A RINGING CELLPHONE wakes me from a half-sleep. I roll onto my side and prop my body on my arm. If this is Alpha ordering me around via cellphone now, we’re going to need to have a real chat.
I grab my phone that dropped to the old floorboards and first notice the time on the screen.
2:03 a.m.
Then the caller ID: Wolf Scout
I instantly sit up, my black comforter already kicked to the edge of the mattress. On this unusually hot October night, I almost considered sleeping naked. But middle-of-the-night security emergencies basically tell me, don’t. Unless I want to be the guy who trips over himself while putting on underwear.
And that’s just not me.
I put the phone to my ear. “Maximoff.”
His long pause spikes my pulse, and just before I ask what’s wrong, his deep voice fills the line. “Come over.”
Damn. My cock strains against my black boxer-briefs, and more heat gathers in my attic bedroom. I wonder if he intended for come over to sound that blistering and erotic.
I wait to jump at his command. For one reason only. “Don’t you have a girl in your bed?” I found out fast that the nights where Jane and Maximoff are alone in the townhouse—no friends-with-benefits, no one-night stands—they somehow end up asleep in the same room. Same bed.
Platonically.
It’s a little strange. A lot strange when I really sit and think about it, but I also understand how open and uninhibited these families tend to be. And how Maximoff and Jane’s shared experiences from birth bond them together like fraternal twins. Much closer than just being cousins.
I’ve never dated a twin, and I honestly question how I’m supposed to fit into their dynamic.
Before he replies, I ask, “Have you told her about us?”
“Not yet.” He plans to let her in on the secret.
I already agreed to that stipulation. See, Jane Cobalt comes first in his life, and it’ll take a lot more than a five-minute ass-grab and lip-lock in his Audi to change that.
“She’s asleep,” Maximoff says, voice hushed. “I left her room. I’m in mine now. Alone.” His hot impatience strokes the long length of my erection.
Aroused knot in my throat, I stand, bare feet on the floor. I use my shoulder to free my hands and push my phone to my ear. Just so I can wrap my wire around my radio and collect my holstered gun. I’m about to say I’ll be over, but I want his voice in my ear.
“Is this your first booty call?” I ask.
“Is this your first time being propositioned by a celebrity?” he effortlessly flings back.
I smile. He’s such a little smartass. “I think you mean Harvard Dropout.”
“No, I mean celebrity.” He could easily add: internationally famous, overwhelming adored and revered, but he just stops at celebrity.
I joke about Maximoff dropping out of Harvard, but I know the true reason he quit. It wasn’t because he couldn’t hack it. He needed three bodyguards during his first and only semester. Students bombarded him. Snapchatting. Instagraming. Taking selfies before, during, and after the lecture. The disruption his presence caused wasn’t just pissing off his professors, he felt like he was ruining the education of his peers.
So he quit.
And he could’ve finished out his degree with online courses like Jane, but instead he threw himself into his career. It’s all public knowledge.
I pull on my black cotton pants, and with my gun and radio in one hand, I’m out of my room faster than Maximoff probably thinks. Descending the narrow flight of stairs. Quietly passing the second floor where Quinn is passed-out asleep.
I reach my living room, and I open my mouth to speak. But he fills the line first.
“Try not to come before you get here,” Maximoff says and then hangs up.
Damn.
I slip my phone in my pocket, my neck pricked hot. I subconsciously palm my dick, up and down twice. I want him.
Shit, I want him badly.
By my fireplace, I open our adjoining door.
“Walrus, you little bastard,” I whisper and snatch the scampering kitten. Gently, I kick the door shut and then release Walrus in Maximoff’s dark living room. No lights on.
The hot tea aroma is pungent tonight, the Earl Grey scent reminding me of him. I’ve seen Maximoff fill 16oz thermoses with hot tea like it’s black coffee.
I quietly ascend the stairs. Careful that they don’t squeak beneath my weight. I pass the second floor where Jane’s room, a guest bedroom, and the only bathroom lie, and I ignore the two or three cats that stalk me.
At the very top of the staircase, I reach his door. And I enter his attic room, just as sweltering as mine—I use my leg to block two furry bastards from following.
No pussies allowed. I shut them out. Before I even look up, Maximoff says, “Lock it.”
Maybe I should change his contact name to Bossy in my phone. I do lock the door. I’m not that big of an asshole.
I turn, and my pulse pounds in my cock. Maximoff stands in drawstring pants, hung low on his cut waist, shirtless, abs chiseled like marble, but more than that—more than the outline of his erection and his beautiful cheekbones—his unshakable, staunch demeanor overpowers the small attic room.
Basically saying, I’m going to fuck you good.
