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)
He moans as I hit his prostate. I know the spot. Very goddamn well.
I wrap my arm around his abdomen. Aching to bow forward where my chest melds his back, closer than close. Fuck this sling.
Slowing, I eek out the movement, and more sweat beads up on both our bodies. Skin slick, and hair dampening.
“Fuck,” I groan. “Fuck.” I quicken my rhythm, and I fucking explode. Fuckfuckfuuuuuuck. Lights burst in my vision, nerves scorched alive. I dagger a glare on the ceiling, another gnarled noise in my throat.
Farrow moans lowly into his arm, his tendons straining in his neck. Face reddening, he cages breath, and I come inside the guy I love. With a few more pumps, I milk my climax, and I watch his grip loosen on the dresser. Glancing back at me, he absorbs my pierced fuck me eyes that still exist for him.
He’s really hard.
Slowly, I pull out. Cum dripping off my tip, and I switch spots with him. As our paths cross, we draw together and kiss.
Not able to separate for a while.
We push-and-pull for a lead, and I bring his back to the dresser—then he spins me. My back to the wood. I hold his jaw and kiss Farrow with my whole body. My waist, torso, and chest arch into him. Reaching out for his fucking heart.
And then willingly, I turn and face the dresser. I grip the edge with my only available hand. Giving him access to push into me.
This is still new for me. But the more and more I allow myself to be vulnerable with Farrow, the more my life feels at peace. I’ve found someone who can ease me in this intangible, miraculous, cosmic way.
Farrow places a warm kiss to my bicep before he pulls me back some. Adjusting my stance. “Pain?” he asks, referring to my arm.
“Not that much.” I must’ve rolled my shoulder and neck too far because the tendon sears.
“Where?” he asks, his inked fingers toying with the outside of my hole. I drown in the fucking sensation. He stops. “Maximoff.”
Focus. “Closer to my neck. I’m alright; just fuck me.” I glance over my shoulder, and pain hammers my collarbone.
“Maximoff. Fuck, I’m not putting my dick in you if you keep hurting yourself to look at it.”
I hang my head forward. My muscles burning. “Who said I was looking at your cock?” I breathe heavily. “Maybe I was looking at the carpet.”
I was looking at his erection.
“Sure,” Farrow says. “Let’s pretend you like the carpet more.”
I picture his tattooed hand wrapped around his length. I’m not at the right angle to see a thing, so my imagination has to be good enough.
Farrow slips a finger inside of me, then works another. Fuck.
“Relax,” he breathes, one of his hands holds my waist and squeezes like come on, wolf scout. I won’t hurt you.
I exhale a controlled breath and try not to tense. My pulse beats harder, body stirring.
He retracts his hand, and a second later, I feel greater pressure against my ass. My fingers dig into the dresser.
“You’re still ridiculously tight,” Farrow exhales. “Hold on.” He pushes in a little bit, then out. Inching his way inside of me. My body reacts to his kindness more like teasing, and I’m getting worked up again—
Footsteps.
I hear footsteps. Racing up the staircase. To this attic.
Farrow hears. But the door should be locked…it’s not.
It’s not locked.
Farrow is closer, and he pulls out completely and in two strides, he reaches the destination. He flips the lock as soon as the knob jingles and knuckles rap the wood.
“Moffy!”
That’s my little sister.
Farrow and I exchange a look, our eyes widened at each other. Yeah, we just dodged what would’ve been the most awkward moment of both our lives.
“Moffy!” she calls again, sounding a bit panicked.
“Just a sec!” We’re in a mad dash to clean up. I throw a towel at Farrow. He wipes up the cum that drips down his leg, and I rub my hands and body with another cloth. Next, I struggle to put on underwear and new jeans.
Somehow Farrow beats me at getting clothed. His boxer-briefs and pants are on, and he even pulls a black Studio 9 shirt over his head.
“Come here,” he whispers.
I relinquish my fight with my jean’s button. And his fingers effortlessly fish my button through the hole.
Farrow tries to fix my disheveled hair, but I’ve already accepted the fact that she’ll know we were fucking.
I move his hand and point out, “It smells like sex in here.”
“It does,” he says easily. “I’m assuming you have a plan, wolf scout.”
I do. “I’m not letting her past the doorway.” I’m pretty sure our lube is in plain sight, and the sheets are twisted and knotted like we’ve wrestle-fucked for hours.
Farrow nods. “Okay.”
And just as she calls my name again, I unlock and swing the door open.