Damaged Like Us (Like Us #1)(62)

Like alcohol.

Apparently his cousins and siblings don’t care about good advice. Just his advice. It speaks volumes about their sheer love for Maximoff. And their lack of common sense.

Maximoff returns to his first point of contention. “Feel-good wasted can include dark liquor.” He glares as my amusement brims to the surface. “What?”

“Thank God for my drunk adolescent behavior. You see, we want to start her with the basics, not level her up to a graduate degree in drinking.” I count off my fingers, staring with my thumb. “No whiskey, no bourbon, no scotch, no puke.”

He blinks slowly into a no-nonsense glower. “You’re getting off on this.”

“Getting off on what?”

“The fact that you know more than me about something.”

My brows ratchet up. “Wolf scout, I know more than you about a lot of things. If I got an erection every time this happened, I’d be walking around with a constant hard-on.”

“And I was just about to offer to help you.” He gestures to my cock. “Seeing as how I would’ve been the cause. But now…” He places a hand on his chest. “I’m not feeling so generous.”

I roll my eyes and lick my lips, smiling. “Is that right?” I sweep our builds, still pushed up against one another, my hand on his waist. His hand on my ass.

Maximoff makes a show of taking one step back. Our hands dropping. “All the altruism in my bones has withered and died.”

“That’s dramatic and impossible.”

“Whose to say that I’m not already a selfish fucker? I sped on a freeway with you in the car. Putting your life at risk. Christ, knowing that Jane refused to ever ride in the same car with me if I was behind the wheel. I did that. And I’d probably still be doing it if I had my license.”

He’s not proud. His jaw tics, eyes darkened.

I’m used to the deep tangents. From blow jobs to life meaning. It’s how Maximoff operates. Everything has greater significance to him. Every action has soul-bearing subtext that he tries to unload. His mind is fucking intriguing as hell, and I more than willingly follow every thread, every line of thought.

“You have your flaws,” I say bluntly. “And you need to remind me and the public, the media that you’re human and you’re not perfect because you’re so afraid to let us all down.” I lean closer and whisper, “That makes you less of a selfish fucker.”

Maximoff steps near, his muscular frame colliding with mine. My hand glides against the sharpness of his jaw. His deep breath mixes with mine before his warm lips nudge my mouth open. Our tongues unite, and his hand clenches my hair.

Damn, Maximoff. Heat gathers, a groan in the pit of my throat. He instinctively thrusts forward, pelvis against pelvis. He searches for harder contact on his cock. Something I notice he does often. Something that turns me into a throbbing rock.

I pin his back to the counter. Grinding my erection against his, and he breaks our hungered kiss to let out a strangled moan, “Fuck.”

I want him naked. Bare. Bent over the kitchen table.

I bet he wants me the same way.

I bear more of my weight on him. Maximoff curses out in a throaty groan, his daggered glare on the ceiling. His heartbeat pounds rapidly against my hard chest. I hold his jaw protectively, my fingers sliding over his mouth, down to his neck.

“Fuck,” he breathes. Every look, every word he utters fists my dick.

Maximoff turns the tables. He grabs my ass and uses his strength to straighten up. Not letting our bodies separate, he holds us together and walks me backwards.

My spine hits the refrigerator.

He unbuckles my belt and then slides his coarse hand down my black pants. Only the thin cotton of my boxer-briefs act as a barrier. As he strokes my length, I grit down in arousal, blood pumping hot.

Fuck, I bow forward, my head spinning for a second. “Looks like you’re back to being charitable,” I breathe.

Maximoff removes his hand.

I almost laugh. “And then he leaves to prove a point.”

“I’m checking the time, asshole.” He rotates his wrist, his cheap watch-face in view. “We have ten minutes before everyone gets here. Maybe.”

“Only one of us is getting head then.”

Neither of us forfeits that quickly for most things. Maximoff already has a solution and pulls a coin out of his pocket. “Let’s flip for it.”

“You carry quarters in your pocket?” I raise my brows at him. “What else is in there? A floppy-disk?”

“Shut up and call it.” He tosses the coin.

“Heads.”

He slaps the quarter on the top of his hand. Then, he lifts his palm to heads.

“You can’t beat me at everything,” I tell him.

“I’m starting to think that’s your favorite phrase.” He lowers to one knee, already manhandling my body by wrenching me forward—damn.

I lean my shoulders on the fridge, pulse in my throat. “It’s definitely one of them.”

In one pull, my pants are at my thighs. My fingers weave through his thick hair. Knelt before me, he still seems godly and statuesque, worthy of adoration. His hands trace the muscular curve of my waist that draw him towards my cock.

“I think I like you down there,” I tease.

“Most people do.” He slowly sinks my boxer-briefs down my thighs. My erection springs out, and his chest falls in a desirous breath. He looks at me once to say, “I give great head.”