My blood cranks from a simmer to a boil, and I give him a slow-burning once-over. Likewise, Maximoff. I set my holstered gun and radio on his dresser.
In my peripheral, I survey his room out of habit: closed gray curtains, a low-standing bookshelf, all deep red brick walls, a full-sized bed and burnt-orange comforter. Tiny white lights are strung around the wooden rafters, a dim glow. No other light source but that one.
Facing one another, I comb my hair back with two hands, and his gaze trails over my tattooed abs and barbell nipple piercing.
I nearly smile. “Why are your clothes still on?”
His lips ache to rise. “Come here and take them off me.”
With two lengthy steps, I bridge the distance between our strong builds—and I clutch the base of his neck, my hand running to his sharp jawline. My mouth teasingly close. Our locked gazes exhume the deepest depths, as though whispering furiously: I know you. I know you. I know you better than most ever do.
The intensity tightens my muscles, prolonging a kiss. I don’t close my eyes. I don’t look away.
Maximoff fists my hair, his other hand diving down my abs while my second palm ascends his chest. He reaches my length and massages above the cotton—he squeezes.
Good God. A rumble vibrates my throat, I throb twice as hard. Fuck, he knows what he’s doing.
As my tattooed hand reaches the hollow of his neck, his eyes flit down for the first time. Watching me, his breath falls heavy.
Discovering what turns on Maximoff Hale has to be my greatest turn on. I want to make him come. Hard.
I lightly—very, very lightly—wrap my fingers around his neck. Slowly, I add pressure, faintly choking him. I study his reaction and the way his chest collapses.
I breathe against his mouth, “Do you like that?”
His groan sounds like a hollowed, wolfish growl. It’s pure, raw sex.
Then his mouth meets mine, and his skillful, sensual tongue parts my lips. In such a languid, scorching wave. His aggression never disappearing—fisting my hair, tugging down my cotton pants. I step out and hold his jaw steady, deepening the kiss.
He walks me backwards, and my shoulders hit the brick. Our mouths don’t break, and I cup his firm ass, and pull him against me, yanking down his drawstring pants. No boxer-briefs, his erection frees. I break our kiss, and my lips upturn at his size.
I’m not surprised that he has the most beautiful cock I’ve ever seen, thick and long. Our chests melded, our pelvises grind, and he fits his fingers in the waistband of my boxer-briefs.
His whisper warms my jaw. “That’s going to be inside of you.”
My head tilts back on the brick, fuck yes. My muscles flex, and I’m out of my boxer-briefs next. He looks down, and his reaction to my equally beautiful dick is a deep, “Fuck.”
Yeah, you’re not a winner in every arena, wolf scout. Not when I’m in contention.
With one hand, I grip the back of his neck. With the other, I stroke his shaft, my fingers tightening around him. My shoulders dig in the brick wall. He watches my hand with daggered eyes that want to roll back.
I grin as his hips buck forward, his mouth against mine again, and he takes over, aligning our erections, hot, sensitive flesh rubbing together—and he jerks both of us off with one calloused, hard hand that feels fucking…I groan, my parted lips falling to his jaw.
I hold his face and then nip his lip, his moan tearing through his mouth. You liked that. I scrape my teeth down his jaw, sucking the nape before biting lightly.
“Fuck,” he breathes.
He really likes that. I rake my fingers hard down his back, and he thrusts forward, wanting to pound into me. I see that clearly. He drops his hands, and I swiftly rotate him, his back to the brick. Me facing his chest. I’m dying to watch him come.
I’m about to kneel, but he seizes my waist, his hand rising up my ribs. “Wait.” His jaw tenses, and he kisses me again, slowly, and against my mouth, he whispers, “Come on me first.”
Did I hear him correctly? One of the most straight-laced men I’ve ever met wants me to come on him?
Our eyes hit, and he sees the shock in mine. For one, I never thought he’d be this experienced. Despite saying that he has a lot of sex, that he loves sex—to me, he’s still five years younger. Five years less experienced.
For another, I thought he’d be wound-tight and vanilla. But he likes to be bit. Possibly scratched and choked. Now this.
Maximoff Hale has his kinks, and they make him really vulnerable for a few seconds. Yet, he commands every action, too. I dizzy in thought, and I run my tongue over my stinging bottom lip.
He rubs my cock fast, fuck. I lean forward, forearm on the brick by his head. I hold his face in a tight grip. “You want me to come on you?” I ask huskily.
His head tries to arch back against the brick. He growls out a groan, “Goddamn.” His breath is ragged and spiked, and I’m only grasping his face.
