“There’s no way to swing this in your favor,” our publicist says over the phone. Speaker on, I listen to her talk to Maximoff. “It looks bad. It will continue to look bad. You should have thought about the repercussions before you took a midnight flight to a private villa in Mykonos.”

I comb a hand through my dyed white hair, and Maximoff exchanges an irked look with me. Kendra isn’t one of my favorite people, and as much as we’re on a final straw with her, she’s definitely on the last one with us. In most instances, we’ve chosen to take the media backlash, every hit, rather than sideslip away from it.

And the mud slung at me stings a little bit this time.

Farrow Keene Quit His Residency to Vacation with the Hale Family in Tahiti

The trending headline is not even close to the truth.

Shaded underneath pergolas, Maximoff sits rigidly on the wicker barstool, cool wind whipping his dark-brown hair. I slice a pineapple on the bar counter behind him. Our views from the villa are endless blues, the Aegean Sea serene and breathtaking, contrasting the paparazzi shit storm we left behind in the States.

Maximoff raises his phone to his lips. “Kendra,” he says. “You don’t need to come up with a manifestation on the meaning of the universe. Just send out a press release and explain that Farrow had to quit because he was a distraction in the hospital. That’s it.”

“It won’t help,” Kendra says. “But I’ll do it.” She hangs up abruptly.

“That was rude.” I bite into a sickly sweet pineapple slice. “On her part, not yours.” I lick my thumb.

Maximoff eyes my smooth movements. “I can’t blame her.” He places his phone on the bar. “This is the third press release in less than two weeks.”

“It’s her job,” I point out, and I skim his taut muscles. “Regretting this trip?” I don’t want him to wish we stayed back. I’d love nothing more than for Maximoff to take pleasure in every moment of this vacation.

No one else is in our private villa. We arrived five days earlier than the rest of his family, and the plan is to meet up with them later on their yacht, cruising around the Med.

Fancy shit doesn’t compare to being with Maximoff. Just here. Now, and I want to give him the most romantic getaway that he’s never had before. For five days, no kids running around, no siblings to worry about, and no meltdowns he needs to clean up.

All of that mayhem, which we both love to face head-on together, will come later.

“No, no regret,” Maximoff says strongly, standing up and swinging his right arm slowly like a pendulum. He’s allowed to stretch now, and he’ll do this fifty-five times a day.

As long as he’s not doubled-over in pain or puking, I’m in his camp.

He asks me, “Do you?”

I stare up at the baby blue sky, tilting my head from side-to-side. “Never.” I eat another slice of pineapple and twirl the knife between my fingers, staking the blade in the cutting board. I almost start laughing at how much he’s staring at my movements. “You’re too easy.”

“You’re easier than me,” he counters. “I saw you checking me out.”

I smile into an actual laugh. Since we’ve been in Greece, only for five hours so far, I’ve made no effort to hide my attraction to Maximoff. Even if Wolf Scout’s ego could be brought down a couple pegs. “You are my boyfriend.”

My love.

He tries hard not to smile, and his brows bunch. “I could just be a figment of your imagination. Maybe I’m not even real. Maybe you’re not real.”

My brows spike with a barbell piercing. “He wants us to be imaginary together.” I smile wider off his grimace, and I give him a hot once-over.

His form-fitting sunset-orange swim briefs display the cut and carve of lean muscles and mold his assets. But it’s his tough-as-hell confidence that magnifies his beauty, and there are times where I catch him shutting his eyes and soaking up the sun.

When he’s at peace, the entire world seems to still.

I come around the bar, and his gaze glides down the ink along my muscles. My black trunks are above-the-knee length, the fabric looser than his bathing suit.

Swiftly, I cup his face with both hands, and his chest elevates in a heady breath. “You feel very real to me, wolf scout.”

His hands ascend my abs, and he glances at the crystal clear pool behind us. Looking back to me, he says, “No paparazzi. No one knows we’re in Greece. It’s all private.”

I drink in the way he’s staring at me. As though I’m the only man on Earth, the only person he’d ever choose in the beginning and the end. And I toss his words around in my mind, figuring out what he’s leading me towards. “You want to walk around naked outside?”

“Kind of,” he says.

“Kind of?” I repeat.

“Maybe.”

“Getting clearer.”

He smiles. “Yeah, I want to.”

I love a good surprise, and Maximoff wanting to experience this uninhibited act is a surprise to me. I drop my hands off him, and I finger the waistband of my swim trunks.

