Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 136029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
We rock together, our erections brushing with hot friction. Fuckfuck.
I root a palm to the pillow beside his head. And I tear our mouths apart to catch more breath. His large hand drags down my tensed triceps. He’s not flipping me or pushing against my chest.
I skim him. He’s really content under my weight.
See, I want to ask if he’s okay, but I also don’t want to freak Maximoff out. Nothing is wrong. But we haven’t talked about his newfound love of bottoming. Any changes in his habits surrounding sex are a big deal to him.
I forget that thought when my fingers skate across the gray paracord bracelet around his wrist. My brows jump. “You can take this off, you know—”
“I know.” His voice is firm.
But he hasn’t taken it off yet. Not since I replaced it with the one he lost in the fire.
My leg slides against a leather holster on his calf. I glance down at the tactical knife. “Are we going to talk about that then?”
He’d glare if he weren’t so into me right now. “No. Just fuck me, man.” He licks his lips, his chest collapsing. “Make love to me.”
I clutch his face. Cradling his trust and affection is this euphoric, indescribable thing.
And I’m fine with surfacing these conversations later. Honestly, I thought having sex in his teenage bedroom would be a hang-up and rip him out of the moment. He overthinks and contemplates metaphorical symbolisms and shit. But he hasn’t descended into his head yet.
At least not in a negative way.
So I don’t prolong what we’ve started.
I lean down, and we kiss with yearning and hunger, pulling my body flush against his body in a missionary position.
Until I sit up, and I kneel between his spread legs.
He fixates on my movements. How I grab the nearby bottle. How I tug my shaft, lubing my hot skin and bulging veins.
I soak up his body too. Lean muscle ripples across his torso like Maximoff is chiseled from marble. His dark-brown hair disheveled and lips reddened. He’s striking.
Gorgeous.
But I’ll always be more enamored with who he is—so good, so pure—and fuck, how he’s looking at me. Like I’m his world.
His salvation.
In lonely hours and hollow days and nights.
Maximoff breathes hard. “Come back down, man.” He motions me towards his chest.
I draw back to his sculpted muscles, his lips crushing against my lips. Heat singes my skin. We grind for closer contact, and my lube-slicked fingers find his hole. I carefully stretch him open. Slipping a finger inside him, I rub his prostate, and he contracts.
“Fuck,” Maximoff moans against my mouth. “Fuck. Christ. Farrow.” His broad shoulders dig into the mattress. Pre-cum soaks our chests, our cocks begging for a fucking release.
My jaw tenses as I grit down.
Our heady eyes connect, and I remove my fingers and shift his muscular leg. He’s partially on his side now, basically in a lunge position.
I’m not spoon-fucking him tonight. I kneel behind his ass, bent close. To where he reaches up and wraps an arm around my shoulders. His other bicep is underneath the pillow, where his head lies.
We kiss, but I break our mouths apart while I push my cock into him. Carefully.
Slowly.
“Fuck,” I breathe. No matter how many times I’m inside him, he’s still tight as hell. “Relax.”
“I am.” His arm is hanging onto my shoulders. I check him out. He’s more eased, like I’ve rolled out all the kinks in his muscles and he’s floating with the current.
I shift my knees slightly and arch my hips, rocking an inch deeper, but God… “You’re so fucking tight.” I watch his reaction for signs that I’m hurting him. And I flex in further.
In and out.
His mouth is open with trapped breath, watching me take him. “Holy fuck.” He groans into the pillow. “God.” His face reddens, our muscles strained, and I keep pumping inside Maximoff, finding a mind-numbing rhythm.
We look into each other, a silent, tender awareness that he’s let go, and I’d never hurt him. I want him to feel real, tangible peace in all areas of his life—for the rest of his life—and I know I can take him there. The fact that he’s allowing me is a profound feeling that seizes every fucking part of me.
My mind splinters.
I sink my cock deeper, and while Maximoff holds onto my shoulders, I flick my tongue over his nipple. I almost see the whites of his eyes. My hand glides up to his neck, and very carefully, I choke him.
He loses it. His body vibrating and muscles spasming. “Fuuuck.” Tears escape the corners of his eyes. “Christ.”
Fuckfuck.
Fuck.
I rock and rock into him. He feels…too fucking good. “Maximoff,” I grunt, tension fisting my entire body.
And then a knock raps the door.
Shit.
Shit.
Worst timing.
I stop moving and look between him and the door.
At least it’s locked and won’t break open like in Scotland. Where Jane walked in on us. Personally, shit happens. I’d usually let that roll off my shoulders.