Lovers Like Us (Like Us 2)

r /> 19

FARROW KEENE

Maximoff rams my back to the tiled wall, a breath and grunt ejecting from my throat. Hot water pelts our flesh, shower glass fogged. Good fucking God.

Our locked gazes dig deeper, and I hold his face, gaining control as our mouths crash together with force and fire.

He kisses like he’s been depraved of my tongue and body. I reciprocate like my greatest want is to satiate this gorgeous-as-fuck guy. And it is.

I’m extremely attracted to turning him on and watching him get off. Fuck, I’m going to make him come hard.

I catch his lip between my teeth, and his hips thrust forward for closer contact. My mouth curves, seeing clearly that he wants to plow me. He fists my wet hair, and a husky noise rumbles inside of my lungs. Fuck.

The small confines of the shower fall to the wayside with our heat. Our touch. Both of us lean but muscular and cut, both nearly the same height, both at equal strength—we play for an advantage and his needs fuel mine.

Still clutching his jaw, my other hand trails down his wet chest to his abs and then I grip him and stroke his rock-hard length.

He buries his mouth against my neck and tries to stifle a low, pleasured growl that rouses my cock.

“Fuck, Maximoff,” I breathe, water still raining down on us.

He fists my wet hair, and he watches my fingers that wrap around him and pump. Driving him to a cliff.

Maximoff grinds aggressively into me, and then he starts rubbing me with a mind-numbing speed—fucking hell.

I go to rotate us—so his back will slam against the tiles—but he pins me harder.

Breath knocks out of me, my lips almost lifting. So it’s like that then. He wants me here, and I reach a place where I can’t flip him.

We jerk each other off faster, hands up and down. In a melodic, heady pace. Our foreheads nearly touch. His forest-green eyes devour me whole, and beads of water roll sensually down his sharpened jaw.

Steam rises.

I grit down as the pressure builds. My head tries to loll back, but it touches shower tile. He takes both of our erections in one hand and pumps us in a closed fist. Back and forth. Our pre-cum coating his palm.

Pressure and friction fuses in an explosive combination. Hardened like brick, my pulse hammers in my cock.

I grip his face tighter, and he breathes lowly, “I want to fuck your mouth.”

I eye his pink lips. “We have a problem then. Because I want to fuck your mouth.” I tilt my head. “Who’s first, wolf scout?”

Maximoff answers by letting go of us, and he places a strong hand on my shoulder. It’s cute that he tries to push me to my knees, but I already willingly kneel.

I clutch his round ass with one hand and grip his shaft with the other. He soaks in every minuscule movement I make with rapt attention. I almost come just watching him watch me.

Before I take him, I suck his balls, teasing, and he lets out a harsh, breathy curse, “Fuck me.” He pounds a glare in me. “Farrow.”

“You’re impatient,” I tell him.

“Old news.” He combs my wet hair back. “I need you—goddamn.” He swears when I abruptly suck his cock.

Maximoff tries to “fuck my mouth” and thrust forward, but I tighten my grip on his ass and shaft. Maintaining control, my head moves back and forth. I lick the length of him at one point, and he shudders before I take all of him to the back of my throat.

He swallows a groan and rests his forearm on the tile, hand in a fist. His muscles flexed. Nearing the edge. I’m on the same exact one.

We latch eyes—and I taste him. He comes hard, his legs contracted and eyes pierced in a glare at the ceiling before they roll back. Jaw like carved marble and noise trapped in his lungs. He breathes heavily through his nose.

Fuck.

His cum-face is by far my favorite thing. I engrain every second in my mind.

I swallow and milk his climax with my hand. My mouth trails up his waist, sucking his chiseled abs to his chest, and by the time I reach his neck, his mouth descends. Sucking my neck, then his tongue toys with my nipple barbell piercing.

My nose flares, fuck. I flex and watch him suck my nipple.

I brace my shoulder blades on the tile and wipe water out of my face. Keeping a hand on the back of his head as he lowers to his knees.

He drinks in my entire build, my pelvis arched casually towards him. When our gazes hit, I raise my brows. “Need to take a picture?”

Maximoff gives me a middle finger. And then he pushes that finger in my hole—good God. He massages my prostate while his mouth wraps around me. Damn. Nerves ablaze, I start reaching a new height.

I grit down so hard, my jaw aches. Not allowing any noise to escape.

My hand stable on the back of his head, I move him back and forth. Maximoff makes a ragged noise, not excited about me taking charge. His broad shoulders bind, and before I shift, he slides a second finger inside me—fuckfuck. The pressure and nerves well, amplifying.