Maximoff tries to beat me at this, drawing down his orange briefs quickly. He steps out of them in under a second. Buck-naked outdoors. With so much confidence you’d think he does this every Monday.

“This is your first time doing this?” I ask to be sure, pulling off my trunks.

Maximoff watches me. “Yeah. First time.”

And he chose me to be here for it. Time and time again. He could’ve picked anyone in the entire world, and he wanted me. My chest rises. That feeling never gets old.

Maximoff suddenly sprints to the pool and dives in a perfect gorgeous arc. But he tucks his right arm to his chest. I’m right behind him, diving into the cool water.

When I breach the surface, we find each other. Our legs lacing, wet beads rolling down our faces—

Chiming.

That noise abruptly cuts into the moment. Must be text messages. I set my phone to silent when we reached the villa, so it’s not mine.

“Answering those?” I ask him.

“No. It’s just family group chats.” He guides us towards the corner of the pool. “They’re probably talking about that article.” He leans in to kiss me—

Chiming. Again.

And again.

Maximoff rolls his head back in aggravation, and then glowers at the phone that vibrates next to the plate of pineapple. “Ignore it,” he tells me, water lapping around us as we move.

“I am,” I say. “A lot better than you are.” My shoulder blades hit the stone edge, this end of the pool about eight-feet deep, and I cup his ass while he’s up against my chest.

He rakes his hand through his wet hair. “Pretty sure I’m not even thinking about it anymore.”

More chimes.

Now pings.

He’s forcing himself to keep eye contact and not glance at his phone.

My smile stretches. “Want the gold star now or later?”

“Never.”

That was a firm never. As much as I like stoking his irritation, I’d rather train his concentration off the relentless chimes and pings, and also several beeps. The disturbance is really grating Maximoff and not in a good way.

At the corner of the pool, I hoist myself out of the water and take a seat on the stone edge. While I lean back on my hands, his mouth parts.

I’m exposed, beads of water dripping down my inked body and hot sun beating on my skin.

And I ask him, “What’s your favorite tattoo of mine? And if you say none, then I’ll just think you’re copping out.”

Maximoff is staring off into space.

I kick water at him.

He wipes his face and shoots me a middle finger. “I’m thinking, asshole. Give me a century.”

I laugh. About to banter back, but he distracts me by swimming closer.

Maximoff fits his body between my spread legs. And he clutches both my tattooed knees, and then his hands run up my thighs. Resting his forearms on them, he braces his weight on me, using my body as a support so he won’t have to tread water.

Our gazes cement.

Fuck, Maximoff. My nerves prick hot. “Need me to repeat the question, wolf scout?” I ask, voice husky.

“No. I heard you.” He devours me whole. “Your newest one is my favorite.”

I love that he loves the pirate wolf. “Before I got that one, what was your favorite?”

Maximoff already has the contextual meaning and significance to my tattoos. He asked me about them, back when we first started dating. It’s not a long story or some heart-aching thing.

As a kid, I was obsessed with pirates the same way that a child who grows up in a butterfly-decorated room loves butterflies. Only I didn’t have a themed bedroom.

On my desk, I had a framed photograph from Halloween where I wore a pirate costume. I was two-years-old. And my mom was holding me in her arms.

Inked on my fingers, k.n.o.t t.a.me. is a just a play on sailing knots and also being untamed. It’s not that deep. And all the skulls, pirates, daggers, sparrows, compasses, and ships are just things I loved from childhood to teenage adolescence to adulthood.

I watch his gaze roam my body with affectionate, wanting strokes. His breath shallows, and my muscles contract. I take a hand off the wet stone and glide my fingers through his brown hair, pushing the wet strands back.

He says, “I figure my favorites have to be the ones I think about the most.” His mouth is hot against the inside of my thigh, lips trailing over the outline of an inked treasure chest.

My blood cranks. “Which one do you always think about?”

Chimes sound loudly, the noise hasn’t ended, but for some reason, this one pulls his gaze.

I take my hand off his head and rub my rousing dick—that captures his attention. He’s back on me, his breath shallow, and he pries my hand off.

He puts my hand on the back of his head. And he also takes my shaft in his fist. My muscles contract. Fuck.

Fuck. His aggression stirs the blood in my veins. I’m not surprised that Maximoff knows what he wants.

I push his hair back again. “Answer me before you blow me.”

He tugs at my length. “Who said I’m about to suck you off?”

