Maximoff rams my back to the tiled wall, a breath and grunt ejecting from my throat. Hot water pelts our flesh, shower glass fogged. Good fucking God.

Our locked gazes dig deeper, and I hold his face, gaining control as our mouths crash together with force and fire.

He kisses like he’s been depraved of my tongue and body. I reciprocate like my greatest want is to satiate this gorgeous-as-fuck guy. And it is.

I’m extremely attracted to turning him on and watching him get off. Fuck, I’m going to make him come hard.

I catch his lip between my teeth, and his hips thrust forward for closer contact. My mouth curves, seeing clearly that he wants to plow me. He fists my wet hair, and a husky noise rumbles inside of my lungs. Fuck.

The small confines of the shower fall to the wayside with our heat. Our touch. Both of us lean but muscular and cut, both nearly the same height, both at equal strength—we play for an advantage and his needs fuel mine.

Still clutching his jaw, my other hand trails down his wet chest to his abs and then I grip him and stroke his rock-hard length.

He buries his mouth against my neck and tries to stifle a low, pleasured growl that rouses my cock.

“Fuck, Maximoff,” I breathe, water still raining down on us.

He fists my wet hair, and he watches my fingers that wrap around him and pump. Driving him to a cliff.

Maximoff grinds aggressively into me, and then he starts rubbing me with a mind-numbing speed—fucking hell.

I go to rotate us—so his back will slam against the tiles—but he pins me harder.

Breath knocks out of me, my lips almost lifting. So it’s like that then. He wants me here, and I reach a place where I can’t flip him.

We jerk each other off faster, hands up and down. In a melodic, heady pace. Our foreheads nearly touch. His forest-green eyes devour me whole, and beads of water roll sensually down his sharpened jaw.

Steam rises.

I grit down as the pressure builds. My head tries to loll back, but it touches shower tile. He takes both of our erections in one hand and pumps us in a closed fist. Back and forth. Our pre-cum coating his palm.

Pressure and friction fuses in an explosive combination. Hardened like brick, my pulse hammers in my cock.

I grip his face tighter, and he breathes lowly, “I want to fuck your mouth.”

I eye his pink lips. “We have a problem then. Because I want to fuck your mouth.” I tilt my head. “Who’s first, wolf scout?”

Maximoff answers by letting go of us, and he places a strong hand on my shoulder. It’s cute that he tries to push me to my knees, but I already willingly kneel.

I clutch his round ass with one hand and grip his shaft with the other. He soaks in every minuscule movement I make with rapt attention. I almost come just watching him watch me.

Before I take him, I suck his balls, teasing, and he lets out a harsh, breathy curse, “Fuck me.” He pounds a glare in me. “Farrow.”

“You’re impatient,” I tell him.

“Old news.” He combs my wet hair back. “I need you—goddamn.” He swears when I abruptly suck his cock.

Maximoff tries to “fuck my mouth” and thrust forward, but I tighten my grip on his ass and shaft. Maintaining control, my head moves back and forth. I lick the length of him at one point, and he shudders before I take all of him to the back of my throat.

He swallows a groan and rests his forearm on the tile, hand in a fist. His muscles flexed. Nearing the edge. I’m on the same exact one.

We latch eyes—and I taste him. He comes hard, his legs contracted and eyes pierced in a glare at the ceiling before they roll back. Jaw like carved marble and noise trapped in his lungs. He breathes heavily through his nose.

Fuck.

His cum-face is by far my favorite thing. I engrain every second in my mind.

I swallow and milk his climax with my hand. My mouth trails up his waist, sucking his chiseled abs to his chest, and by the time I reach his neck, his mouth descends. Sucking my neck, then his tongue toys with my nipple barbell piercing.

My nose flares, fuck. I flex and watch him suck my nipple.

I brace my shoulder blades on the tile and wipe water out of my face. Keeping a hand on the back of his head as he lowers to his knees.

He drinks in my entire build, my pelvis arched casually towards him. When our gazes hit, I raise my brows. “Need to take a picture?”

Maximoff gives me a middle finger. And then he pushes that finger in my hole—good God. He massages my prostate while his mouth wraps around me. Damn. Nerves ablaze, I start reaching a new height.