I breathe hot breath through my nose. On another plane of pleasure. Of intensity. To the point where my hand drops from his head to his neck.

He gains full control of my orgasm.

Consuming me. His hot forest-green eyes fuck me as powerfully as his mouth. My body tightens, and in one surging moment, I release. Hitting a peak. My head on the wall tile, my pulse thumps like heavy bass, and a groan strangles in my chest.

When my mouth does part, I breathe out, “Fuck.”

Maximoff swallows and then rubs me a few times, eking out the tension. My chest rises and falls as I catch my breath. More steam blanketing us in heat.

I remember what Jane said about most people “crushing” on Maximoff. I can believe it. He’s such a man’s man. People either admire him, want to be him, or want to fuck him.

And I never forget that out of everyone, he fell in love with me.

“Game plan,” Maximoff tells me. “I’ll go out first, and then you’ll wait five minutes to leave the bathroom.”

I rub a towel through my damp hair. My smile is fucking killing me. “As adorable as you are sneaking around, you can’t control this. They all know we’re both in here together.”

We can clearly hear chatter in the first lounge. Which is right outside the bathroom. Most of his cousins and the other bodyguards are awake. Oscar even knocked on the door and said, “I need to piss.” That means Akara is now driving. Sulli most likely woke up because she’s notorious for not wanting to miss anything.

And others followed suit.

Maximoff knows all of this.

Yet, he says, “We don’t know that.” He zips up his jeans.

Good luck steering that ship, the security team told me. I almost smile because Maximoff being headstrong is as expected as finding a tree in a forest.

And there’s no reason to ask why he suddenly cares. I’m assuming reality is catching up to him, and he really, really dislikes when people know the details of his sex life.

He can easily talk about sex in generalizations, but when it includes “when” and “where” and “how often” he’s used to shutting down.

I wrap my towel low around my waist. I didn’t bring extra clothes in the bathroom. Leaning on the sink, I say, “How about I leave and you wait five minutes in here?”

Maximoff pulls a gray shirt over his head. Water drips off his wet hair and runs down his temples. He’s thinking.

“Or,” I say, “we can walk out together.” I pass him in the cramped space, our chests brushing, and I place a hand on the doorknob. “Your choice, wolf scout.”

“Alright.” He takes a confident breath. “I’ll leave with you.”

I open the door and step into the first lounge with ease. Besides Akara and Sulli in the driver and passenger seat, every person is packed in here.

All three Cobalts are squished on a couch, busy on their phones, and Omega bodyguards cram in the booth and the adjacent couch, eating cereal.

Their heads whip to us, and t

he chatter dies when Maximoff emerges. His jaw is tensed like he’s ready to enter a fight.

SFO eagle-eyes him ten times more than they scrutinize me, their curiosity apparent. Before I came along, security used to talk about Maximoff’s one-night stands like a myth and legend, and no one has ever seen him “after” before.

My jaw tics, face all hard territorial lines. Back the fuck off written numerous times. They divert their gazes. I comb a hand through my hair and watch Maximoff reach the small counter. He makes hot tea, his body rigid.

“Didn’t you have to piss?” I ask Oscar.

He stands and whispers to me as he passes, “You lucky bastard.” The bathroom door shuts behind him.

As normal chatter returns, I enter the narrowed hall. Sliding the curtains to my bunk aside, I grab my small duffel and pick out clothes. I change in the empty second lounge, cracking the door.

Black pants on, I slip my leather belt into the loops and clasp the buckle—suddenly, all noise fades again.

Something’s wrong.

I gently kick the door open wider. Able to see down the hallway and into the first lounge.

Shit.

Charlie leans forward on the couch and stares Maximoff down like he’s trying to hook a fish for dinner.

I ditch my shirt and reroute back to everyone just as Maximoff sets his mug aside and says to Charlie, “If you have something to say, just say it.”

I fill the doorway and hang casually onto a pull-up bar above me, one that Sulli and Beckett put together. Oscar is already out of the bathroom, and Jane is inside brushing her teeth. I sense Oscar silently telling me to “stand down” and not intervene in a Cobalt-Hale feud.

As bodyguards, we’re not allowed, but that’s my boyfriend on the end of someone’s glare. And I’ve never sat idly by and let a man I love fight a battle alone.

Charlie flips his phone from hand-to-hand, and his twin brother whispers in his ear. I can’t hear what Beckett says, but no one expects Charlie to hold his tongue.

“You pride yourself on being respectful,” Charlie begins, “and in your mind, I guess fucking in a shower that nine other people use lands in that category.”

Fuck him. My hand drops off the pull-up bar, and swiftly, Oscar, Donnelly, Quinn, and even Thatcher stand and block my path.