“Your eyes,” I quip, my breath knotted in my lungs. I cup the back of his head tighter. “Maximoff—”

“The wings on your neck,” he answers. “The swords on your throat. The red sparrows on your collar that fly between the masts of the ships. And the skull pirate on your ribs. Those ones I think about, all the damn time.” He lowers his mouth to my hardening cock. Taking me between his lips—fuck yes.

Pressure squeezes around me, and my muscles ignite on fucking fire. Skin blazing from more than the sun. His head bobs with the up-and-down movement of his mouth.

“Fuck,” I grunt. My feet flex in the pool water.

I could look at the breathtaking landscape. I could look at the blue horizon and the clearest sky and the majestic views, but I can’t look away from him. From his forest-greens that tunnel into me with love and sex and soul-deep need and desire.

“Maximoff,” I groan.

His biceps flex as he readjusts his support on my thighs. I sit up more, staring down at him—which he’s not the biggest fan of. He glares and tightens his hand around the base of my shaft. Fuck. He pushes my chest.

I lean back, my elbow on wet stone. My veins throb, and with my hand on his head, I feel him go up and down, up and down—the friction feels fucking incredible.

I grit down, arousal skyrocketing. I apply pressure on the back of his head, pushing his mouth further down. My cock hits the back of his throat—fuckingfuuuck.

I pulse and just come. Hard.

A groan scrapes my throat, lips closed as I clench my teeth. Fuck. My head almost lolls back, my heartbeat shoved in my esophagus.

Maximoff swallows my cum, and stroking me two last times with his hand, he pulls himself out of the water with absolute ease. And he stands over me, feet on either side of my thighs.

I look up. Water drips down his sculpted swimmer’s build, and his cock is in line with my mouth. Damn. My chest caves in a ragged breath.

I clutch his ass before he tries to put my hand there.

“No teasing,” he commands. “Just take me in your mouth.”

I roll my eyes. He’s bossy as hell, but he’s being bossier than usual. I figure out why in a split-second. His muscles bind, and he glances over at his chiming phone.

The outside interruptions are annoying him.

“You can put it on silent,” I suggest.

He leaves me, and he says, “I’m turning off my phone.”

My brows jump. He rarely powers off his phone. Because it means he’s handing off familial responsibility to another cousin, another sibling, someone else in reach other than him. “You sure, wolf scout?”

He’s at the bar, and the chiming suddenly ends. “Positive.”

* * *

“You sure we should do this?” Maximoff asks me while I massage his deltoids with lotion, our legs tangled with soft sheets. I’m careful of his healing injury, but he’s not referring to my hands.

We’re on our villa’s king-sized bed. Sheer white drapes billow off the canopy around us, and hot wind gusts through the ajar door that leads to the private pool and patio. The front door is locked.

Maximoff is referring to the laptop he just opened with no fucking hesitation. He already typed in a porn site.

Now all of a sudden, he’s slammed to a halt. “What are your reservations?” I ask, gently kneading his back muscle.

He spins around to face me, causing my hands to fall off him. Something is eating at him, and I want to call it fear—but it looks more like distress. It drives a knife in my gut.

I reach out and hold his hand.

“I keep thinking about the past three days here…” He gestures to his head. “I think about how I’ve loved every damn second. I love how we’ve just lounged in the sun, swam, fucked, eaten, and slept, but then I think, is it bad that I love that? I should want to leave the villa.”

Maximoff.

I try not to smile. “But you don’t want to,” I say matter-of-factly.

“Yeah.” He scrutinizes my rising lips, and it must be contagious because he begins to smile. “What?”

I lift my brows at him in a wave. “Man, I didn’t plan anything romantic for you outside of the villa, and you didn’t plan anything for me for a reason. And it has nothing to do with paparazzi. This isn’t a five-day unhealthy hideout from the world. It’s a five-day vacation before we link-up with your family.”

He listens closely.

“And you’re allowed to turn off your phone. It doesn’t mean you’re blocking everyone out to drown in a vice—there is no vice here.” I’m guessing this is the origin of his perpetual thoughts. He’s kept his phone off for three days. It’s not something he does, and there is guilt in the act, especially if he’s having a good time.

And we’ve had a lot of sex at the villa, but it’s been healthy. Not compulsive, not used to squash anxiety. See, I’ve read up on sex addiction for him. On everything I could find.

His small smile has been fading.

He needs more; I can give him more. “You don’t relax easily, but you’ve been extremely fucking relaxed the past three days.” I let go of his hand and squeeze two fingers together. “You have a big thing for ordinary shit, and I have a bigger thing for doing the ordinary shit with you.”

