Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
“Stop.”
“And a cartilage piercing—”
“Maximoff.”
“He’s not unattractive—”
“Trust me, wolf scout. You’re much much hotter.”
“Thank you, I know,” I say confidently.
The corner of his lip pulls upward. “I love when Cocky Maximoff comes out for me.”
I’m about to say it’s not for him, but another annoying thought hits me. “He’s a doctor.”
Farrow whistles. “Your perception is something.”
I lean my head back on the hard pillow, staring up at the ceiling, then the wall. “You two fucked in the hospital a lot, like they do on TV?” The worst mental image of Farrow and Rowin pops into my head. “In the…what do they call it?”
That room thing.
With the bed. Where all the doctors crash between shifts. I picture that. My overactive imagination puts my boyfriend’s mouth passionately up against another guy’s mouth; and maybe it’d be a turn-on for some people, but it just knots my stomach—
“Maximoff.”
I blink awake to his fingers snapping at my eyes, his hand on the pillow next to my jaw. Leaning over me, his knee on the bed.
Fuck. I rake my hair back.
Farrow stares at me strongly. “Stop torturing yourself, man.”
“The on-call room,” I mutter as the answer suddenly reaches me.
His hand encases the sharp lines of my cheekbone and jaw. Fully. Securely. His gaze dives deep and touches every damn part of who I am. “I love you, Maximoff,” he says. “And I know you overthink because that’s what you do, and this is new for you. But I love you. And I know it fucking hurts to see someone from my past because it fucking hurt when I went through your NDAs. So if you need me to tell you five-thousand times, a million, that I’m so fucking in love with you, I will.”
I don’t need it; the offer alone caresses and overflows me. I cup the base of his skull and breathe, “Just kiss—” Our mouths are already colliding.
The aggression arouses each synapses of my brain. I grip his hair in between starved fingers, and his clutch tightens on my face. I break apart his lips with my tongue. Deeper, I try to draw forward, but Farrow lowers so I won’t move my chest.
And he slows the kiss to a scorching, unhurried pace that pricks my fucking nerves with hazardous voltage. Our heavy, husky breaths meld. He bites my lip, and a deep groan inches its way up my throat.
Farrow mutters a rough fuck after I run my tongue against his tongue.
My sore muscles strain, but I only crave him closer.
Nearer.
I try to shift my dominant hand—it jerks in the sling, and I turn my head, ripping our mouths apart. Pain annihilates my whole right side. “Fuck.” I clench my teeth.
Farrow eases his knee off the bed. Backing up slightly from me.
Not what I want.
I hunger to thrust my hips upward, for his hips to thrust down on me. Until hard cock grinds on hard cock, and a rough, wild and crushing kiss leads to wrestling. Pushing and pulling. Until we’re one tangled mess of muscle and bone dying to come.
All of that feels out of reach with this injury.
I look at him. He’s already studying my body. My lips sting, and I want that force to return. Thinking he’s afraid to hurt me, I say, “That was my fault.”
“It was,” he agrees easily.
“I meant it was your fault,” I backtrack as irritation nips at me.
Farrow smiles like he’s already beat me and raced miles ahead. “See, I would’ve never touched your right hand even if you blindfolded me. And I’m a doctor. I know which parts of you are off limits. So technically, if you feel a sharp pain, it’s your fault.”
Everything he just said…stirs my cock. My blood rushes downward, and the beep beep of the heart rate monitor suddenly accelerates to beepbeep beepbeep beepbeep.
Fuuuck.
Farrow laughs hard.
“Shut up.” I growl out my frustration and rub my face with my left hand. Alright, new plan. Focus on other shit besides sex.
I remember what Rowin said about Dr. Keene offering him a concierge job.
“You want to talk about your father?” I ask him seriously.
His laughter dies, and he shakes his head and nears me again. “There’s nothing to say. He may not be an evil bastard stalking you, but he’s still nothing to me. That’s the truth.”
I wish that Dr. Keene fought for Farrow. Not because his son is a great doctor but because that’s his son. I can understand why Farrow stopped talking to him and why they have no real relationship. He only values Farrow’s talent, not who he is.
Farrow towers above me, and I follow his tattooed fingers that graze my neck before retying the loose strings of my hospital gown.
“I thought you wanted me naked,” I joke, but I can’t mask the real disappointment in my voice.
His mouth edges upward. His cool confidence overpowers the room. Intoxicating. “Do you want me to blow you?” he asks huskily.