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)
My twenty-eight-year-old bodyguard is fucking me.
His pace is rougher, faster—I choke out a groan, he’s hitting a sensitive spot that tries to shake me limb-to-limb. My muscles flex, my eyes ache to roll back.
Jesus. Fuck.
I take a breath, stopping myself from coming. Christ, I’m not even touching my cock. He slows a fraction, giving me some time.
Glancing back, I catch sight of his clenched jaw, breathing hot breath through his nose. His arousal tenses his body, and damp pieces of bleached hair fall in his carnal gaze while he pounds into my ass.
Raw sex. This image beats every fucking-on-his-bed fantasy I’ve ever constructed.
I know how he prefers to top, too.
Rough and deep. Just like me. Not a fucking surprise. As his pace speeds, I can’t look at him. I stare straight, my lips parted. I try to shut my mouth—I can’t. I can’t, fuck.
I cage all breath, my neck muscles strained. I can feel him in me. I white-knuckle the sheet, then I instinctively grab his arm beside me. Holding on. “Holy fuck,” I moan roughly.
I’ve never done this with someone. Never let them in this far. I’m giving myself to a person in a way that I never thought possible. Warmth and safety bridges us together, and I wouldn’t choose anyone but him.
“Maximoff,” he grits my name, the hot pleasure like another thrust inside me.
My body rocks with his force, and my brain short-circuits to single syllables.
Now.
Need.
More.
Want.
More.
Him.
Fuck.
He lowers his weight on me for deeper entry. More friction. His chest melded to my fucking back, and I fall flatter, his arm curving around my collarbone, his jaw skimming my cheekbone. We’re that close. That connected together, and I’m riding a nerve-blistering edge.
I drill a glare into the wall where a headboard would be, my pulse thumping. “Oh, fuck.” A noise escapes that I’ve never made. I shudder, a peak rippling through my veins.
Water wells in the corner of my eyes—I’m not kidding. Farrow brings me to a level I’ve never reached, and I can’t breathe, can’t speak. I’m in a new universe that catapults me.
My eyes roll back, my fingers digging in his arm. God. I come, a sharp breath expelling out of my mouth. I rest my forehead on the bed, my energy draining fast.
“Fuck,” Farrow curses, milking his own climax. I think he hit his peak at the same time. If I was supposed to wait for him to come first, there’s no fucking way I could’ve.
I rub my wet eyes on the sheet, then I turn my head. Our eyes on each other’s lips. Our mouths meet in a slow, sensual kiss that mimics our come-down.
When we break apart, he pulls out, and he whispers with a peeking smile, “Better than your fantasy?”
I lick my stinging lips. “Beyond.”
“Saturn Bridges has good dessert and coffee,” Farrow tells me, buttoning his black pants, the elastic band of his Calvin Klein underwear sticks out.
We just showered, and now we’re back in his attic room.
I dry my wet hair with a towel and scroll through my phone, already dressed in another pair of jeans and a black Batman shirt. “I’ve never eaten there.”
“But you’ve been there?” He buckles his belt.
“For their trivia nights.” I pop open the website. We’ve been trying to pick a place for late-night dessert. A semi-date.
I get that we’re not publicly a couple, but we can still eat out together since he’s my bodyguard. PDA is just completely off the table, and no eye-fucking. Obviously.
The restrictions don’t bother me, but I sometimes imagine what a full-date would be like. Twice as much paparazzi, no doubt.
“Fuck,” Farrow mutters and opens a couple drawers. Overturning pockets of some pants.
“What are you missing?” I ask.
“My wallet.” Realization washes over his face. “I left it in your bedroom.”
“I can just pay for you, man,” I offer, but I already know his response.
“No. We’ll split.” He attaches his radio to his waistband, not worrying about putting on a shirt.
I get it. Occasionally, we both like paying for the other. It feels good. Knowing we’re dating. We’re together. But I’ve stopped him from buying my breakfast and dinner before.
Likewise, Farrow doesn’t like being financially dependent on anyone but himself.
“So Saturn Bridges?” I ask. “I can make a reservation.”
Farrow smiles, his hand on the doorknob, and he lingers, our eyes locked. Don’t fucking leave. “Yeah,” he says huskily.
Stay.
I almost edge near.
He rubs his mouth, his chest rising. “I’ll be right back.”
45
FARROW KEENE
“Watch it, you little bastard.” I snatch Walrus before the calico kitten darts into security’s townhouse, and I kick the door shut. He meows and paws my cheek.
The corners of my mouth rise, but not because of this cat. I keep remembering Maximoff and me together only moments ago. Hell, I can’t stop replaying each minuscule part: the wolfish noises he made, his daggered eyes, the purest vulnerability, the overpowering feelings. Fuck, I’m kicking myself for leaving shit in his room. Because I just want to be with him.