Breakfast in bed, massages, watching movies, laying out, swimming, showering together, these could fill his endless days. And I’d want them to fill mine too.

His eyes almost redden. “Repeat that.”

My pulse beats hard. “Which part?”

“All of it.”

I say it all again for him.

Maximoff smiles a gorgeous fucking smile when I’ve finished. “Alright. I want to do this.” He leans back on the birch headboard, taking the laptop with him. I follow suit, shoulder-to-shoulder, our ankles hooking.

“You pick the video,” Maximoff tells me, scrolling on a familiar gay porn site.

“How about you pick?” I’m definitely curious about what he’d gravitate towards, and I’m sure he feels the same about me.

“No thanks.” He eyes my lip piercing.

I smile. “Looks like we’re at a standstill.” And you want to kiss me.

He’s so impatient that he ends up scrolling and clicking into an amateur video. I skim the title: Two Passionate Guys Make Love!

“Shut up,” he tells me.

“Didn’t say anything.” But my smile touches my cheeks, and I do say something now. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to make love, wolf scout, and being honest here, I’d say it’s a preference of yours.”

He turns his head, brows furrowed at me. Confused.

It stings my heart a little bit. “We’ve made love before.” All of the time.

“Yeah?” He shuts the laptop. Sets it aside. “Remind me, Farrow.”

I stroke his hair back, my hand running down his jaw, and our mouths crash together, nerves lighting to five-hundred degrees.

We shed our boxer-briefs, and wrestle in the twisted sheets, kissing the hell out of each other. We draw closer together when we turn on our sides, his weight on his good shoulder.

“Fuck,” Maximoff groans after I nip his neck with my teeth. I suck harder, and then I kiss his jaw, his lips again, and his skillful tongue slides over mine.

Blood simmering, he bucks into me for harder friction while our mouths meld together. Grinding his pelvis against mine, my cock hardens.

I break our mouths and pat the mattress. Finding a bottle of lube. My chest presses firmly to his chest while we’re on our sides.

Our eyes collide, and I lather my length. Huskily, I tell him, “I’m going to come inside of you, wolf scout.”

He rocks his hips into me, squeezing my ass, and groans against the crook of my neck. “Fuck me now, man.” He strokes his own cock.

Fuck. I tuck him more to my chest, and I lift his leg over my waist. Keeping my arm underneath his knee so he’ll stay hoisted. “Look at me,” I whisper.

He pulls his head back, his eyes melting into mine. He looks overcome and at the peak of arousal, and I haven’t even pushed into him yet.

I tease his hole open with two fingers. His muscles flex, his breath catching. He’s giving himself to me with so much trust and love and care. It amplifies an already visceral, primal feeling that connects him to me. That douses me with kerosene and lights me on fucking fire.

Sweat built on our skin, I move my fingers, and I ease my erection into him. Slowly. “Breathe,” I tell Maximoff, our eyes locked.

“Oh fuck,” he grunts. The pressure wells around my cock, his tightness overwhelming me, and I use more lube before I push deeper.

“Fuck, Maximoff.” My muscles pull taut, and I’m all…the way…inside of him. I rock my hips, and I hold the back of his head in the most protective, secure grip. Not letting go, our mouths a breath away, and we stare unblinkingly. Feeling every fucking thing and seeing it well in the other’s eyes.

“Oh fuck,” he groans, his lips broken open with throaty noises.

My hand shifts to his jaw, encasing his face, holding as fucking tight as him. His eyes almost roll, almost gone.

“FarrowFarrow.” He death-clutches my shoulders like he’s falling off a mountain and I’m his harness.

I grit down, a coarse noise tangled in my lungs. My pulse hammers in the hollow of my throat. “Fuck,” I groan. “Wolf scout.”

Water slips from the corners of his daggered eyes.

Mine burn and well.

We kiss in this final stretch. Our lips push each other’s mouth open in burning aggression and desire, and my searing lungs beg for more breath.

I rock and rock.

And he pulsates around my erection—I come, my mind spinning, and our bodies tighten. Grunts and groans and curses pitch the air, and slowly, gradually, I milk my climax inside of him. Pumping a few more times, and my abs glisten from him.

I let go of his face and stroke his cock to finish him off, cum slick on my palm.

His head lolls backwards, basking in the fucking pleasure.

I smile. And I still can’t stop staring, not for a moment. He’s the iron-willed guy I saw at Harvard who needed all of me, and I had to wait years before I could give him everything.