Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 116268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
One day. I still like fantasizing about the idea. It’s a vulnerable place I eventually want to reach with him.
Just not tonight.
I wake to the worst beeping 5:40 a.m. alarm—too damn early. Farrow’s head is on my shoulder, our muscular legs tangled. I reach over and slap the snooze on his phone.
It wouldn’t be the first time he’s stayed longer in my bed. We’ve both been lenient on this one precaution. Later, he’ll return to his townhouse, hopefully without Quinn noticing anything strange.
Farrow yawns in his fist and sits up on his elbows. His white hair is a mess, his lips reddened from rough kissing barely an hour ago, and the beginnings of a know-it-all smile work their way across his mouth.
It’s undeniable.
Farrow Keene is unadulterated sex in the morning. I have more than a small hard-on for him. Like currently. Right now. I crave him, blood rushing to my dick.
He stares at me like I’m a regular fixture to these 5:40 a.m. wake-up calls. Like no matter how tired, I’m the first face he wants to see.
Fuck me. My cock aches beneath my sheets and orange comforter.
Without saying a word, Farrow stretches to the nightstand and grabs a condom and lube. He passes the bottle to me but keeps the condom.
He tears the wrapper, and I kick down the comforter and sheets. I watch the movement of his fingers as he covers my erection. His grip is light. Closer.
More.
His mouth curves upwards, and he lies back on his elbows.
I lather myself while I eye the inked skull pirate on his ribcage. And the lavender sparrow nearby. I lift my gaze to his barbell nipple piercing—fuck. My waist arches slightly.
I turn towards Farrow, and I pull him up higher, aligning us. He drops off his elbows when I position him on his side. Not fucking gentle.
He lets out a rough, throaty noise and palms his cock twice. His round ass brushes up against me.
My mouth touches the back of his neck. I grip his thigh. Stretching his leg over my waist to spread him more. Erection grazing his hole.
His nose flares in desire. “This is the only way you’re getting me to be the little spoon,” he reminds me. “You better fucking enjoy it.”
He turns his head back to me. Enough that I kiss him, my tongue parting his lips and sliding against his. He reaches up and holds my jaw. Fuck me. I ache to rock forward right now. I break the kiss early and breathe, “Trust me, I already am.”
We never spoon each other at night. Neither one of us can give up that lead. Most nights while we sleep, our arms and legs end up tangling.
I clutch my shaft and slowly push inside of Farrow. He buries his head into his pillow, mouth opened. A garbled noise escapes.
I watch him for a second, my ass flexing. Yes. Fuck yes. He’s pretty fucking tight for my cock. Every time I sink into him, it’s top-notch, eye-rolling pressure.
My movement is unhurried. Achingly temperate. Trying to milk every damn second for its total worth.
“Fuck, Maximoff,” he almost gasps, his breath shallow.
I groan, all the way in. Yesyes. I rock deeper into him, my arm hooked around his abs. I wrap my hand around his fucking huge erection, and I sync my thrusts with my hand.
Farrow grits down for one second before his mouth is forced open by the pleasure again. He curses into the pillow, face reddened. Holding breath. Neck muscles taut.
Fuck, holy fuck.
I thrust harder, ass flexed more. Banging up against him. My chest is welded to his strong tattooed back. Farrow reaches behind him and grips my ass. Pushing me firmer into him. Yesyesyesyesfuckyes. He rocks backwards into my cock when I rock forward into him.
We move together in unison. Like a slow, thundering wave.
He moans a deep, raspy moan. Like the sound was unearthed from his core. “Fuck,” he moans again. “Fuckfuck.”
“Farrow,” I groan, sweat built. I’m rising towards an intense peak. I quicken my pace in a final sprint—fuckyesyesyesyesfuuuuckkk. My orgasm ripples through me and his covers my palm. I eek the climax. Staying inside of him, slowing in and out.
In and out, my hot breath on his neck.
Farrow is trying to catch his breath in the pillow.
Then he turns his head. Watching me ease out of him completely. Then I kiss him.
Sex with Farrow is incomparable and immeasurable. I’m pretty much a goner. Totally and utterly obsessed with the before, during, and after—it’s ridiculous. In the best damn way.
I sit up, discard the condom, and grab a towel from my nightstand’s drawer. Tossing it to him.
Farrow leans up against the headboard. “Are you ever worried about becoming a sex addict?” He catches me off guard, and he waits for me to process.
I blink a couple times. I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, my feet cold on the hardwood. I glance back at him. “No.” It’s a flat definitive word.