Page 51 of Headstrong Like Us
I have two strong, protective hands on his head. He basks in this embrace, in the way I’m cradling his jaw and cheek, and that gets to me.
“Fuck,Maximoff.”
Tendons sear in my neck, and I bite down, pummeled with the pent-up feelings that threaten to explode.
A groan is muffled in the back of his throat. I feel the vibration, andI can’t.I can’t.
I immediately pull out of his mouth before I come.
We’re not speaking, the intensity too heightened. He’s on his feet while our mouths meetagain.Kissing fervently, while I unbutton his jeans. He yanks them off, and then his boxer-briefs reach the floor.
He rubs himself, and I swat away his hand and stroke his hard length. I walk him backwards to the twin bed.
The back of his legs hits the frame. Easily, Maximoff hikes himself on the Spider-Man comforter and pulls me down on top of him.
Between breaths, he chokes out, “I want you all over me.”
Damn.
Fuck.My knees split apart his legs, and I’m consumed by him, just as badly as Maximoff is consumed by me. Falling into a rabbit hole of feelings with no visible escape.
My thumb trails the thick scar across his collarbone.From the car crash.
He watches, his breath shortening.
I sweep him constantly, just to ensure he’s not favoring his shoulder. I won’t put him in pain, but since he’s been healed, I can be as rough as he wants me to be.
I reach over and grab a bottle of lube from the nightstand. He’s eager to kiss me again when I return, and my lips rise against his lips.
We rock together, our erections brushing with hot friction.Fuckfuck.
I root a palm to the pillow beside his head. And I tear our mouths apart to catch more breath. His large hand drags down my tensed triceps. He’s not flipping me or pushing against my chest.
I skim him. He’s really content under my weight.
See, I want to ask if he’s okay, but I also don’t want to freak Maximoff out. Nothing is wrong. But we haven’t talked about his newfound loveof bottoming. Any changes in his habits surrounding sex are a big deal to him.
I forget that thought when my fingers skate across the gray paracord bracelet around his wrist. My brows jump. “You can take this off, you know—”
“I know.” His voice is firm.
But he hasn’t taken it off yet.Not since I replaced it with the one he lost in the fire.
My leg slides against a leather holster on his calf. I glance down at the tactical knife. “Are we going to talk about that then?”
He’d glare if he weren’t so into me right now. “No. Just fuck me, man.” He licks his lips, his chest collapsing. “Make love to me.”
I clutch his face. Cradling his trust and affection is this euphoric, indescribable thing.
And I’m fine with surfacing these conversations later. Honestly, I thought having sex in his teenage bedroom would be a hang-up and rip him out of the moment. He overthinks and contemplates metaphorical symbolisms and shit. But he hasn’t descended into his head yet.
At least not in a negative way.
So I don’t prolong what we’ve started.
I lean down, and we kiss with yearning and hunger, pulling my body flush against his body in a missionary position.
Until I sit up, and I kneel between his spread legs.
