Damaged Like Us (Like Us #1)(63)

Great may be an understatement, but I tell him, “The amount of people that call you humble, I’m beginning to think are all liars.”

“Or I am humble. Just not when it comes to sex.”

That comment really stays with me for a second, and then he grips me and languidly licks my tip—fuck. A blistering knot builds in my throat. My head hits a fridge magnet as soon as his lips wrap around my shaft. Fuckfuck.

Shoulders on the fridge, my waist bowed forward, I rock into his mouth, pushing deeper. I know he can take all of me. I tighten my hold on the back of his head.

Maximoff clutches and squeezes my bare ass, and I reach back and place my hand on top of his.

He sucks and licks, doing most of the work, but my breath heavies like I’m the one running the marathon. I bite down, a groan stuck inside of me.

Fuck, I let out a heavy, strained breath. “Maximoff.” His hair tangles in between my fingers. My muscles are on fire.

And then Maximoff lifts his eyes, my erection all the way in his mouth. His gaze alone nearly makes me come. He wears a look I’ve never seen him given anyone.

It’s one that firmly.

Confidently.

And effortlessly says…

This is my kingdom.

My entire body responds, my world lit to the core. He takes my cum in his mouth, licks the remainder off my cock, and he swallows. When he eases onto his feet, like every action he just made is the most natural thing in the world, I almost harden again.

Maximoff looks utterly consumed by me. His breath heavy, gaze roaming every limb, every inch of my flesh. I pull my boxer-briefs and pants up, and he catches my hand before I zip.

One breath, he says, “I need inside of you.”

Need. He’s dying to come. I let go and surrender to his desires. Whatever he needs, I’d offer him. With the smallest window of time, we urgently slip into the tiny walk-in pantry.

Maximoff shuts the door and yanks my pants and boxer-briefs back down while I unbutton his jeans, freeing his erection soon after. Our hot and heavy breaths mix together.

“Condom?” I ask him.

He pulls one out of his pocket. Of course.

We kiss in rough, hurried waves, and I steal his condom and roll it on his shaft. Faster than he would be. He spits in his palm for lube, the image sticking in my brain. Pulsing blood in my veins.

I turn, put my forearms on a shelf next to jars of peanut butter and jam, and bend slightly over. I feel his strong grip on my waist.

His deep, edged voice kills my fortitude. “I’m going to fuck you fast.”

I press my forehead to my arm, stifling a gnarled moan.

“Good,” I say, choked. “Fuck me fast.”

Maximoff eases into me, the pressure nerve-blistering and fucking…fuck. He sinks full in and starts thrusting with a quick, hungered pace.

I try to seize the wooden shelf, but my mind ascends to a place with zero common sense and just body-numbing feelings. Good fucking God. The pleasure wells up inside of me.

I grit my teeth, breathing hot, ragged breaths through my nose. I glance back, his gaze devouring the way his dick enters me in deep and fast repeated succession.

His satisfaction grips me in a stronger vice. Sweat coating his biceps, he quickens, holding me closer. My jaw aches, gritting down hard, and I let my lips part. A raspy groan barreling through.

“Fuck,” Maximoff growls into a low moan. “Farrow.” The words I’m about to come are all over my name. His hand shifts from my waist to my muscular shoulder.

Cords in my neck pull taut, heart rate elevated, and then a feminine voice shouts, “Moffy!”

Jane.

Dammit.

“We’re home!!” she blatantly announces her presence. I assume to give us time to “collect” ourselves if we’re indecent.

We are very fucking indecent.

“Finish or pull out,” I tell Maximoff, voice hushed.

He’s surprisingly the one who toys with the risk, staying inside of me. All for that climax—fuck, I swallow another moan as he rocks forward. I bear hard on my teeth again. Especially now that footsteps sound through the living room and kitchen.

Maximoff pulls out and tosses the used condom in a small trashcan beneath the shortest shelf. We both catch our breath and dress hurriedly. He’s armored like he’s ready for gunfire, rarely panicked. When he buttons his jeans, he turns to me.

And he fixes the wild strands of my white hair. I stand an inch taller and buckle my belt, then I tuck my V-neck into my pants and fit my earpiece back into my ear. I run my thumb against his reddened lips.

Maximoff lowers his voice. “The shade is called My Lips Against Your Lips, and it’s not coming off. Stop rubbing and let’s form a plan.”

“I can give you a plan.” I unpeel a piece of gum and pop it in my mouth. “We exit and say we were gathering food for the party.” I collect a handful of shit off the shelves: peanut butter, crackers, a pack of Lightning Bolt! energy drinks.

Maximoff grabs two rolls of paper towels, and we both step forward to be the first out. We glance at one another, and then race for it. I grab the knob first and slip out.

I laugh when I catch sight of his scowl, and then my lips pull in a line when I notice Jane rifling through the kitchen drawers.

“There you are,” she whispers, her curious blue eyes pinging to the pantry, then to us. Mainly Maximoff’s hair. I flatten a few of his askew strands and then unload all the food next to the liquor bottles. I take the paper towels from Maximoff.