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)
Fuckfuck. My ass flexes, and I drive the dildo deeper.
His neck is strained in desire. “God.” His eyes almost roll. “Harder. Harder.”
I’ll take him being bossy over him being afraid every day, every night. I catch his lip between my teeth, then I move rougher. I grind against him.
And I fill him. I can tell he’s used to this because he tries to reach for it, but he remembers that I’m controlling the speed.
He just lets go. His hand returning to my bicep. Trusting.
I kiss him strongly, and I pump the toy.
His head tries to hang back. “Fuck,” he groans.
I tuck a pillow beneath his ass. Lifting him up, and when I drive into him again, his legs vibrate, overwhelmed, hitting the most sensitive spot.
Fuck, Maximoff.
Our erections stand at attention against our hard chests, and each time I thrust forward, we rub together. I time my movements with the toy, and his face reddens, caging breath.
My nose flares, sweat blistering my skin. I’m walking the same edge he’s on.
“Farrow,” he chokes, his eyes try to roll again.
Fuck, I can’t stop looking at him, his arousal primal and raw; it’s sending me to a new height. Our pre-cum wets his chest, my chest.
Our mouths brush as I rock forward, close. Fucking close—he makes a noise he’s never made before, almost a wolfish whimper.
“Oh, fuck,” Maximoff moans. “Come on me.”
I am roped into his fucking existence. I pump my hips faster, the friction like a hand, and he lets go of my bicep just to stroke me. That pressure—I jerk forward. Fuckfuckfuck. I come, dripping, and his chest glistens.
I groan, my waist rocking. I push the dildo deeper, and his mouth breaks, head tilted. Contracting around the toy in a prostate orgasm. I wish that were my cock.
His eyes puncture the ceiling in a glare and then roll back. There’s my favorite cum-face.
I grip him just like he gripped me. His muscles spasm, and he comes on our chests. I could easily harden again.
But I focus more on him as he comes down. He looks satiated, content. I start smiling. Good.
I ease the dildo out of Maximoff and set it aside, then wipe my hands and chest with a towel. He sits up a little more and stretches out his legs, interlacing with mine.
Still on top, I clutch the velvet armrests next to his shoulders. Watching him eye me, more intense. He’s staring at me like I’m more than a fantasy.
“I’m real,” I breathe, causing his breath to shallow, “and older, stronger, wiser—”
“Thank you,” he says dryly, “for those additional lies.”
My lips quirk more. “Anytime, wolf scout.”
New Year’s Eve fireworks blast in the city night. Loud bangs strike the air, and the sparkling light flickers through the window and illuminates the five-star suite.
More than the nice shit, I’m enrapt in the fact that he made this view happen for me. When he doesn’t do this for anyone. The gesture thunders in my core.
Maximoff hones in on my mouth, and I read kiss me, man in his forest-greens.
I don’t give in that easily. I lean close, and huskily, I tell him, “My cum is on your chest.”
His jaw tenses, his cock almost rousing. He glances down at his abs, then up at me. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
I whistle. “Now he’s really lying.”
Maximoff looks straight into me, his defenses lowered but an iron-willed strength toughens his eyes. “I couldn’t have done that with anyone but you.”
That gets to me. I inhale. “I’d say…” I kiss him, tender and brief, and he returns it, just as soft and quiet, our pulses slowing together. “…‘imagine what it feels like when you have the real thing’ but I’m sure you’ve already imagined it a thousand-and-two times.”
He grimaces. “I like how you just picked a randomly specific number out of your ass.” His sarcasm is clear.
“Good, I’ll do it more.” I rake my hand through his thick, disheveled hair. “That was easily in my top five.”
“The sex?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
His mind is reeling, and it’s hard to guess where his thoughts just spiraled. He’s partially sitting up against the armrest, and his arm hooks around my shoulders.
His focus returns to me, and he asks, “You prefer to top?”
Maximoff. “I like both, equally.” To make it clear, I tell him, “But I could be fine with just doing one or the other.”
He thinks hard.
I give him a confused look. “If you don’t want to bottom ever, tell me now.”
“I want to,” he says, voice firm. “Obviously.” His jaw sharpens, his abs tight. “I’m thinking about which one you prefer more and if I’ve ever been selfish—”
“Let me stop you there,” I say, and I quickly figure out a way to explain this. “You’re bisexual—”
“I am?” he jokes.
Such a smartass. I roll my eyes, but I continue on, “You commit to me. You don’t need a girl. But you’re attracted to girls. Same thing. I like both, but I’m fine with one forever. Make sense?”