His large hand squeezes around me—and I grit down, my muscles ablaze, my tendons pulling taut. My head thumps, blood rushing downward. I breathe hard through my nose. His hand changes speed, slower and tighter. The perfect pressure wells up inside of me, mind-numbing.
My head wants to loll back, but I remain eased forward, my forehead nearly against his forehead. He changes his pace and clutch again.
Fuck.
I’m going to—I jerk forward, coming by his fucking hand. His abs glisten, and with a breath knotted in my throat, I drop down to my knees.
I stroke his hard length a couple times with a skilled grip. He watches my fingers intently, and he pushes my damp hair out of my face.
I smile before I slide my tongue down him and cup his balls. He shudders and curses, “Fuck, Farrow.” That fuck said, stop teasing. I try not to laugh.
I suck his tip and then wrap my mouth around him completely. I go all the way, in and out, back and forth, his cock between my lips. Gripping his shaft at times.
I love having him in my mouth, but even more than that, I’m hooked by the way he’s staring deeply at me. Like I’m a fantasy. Like I’m something made of heaven and stars that he’s dreamt of—and I never thought to ask what a celebrity who could have anyone in the fucking world fantasizes about.
And I wonder how long it’s been me.
I feel myself hardening again. I clutch his ass and take him to the very back of my throat. I taste him on my tongue. He mumbles a curse, his eyes rolling back and then set into a glare at the ceiling. It’s the hottest cum-face I’ve ever seen.
I pull back and swallow.
When I rise, we start kissing feverishly, our arms hooked around each other, and I hold his muscular back against my chest and suck the base of his neck. He moans as I bite his flesh, and then he spins. We keep wrestling for the advantage, more compatible than most would believe—like two men playing for the lead. Not fighting.
I smile wide as he guides my hand to the brick, his chest up against my back now. We’re caked with sweat. His hands roam down my waist and ass, tracing the inked lines of my scattered tattoos.
I crane my neck over my shoulder and hold the back of his head. We kiss twice before he says, “Don’t move.”
Maximoff leaves to his nightstand. I lean on the brick with my forearms, almost in a relaxed lunge, watching him grab a box of condoms and lube.
“He bought my favorite,” I tease.
Maximoff wears his irritated, pleasured smile like a champ. I could stare at that face all day, every day. I basically already do.
“This is your favorite?” he says, sarcasm present, breath still heavy. “I would’ve returned it, had I known.”
I whistle. “Be careful. You’re seconds away from losing your honesty merit badge.”
He can’t hide his smile, but as he comes up behind me, our gazes devour each other again. The air strains, and I don’t even need to work him up. He’s hard as a rock again.
Damn. He collects a condom, tosses the box aside, and tears the wrapper off with his teeth. I watch him sheath his cock, then lube himself and his fingers.
His confidence wounds a hot ball in my throat—I want him inside of me. Now.
I face forward, my head hanging slightly, and I relax my muscles. He clutches my waist, and then he slides one finger along me until he pushes inside.
My jaw just unhinges, the pressure enough to cage breath in my throat. He grazes against my prostate. I moan, “Fuck, Maximoff.”
I try to breathe full, deep breaths. He pushes another finger inside, teasing me open for a while. I glance back when he retracts his fingers.
Maximoff grips his shaft and pushes up against me. His warm breath heats my ear. “Do you need me to go slow?”
I’d smile if I weren’t burning up alive. “No.” I look back and seize his gaze hard. “Take me however you want.” That idea fists my erection.
Both of us still standing, he gently eases into me, and my head turns towards the brick, my eyes nearly shutting at that body-shaking pressure. When I take all of him, his chest welds to my back, and he starts thrusting.
Fuck…I let out tangled, low moans. My hand in a fist on the brick. His fingers dig into my hips, his pace is deep and fast and hypnotic.
I lose myself to the rhythm. My mind floating off without my fucking body. With my free hand, I reach down and stroke myself. Only twice because his right hand drops off my waist, and he grips my hard shaft. Maximoff adds friction everywhere.
I extend my arm backwards and grab his ass. His muscles flex beneath my palm with each thrust deeper.
I moan and grit down. Fuuuck.
Our bodies buck forward with the intense rhythm, and I clench my teeth, the pleasure rippling through my red-hot veins. Barely even looking at the brick in front of me—my eyes are in the back of my head.
I come, and his groan thunders low in my ear, “Farrow.”
His body rocks against me, milking his climax while I catch my breath. I rest my forehead on my bicep, sweaty palm on the brick.
He wraps his arm around my abs, very compassionately and comfortingly. I can honestly say that I’ve never been fucked that well.
Maximoff Hale is something else, and from start to finish, I can’t imagine anyone else having him but me.
