Lovers Like Us (Like Us 2)

His back hits the full-length window. He pulls off my shirt, collar tearing. We’re limbs and skin and breath slamming together as we both fight to make the other bare.

He kicks denim down my thighs, and I’m going to lose this struggle because he has on high-laced boots that’ll take me a goddamn century to undo.

I slide my hand down his waistband. Finding him aroused beneath boxer-briefs, and I fist him with perfect pressure.

His muscles contract, and he grits down, hot breath through his nose.

“Fuck,” he curses, his hand holding my face, then my throat. Careful, he’s always careful about that.

Farrow palms my cock over my boxer-briefs, then squeezes—fuck me. I growl out a deep noise, my hand in a fist on the window by his jaw.

He whispers against my ear, “You liked that.” He rubs me.

Fucking Christ. My waist moves. Thrusts. Wanting more. And more. And more.

“Fuck, Maximoff,” he grunts.

I clutch the back of his head. “Just fuck me, man,” I groan. Dying.

His cock stirs beneath my hand. “You want to try? Tonight?”

I nod, assured. “Yeah.”

A smile edges across his mouth.

I’ve been impatient at the other hotel stops, and we’ve needed sleep. Though, I’m aware that I usually wake up to him working. But we haven’t progressed me warming up to bottoming in a while. Not since back in Cleveland.

Tonight, that changes.

30

FARROW KEENE

Maximoff’s humility ends in bed, but damn, his ego is warranted. Just kissing him is like a divine awakening.

But I’m here for more than the mind-blowing experience. He’s never trusted anyone how he’s about to trust me, and I take that seriously.

Lying naked on the midnight-blue couch, I bear my weight on Maximoff beneath me. Our mouths crush together, and to keep him relaxed, I don’t rush. Breaths heavy, our hands and mouths explore one another in prolonged, boiling minutes.

Even under me, even more vulnerable, his headstrong confidence doesn’t wane. His entire body bucks up into mine, hand fisting my hair. A hot rock lodges in my throat.

We kiss rougher, and chest-to-chest, pelvises grinding against pelvis, I grip our erections and stroke us together—his calloused hand moves mine away. Taking over, he rubs us. Adding intense friction—fucking hell.

This can’t end before it begins.

I shift my knee and spread his legs apart. Tendons in his neck and thighs pull taut.

“Fuck, man,” he mutters, eyeing my movements more fixatedly. He inches his broad shoulders up the armrest, slightly angled and raised.

I cup his jaw and kiss his cheekbone. “Relax,” I breathe.

He exhales a ragged breath. “Thank you, I didn’t think of that,” he says, all sarcasm.

I roll my eyes into a smile and then I guide his hand off our cocks. “Don’t jack us off, smartass.”

He flexes at my voice. “Fuck,” he growls, head almost lolling back. Damn. He places his palm on my ass, and I drop my foot off the couch. To the floor.

I lean over and unzip the duffel. Lube, check. Dildo, check. Not as long or wide as my dick, but this is the exact brand and size he’s used to. We have to start somewhere, and if he’s done this alone, then he should be able to do it with me.

My mouth returns to his while I coat the length of the dildo. He deepens the kiss, and I hook my arm beneath his knee and then grip the velvet armrest. Elevating his leg.

He breaks our lip-lock, his chest rising and falling like he’s running up a steep hill.

I slowly suck his jawline, his ear, and I whisper, “I’m not going to hurt you, wolf scout.” Trust me.

Maximoff looks straight into me. As though he’s remembering who I am. He sweeps my features: my carved biceps that protectively encase him, and my eyes that caress his forest-greens.

He eases, muscles unwinding. There we go.

He bends his other knee towards his ribs, giving me access, and seizing my neck, he brings my head down to his—our mouths meet. I start smiling, his rough, aggressive kiss fuels my own need. My red hot-veins throb.

Sweat builds on his tanned skin, and I graze his hole with the lubed dildo. He breaks apart from my mouth, and I shake my head. “Relax, relax,” I whisper into a tender kiss.

My voice soothes him. I can clearly tell. His chest collapses in a deeper breath, and his muscles start to loosen.

I study his reactions and push deeper. Arousal parts his mouth. He really liked that.

His grip tightens on my bicep and my ass. Our faces inches away. I keep one hand on the armrest to ensure his leg stays hoisted. But my knuckles whiten, muscles burning.

Fuck, I want to pound my cock into him. I grit my teeth, but my hips arch into Maximoff on instinct.

