I glance over my shoulder, staring slightly downward so water doesn’t drip in my eyes. But I still look up at him, the best I can.
Farrow stands more under the spray, droplets gliding down his jaw, tattoos, and the ridges and valleys of his muscles. He’s undeniably so damn hot. And he’s entrapped by me.
He holds my gaze while he clutches my waist. His rock-solid length pressing against my ass. Not inside me yet. He draws my feet back a step or two, so I’m at a better angle.
I’m still on a bottoming streak, and I don’t foresee myself ending the trend today. I’m just breaking my own records.
Maybe I should’ve let him blow me first. That intrusive thought tightens my muscles. My pulse is a sudden sledgehammer.
“Shit. Maximoff, hey, what’s wrong?” Farrow runs a comforting hand along my ribs. He must’ve felt me tense up.
I stand a little straighter. Raking my wet hair back, I speak to him over my shoulder. “When’s the last time you’ve blown me? I think it was two weeks ago, but maybe it was last week?”
His eyes tighten in confusion. “What does it matter?” Our voices mix with the sound of water smacking marble tile.
“I’m just thinking—”
“No, you’re counting.” His brows spike.
I’m holding onto his bicep, his hand still planted on my waist. “I should remember everything, though. The fact that I don’t feels like a major lapse in awareness. I’m getting complacent.” I’m fucking scared.
He kneads my strained deltoid like, it’s okay. “It doesn’t matter if you’ve never wanted me to blow you while we’ve been together, or if you’ve wanted me to blow you every fucking day. Don’t torture yourself with that shit.”
“I know.” I wipe water off my face. “I think what’s getting to me more is me not paying attention.”
He nods. “You don’t need to create a sex spreadsheet. Even though it’d be entertaining as fuck.” His rising smile loosens my stringent posture. “Unlike you, I remember everything.”
My annoyance is faint. “So you can tell me how long it’s been since…” I trail off because he’s shaking his head.
“Sorry.” He combs back his wet hair that’s being doused by the shower. “Again, you don’t need the number. It’s not important.”
It’s not important.
I hang onto that.
Don’t obsess. “Alright.” I build up the swelter and kiss him roughly, his lip piercing warm from the steam. Magically, lube appears in his hand.
Really though, he grabs the bottle off the ledge.
And I obsess over something else: Farrow being able to tell when I’m not ready. When I’m super-glued inside my head and he needs to pull me out again.
It’s a better obsession.
When I glance back and we lock eyes for the millionth time, Farrow soaks in my expression—and his chest rises and falls like we’re climbing to annihilating heights.
His hand grazes my back, diving down to my ass. I brace my palm to the wall once more, and I try to watch as his lubed fingers tease me open.
“Holy…” Fuck. I breathe in. Pressure fists me more than a hand sheathing my length.
“Fuck,” Farrow grunts, his hips thrusting forward but his fingers do the work. Rubbing the most sensitive place—my mouth breaks apart, a knotted moan trying to escape.
Please, Christ, more. “Farrow.” My voice is demanding.
“I’m not ramming my dick in you when you’re this tight.”
I try to relax and just ride the wave. Fuuckfuck. He rubs the spot with his finger, perfectly, and he pulls out right as I near another climax.
Jesus Christ.
I slip him a glare. “Thanks for the edging, man.”
“You’re welcome,” he teases, and before I can reply, his cock pushes against my asshole. His inked hand grips his shaft and he careful flexes deeper into me.
Only a couple inches and I feel the pinch of being filled. My breath catches, and Farrow stops. “Relax for me.”
I face the wall, unable to look at him. But the less I strain my neck, the more the rest of my muscles ease.
He rocks in. Deep, deep. “Fuck,” Farrow groans.
I blink, headiness washing over me. Dizzying me with the vapor. He’s inside of me. Farrow arches his hips, rocking, and I reach back and feel his ass as he thrusts.
The movement is pricking my nerves. I moan, and my head tries to loll backwards. He clutches my jaw, our faces close, and we kiss the fuck out of each other.
Fuckfuckfuck. I break from his mouth, another moan escaping, and water leaks out of my eyes, washed away with the shower. My palm splays on the tiled wall, and he threads his fingers through mine. Hand atop hand.
Farrow groans, “Fuck, Maximoff.” I’m a fucking goner.
Just lost in him. Feeling his chest flush against my back. I reach down to stroke my throbbing cock, but he smacks my hand aside and fists me himself.
Fuck me.
The force of his body thrusting and thrusting drops me from my hand to my forearm against the wall—and I bathe in each second with Farrow.