Farrow cranes his neck over his shoulder, his mouth parted. He extends his arm behind him, gripping my ribs. I lube his hole, running my finger around the rim.
He groans as softly as he can, “Fuck.” I push two fingers inside, opening him.
I replace my fingers with my erection. Slowly, slowly sinking into Farrow. Christ, the pressure. I growl with clenched teeth, my eyes on fire. His hand tightens on my ribs.
His gaze flitting to mine, and we share this recognition: that one day this will be him; he’ll be knelt behind my ass, sinking deep, deep into me…
I’m all the way in, and I rock forward. Hands on his muscular hips. I thrust and thrust. He swings his head forward, drops his hand, needing to grip the ground. Somehow.
Closer. My body aches for contact. Closer.
Closer.
I want skin and friction and sweat.
I sink further into him, and he drops to his forearms, cursing a dizzying fucking curse. He bucks up into me. Fuck me.
My chest welds to his back, a sheen of sweat built on us both. I clutch him stronger, my biceps cut sharp.
Yes, fuck yes. The pressure, the friction, his muscular body and expression, us this close together—everything compounds together in a blood-pumping, mind-fucking wave.
My ass flexes with each push in. He can barely keep his head hoisted. He’s pretty much flat against the sleeping bags. We’re about the same size, same build, and my body cloaks his, lying on top. Pounding into him. I wrap my forearm around his collarbones. And I dig deep.
“Fuck,” he groans into the sleeping bag. His legs spread wide as I fuck in between them.
Farrow lifts his head, angling and his mouth meets mine. Our tongues fight for that ache. My pulse bangs my eardrums. I dig harder.
He breaks apart from my mouth to let out a rumbled sound that completely spins my world. Farrow buries his head in the sleeping bag, stifling his groans.
38
FARROW KEENE
FUCK.
Fuck. I’m very far gone, choked up with pleasure. Water crests the corner of my eyes. His weight bears on my body. I lie on the floor.
He lies on top of me.
This is how he wants me to fuck him. Hard and deep, and unrelenting, but also protective and sheltered. Fully connected.
He grabs onto my forearms, bracing himself so he can drive deeper—fucking hell. My eyes roll back, my mouth wide open.
Maximoff groans my name in the pit of my ear as an orgasm barrels through him. My muscles throb from being flexed. He slows, milking the climax, and I try to catch my breath.
When he pulls out, he flips me onto my back. And I clutch his hair while he finishes me off with his mouth. I bite down, my pulse jackhammering.
“Fuck,” I curse as I hit a peak.
He swallows the last of my cum. And then we’re breathing hard, staring at one another, and my eyes say what blares inside my mind, we’ll have more weeks together.
Months.
Years.
It’s not ending here.
I’m going to give him what he just gave me. I tug him down, and we end up on our backs, staring at the tent ceiling. I tangle my fingers through his hair, leisurely pushing back the damp strands.
He runs his ankle against mine.
Crickets are the only sound, and the dark bathes us. Maximoff turns his head to me, and he wears this look that says he’s more than content.
He’s happy.
39
MAXIMOFF HALE
AKARA PUTS his baseball cap on backwards. “Moffy, you only have three hours until this is all over. Do you have to confront them?”
“Yes.” It’s my only answer.
We huddle around the canoe rack by the lake’s dock. Not that far away, camp-goers break down their tents and pack their bags, getting ready for the final breakfast.
Sulli and Jane stand on either side of me, our three bodyguards opposing us. Orange leaves crunch beneath our boots.
“If you heard what they said,” I continue, “you’d be pushing me towards them.”
Akara doesn’t blink. “I doubt that. We’re the ones who are supposed to handle this.” He gestures to himself, Farrow, and Quinn.
“Not you,” Farrow says for good measure, his gaze set hard on me like no fucking way in hell are you confronting someone without me, Maximoff.
I get that they’re security. I’m the celebrity. But I can’t call in reinforcements to fight all of my battles. I can’t stand like a voiceless statue. Neither can Janie. Not in this instance.
