Jane steeples her fingers to her pink lips. Blue eyes widened like saucers on me.
She’s in shock.
“It’s crazy,” I agree.
“It’s Farrow?” she guesses accurately. Maybe because of the massage that one time. Obviously, she sensed something between me and Farrow then. But it reminds me that I need to be more careful with Farrow.
No one can find out. Not unless we purposefully tell them.
“Yeah,” I say. “It’s Farrow.”
“What changed?” she asks. “Wait, no—how long has this been going on? When did it start?” She begins to smile.
She’s smiling?
My eyes start burning, overwhelmed for a hot second. “Why are you smiling?”
“You’re risking so much by being with a bodyguard, and for you to do that…you have to like him, truly. I just want you to be happy, Moffy. Isn’t that all we’ve ever wanted for each other?”
I nod a couple times. She’s happy for me. Despite the consequences and the colossal secret that she’ll have to keep—she’s happy for me.
While she cools her wrist beneath the faucet again, I tell her, “It hasn’t been long. We just officially fucked last night.”
Her smile dimples her cheeks. “Remember when we were sixteen and you said that if you ever got head from Farrow Redford Keene, you’d self-combust and need CPR and an ambulance?”
“Was that me?” I joke.
“Most surely.”
My lips hike up a fraction. “My sixteen-year-old virginal self would’ve needed a stretcher if Farrow gave me head back then—”
A light knock raps the doorframe. Yeah, the door is wide, wide open.
And Farrow stands there.
Gun holstered, earpiece in, radio hooked to his black belt, V-neck tucked. He’s ready for today and I’m naked in a shower with my cousin doing her hair three feet away. Plus, I just admitted aloud that I thought about him sexually at sixteen.
Great.
I add to the bathroom, “Hypothetically.”
Farrow leans a shoulder on the doorframe. “You were hypothetically a virgin at sixteen?”
Jane snaps her curling iron at Farrow. “No virgin-shaming.”
Farrow seems to just now fully register Jane’s presence. He looks between us, and his gaze trails down my partially concealed, naked build. His eyes ping back to Jane, then me. “Is this a usual
thing here?” he asks us.
I’m glad he drops my “hypothetical” story and fixates on my relationship with Jane.
She returns the curling iron to the cupboard. “There’s only one bathroom, and it should be more peculiar for Moffy’s bodyguard to see him half-naked than for me to.”
Farrow tilts his head from side to side, considering the statement. “I don’t think so. See, you’re related—”
“Exactly.” Jane is in defense mode, ready to debate her side like she’s prepared with note cards, power point slides, and four-thousand word essays. “It means nothing to see each other naked because we’re cousins, and really, if we dig deep, nudity is a social construct—”
“Okay, Cobalt,” Farrow interjects. “I’ll take a pass on the sociology lecture.”
I hang onto the top of the shower door. I need them to get along. “How about we destroy the argument over which one of you is weirder for seeing me half-naked? I can think of a million other topics to debate. Like…” I toss up my hand and say the first fucking thing I can think of. “…why bananas are curved.”
Jane answers, “Bananas grow towards the sun, Moffy, so as they develop against gravity, they become curved in shape.” Cobalts consume trivia like water. Necessary to everyday life.
Farrow laughs. “I take it back, your relationship is cute.”
Jane eyes him curiously. “You know…I can’t tell if that’s sarcasm.”
“It’s genuine,” he assures.
Before I broke the whole bodyguard-client boundary, I’d call their relationship cordial, but to both be in my life now, they may have to form something closer to a friendship.
And if they can’t…I don’t know what happens.
An apocalypse?
Jane glances at Farrow and then pulls out acne medicated face wash. “Just so you realize, Moffy has told me about you two.”
“I sensed that.” He watches Jane. “Are you okay with keeping this secret?”
She nods. “You don’t have to worry, I’d never tell anyone.” Scrubbing her face, she creates suds. “If you break his heart, then you’ll have to worry about me.”
Damaged Like Us (Like Us Series Book 1) Page 16