Only him.
Farrow deepens the kiss, our tongues wrestling, and his hand grazes my burning neck, then rises into my hair. He holds the back of my head like he’s claiming me. Like his hand is saying, you’re mine.
It feels better than good.
I’m lit up. Alive.
My palm explores his abs beneath his shirt and dives towards his waistband. He tries to draw my back on the cushions, but I brace my weight forward to pin him.
He smiles against my mouth. Our breaths come short and heady. We’re a buoy in an ocean, swaying back and forth with his strength and my force. Until one of us leads the other under.
And strangely, I’m more than okay to let him take me.
I clutch his jaw, the less-than-close shave turning me on like always. His masculinity stroking my cock, and he tugs my hair, sending a shockwave through my veins.
My lips break apart, a deep groan stuck in my lungs. And I feel his muscles flex beneath my palm. Farrow bears his weight on me, and I fall back this time.
Deltoids meet Cushion, Cushion meet Deltoids.
A few invitations slide to the floor, and I tear his V-neck shirt off his head.
Our mouths find each other again and again. I clutch his ass, pushing him into me, and his hand—his hand is on my neck, my jaw.
Fuckfuck. I grind up into him. He rocks against me, and I harden an incredible amount, my head swelling. Even with clothes separating us, I feel his erection grow against my hardness. But it’s not until a deep groan fights its way out of me that I immediately plummet into my brain.
I go rigid.
My muscles tense up, and I tear my lips from his mouth.
Farrow hoists his body off me. “Maximoff?” He searches my eyes.
I don’t sit up. I have my hands on my head, breathing hard. “Fuck.”
“What’s wrong?” He cups my jaw.
“We’re in the living room of my parent’s house.” I’m still catching my breath.
Farrow frowns. “Yeah. We haven’t teleported anywhere, wolf scout.”
I groan. Frustrated. Sexually. Mentally. Physically. All of the fucking above. There’s a lot of frustration inside of me right now. I lick my stinging lips. “My little sisters and brother are upstairs and could walk down any minute.”
He’s smiling.
“What?”
“You’re just so pure.” He kisses me lightly. “It’s almost like you’ve never made out in the living room of your parent’s house before.”
“Because I haven’t.”
“I know.”
I sit up, forcing him to sit up more. My chest against his chest. My legs are already on either side of Farrow. Practically wrapped around his waist. So I’m sort of on his lap now that I’m upright.
This is where I would shove him backwards. I’d brace my weight on him and split his legs apart. We’d make out and he’d try to flip me, but he’d relent, ultimately.
Right now, that scenario doesn’t sound as good as this other one. So what I actually do: I clutch the crook of his neck and shoulder, and while I lie backwards, I bring him back on top of me.
Farrow smiles wider. “You like being—”
Screams suddenly echo from upstairs. Shrill, blood-curdling screams. Raising the hair on my arms and neck. Farrow and I share a single look before we’re both untangling and on our feet, racing up the staircase.
9
MAXIMOFF HALE
“NOOOO!” Kinney yells at the top of her lungs. Farrow and I skid to a halt at the opened door. A camcorder is stationed on a tripod, aimed at the foot of her black-laced, four-poster bed. She’s standing right in front of the lens. She glances over at me, her round face a mixture of snot and tears. “GO AWAY!”
My little sister storms over, seconds from slamming the door on us—but she’s small. I grip the frame with an iron hand, forcing it open. “What’s going on?” I laser focus on that fucking camcorder.
Why is she recording herself?
Why is it directed at her bed?
She’s fourteen.
Farrow reaches above my head and pushes the door open wider.
Kinney stumbles back in surrender. “Just go away! You can’t help!” She throws herself on the bed and screams into a sparkly black Deathly Hallows pillow.
I share a hardened look with Farrow, but he whispers to me, “No one is bleeding or dying.”
I gesture to the camcorder, and he noticeably grinds his teeth with the tilt of his head. Yeah, he’s not excited about that either.
“What’s going on?” Xander asks from the hallway. Rubbing at his eyes like he just woke up. “Is she alright?”
I nod. “We’ve got it covered.”
Xander pushes hair out of his eyes, concern in them. “Is it Viv?” Ex-girlfriend #1. Moved away to California.
Farrow leans on the doorframe. “Doesn’t seem like it.” His gravelly voice is a deep whisper. “She’s not breaking shit.”
His brows bunch. “Holly?” Ex-girlfriend #2. Moved away to Nebraska.
I chime in, “We don’t know.” Kinney hasn’t become too jaded on romance, thankfully. But she’s said if one more girlfriend moves across the country, then she’s legitimately cursed. Right now, she’s single, so this could easily be about an ex or a crush.