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Damaged Like Us: Chapter 37

MAXIMOFF HALE

FARROW UNLOCKS our tent after the bonfire gathering ends. No moon out tonight, day two. I point a flashlight at the entrance and watch the way his fingers fiddle with the key and padlock. And the zipper.

Try having your bodyguard a few feet from you all day and seeing him in his element: intimidating the hell out of assholes, medically savvy, badass and smart as fuck. Now try not picturing his cock a million times.

Yeah, that’s hard. Pun intended.

Now try not being able to touch him. To flash fuck me eyes. To clutch the back of his neck and plunge my tongue against his tongue.

I could growl I’m so pent-up. want him.

All day I’ve wanted him, and I haven’t been able to embrace him.

I’m not about to jump him like he’s my sex toy. He may be exhausted. So as we both crawl into the tent, I try to hang onto other things.

Like how this is the last night of the Camp-Away, and there’s been no broken bones. Not too many tears—most of them were happy. And no Charlie. It’s been pretty damn good, even with the first day ant-allergy attack.

As far as danger goes, it’s been safer than I think the entire security team predicted. After breakfast tomorrow, everyone will start packing up, last goodbyes exchanged, and we’ll all go home.

I stretch my legs out on my orange sleeping bag, and Farrow padlocks the tent from the inside. As much as I love camping, I’m not a fan of these extra precautions. I’m so used to feeling freer in the wilderness. With this many people around and their cellphone cameras—it’s practically the antithesis of why camp.

I peel my shirt off my head. The December chill nipping my bare skin. Farrow edges back beside me, eyeing me from his peripheral while he slowly removes his earpiece and twists the cord around his radio. He places his holstered gun beneath his camping pillow.

I shut off the flashlights. No more shadows dancing along the tent.

And we’re isolated from camp-goers—private but not that private. More security is outside. “You know,” I whisper, “I’ve never fucked in tent.”

We haven’t done anything yet because of my allergic reaction. My blood pressure has been out of whack, but I’m fine now.

His brows rise, and he pulls his black V-neck over his head. “Couldn’t convince someone to have a one-night stand in tent?”

“No.” My eyes graze the inked dagger on his abs, just barely visible in the darkness. “I just didn’t like the idea of only a thin sheet of canvas separating me from my bodyguard while I was fucking.” Usually there’s at least wall.

“Understandable.” Farrow watches me as I watch his fingers. He unbuttons his pants, unzips, and he kicks them off. His heady gaze sweeps me in a slow-burning once-over. And his tight black boxer-briefs suction to his muscles, ass, and his long, thick erection.

Christ.

Blood pumps harder, everywhere. Until I’m one thundering pulse.

I grab his shoulder, and he already rolls on top of me. Legs interlacing, our mouth crushing together, I clench his hair between starved fingers.

He wrestles with my pants, yanking them off my waist, down my muscular legs. Off me completely.

Yes, fuck yes.

I drop my voice to another whisper. “How far did you say the bodyguards were?” Some should be standing outside all night.

As he lowers to meet my mouth again, he grinds his hard cock against mine. Fuck me. “I told them to give you at least a hundred yards.”

Almost a football field.

“Seriously?” I whisper, my excitement and desire pooling hotter. My right hand ascends his carved muscles, and I thumb the barbell on his nipple.

His lips quirk. “Yeah, but I didn’t do it so we could fuck.” He rests his forearms on either side of my shoulders, and I lie beneath his weight that scorches me head-to-toe. “I did it so you could sleep.”

I lick my stinging lips. Seeing that sleep is not on the agenda right now.

Farrow clutches my jaw, his mouth teasingly close as he breathes, “Try not to make a sound.”

Fuck me. I swallow a groan, and as my cock begs for pressure, he runs his hand down my abs, and lower, he grips my length, then balls.

“Fuck,” I breathe, waist arching up into him. Fuck me, man. I usually flip us at this point, but the weight of his build on me feels fucking good.

I yank off his boxer-briefs while he sheds mine. Buck-naked. We move more frenzied, my mouth against his mouth, his strong hand running across the back of my neck, everything sensitive. Lit up, and I stifle a groan in my throat.

Our bodies dig into each other, skin against skin. Intense friction heating us. The cold air no longer bites at me, but his teeth nip my shoulder. My mouth opens, but I cage the raspy sound.

Then I reach down and stroke him, his muscles tensing up against me. Jesus. His gravelly noise dies as he grits his teeth.

He jacks me off and rubs his thumb over the tip. My shoulders dig deep into the sleeping bag, my head wanting to arch back. Fuck me.

Fuckmefuckmefuckme—I flex, stopping myself from ejaculating. Not happening yet. I place a hand on his chest, and he lets go. I stretch my arm out. Patting his sleeping bag for his small duffel.

Farrow leans over and finds it. He has the lube and condoms in a flash. Setting them beside us, he kisses my jaw, sucks my neck—my breath heavies.

