Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
“I am,” I say. “A lot better than you are.” My shoulder blades hit the stone edge, this end of the pool about eight-feet deep, and I cup his ass while he’s up against my chest.
He rakes his hand through his wet hair. “Pretty sure I’m not even thinking about it anymore.”
More chimes.
Now pings.
He’s forcing himself to keep eye contact and not glance at his phone.
My smile stretches. “Want the gold star now or later?”
“Never.”
That was a firm never. As much as I like stoking his irritation, I’d rather train his concentration off the relentless chimes and pings, and also several beeps. The disturbance is really grating Maximoff and not in a good way.
At the corner of the pool, I hoist myself out of the water and take a seat on the stone edge. While I lean back on my hands, his mouth parts.
I’m exposed, beads of water dripping down my inked body and hot sun beating on my skin.
And I ask him, “What’s your favorite tattoo of mine? And if you say none, then I’ll just think you’re copping out.”
Maximoff is staring off into space.
I kick water at him.
He wipes his face and shoots me a middle finger. “I’m thinking, asshole. Give me a century.”
I laugh. About to banter back, but he distracts me by swimming closer.
Maximoff fits his body between my spread legs. And he clutches both my tattooed knees, and then his hands run up my thighs. Resting his forearms on them, he braces his weight on me, using my body as a support so he won’t have to tread water.
Our gazes cement.
Fuck, Maximoff. My nerves prick hot. “Need me to repeat the question, wolf scout?” I ask, voice husky.
“No. I heard you.” He devours me whole. “Your newest one is my favorite.”
I love that he loves the pirate wolf. “Before I got that one, what was your favorite?”
Maximoff already has the contextual meaning and significance to my tattoos. He asked me about them, back when we first started dating. It’s not a long story or some heart-aching thing.
As a kid, I was obsessed with pirates the same way that a child who grows up in a butterfly-decorated room loves butterflies. Only I didn’t have a themed bedroom.
On my desk, I had a framed photograph from Halloween where I wore a pirate costume. I was two-years-old. And my mom was holding me in her arms.
Inked on my fingers, k.n.o.t t.a.me. is a just a play on sailing knots and also being untamed. It’s not that deep. And all the skulls, pirates, daggers, sparrows, compasses, and ships are just things I loved from childhood to teenage adolescence to adulthood.
I watch his gaze roam my body with affectionate, wanting strokes. His breath shallows, and my muscles contract. I take a hand off the wet stone and glide my fingers through his brown hair, pushing the wet strands back.
He says, “I figure my favorites have to be the ones I think about the most.” His mouth is hot against the inside of my thigh, lips trailing over the outline of an inked treasure chest.
My blood cranks. “Which one do you always think about?”
Chimes sound loudly, the noise hasn’t ended, but for some reason, this one pulls his gaze.
I take my hand off his head and rub my rousing dick—that captures his attention. He’s back on me, his breath shallow, and he pries my hand off.
He puts my hand on the back of his head. And he also takes my shaft in his fist. My muscles contract. Fuck.
Fuck. His aggression stirs the blood in my veins. I’m not surprised that Maximoff knows what he wants.
I push his hair back again. “Answer me before you blow me.”
He tugs at my length. “Who said I’m about to suck you off?”
“Your eyes,” I quip, my breath knotted in my lungs. I cup the back of his head tighter. “Maximoff—”
“The wings on your neck,” he answers. “The swords on your throat. The red sparrows on your collar that fly between the masts of the ships. And the skull pirate on your ribs. Those ones I think about, all the damn time.” He lowers his mouth to my hardening cock. Taking me between his lips—fuck yes.
Pressure squeezes around me, and my muscles ignite on fucking fire. Skin blazing from more than the sun. His head bobs with the up-and-down movement of his mouth.
“Fuck,” I grunt. My feet flex in the pool water.
I could look at the breathtaking landscape. I could look at the blue horizon and the clearest sky and the majestic views, but I can’t look away from him. From his forest-greens that tunnel into me with love and sex and soul-deep need and desire.
“Maximoff,” I groan.
His biceps flex as he readjusts his support on my thighs. I sit up more, staring down at him—which he’s not the biggest fan of. He glares and tightens his hand around the base of my shaft. Fuck. He pushes my chest.