Headstrong Like Us (Like Us 6)

Our eyes collide as he pounds into me. Mouths open, lips a breath away, and a whimpering, low cry of fucking pleasure releases from my body.

Farrow groans and rams harder, deeper. Fuckyesfuuuuck. He nails my prostate in a rhythmic succession, and my muscles contract. Until I come, all the tension exploding in one blinding wave.

My eyes roll back, and Farrow milks my climax, pumping me with a skilled fist. He feeds the last of his own orgasm, thrusting slowly in me. Slow, in and out. Slow, in and out.

His action mimics our breaths, coming down on a slo-mo free-fall.

“Fuck,” I breathe, blinking out of that haze. I barely see my cum slipping down the drain. I glance back, and Farrow kisses me on the lips before he eases out.

He smiles. “Shit, I enjoyed that.” He’s eyeing me to ensure that I’m okay.

“It was alright.” I downplay.

He lets out a short laugh. “I think you mean it was a top ten.”

“Bottom hundred.” I toss him the shampoo bottle.

“Wow, you’re really lighting that honesty merit badge on fire.” He opens the shampoo, and I can’t help it—I’m smiling.

And then I remember… “Ripley.” I pry open the door and check the baby monitor without stepping out. “He’s still sleeping.”

Farrow relaxes, scrubbing shampoo through his hair. Tonight is a big night—what we have planned. But instead of obsessing, I’m taking in these simple, little moments with him.

Showering with my fiancé.

Washing our hair.

Painfully normal.

Dear World, let this last forever. Best regards, a hopeful human.

15

FARROW KEENE

Ripley has been fed, burped, changed, and he’s caught blissful hours of sleep. I even took his temperature, looked into his ears with my otoscope, and bought and read shiny new books on pediatrics.

I know my shit but being updated doesn’t hurt.

Logic says there’s no reason he should still be wailing like the sun is dropping out of the motherfucking sky. But babies don’t exactly adhere to logic.

And this kid has been put through who-the-fuck-knows-what the past four months of his life. The counselor said he’s going to take time to adjust. So the fact that he’s treating everyone but Maximoff like they have leprosy, I’m not taking to heart.

In the Hale’s living room, Ripley bursts into a sob, cradled in my arms. I bounce him softly and pat his bottom. He calms a fraction (barely), and then I secure him in a dark gray sling against my chest. Maximoff showed me once how to do it, and that’s really all I need.

“You don’t have to act so repulsed by me, you know,” I whisper to the little man. “You’re giving wolf scout way too much ammunition.”

Ripley cries harder. Big, glassy crystal-blue eyes fill with tears. With the edge of my shirt, I dry the wet tracks off his chubby cheeks.

Last time he was in Maximoff’s arms, he was giggling and smiling this goofy baby smile. It was cute as hell.

Not going to lie though, it sucks watching him sob and not being able to soothe him. I’m a doctor. Healing is kind of my thing. His tears almost entice me to pass him off to Maximoff.

But I don’t give up that easily.

Bright lights shine against curtains, and I pass the sofa and pry the fabric aside with two fingers. Security vehicle. The SUV rolls slowly up the driveway.

My radio is on, much to Thatcher Moretti’s pleasure. I haven’t gone rogue in a while, and I’ve been more inclined to tune into comms lately.

My gut gnaws at me to stay alert, so I can protect the Hales.

I heard from comms and from Maximoff that Kinney went to see a movie after school. Most likely, her bodyguard is dropping her off right now.

See, all the Hales usually have family dinner every night, and they’re supposed to be home by 6:30 p.m. or else Lo blows up their phone with calls and texts.

Mostly to annoy the hell out of them.

But tonight is a little bit different. The smell of meatloaf permeates around the house. Maximoff has been cooking for the past couple of hours, wanting this to be memorable.

Meatloaf is one of Luna, Xander, and Kinney’s favorite meals.

I swerve towards the staircase. Feet pad down the steps. Donnelly emerges, prying out his earpiece and slinging a backpack on his shoulder. His shift on Xander’s detail just ended.

Even with Donnelly at the Hale house most days, we don’t hang out unless Xander and Maximoff are together. He’s on-duty, and protecting the famous ones is why we’re in this field.

Donnelly nods to me on his way to the door. Barely glancing at the baby attached to my chest. “See ya.”

“Hey, wait up.” I follow his stride.

He stops in the foyer, septum piercing in and tattoo sleeve visible, wearing a ripped Duran Duran muscle tee. His gaze descends to Ripley. “Does the little dude have an off switch?”