I can’t wait anymore. I draw his handlower. To my zipper.Unzip me, man.I want jeans off, boxer-briefs off.
Farrow palms my cock, then squeezes above the fabric with the perfect pressure—fuck me.Swiftly, he fishes my button through, unzips—and on instinct, I lift his head back up. To kiss me again. Farrow seizes my jaw in a strong but affectionate grip.
Ensuring that I stay still.
So he likes control. Not a new fact, but I wonder if he’d let go, just in bed. And then I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing about me.
The second our lips break, I put a firm hand on his chest. And I guide his back to the bottom of the leather seat. Until he lies supine.
His ravenous gaze swallows me whole.
I expect him to protest about the new position, but he clutches my shoulder and pulls me down on top. Our movements quicken, feverishly. Our legs intertwining. Our dicks grind before I stroke the outline of his length, rock-hard.Fuck.
Me.
I unbutton his black pants. He yanks my jeans halfway down my thighs, revealing my green boxer-briefs. We exchange hard, rough kisses in every free second.
His lip piercing no longer cold but warm against my mouth. I unzip him—we stop.
We suddenly freeze as my phone vibrates in my pocket. Loudly.
Incessantly.
Someone’s calling me.Our chests visibly rise and fall. His lips reddened from my force, and before I tell him I have to answer, he’s already digging into my jean’s pocket. Retrieving my phone.
He remembers that calls are more important than texts. I never ignore phone calls. I can’t. Not if family may be in trouble.
I just realize his earpiece is out. And also his radio. He left both on the passenger seat up front.
Checking the caller ID, Farrow says, “It’s your dad.”
15
MAXIMOFF HALE
My dad is calling me.Greaaaat.
I sit up off Farrow, and he sits up with me. Turned towards one another still, our arms are on the back of the same seat.
I steady my breath. Used to theworst timingfor most things.
Farrow presses the greenaccept callbutton and hands me the phone. Basically saying,I’m okay with you talking to your dad, wolf scout. Do what you need to do.
“Hey, Dad,” I say, putting the call on speaker for Farrow.
Almost subconsciously. Throughout the years—but also while he’s been my bodyguard—he earned my trust, and now I can reciprocate. In my life, that’s monumental.
Farrow combs a casual hand through the just-tugged strands of his white hair. His lips quirk when he catches me staring longer.
I made out with my bodyguard.
Officially.
I’m in the no-takebacks fly zone. While I hover here, I just want to do so much fucking more. My brain is zeroed in on him.
And as far as I can tell, he’s just as honed in on me.
“Hey, Moffy.” My dad’s naturally sharp-edged voice fills the car, but he can’t see anything. Thank God. “I’m the bearer of shitty news tonight.”