“You can come with us. Farrow can come with us. Christ, bring Quinn too. But as the CEO of this charity, I’m not going to let this Camp-Away end without saying something to them.”
Jane nods strongly in agreement.
This morning Brad, Tyler, and whatever the other three fucking guys are named—they were making lewd gestures about Jane again. Only they mentioned hogtying and fucking her, and I’m proud of the fact that I didn’t flip out on them in the moment.
I walked away with Jane. I cooled down. We came up with a plan.
But Akara doesn’t see this as progress on my part.
“I’m joining him,” Jane reminds our bodyguards. “I need to say something too. There are hundreds of girls here, and if those guys leave thinking it’s okay to say things like that—then we’ve failed. We can’t stay silent.”
Sulli stretches her arm behind me to hold Janie’s hand. “If you need me, I’m there.”
“Thank you.” Jane breaks from my side, and the two girls share a long hug.
“And?” I ask Farrow.
He lays easy-going eyes on me. Probably because I said the magic words come with me. “I think that you’re not going to change your mind.”
Yep.
He turns to Akara. “If we approach them together, it’ll seem like an attack.”
Akara considers the options. “Those guys like you.”
Farrow rolls his eyes but nods.
“You go with Jane and Maximoff.” He leaves out Sulli. I’m guessing he doesn’t want her near this altercation. Akara looks at me. “Don’t get into a fistfight.” To Farrow, he says, “Don’t let him.”
“I won’t.”
Akara emphasizes his point to me. “You’ve done good work here, Moffy. You throw a punch, and that’s all the media will talk about. Not the success. Not the money you made. Please just stay calm while you talk to them. If you can’t do that—then let Farrow, Quinn, and me handle it ourselves.”
“I’ll be calm.”
Farrow tries not to smile. “What does that look like?”
“We’re about to find out.” I look to Janie who hoists her head high, shoulders pulled back, standing tall. Like the woman who raised her. And I don’t need to ask if she’s ready.
Let’s go kick some ass.
Civilly.
WE GATHER Brad and his four friends by the row of log cabins that Camp Calloway uses for summer camps. Some people linger close to watch the interaction. There’s no privacy, but if we brought them into the camp’s office, I’m afraid I’d let my anger best me.
Janie speaks first.
“I’ve heard all the things you’ve been saying about me in particular these past few days.” She adjusts the strap of a pumpkin-shaped purse that slips down her shoulder. “That’s not how you should speak about another human being. Period.”
Brad scratches his blond hair by the temple, smirking. “So…you wouldn’t want to be hogtied then?”
His friends laugh.
Farrow has a hand on my shoulder, and his fingers dig into my muscle.
Rage bangs at my chest. My arms stay crossed. I don’t move.
“No,” Jane refutes, “and that’s not something you should be asking. It’s not kind. It’s not appropriate. If you did that to another girl—”
“Whoa.” Brad holds up his hands. “I’d never say that to another chick. But you ask for it. You’re always talking about BDSM on that show. I mean, you’re
inviting this shit. It’s your fault.”
“She talks about how she’s not into BDSM,” I snap. “Because guys like you can’t seem to understand that she’s not her mom.”
Jane adds, “And you guys don’t seem to understand the meaning of consent. Even if I enjoyed BDSM like my mom, you shouldn’t be speaking to me or her like that. Don’t be a vile person. Is it that dreadfully difficult for you?”
“Did she just compare herself to her mom?” Tyler laughs to Brad.
Brad chuckles. “I’ve seen Rose Calloway’s sex tapes and…” He motions to Jane’s body. “That’s a cheap imitation.” Fuck them.
Jane almost steps forward, but Farrow rests a hand on her shoulder now.
How is he not ready to swing? My blood is boiling. My biceps flexed, hands in fists. I swallow a thousand times to try and remind myself, do not fight them.
Do not move.
It solves nothing.
Farrow keeps his voice even-keeled and asks, “What’s the point of saying that? They’re all telling you it’s hurtful. Listen.”
Tyler nods to Jane. “Get thicker skin.”
