Breath deepening.
We stay in this embrace for a long moment. Our pulses thumping together, and the world seems to go calm. And quiet.
As we pull back, our eyes say the same thing:
Let’s get out of here.
101k viewers and counting listen to me talk about boundaries on an Instagram Live. Coffee thrown at my face, Farrow being doxxed—this is not how I saw our date going. Instead of drowning in resentment, I remind myself to look on the bright side. I went on a public date with my boyfriend.
We’re here today. Breathing, living, and we have love—so much damn love. He’s okay. We’re okay.
Leaning against my bed’s headboard, I angle the phone, everything below my abdomen not in frame. I already struggled out of my shirt and attached my sling to my bare chest.
Farrow helped. Kind of.
Kind of a lot.
And then he had to take a phone call from the hospital. Paperwork shit, his words. So while he stepped out of the attic, I decided to go live and get this off my chest.
Boundaries.
Human decency.
Don’t fuck with my boyfriend.
“I get that you all will have your opinions on Farrow. But shitting on him because you love me makes no damn sense.” Emoji hearts flutter up the screen, and the tickertape of comments speeds rapidly. Making them hard to read.
But I catch these:
sry. you could do better than him
Marrow 4 life
I love you, Maximofffff!!
that sucks what happened with Farrow
OMG the burn on ur face, r u ok??
he’s not good enough for u
we just don’t want you to get hurt!
“Farrow is the last person in the whole universe who’d hurt me.” On the live stream, my sharp features stare back at me. My forest-green eyes look greener tonight and almost pierce the screen.
he looks upset omg
are you mad?
WE LOVE YOU!
ur a dick
When’s WE ARE CALLOWAY airing?????
don’t be sad!!
I rest my head back. “When you fuck with Farrow, you hurt me. So if you care about me at all, don’t come at him with things like I deserve better and he’s not good enough for me. Farrow Keene is the only one I let in. The only one.” I’d point at my chest if I could. “That’s not by accident. It’s because he’s more than enough for me. He’s every damn thing.”
The door squeaks open.
Fuck.
I had no plan to make some sappy declaration. One that Farrow would love to quote for eons upon eons of time. Just to agitate the fuck out of me.
Dear World, tell me my boyfriend didn’t hear me profess a colossal amount of love. Sincerely, a human in love.
Farrow kicks the door closed with a growing smile. He nears my dresser and then leans his elbows on the surface. Looking only at me.
He heard what I said.
Without a doubt.
Using my feet, I push myself higher against the headboard. Gray sheets are crumpled beneath me. Sitting straighter, I’m careful not to jostle my phone in hand. And I focus on the live stream.
“You all should know…” I pause, layering on severity. “…I’m Farrow Redford Keene, and I have a gigantic, massive crush on Maximoff Hale.”
I look up, and Farrow rubs his bottom lip, giving me a long scorching once-over. He approaches, the bed undulating with his weight, and he’s suddenly right next to me.
In the camera frame.
The comment section explodes.
OMG it’s FARROW!!
he’s here holy shit holy shit
I’m dying!!!
Me too.
Farrow looks at the live stream, both of us able to see ourselves in the screen. He cups the back of my head, his fingers running casually in and out of my hair. “I’m Maximoff Hale,” he says to the 117k viewers. “And thirty-four seconds ago, I lost my honesty merit badge.”
I try to feign confusion, but laughter rumbles in my lungs.
Farrow lifts his brows at me like you liked that. All comebacks and potential one-upping flits away, starving for more physical contact, for his mouth against my mouth and to connect hard body to hard body.
Before the viewers see me flash fuck me eyes at Farrow, I shut off the video. Tossing it aside, my phone slips off the mattress and clatters to the floorboards.
I turn into Farrow; he turns into me, and our eyes meet head-on first, pulsating with need.
And our lips collide. I break apart his mouth as I breathe into the kiss, and I taste mint against his tongue. Our hands wrestle with our clothing. He unzips me, unbuttons and wrenches my jeans to my thighs.
My cock pulses and pulses, and he eats up the arousal in my eyes like my pleasure feeds his pleasure.
I tug his pants halfway down his legs. Farrow grips the back of his black shirt, pulling the fabric off his head. Revealing his nipple piercing and the inked dagger and skull pirate across the ridges of his abs.
Fuck me. I pull off my jeans, and he throws his own pants off the bed.
Down to boxer-briefs, our mouths crush together again. And we inch off the headboard, until his head meets a pillow.
I split his muscular legs open with my knees, and while I deepen the roughest, most untamed kiss, I lower on top of Farrow, my left forearm braced on the mattress.
A tinge of pain flares up in my shoulder, but I hone in on the mounting heat that ignites us.
I grind my hips into him. His mouth-watering erection rubs against my hardening cock every single time I drive forward.
Sweat builds, and between each kiss, our heavy grunts break the quiet. Farrow digs his fingers in my back and rakes his short nails across my skin. Scratching down towards my ass.
Fuckfuck.
Our tongues tangle more languidly than the forceful thrust of my hips. His hand—his hand draws down my boxer-briefs and seizes my ass with the hottest goddamn squeeze.
I tear from his lips, a raspy groan expelling from my burning lungs. Spurring me to grind harder. Rougher.
His muscles strain. “Fuck, Maximoff,” Farrow groans, his other hand clasps my jaw in the best grip. He grapples for the lead and control. About to flip me. But I bear more of my weight on his chest. Staying on top.
Our eyes attach for a nerve-pricking beat.
“You want to fuck me?” he asks, his graveled voice stroking my cock.
Goddamn. “More than you want to fuck me,” I breathe heavily.
He nips my lip between his teeth, and he whi
spers, “Not possible.”
I rock harder, fabric of boxer-briefs still separating us. My ass flexes beneath his palm. I grind and grind—he grits down, nose flaring in intense arousal.
“Fuck,” he grunts, his lips almost splitting apart in a coarse breath.
Blood pounds in my veins, and I groan against his neck. Fuck, Farrow. He pushes me as hard against him as he can without causing me pain.
My bound right arm obstructs our bodies from completely meeting. And my arm jerks in the canvas, wanting and aching to be all over him like he’s all over me.
I lift my head. “Fuck my sling,” I mutter, frustrated.
Farrow pants as hard as me. “It’d be easier if you weren’t on top. If you’d let me flip us—”
“I’m doing great, thanks,” I say, too stubborn to lose the lead right now. Plus, once I’m on my back, I won’t have enough strength to wrestle out from under him.
Farrow studies my body. My left arm is more carved and toned than ever since it’s been picking up my right arm’s slack. And whatever pain exists in my collarbone has melted beneath five-hundred degree, blood-boiling desire.
I rock slower and kiss him again, lips stinging beneath the force. And he pushes my ass for a deeper grind. Fuck.
Me.
I need inside of him.
Soon.
I lower my mouth to his chest, trailing over the inked lines of a pirate ship. Reaching his nipple, I suck and flick my tongue over the metal barbell.
Farrow lets out a rougher breath, and he palms my cock.
I lose balance on my left hand. “Fuck,” I curse.
He hooks his legs around me, and before I even blink, he flips us in one careful and effortless movement. Tapping into his strength and MMA skill, he tops me.