I squeeze his bare ass, and fuck, my toes curl as he rakes his teeth across the frame of my shoulder. His warm breath blistering my skin. I’m so worked up—I could easily come. But I want this to last way longer.

“Farrow,” I breathe.

He studies my features, even without much light. I think he’s honing in on our position. I’ve let him stay on top for a while, and I’m making no move to switch us yet.

Farrow runs his fingers affectionately through my hair, and his lips touch my ear. “Do you want me inside of you tonight?”

His rough but erotic voice fists my erection.

“Hmm,” a groan rumbles my throat, and my muscles contract beneath his strong build.

His nose flares, his own scorching arousal hitting him hard. “Maximoff,” he whispers, his hand slowly slides towards my ass.

Instantly, I catch his wrist. Stopping him. I stiffen in a different way. Like someone inside my body yelled fire in a crowded room.

“It’s okay,” he breathes, our eyes locked.

“You know I trust you. It’s just…” I lick my lips. “I can’t jump into that spontaneously. I want it, but…” The next part I’m about to say, I haven’t told him yet. Being vulnerable is like shattering concrete on top of layers and layers of hard metal.

I lower my voice to a more hushed whisper. He’s so close that he can hear me say, “The two times I’ve tried, I was eighteen, and I got inside my head. And it…well, it fucking hurt, and I didn’t let it last long.”

He cups my jaw. “Did he finger you first?”

No.”

Farrow swallows hard, his features skewing towards pissed. “Why wouldn’t he…?” He shakes his head. “No, don’t answer.” He blows out a breath. “Fuck, I care about you, man.” He kisses my temple, then my lips, an I’m never going to hurt you pressed powerfully against my mouth.

When we break, we’re quiet for beat.

Farrow breathes, “It’s not just a trust thing then. You’re nervous?”

“A little bit.”

“A little bit,” he repeats like I’m underscoring the truth.

“A lot,” I correct.

“We’ll plan nights for it. It’ll be a process to work you up. Because you don’t relax easily.”

“I don’t?” I say sarcastically. To have even his fingers inside of me, I need to be not nervous, not tensed, not afraid—and that could take hours or days or weeks.

I want to try. With him. Only him.

I eye his lips and his piercing. “Do you want it?”

His brows rise like I can’t see what’s right in front of me. “Do I want to thrust my cock inside of you?”

My breath goes shallow. “Yeah, do you want to fuck me?”

His mouth brushes my ear. “Hard and badly.”

I buck up, our pelvises grinding together.

A noise catches in Farrow’s throat. He speaks quietly but rapidly, “This can go two ways tonight. One: I stay on top like this, and I’ll put your cock inside of me.” He’s a fucking power bottom. The guy pushes his ass against my dick almost every time we screw. So he’d have no problem doing the grunt work.

“Or you take me how you’ve fantasized me taking you.”

That. My cock responds to that. His flexed muscles do too. I answer by pushing his chest up off mine. I’m aggressive in bed.

And every time I manhandle him, he lets out a breathy curse. An erotic fuck and damn. I kneel beside him and tear open a condom. Sheathing my erection fast.

His breath quickens, stroking his cock while watching me.

Fuck me.

We’re both boiling at the delay. I reposition him. Shoving him down on all fours, his knees on the sleeping bags. Hands on the pillows.

Farrow cranes his neck over his shoulder, his mouth parted. He extends his arm behind him, gripping my ribs. I lube his hole, running my finger around the rim.

He groans as softly as he can, “Fuck.” I push two fingers inside, opening him.

I replace my fingers with my erection. Slowly, slowly sinking into Farrow. Christ, the pressure. I growl with clenched teeth, my eyes on fire. His hand tightens on my ribs.

His gaze flitting to mine, and we share this recognition: that one day this will be him; he’ll be knelt behind my ass, sinking deep, deep into me

I’m all the way in, and I rock forward. Hands on his muscular hips. I thrust and thrust. He swings his head forward, drops his hand, needing to grip the ground. Somehow.

Closer. My body aches for contact. Closer.

Closer.

I want skin and friction and sweat.

I sink further into him, and he drops to his forearms, cursing a dizzying fucking curse. He bucks up into me. Fuck me.

My chest welds to his back, a sheen of sweat built on us both. I clutch him stronger, my biceps cut sharp.

Yes, fuck yes. The pressure, the friction, his muscular body and expression, us this close together—everything compounds together in a blood-pumping, mind-fucking wave.

My ass flexes with each push in. He can barely keep his head hoisted. He’s pretty much flat against the sleeping bags. We’re about the same size, same build, and my body cloaks his, lying on top. Pounding into him. I wrap my forearm around his collarbones. And I dig deep.

Fuck,” he groans into the sleeping bag. His legs spread wide as I fuck in between them.

Farrow lifts his head, angling and his mouth meets mine. Our tongues fight for that ache. My pulse bangs my eardrums. I dig harder.

He breaks apart from my mouth to let out a rumbled sound that completely spins my world. Farrow buries his head in the sleeping bag, stifling his groans.


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