I grit down so hard, my jaw aches. Not allowing any noise to escape.

My hand stable on the back of his head, I move him back and forth. Maximoff makes a ragged noise, not excited about me taking charge. His broad shoulders bind, and before I shift, he slides a second finger inside me—fuckfuck. The pressure and nerves well, amplifying.

I breathe hot breath through my nose. On another plane of pleasure. Of intensity. To the point where my hand drops from his head to his neck.

He gains full control of my orgasm.

Consuming me. His hot forest-green eyes fuck me as powerfully as his mouth. My body tightens, and in one surging moment, I release. Hitting a peak. My head on the wall tile, my pulse thumps like heavy bass, and a groan strangles in my chest.

When my mouth does part, I breathe out, “Fuck.”

Maximoff swallows and then rubs me a few times, eking out the tension. My chest rises and falls as I catch my breath. More steam blanketing us in heat.

I remember what Jane said about most people “crushing” on Maximoff. I can believe it. He’s such a man’s man. People either admire him, want to be him, or want to fuck him.

And I never forget that out of everyone, he fell in love with me.

* * *

“Game plan,” Maximoff tells me. “I’ll go out first, and then you’ll wait five minutes to leave the bathroom.”

I rub a towel through my damp hair. My smile is fucking killing me. “As adorable as you are sneaking around, you can’t control this. They all know we’re both in here together.”

We can clearly hear chatter in the first lounge. Which is right outside the bathroom. Most of his cousins and the other bodyguards are awake. Oscar even knocked on the door and said, “I need to piss.” That means Akara is now driving. Sulli most likely woke up because she’s notorious for not wanting to miss anything.

And others followed suit.

Maximoff knows all of this.

Yet, he says, “We don’t know that.” He zips up his jeans.

Good luck steering that ship, the security team told me. I almost smile because Maximoff being headstrong is as expected as finding a tree in a forest.

And there’s no reason to ask why he suddenly cares. I’m assuming reality is catching up to him, and he really, really dislikes when people know the details of his sex life.

He can easily talk about sex in generalizations, but when it includes “when” and “where” and “how often” he’s used to shutting down.

I wrap my towel low around my waist. I didn’t bring extra clothes in the bathroom. Leaning on the sink, I say, “How about I leave and you wait five minutes in here?”

Maximoff pulls a gray shirt over his head. Water drips off his wet hair and runs down his temples. He’s thinking.

“Or,” I say, “we can walk out together.” I pass him in the cramped space, our chests brushing, and I place a hand on the doorknob. “Your choice, wolf scout.”

“Alright.” He takes a confident breath. “I’ll leave with you.”

I open the door and step into the first lounge with ease. Besides Akara and Sulli in the driver and passenger seat, every person is packed in here.

All three Cobalts are squished on a couch, busy on their phones, and Omega bodyguards cram in the booth and the adjacent couch, eating cereal.

Their heads whip to us, and the chatter dies when Maximoff emerges. His jaw is tensed like he’s ready to enter a fight.

SFO eagle-eyes him ten times more than they scrutinize me, their curiosity apparent. Before I came along, security used to talk about Maximoff’s one-night stands like a myth and legend, and no one has ever seen him “after” before.

My jaw tics, face all hard territorial lines. Back the fuck off written numerous times. They divert their gazes. I comb a hand through my hair and watch Maximoff reach the small counter. He makes hot tea, his body rigid.

“Didn’t you have to piss?” I ask Oscar.

He stands and whispers to me as he passes, “You lucky bastard.” The bathroom door shuts behind him.

As normal chatter returns, I enter the narrowed hall. Sliding the curtains to my bunk aside, I grab my small duffel and pick out clothes. I change in the empty second lounge, cracking the door.

Black pants on, I slip my leather belt into the loops and clasp the buckle—suddenly, all noise fades again.

Something’s wrong.

I gently kick the door open wider. Able to see down the hallway and into the first lounge.

Shit.

Charlie leans forward on the couch and stares Maximoff down like he’s trying to hook a fish for dinner.

I ditch my shirt and reroute back to everyone just as Maximoff sets his mug aside and says to Charlie, “If you have something to say, just say it.”