“Fuck you,” I growl. “You’re a guest here.”
Brad smirks, but his tone changes—hostility mounting. “No, we won a raffle that we paid for.”
I grind my teeth. Calm. Be calm. I breathe out before I ask calmly, “Why even enter the raffle if you hate us? Why come here and take the opportunity away from other people who would’ve loved to be where you are?”
Brad extends his arms. “Free camping trip.”
I have no words. Full disclosure: I don’t understand them. I can’t relate. I can’t empathize. I don’t know if it’s because I stand on a platform, a pedestal too high to see from their perspective. I don’t know if it’s because as I try to jump down, into their shoes, I’m just flooded with rage.
My gaze daggers. Burning and churning, and my face is all blades. All sharp, brutal edges.
Tyler snickers. “Did you all really just pull us aside to lecture us?”
Brad snorts. “They did.” He smacks his friend’s chest, and they chuckle again.
Tyler shakes his head. “It’s almost like they think they’re so much better than us. The entitlement that you two have is honestly disgusting.”
In my peripheral, I notice people filming the interaction. Phones whipping out and pointed at us. This has traveled in a direction I never thought it’d actually go.
Sometimes I can’t predict what people will think. What the public thinks. Where’s Jack Highland when you need him?
Jane raises her chin. “We just believe that you should be kinder. Don’t tell a girl that she should be hogtied, even if it’s someone you see on TV. Even if they say they like it—they’re not saying they want to be hogtied by you.” She takes a deep breath. “If you consider that entitled, then…okay. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t fucking apologize,” I tell her. They’ve been beating her down for three days. I’m not going to let that stand.
“Oohh,” Brad says. “We’ve struck a cord.”
I growl, “You’ve struck nothing, asshole.”
“Maximoff,” Farrow warns in the pit of my ear.
I point at these guys. “I sincerely hope that you don’t ever talk to women like that in your everyday life,” I growl. “Fuck it, you shouldn’t talk to anyone like that. And if you can’t see right from wrong, then remove your heads from your asses.”
As soon as the words escape my mouth, phones buzz and chime and ring all around us. People whisper, casting glances our direction. Even my cell vibrates madly in my pocket. It’s like someone flipped a switched and shrouded us in darkness.
What the fuck is going on?
Eyes begin to zero in on Janie and me. Like we’ve just undressed in the middle of the field. Naked. Bare. My pulse speeds.
Brad practically cackles, glancing from his phone, then to me, back to his phone. Then to me. “No wonder you’re so defensive of Jane Cobalt,” he says. “You’re fucking her.”
I lunge.
“Nope.” Farrow grabs me around the waist. I’m all boiling wrath. I point at Brad, my feet dragging in the dirt as Farrow restrains me.
“You’re a piece of shit,” I sneer.
“You think I’m a piece of shit?” He laughs. “Dude, I’m not fucking my cousin.”
“I’m not fucking her!” I scream, my lungs on fire.
“Moffy,” Jane says in warning, her voice trailing ominously. She’s staring haunted at her phone.
What the fuck happened?
40
MAXIMOFF HALE
JANE, Farrow, and I only have about ten minutes to talk before my parents, her parents, and our aunt and uncle show up at the camp. All six of them drove over as soon as they saw the article.
Maximoff Hale and Jane Cobalt: The Secret Love Affair!
It’s fake.
You shouldn’t believe it either.
Fake articles always pop up online. We process. We put out a public statement. And we deal with it. This isn’t any different as far as I’m concerned.
Alright, it’s a little damn different.
I’ve never been accused of incest. Never even thought that could be swung my way, but as soon as we tell our side of the story—everything will be as it was.
“They’re waiting in there for us?” Janie asks an Alpha bodyguard who exits a camp cabin named Green Willow. He nods tensely, face stoic.
I climb up the short stairs with Jane, and we pause on the porch.
“Everything’s fine,” I remind her. “We’ll deal with it like we always do. My publicist is on speed dial, and I’m sure your dad wants us to coordinate with his people.”
