Page 79 of Lovers Like Us

Fuck my high sexdrive.

“You usually don’t let me do it unless you’re about to blow me,” he sayscasually.

Yeah, I’ve been tryingnotto imagine taking him in mymouth.

“But you haven’t even looked in my direction once,” he continues. “Blow jobs are off the tablethen.”

“Kitchen blow jobs in front of everyone aredefinitelynot happening.” My voice is more serious than Iintended.

“It was a joke, wolf scout,” he says coolly, calmly—like his entire world resides on a beach somewhere sipping Mai Tais with zero stress and zeroirritations.

Finally, I swing my gaze up tohim.

Sure enough, he’s doing the whole towering over me thing. Elbow on the counter, lips curved, and head slightly tilted. It’s sexier than what I pictured in my head. He seemstaller.

Older.

Stronger.

His silver rings lightly drum the granite with aclick clickclick.

And yeah, I’m in a perfect position to blow him. Every bone in my body screams at me to clutch his ass, suck him off, and watch himcome.

I’d like to do a lot of damn things that can’t happen on a crowded tourbus.

My muscles burn. “Your jokes aren’t funnytoday.”

Farrow lets out a low whistle. “I’d ask who pissed in your Cheerios, but you’re still looking forthem.”

“Again,” I say and then snag a box of Raisin Bran. Rising to my feet, we meet at eye level since he’s slouching. “Notfunny.”

Our eyes catch and hold.Fuck me hard,man.

“Noted,” he says, and he reaches out, about to touch my neck—I jerkaway.

“Don’t touch me.” My voice is firm. For Christ’s sake, I need to be a hundred feet from this guy. No eye contact. Definitely no skin contact. Not until we reach the nexthotel.

Farrow straightens up almost instantly. Worry shades his face. “Okay, now I’m going to ask,” he says. “What’swrong?”

“Nothing.” I tear open the Raisin Bran and walk stiffly towards the couch. “Walk” is honestly an exaggeration. The counter and the couch are barely three feet apart—and I’m fixating on stupid shit onpurpose.

“Maximoff.”

Iturn.

His barbell rises with hisbrows.

I breathe out an agitated breath. “Fuck, man. We haven’t had sex in a while. I can’t look at you.” I recognize that I can go masturbate, but I’m dying forhim.

Not for myhand.

He rests more against the counter and fixes his bed-head hair. Back to being cool, calm and collected. It’s like a switch that I apparently don’tpossess.

“Because you want to jump my bones,” he adds and eyes me up and down. “How are you unable to keep my company now, but you did fine when I wasjustyour bodyguard? You weren’t having sex then and that was twomonths.”

I don’tknow.

I honestly don’tknow.