I fill the doorway and hang casually onto a pull-up bar above me, one that Sulli and Beckett put together. Oscar is already out of the bathroom, and Jane is inside brushing her teeth. I sense Oscar silently telling me to “stand down” and not intervene in a Cobalt-Hale feud.

As bodyguards, we’re not allowed, but that’s my boyfriend on the end of someone’s glare. And I’ve never sat idly by and let a man I love fight a battle alone.

Charlie flips his phone from hand-to-hand, and his twin brother whispers in his ear. I can’t hear what Beckett says, but no one expects Charlie to hold his tongue.

“You pride yourself on being respectful,” Charlie begins, “and in your mind, I guess fucking in a shower that nine other people use lands in that category.”

Fuck him. My hand drops off the pull-up bar, and swiftly, Oscar, Donnelly, Quinn, and even Thatcher stand and block my path.

Maximoff glowers at Charlie. “You haven’t spoken to me once since we started this tour, and that’s the first thing you tell me?”

Thatcher whispers to me, “Calm down.”

“Don’t talk to me,” I say in a calm voice. I’m not thrashing around or about to pop off, but they’re very aware that I can slip into a fight and cold-cock Charlie.

“You’re the one who just asked me to say something,” Charlie says and then laughs bitterly. “I’m sorry it’s not what you wanted to hear, but maybe you shouldn’t surround yourself with people who kiss your ass all day, all long.”

Maximoff inhales a sharp, agitated breath. His jaw severely sharpened, and he turns and looks briefly around. He’s trying to find someone. A guy who believes he can do everything on his own is searching for one other person.

For me.

His gaze lands on me.

I step forward—Oscar puts a hand on my chest.

“Oscar—”

“Leave my client alone,” Oscar says, his voice non-threatening. We’re both familiar with Charlie and Maximoff going head-to-head.

I lower my voice. “Tell your client to back off mine.”

Oscar shakes his head. “Charlie only listens to Charlie…and sometimes Beckett.”

Charlie still zeroes in on Maximoff. “Here’s the cold-hearted truth. You actually like boasting. You get off on being better than all of us, so you come out here, practically bragging about fucking your boyfriend, whenever you want, whenever you like.”

Coarse hands splay over my mouth, restraining the string of attacks that I could’ve and probably would’ve spewed. Because I know just how deep and cold those words go.

I’m not surprised when Maximoff charges Charlie, but Beckett shoots up, standing in front of his brother.

“Stop,” Beckett says calmly, but Maximoff already rocks back, his fists at his side.

“Charlie,” Jane warns from the bathroom, toothbrush in her mouth.

I try to tear Donnelly’s hand off my lips, but he shakes his head at me a few times. Quinn whispers to me, “Let them be.”

Okay, I’m not taking advice from the youngest, greenest bodyguard. I rip Donnelly’s hand off, freeing my mouth, but I stay silent.

Thatcher motions for me to sequester myself in the second lounge.

I ignore him.

Sulli shouts from the passenger seat, “Can we please have a non-hyped and non-fucked-up conversation?”

“No,” Charlie and Maximoff say.

Charlie is the only one still sitting, besides Akara and Sulli up front.

“You’re so fucking far from the truth,” Maximoff says, “that you don’t even realize—”

“That you’re arrogant and conceited and a bigger asshole than you’ll ever admit? I realize I’m a lot of things, but why can’t you? Oh.” Charlie cocks his head. “Because you’re a coward and a hypocrite.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Maximoff growls. “I don’t pride myself on anything, let alone being respectful. You want me to admit I’m an arrogant fucking asshole? Then I am one. I’m shit on the bottom of your shoe, and that’s what I’ll always be to you, Charlie. At this point, you’re just trying to piss me off.”

Charlie leans back and rubs his lips. “Think what you want,” he says more quietly. “I’m not going to argue with you. You’ll only listen to yourself.”

Maximoff takes a short breath, and his phone rings shrilly in his pocket. Charlie and him stare each other down for one beat longer, and then Maximoff retrieves his phone and pushes towards the hallway.

Towards me and the wall of bodyguards.

