He’s the first person outside of my family that I’ve ever let into my worldthisdeep. And it’s not a fucking fantasy. I’ve dreamed up Farrow Redford Keene in this bedroom a thousand damn times. And usually he’sonlyon the bed.
You know—I prefer my reality. Where he’s a hell of a lot more than a good fuck.
I grab a wet bone off my orange rug. Tossing the thing on Gotham’s dog bed. Farrow whistles at the racks and racks of comic books and graphic novels that tower to the ceiling.
He runs his fingers down the spines.
I lean on my desk, arms crossed. “What does your old bedroom look like?”
“Messier than yours.” Farrow flips through a hefty graphic novel calledDuncan the Wonder Dogby Adam Hines. One of my favorites. “Nirvana, Blink 182 posters tacked up, schoolbooks only, an expensive surround system, and a boxing bag.” He rotates the novel vertical as the panels flip. “In short, I was cooler than you.”
I force an irritated smile. “It’s like you want to be kicked out of my bedroom or something.”
His mouth stretches. “Or something.” He returns the graphic novel to its original spot and continues to meander around.
I can’t stop watching him. It takes a great deal of effort to check my canvas watch. “We can’t stay up here long. My parents should be home with Luna’s cake any minute.”
November 30thmarks Luna Hale’s eighteenth birthday. Time fucking flies—I remember when she was just a baby and we’d tap each other’s noses and saybeep beep.
As requested by Luna:no big birthday parties, no surprise family guests.Just a small dinner with immediate family, and later her best friends Eliot and Tom Cobalt will come over for a sleepover.
Farrow is here because my little sister has bad taste and has invited him to her birthdays since she wasnine.Despite how much he aggravatedme, Luna always liked him. Here he was, a pierced and tattooed guy who contrasted his blue-blooded clean-cut family. When you’re different from the pack, it takes more guts to be yourself.
Luna is drawn to people who experience that.
“I have a watch too, wolf scout,” Farrow says. “I see the time.” He sinks down on my small twin-sized bed. Comforter is a Spider-Man print. His brows pinch together.
“What?”
“This is one of the most uncomfortable beds I’ve ever sat on.” He rocks his ass on the mattress. “Fuck, it’shard.” He leans back on his hands. “Is this why you’re so stiff all the time?”
The sexual innuendos stroke my cock. “My brother probably switched out his shitty mattress with mine when I moved out.” Iflex my muscles and straighten up. Eyeing his lip piercing for a brief second—then his hair.
His hair is black.
He dyed the strands the other day, and I descend into this image of him—pretty much consumed. It’s not just that he appears older, or that his intimidation cranks to a higher newfound degree. He’s attractive with any hair color, any piercing, even minus all the tattoos or add them all together.
Honestly, it’s because thefirst timeI ever saw this guy—he didn’t have white hair. Or blue. When I first met Farrow, his hair was jet-black. Like right now.
Today.
Farrow kicks a pillow aside and props his shoulders against my headboard. I imagine joining him, and he’ll pin me to the bed, then I roll him over, his stomach to the mattress.
Gripping his waist, tugging down his black pants enough to expose hisperfectround ass, my mouth trails along his neck. And descends to the spot between his muscular shoulders?—
“Maximoff.” His deep voice pitches me from a fantasy.
I lift my eyes.
He smiles.
“What?” I combat.
Farrow bends a knee. “Are you thinking about the philosophical meaning of the world or are you thinking about fucking me in the ass?”
Christ.I lick my lips, wanting my mouth against his mouth.Badly.I near the bed. “I wasn’t inside you yet.”
“Yet,” he repeats, his gaze sweeping my body in a boiling wave. He gestures me closer, until he stretches over and catches my wrist. He wrenches me onto the bed with him.
