Headstrong Like Us (Like Us 6)

But Maximoff is private about his sex life, and to have someone see him and me in the act bothered him a little bit. Not to mention, it was his cousin. All I could do is be there for him. And I know he didn’t want to make Jane feel worse than she already did.

Right now, he buries his face in the pillow, not prepared for this shit.

I don’t pull out. He has a firm hand clamped on my ribs like, do not.

Yeah, yeah, I’m not going anywhere.

“Farrow? Moffy?” Lily calls, his mom speaking against the door.

Shit.

Maximoff barely blinks out of a sex haze.

I call back, “Everything okay, Lily?”

“Yeah! Some RSVPs came in the mail. I’ll set them by the door!” She sounds unaware of interrupting anything. As fun as it is living with his parents, this is a huge fucking reminder that we need our own place.

“Thanks!”

As her feet drift off, I rub Maximoff’s thigh. “You good?” I whisper.

“Hmm…” His eyes still pinch closed, and I’m wondering if he’s even processed who was on the other side of that door. I don’t mention it, wanting to stay in the moment.

It takes a couple more minutes to work back up. Slowly. Carefully. Our breathing growing heavier with each passing second. I move slightly inside Maximoff, and his muscles constrict in taut bands. More tears slip out of the creases of his eyes, his mouth back open with a guttural moan.

And my eyes are wet with build-up of feeling that just avalanches. This is insane.

“Holy…fuck, Christ,” Maximoff cries deeply.

I shift us so his forearms fall to the mattress. His chest pressed against the Spider-Man comforter. I shove my hips forward, and my two hands grab his hands. I lace our fingers, my chest melded to his back. I flex my ass with each pump.

“Fuck,” I groan, riding a high.

We’re on another level together.

He turns his head, and we kiss as I thrust. Until he growls in a choke, “Harder.”

I ram deeper, hitting his prostate on repeat. He comes so fucking hard, hands-free, that I feel his body tighten and release beneath me.

I erupt. “Fuck.” Fuckfuckfuck. I detangle our hands and grip his waist. I milk an explosive climax, watching my cock slide in and out of his ass.

I hear him groan out into the pillow, “Come on me.”

Maximoff. I smile and press a kiss to his deltoid. “You’re too slow with your command.” I gently ease out. “I came in you already.”

We’re drenched in sweat. I kneel in front of him, one of our hands threaded together, and I locate a towel in the nightstand.

Maximoff grabs it out of my clutch, and he pulls himself up against the headboard. “More like you’re too fast.” He cleans off.

My brows lift. “You came first.”

Maximoff tries to hide a growing smile. He’s very satiated. “Did I?”

“Wow, I really fucked you well—”

He throws the towel at my face.

My mouth hikes upward, and I’m about to lie back on my hands. But his eyes fasten on nothing. He’s gone deep-sea diving in his brain.

Good or bad, I’m about to find out.

“Maximoff?”

Shit, he looks upset. His brows knot, lips downturn, and my stomach clenches. I wave a hand at his face.

He focuses on me.

Concern seizes me completely. “Talk to me, wolf scout.”

His nose flares, quiet. I’m guessing he needs me to say more before he does.

I don’t mind. “Is it about your mom knocking on the door?”

“No.” Maximoff is rigid.

I glance around the room and pat his Spider-Man comforter that we never rolled down. “It’s about fucking on your teenage bed?”

He grimaces. “No, but thanks for the painful reminder.”

I’d smile, but I can’t when he’s this tormented by something. I sit back on my ass, close enough that I rest my elbow on his bent knee. And I ease into this conversation. “You haven’t been that aggressive in bed lately.”

Maximoff nods slowly, and I’m certain this is the issue that’s plaguing him. I expect him to add more, but he says, “Are you thirsty?”

I tilt my head, studying him. “I could get a drink.”

“Yeah, me too.” He slides stiffly off the bed and grabs boxer-briefs. I do the same, and fuck, I crave to hold him. To wrap my arms around him. He looks like he simultaneously needs me and space.

Waiting to embrace him is fucking torture.

Ditching shirts, we just go downstairs in drawstring pants. The kitchen is dark and quiet. We don’t turn on the lights.

I lean against the island while Maximoff tugs open the fridge, the glow inside illuminating his sharp features.

“It’s okay,” I say easily and quietly, my deep voice sounding louder down here. “Nothing’s wrong with you.”

He swallows hard and shuts the fridge door without grabbing any shit. Turning to me, Maximoff says, “52 days—actually, tonight makes 53.”

I frown. “I’m not following you, Maximoff.”