Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 136025 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136025 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Farrow straightens up almost instantly. Worry shades his face. “Okay, now I’m going to ask,” he says. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I tear open the Raisin Bran and walk stiffly towards the couch. “Walk” is honestly an exaggeration. The counter and the couch are barely three feet apart—and I’m fixating on stupid shit on purpose.
“Maximoff.”
I turn.
His barbell rises with his brows.
I breathe out an agitated breath. “Fuck, man. We haven’t had sex in a while. I can’t look at you.” I recognize that I can go masturbate, but I’m dying for him.
Not for my hand.
He rests more against the counter and fixes his bed-head hair. Back to being cool, calm and collected. It’s like a switch that I apparently don’t possess.
“Because you want to jump my bones,” he adds and eyes me up and down. “How are you unable to keep my company now, but you did fine when I was just your bodyguard? You weren’t having sex then and that was two months.”
I don’t know.
I honestly don’t know.
I start shaking my head. Maybe it’s because I have access to him. Because my imagination satiated me back then. Now that I have him, God, I want him.
“I don’t have the answers,” I say seriously. “I just listen to my body.”
“And what does it say?” His voice is a graveled whisper.
I rake a hand through my hair. “Need. Want…You.”
Farrow nods slowly, as though repeating those words over and over. His thumb skims his bottom lip, and he glances over to the bathroom door. “So there’s a shower here—”
“That has thin walls,” I cut him off.
“We’ll be quiet.”
“And when we walk out of the bathroom together, people will just think we were in there knitting sweaters,” I say, sarcasm thick.
He steps away from the counter. “They’ll think we were fucking, wolf scout.” A smile plays at his lips. “And you have to be okay with that.”
Privacy in my sex life is like a rope I’m hanging onto while suspended over a bridge. But today is different. Today, I’m far willing to loosen my grip on that damn rope.
19
FARROW KEENE
Maximoff rams my back to the tiled wall, a breath and grunt ejecting from my throat. Hot water pelts our flesh, shower glass fogged. Good fucking God.
Our locked gazes dig deeper, and I hold his face, gaining control as our mouths crash together with force and fire.
He kisses like he’s been depraved of my tongue and body. I reciprocate like my greatest want is to satiate this gorgeous-as-fuck guy. And it is.
I’m extremely attracted to turning him on and watching him get off. Fuck, I’m going to make him come hard.
I catch his lip between my teeth, and his hips thrust forward for closer contact. My mouth curves, seeing clearly that he wants to plow me. He fists my wet hair, and a husky noise rumbles inside of my lungs. Fuck.
The small confines of the shower fall to the wayside with our heat. Our touch. Both of us lean but muscular and cut, both nearly the same height, both at equal strength—we play for an advantage and his needs fuel mine.
Still clutching his jaw, my other hand trails down his wet chest to his abs and then I grip him and stroke his rock-hard length.
He buries his mouth against my neck and tries to stifle a low, pleasured growl that rouses my cock.
“Fuck, Maximoff,” I breathe, water still raining down on us.
He fists my wet hair, and he watches my fingers that wrap around him and pump. Driving him to a cliff.
Maximoff grinds aggressively into me, and then he starts rubbing me with a mind-numbing speed—fucking hell.
I go to rotate us—so his back will slam against the tiles—but he pins me harder.
Breath knocks out of me, my lips almost lifting. So it’s like that then. He wants me here, and I reach a place where I can’t flip him.
We jerk each other off faster, hands up and down. In a melodic, heady pace. Our foreheads nearly touch. His forest-green eyes devour me whole, and beads of water roll sensually down his sharpened jaw.
Steam rises.
I grit down as the pressure builds. My head tries to loll back, but it touches shower tile. He takes both of our erections in one hand and pumps us in a closed fist. Back and forth. Our pre-cum coating his palm.
Pressure and friction fuses in an explosive combination. Hardened like brick, my pulse hammers in my cock.
I grip his face tighter, and he breathes lowly, “I want to fuck your mouth.”
I eye his pink lips. “We have a problem then. Because I want to fuck your mouth.” I tilt my head. “Who’s first, wolf scout?”
Maximoff answers by letting go of us, and he places a strong hand on my shoulder. It’s cute that he tries to push me to my knees, but I already willingly kneel.