Damage control. We’re all seasoned pros.
Jane inhales a tight breath, and nods reassuringly. I glance back.
Farrow has one foot on the step and looks between us. “If you two need anything, I’ll be right here.” Chatter in his earpiece distracts him. His jaw tics before he touches his mic on his collar.
I can’t distinguish his hushed words.
I move forward, grabbing Jane’s hand.
Right when Jane and I enter the cabin, hand-in-hand, the energy shifts. Our parents and aunt and uncle grow eerily quiet all of a sudden.
We take seats on two wooden chairs. Facing a wall of bunks and some of the people we love most in our lives. The six people who’ve influenced us. Raised us.
Who shaped us.
And protected us.
On a top bunk bed, Uncle Ryke sits beside his wife—my Aunt Daisy, the owner of Camp Calloway and Sulli’s mom: blonde hair chopped unevenly and a long scar down her cheek. She swings her legs over the side of the bunk, and her bright eyes flit to Ryke’s darkened ones.
He looks pissed. But I don’t know…that’s his usual expression.
Below him, on the ground, my mom rests on a black trunk. Plastic baggie of trail mix on her lap, she shovels a handful in her mouth. Nervous. She’s nervous.
My mom tugs at my dad’s crew-neck shirt. Like she wants him to sit, too. He shakes his head, leaning against the post of another bunk bed. Arms crossed.
Eyes daggered.
I look to Jane’s parents. Uncle Connor and Aunt Rose stand all-powerful. Side-by-side, hand-in-hand, armored for battle like a king and queen.
Only, I can’t tell who they prepare to fight. I glance at each of them again. About how they positioned two chairs for us to face them.
Is this an interrogation?
“I’m glad all of you are here,” I say, giving them the benefit of the doubt. “We should talk about how to deal with the article.” I pause when they remain quiet.
My mom shoots her sister Rose a cagey look. Jesus.
Ryke is staring hard at my hand in Jane’s—Jane shakes her hand out of mine. What.
I whip my head to each of them. Not able to glare at all six fast enough. “It’s false. Christ, I shouldn’t even have to say that.”
Connor takes the r
eins. “We just have some questions.” Jane’s dad is the voice of reason. He’ll be the first one to understand. Everyone else is dramatic—but still, how the fuck could they believe this, even for a second?
Or maybe they don’t believe it.
Maybe their doubt is just my paranoia leaking into common sense. They’re family. They’d never combat us.
Jane straightens, her chair creaking. “What kind of questions?”
“Nous avons besoin d'explications, mon coeur.” We need explanations, my heart.
“No French,” my dad tells him.
Rose speaks, voice icy. “We all need to be on the same page. We can’t let this divide us.” Her piercing yellow-green eyes drill holes into pretty much everyone. Even her husband.
“That’s what we want,” I say, my shoulders squared. I’m ready to resolve this and move on.
“Good.” Connor nods. “Let’s start with the night the cats escaped. Why were you in your underwear?”
Why the fuck would that need clarification? “We were playing a drinking game.”
Jane adds, “Sober participants had to strip instead of take a sip.”
“And we were using your rules.” My gaze swings up to Uncle Ryke.
Ryke rocks back like I sucker-punched him. “My rules? No fucking way. You can thank Cobalt for that one.”
I grimace at Uncle Connor. “You came up with the stripping rule?” He’s the polished one—and he drinks. I always thought it had to be either my dad or Ryke.
“We’re one question in and this is already being derailed,” he says, “and yes, I did. Back to that same night—”
“Hallow Friends Eve,” Lily clarifies.
“Such a cute name,” her little sister Daisy smiles.
“You’re only saying that because your daughter coined it,” Rose rebuts.
Daisy mock gasps.
Connor ignores the sisters, and he asks me point-blank, “Why did you have bite marks?”
My mom’s eyes dart to Jane. I start shaking my head. No. She can’t actually believe that Jane is the one who bit me. Aunt Daisy eyes us both. So does Aunt Rose.
Damaged Like Us (Like Us Series Book 1) Page 31