He bites down, turned on, and his eyes narrow in a glare. Drilling hot into me. “Fuck me, man,” he almost growls out in pleasured agony, his gnarled groan fisting me.

Fuckfuck. My ass flexes, and I drive the dildo deeper.

His neck is strained in desire. “God.” His eyes almost roll. “Harder. Harder.”

I’ll take him being bossy over him being afraid every day, every night. I catch his lip between my teeth, then I move rougher. I grind against him.

And I fill him. I can tell he’s used to this because he tries to reach for it, but he remembers that I’m controlling the speed.

He just lets go. His hand returning to my bicep. Trusting.

I kiss him strongly, and I pump the toy.

His head tries to hang back. “Fuck,” he groans.

I tuck a pillow beneath his ass. Lifting him up, and when I drive into him again, his legs vibrate, overwhelmed, hitting the most sensitive spot.

Fuck, Maximoff.

Our erections stand at attention against our hard chests, and each time I thrust forward, we rub together. I time my movements with the toy, and his face reddens, caging breath.

My nose flares, sweat blistering my skin. I’m walking the same edge he’s on.

“Farrow,” he chokes, his eyes try to roll again.

Fuck, I can’t stop looking at him, his arousal primal and raw; it’s sending me to a new height. Our pre-cum wets his chest, my chest.

Our mouths brush as I rock forward, close. Fucking close—he makes a noise he’s never made before, almost a wolfish whimper.

“Oh, fuck,” Maximoff moans. “Come on me.”

I am roped into his fucking existence. I pump my hips faster, the friction like a hand, and he lets go of my bicep just to stroke me. That pressure—I jerk forward. Fuckfuckfuck. I come, dripping, and his chest glistens.

I groan, my waist rocking. I push the dildo deeper, and his mouth breaks, head tilted. Contracting around the toy in a prostate orgasm. I wish that were my cock.

His eyes puncture the ceiling in a glare and then roll back. There’s my favorite cum-face.

I grip him just like he gripped me. His muscles spasm, and he comes on our chests. I could easily harden again.

But I focus more on him as he comes down. He looks satiated, content. I start smiling. Good.

I ease the dildo out of Maximoff and set it aside, then wipe my hands and chest with a towel. He sits up a little more and stretches out his legs, interlacing with mine.

Still on top, I clutch the velvet armrests next to his shoulders. Watching him eye me, more intense. He’s staring at me like I’m more than a fantasy.

“I’m real,” I breathe, causing his breath to shallow, “and older, stronger, wiser—”

“Thank you,” he says dryly, “for those additional lies.”

My lips quirk more. “Anytime, wolf scout.”

New Year’s Eve fireworks blast in the city night. Loud bangs strike the air, and the sparkling light flickers through the window and illuminates the five-star suite.

More than the nice shit, I’m enrapt in the fact that he made this view happen for me. When he doesn’t do this for any

one. The gesture thunders in my core.

Maximoff hones in on my mouth, and I read kiss me, man in his forest-greens.

I don’t give in that easily. I lean close, and huskily, I tell him, “My cum is on your chest.”

His jaw tenses, his cock almost rousing. He glances down at his abs, then up at me. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

I whistle. “Now he’s really lying.”

Maximoff looks straight into me, his defenses lowered but an iron-willed strength toughens his eyes. “I couldn’t have done that with anyone but you.”

That gets to me. I inhale. “I’d say…” I kiss him, tender and brief, and he returns it, just as soft and quiet, our pulses slowing together. “…‘imagine what it feels like when you have the real thing’ but I’m sure you’ve already imagined it a thousand-and-two times.”

He grimaces. “I like how you just picked a randomly specific number out of your ass.” His sarcasm is clear.

“Good, I’ll do it more.” I rake my hand through his thick, disheveled hair. “That was easily in my top five.”

“The sex?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

His mind is reeling, and it’s hard to guess where his thoughts just spiraled. He’s partially sitting up against the armrest, and his arm hooks around my shoulders.

His focus returns to me, and he asks, “You prefer to top?”

Maximoff. “I like both, equally.” To make it clear, I tell him, “But I could be fine with just doing one or the other.”

He thinks hard.

I give him a confused look. “If you don’t want to bottom ever, tell me now.”

“I want to,” he says, voice firm. “Obviously.” His jaw sharpens, his abs tight. “I’m thinking about which one you prefer more and if I’ve ever been selfish—”

“Let me stop you there,” I say, and I quickly figure out a way to explain this. “You’re bisexual—”