Alphas Like Us (Like Us 3)

I drink in his expression that’s pure sex, pure love. Wound hot together.

We rub each other with mind-numbing pressure, our pants low on our waists. As a rough sound escapes his lips, I ask, “Have you been fantasizing about my dick?”

“More like my dick in your ass.”

My nose flares, blood pumping. “You want inside me?”

“Hard,” he whispers against my mouth.

I’m roped into him. “Good.” I kiss him, then I bite his lip, and he arches into me again. Fuck, Maximoff.

He’s simultaneously melting and hardening. His erection grows in my tight grip. My fucking muscles strain, our bodies pushed up against each other.

I’m about to rotate us, but he presses a firm hand to my chest. Keeping my back to the stall. His thumb flicks over my nipple ring, which is caught underneath the fabric of my black shirt.

We stare each other down, and more and more arousal pools in my blood and bones.

I roll his boxer-briefs further down his ass and then free his large, swelling erection. Damn. There is no cock I’d want more inside of me than that one.

He does the same to me, and he hones in on my dick and spaces out like he’s imagining the feeling of it inside of his mouth and ass.

I snap my fingers at his face. “You can suck me off later, Space Cadet.”

“I barely spaced out,” he combats. “Like not at all.”

“Okay,” I say with a smile, and I distract him by stroking his erection. He stares fixatedly at my inked hand that moves up and down his hardened shaft. I spit in my palm for lube and return course. That one action draws a breathy guttural noise from him.

My body tightens.

His chest rises and falls heavily.

That’s enough. I stop here. Not wanting him to come by my hand. “You have lube?” I ask.

Maximoff digs in the jeans bunched at his thighs. Finding his wallet in a pocket. He tosses me a travel-sized packet, and then he watches me warm it in my hands.

I rip it open with my teeth and hand it back. “Be careful with your shoulder.”

He rubs the lube, glistening his length. “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind while I’m pounding inside of you.”

I let out a short laugh, turning around to face the stall. “Always a precious smartass.”

“Always a know-it-all asshole.”

I nod. That’s definitely true. I place my hand on the wood to brace myself. And I reach back with my other to hold his waist. His skin is warm beneath my palm.

Before he pushes inside, his arm curves around me and he pumps my erection—fuck, my neck pulls taut, breath trapped in my lungs.

“Maximoff,” I groan.

That pressure disappears to carve room for a new one. I careen my head, looking over my shoulder to see his hand wrapped around his shaft.

Lubed, Maximoff sinks into me. Fuckfuckfuck.

Pleasure explodes my nerve endings, and he kisses me as he pushes deeper, deeper. The fullness dizzies me.

“Fuck, Maximoff,” I moan a low, graveled moan that burns my insides. My nose flares again, and I turn my head forward. Fuckfuck. He thrusts in and out.

In and out, the hypnotic, blistering pace lights me up. My muscles tighten, his heavy breath against the back of my neck.

He kisses my deltoids with another thrust in—fuck yes, I seize his ass. Feeling him flex beneath my palm.

“Farrow,” he grunts, rocking his hips. “God.”

Fuckfuckfuck.

He plants his hand on my waist. Steadying me while my palm slips on the stall. Not getting good traction, I take my hand off his ass. Both hands to the wood.

Our bodies rock together with each thrust forward, and he hits my prostate, the intensity like a sudden burst.

“Fuck,” I moan, biting down.

He hits the spot again.

My mouth breaks apart.

Again. I can’t breathe.

Again. I’m rock hard, my balls aching to detonate. Thoughts flit out of my mind—again, he nails my prostate. Fucking.

Hell.

Every muscle in my body pulls taut, ready to snap apart. He quickens his pace into me. Deep, hard thrusts that thunder my body.

It feels…fucking incredible.

I turn my head back, and our eyes fuck as hard as our bodies. I let go of the door to hold the back of his head. He thrusts forward—a deeper, overcome noise breaches my lips.

“Fuck me,” Maximoff makes a wolfish, hot-as-sin groan.

I kiss him, only once.

He pushes quicker, faster, like he needs that climax now.

But then he hits the spot again—and every muscle snaps, every nerve bursts. I am fucking gone.

“Fuck,” I groan, a climax roaring through me. I sheath the head of my erection with my hand, cum warming my palm. I pulsate in long, pleasured waves.

It takes me a second to reorient my mind. But I do. Maximoff is already pulled out, coming in his hand, and we clean up with paper towels. When he returns, we kiss strongly, and Maximoff tries to hide his smile.

But I feel his lips rise against my mouth, and I pull back. “Are you going to say it or are you just going to dream about it?” I tease.

Confidently, he says, “I made you come hands-free.” It’s what he’s been obsessing over, and his tone says, I’m better than you at sex.

I don’t tear from his gaze.

Shit, he’s hot and cute. And I love him hard. “You realize I made you come hands-free the last five times I fucked you?”

“That’s different. I’m a billion times easier to get off on prostate stimulation than you.”

I can’t deny that truth, and he moves away from me to use the sink, turning the gold faucet. I watch him while we get dressed, boxer-briefs and pants back on our waist.

I tuck my black shirt into my pants. He’s gone eerily quiet. Almost dazed.

My pulse skips a beat. I buckle my belt and then near him after he zips up his jeans.

“Maximoff?”

He trains his faraway look onto me. “I did this wrong.”

My ribs tighten, and I fish his button through the hole, helping him. “We just established that you fucked me really well.”

Maximoff hangs his head.

He almost never hangs his head like this.

“Hey.” I tilt my head sideways and bend a little. “Wolf scout, look at me.”

His chest collapses, and bloodshot eyes rise up to me. He looks conflicted, and I try to trace the paths back to what happened. What happened?

I shake my head. My stomach is in knots, and I hold the back of his neck in a protective grip. “Talk to me.”

He swallows hard, brows cinching in deep, anguished thought. “After thirty-hours apart, I saw you and I just really wanted to fuck your brains out. God, I didn’t even ask how your day was at the hospital.”

I see where this is going, and I knew we’d be here one day. But my chest hurts seeing him wrestle with this shit.

Maximoff explains more, “And I don’t know if that means something’s wrong with me. Or if I just love sex. Or if I’m overthinking everything because my mom is a sex addict, and even if I think I’m in control, there’s a part of me that wonders, what if I’m not? And I can’t get out of my own goddamn head.” His voice actually cracks.

I cup his cheek. “You’re okay.” Each word is like a knife in my gut because I feel how tormented this whole thing is for him. “You’re just overthinking.”

“Which part?”

“All of it,” I whisper and kiss him tenderly.

He’s still pained.

When we first started having sex, I asked him if he was worried about being a sex addict. He said no. But before he was with me, he tried to control his sex life with parameters. Hookups at night. Never the same person. Never in public.

See, our public relationship has opened the door to public sex. We can come out of a bathroom together and not give a flying shit if anyone catches us.

We c

an also fuck at any hour, any day. Unlike the controlled one-night stands before. I figured at some point, he’d reevaluate everything and question what’s normal.

I just didn’t realize how much it’d pain me to see and feel.

Interlacing my other hand with his, I say, “There is no handbook, wolf scout. You’re not docked stars because we decided to fuck now and talk about boring shit later. We do what feels right, when it feels right. That’s it.”

I need him to understand that this was my choice too.

He looks into me. “What if it’s different for me because of her?” Guilt obliterates his features, even blaming his mom. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know. And you’re not a sex addict,” I tell him. You’re not like your mom.