“Are you okay?” I ask him finally.
He nods once. “Are you? Because I thought something seriously fucking terrible happened to you. No one could get ahold of you, and I saw Quinn and…” He swallows hard.
“I’m okay.” My brows knot. “You know what I did tonight is just part of my job?”
He licks his lips slowly. “So you don’t want me to care about you—”
“No.” I lower my voice. “You just need to know that I’m going to get banged up and you can’t run and save me, wolf scout. You have to let it happen.”
Maximoff daggers a glare to the ceiling, then the mirror. It finally sinks in for him too. That I’m allowed to protect him, but he can’t protect me. Not in the same exact way.
“We can’t all be heroes,” I say matter-of-factly.
His glare falls to me, but his lips inch bit by bit, our arms still hooked tight around each other. “If I’m not the hero, what am I?” Maximoff is waiting for me to call him a villain. In his comic books, that’s the dichotomy. Heroes versus villains.
He’s very far from one.
I press my lips to his jaw, his neck, and against his ear, I whisper, “You’re a prince who wants to be a knight.”
26
FARROW KEENE
MAXIMOFF SWIMS like a bird cutting through air, graceful and effortless. Made to fly.
In a matter of seconds, he crosses the whole length of the indoor pool.
I lounge on the edge of the diving board, one leg hanging off, my other foot on the board. Water rolls off my chest, black swim shorts wet, and even though we’re alone, I’d still be hooked on Maximoff if the pool were jam-packed.
I have a perfect view when he switches to the butterfly stroke. Returning to my side of the pool, his grace transforms into power. His strong arms extend and then dig deep into the water, pulling half his chest and head above the surface.
Damn. My cock stirs.
Maximoff is known for his great butterfly technique. He started swimming really young, competed at junior levels first, then older with regional and national competitions. Security gossips often about how he could’ve qualified for an Olympic trial. But he didn’t do it.
Didn’t even try.
He chose to throw himself into his career. Into charity work. Every time he swims, I’m just reminded of how big his heart is.
Maximoff reaches my end, and instead of swimming another lap, he grabs onto the side of the diving board and does a pull-up with one arm. He yanks off his goggles and his cap, brown hair sticking up every which way.
It’s cute as fuck.
“You ready for a round five?” he asks, his chest rising and falling heavily like he ran a marathon. We’ve already raced four times. Yeah, I lost all four. No, my ego doesn’t bruise that easily.
My mouth stretches. “How about you catch your breath first?”
“Afraid of losing.” He smiles like he bested me.
“No,” I say. “I’m afraid I’m a bad influence. Hubris isn’t a good look on you.” I also add, “And I’m still taller. Right now and every day.”
“By one damn inch.” He tries to hoist himself up higher—just to make a point, but I push his chest. Hard enough that he falls back into the water.
I can’t stop laughing when he breaches the surface with two middle fingers. Then he captures my dangling ankle and yanks me into the pool. Shit.
I dunk below, the water glowing blue in the darkly lit room. I breach the surface with a growing smile. Maximoff treads water, facing me. His wet hair is darker, almost closer to his natural color.
We don’t touch yet.
My gaze pings to the security cameras. We’re at the Hale Co. high-rise, the offices closed for the night. He’s the son of the CEO, so he has his share of perks. Like getting access to the indoor pool after-hours. It helps that H.M.C. Philanthropies’ main offices are in this building.
Maximoff rarely pulls strings for himself, but whenever I see the look on his face when he dives into the water, it makes complete sense why he chooses to open the pool.
I swim to the corner of the ten-foot deep-end. The only blind-spot. I’ve been in Hale Co.’s security room and looked at the cam footage. I’m 100% positive.
Maximoff follows.
The second we reach the corner, we explode—his mouth crushes against my mouth, rough and strong like he saved energy for this sweltering moment. Submerged in the pool, water droplets bead and drip down our temples and jaws. Wet but hot—so fucking hot.
His rock-hard body screams closer and more. Bucking against me—damn.
Damn. This guy could fuck me all day. I grip the tiled edge and use my build to pin Maximoff to the corner. His head tilts back, arousal trying to turn his eyes. He groans with a sharp breath, “Fuck.”
I whisper rough in his ear, “Did you like that?” He responds with a hard kiss, his skilled tongue parting my lips. I massage his cock above his red knee-length Speedo, his erection growing beneath my palm.
Fuck, I’m throbbing. Beneath the water, lit by a soft blue pool light, he clasps my muscular waist—and he flips us. Pinning my shoulders to the corner.
His chiseled build pushes up against mine, and my hand roams the carved ridges of his abs.
Maximoff slows down, his breath deepening, and I watch him trace one of my tattoos with his fingers. Near my collarbone, a blood-red sparrow flies through the mast of a gray-scale ship.
He’s looking at me like I’m the treasured celebrity. As though I’m the most valuable one.
I skim the faint bruise on his sharpened cheekbone.
I hate seeing you hurt. And I’m not the only one. After the firecracker incident last week, all of his younger cousins and two of his siblings approached me at a family cookout. Behind Maximoff’s back.
Basically, they said, “Promise us you won’t let Moffy get hurt again.”
His brother added, “Or die.”
“He’s not going to die,” I said, assured of this. I still am.
“Then hurt,” they all said in unison.
“Promise us,” Audrey Cobalt, the youngest Cobalt of seven emphasized, a knife in her hand for a whole blood oath thing that I declined.
Eighteen times, I said, “I promise.” Until they believed me.
And I’ve never carried a promise like a burden, but here, now—remembering the pure, unconditional love those kids have for Maximoff, I feel the fucking need to at least caution him.
I run my hand down to his smooth jaw. “You need to be more careful.”
“I’m the same as I’ve always been.” His eyes dance over my mouth and cheeks. Maximoff has one arm out of the pool. And he uses his weight to cage me, keeping our shoulders above water. “So is this my bodyguard talking or my…?” He pauses.
“Wow.” My brows rise, a smile edging across my mouth. “He even can’t say what we are.”
“Are we…?” His chest rises in a bigger breath. Either he doesn’t want to say the word first or he’s not sure if it’s the “normal” time for labels.
I tilt my head. “Your virginity is showing.”
“Pretty sure I lost my virginity a long time ago.”