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)
And sex—it feels really damn good.
Farrow frees my dick, wrapping his tattooed hand around me, and his tongue laps up pre-cum that drips off the tip—fuck.
I buck towards him, and he pulls back, a smile playing at his lips.
“Easy,” he tells me coolly. Like I’m too eager.
Goddamn. I root my left hand to the back of his head, my fingers lost in his dyed hair. “You’re a giant cock tease,” I tell him.
“And you love getting your cock teased.” Yes.
“Maybe,” I say flatly.
His pleasured eyes undress me. He squeezes my balls, and my legs spasm, my body almost shuddering.
Holy fuck. My eyes tighten as arousal amasses, aching for harder pressure.
Strands of hair fall to his lashes as he lowers his mouth again. He fists the base and sucks me in an up-and-down melodic rhythm. The friction tempts my eyes to roll backwards.
I narrow my gaze, breathing hard through my nose. Jesus Christ.
He takes all of me to the back of his throat. Sucking deep and hard. Electrifying sensations build up towards a shockwave.
Beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep.
“Kiss me,” I suddenly say.
Farrow breaks his intense rhythm and stretches over my body. Careful not to touch my chest. He holds my jaw, and I kiss him roughly, our mouths crushing together. He grips my shaft with a firm hand, rubbing me with perfect force.
To deepen the kiss, I tug forward—
“Dammit,” I wince, pain nailing my ribs.
Farrow looks more concerned, but he’s still jerking me off. He’s a keeper. I mean that seriously. “Lean back, Maximoff.”
I do.
“Relax. I know you’re obsessed with me, but try not to jump my bones.”
I’m nearing a nerve-scalding edge. So all I can get out is a non-threatening, “Fuck you.” My narrowed eyes drill into the ceiling as he sucks me off again.
“Fuck,” I growl into a low groan. Fuuuck. I lose concentration between the pressure his mouth wields and his grip on my balls.
I lose thought, and my eyes roll.
My waist arches, and I release against the back of his throat. Muscles burning, I ride the peak, and he milks my climax with his tongue and hand.
My head lightens for a bit, a good kind of dizzy, and as I come down, he rolls the blue fabric back to my thighs and wipes his mouth with the sheet.
“Can you come closer?” I ask in a deep whisper. I ache to hug him. To wrap both of my arms around Farrow. For his arms to wrap around me even tighter, stronger, and none of that is possible with my fucked-up shoulder.
“Put your legs down,” Farrow breathes.
I lower them flat to the hospital bed.
Farrow nears and then rests his knees beside each of my quads. Straddling my lap without lowering his weight. He leans in, gripping the top of the hospital bed.
I live my life for most of the world to see—for you to see—but there are a lot of moments just meant for him. And this is one.
We look into each other, and the toll of tonight catches up to us. How much he had to stay calm under pressure. How he’s depended on by security, how I’m the rock of my family—and sometimes, sometimes it hurts. Emotion pours over his face, my face. His eyes reddening, mine burning, and I slide my good arm across his shoulders.
Dying to bring him against my chest. I can’t.
I can’t. I hate that I can’t.
“I want to hold you,” I breathe.
His forehead almost touches mine, our lips nearly skimming as he whispers, “You’re holding me.” His husky voice quakes, his hand clutching my jaw. “And my arms are tight around you, and your chest is against my chest.”
Tears scald our eyes, and we breathe and breathe, and I whisper, “You know, my heart is in your hand.”
His lips are agonizingly close. “I hope not. Because then you’d be dead.” He kisses me before I react. Just one tender kiss, leaving me longing for more.
My good hand rises to the back of his neck, our breaths slowing together. I murmur, “Cicero said, ‘The life of the dead is placed on the memories of the living. The love you gave in life keeps people alive beyond their time.’”
Farrow almost smiles. “That one is just okay.”
I eye him. “What’s your favorite then?” I’m sure he can recall whatever he fucking skimmed.
He leans closer, kisses me—and I kiss back stronger, my lips swelling beneath the pressure. Until he has to pull away so I won’t fuck up my shoulder.
His chest rises and falls heavily, his thumb stroking my cheekbone, and he finally tells me, “Dum spiro, spero.”
I circled that phrase in my paperback. I know he took Latin in college, but I ask anyway, “You know what that means—”
“‘While I breathe,’” he translates, “‘I hope.’”
It overwhelms me.
Hope.
Him.
Love.
Pain.
I inch closer, but a knock sounds at the door. We both rub our wet faces, and as our bloodshot eyes meet again, I know and he knows that what we share is greater and stronger than whatever the world has to throw at us.