As he nears, they all part to let him through. I don’t move, and so he faces me.

His chest collapses and rises heavily, but his defenses start imprisoning his expression. Blank and cold.

Everyone is watching us.

I have to step back and let him through, but I catch his wrist and whisper against his ear, “You’re not alone, Maximoff.”

He inhales stronger, and his expression almost breaks through. But he says, “I have to take this.” I watch his lengthy stride down the hallway, and then he disappears into the second lounge. Shutting the door.

Oscar brings me to the aisle of bunks. “You don’t want to get in the middle of that,” he whispers. “They’ve been at each other’s throats for years.”

I comb both hands through my hair. “I can’t watch Charlie beat him down,” I say just as softly, but all the Cobalts start talking in French on the couch. In deep conversation.

“They’re both beating each other down,” Oscar whispers. “The fact that you’re not seeing that is the problem. You’re too close to this shit. Back away for the sake of not starting a war on the bus.”

“The war is going to start with or without me,” I tell him.

“Without you then.” Oscar places a hand on my shoulder “Promise me, Redford. Because if he goes at you and you jump in, I’ll lose my job defending your impulsive ass.”

“Don’t defend me,” I say easily.

Oscar pushes back the curlier strands of his hair. “You can pretend like you have no close friends, but you and me are encroaching a decade here. You’re stuck with us like we’re unfortunately stuck with you.”

I grab onto a bunk, my arms loosening. “Okay—”

“Farrow!” Maximoff calls me, door ajar.

“Saved by the boyfriend,” Oscar says, and I roll my eyes, quickly reaching the second lounge.

By the time I’m alone with Maximoff, I study his furrowed brows and the phone tight in his hand. His upright posture screams “damage control”.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“That was your father.”

I frown. Maximoff called my father about his shoulder yesterday. The last time he lifted his arm at ninety-degrees, he said he felt like the muscle was pinching. I told him that, at the very least, he should just make the call. When my father didn’t answer, he left him a message.

“He was calling me back,” Maximoff says and opens the mini-fridge, a game console stacked on top.

“And?”

He pops a can of Fizz Life. “It looks like I need to find a new doctor.”

I’m hearing him wrong. “My father is still your physician.”

“No. Dr. Keene said it’s a conflict of interest since you’re my boyfriend and you’re his son.” Maximoff swigs his Fizz Life, handling the bad news like he’s delivering morning stocks. Outlook: shitty.

“Call him back or I will—”

“No,” Maximoff says firmly. “No, it’s not worth the trouble. I’m moving forward from this.” He’s pivoting, swimming at break-neck speed above a current trying to yank him under. But this isn’t the same as paparazzi ruining his morning commute.

This is a big change in his structured life. Fuck, he’s always had my father. It’s a constant, a safety, and this is a rug ripping out from under him.

I thought he’d be more rattled. “What aren’t you telling me?” I ask.

He looks away, then back to me. “It’s nothing.”

That’s bullshit. “You want to protect your cousins and your siblings and your parents, go ahead. But the last thing you need to do is coddle me. Give me the fucking courtesy that I’d give you and tell me the entire thing.”

He stares at me like he’s weighing the outcomes.

There’s only one outcome. “Maximoff—”

“He told me to tell you something.” He stops there.

“Getting better. Keep going.” I wave him on.

Maximoff now looks thoroughly irritated, and I’d smile if the subject matter weren’t skewed towards serious.

“He said,” Maximoff continues, “that if you complete your year residency, I’d be able to have one of the best physicians. Someone that I could trust. Someone that’s even better than him.”

I roll my eyes in a dramatic circle. Seriously. I almost can’t believe that my father took it there. He’s consciously fucking with my boyfriend’s life just so I’ll return to medicine.

It’s low.

And desperate.

Maximoff adds, “But I told your father that you’re not going back. That’s not what you want. I think he just wants me to convince you.”

I let out a short laugh. “I can’t believe him.” My face contorts through a series of emotions that I can’t name. If he really wanted me to be a practicing doctor, he should’ve tried repairing our torn relationship first, not destroying the last shreds.

I look up at Maximoff. “And he thinks me being your doctor is somehow less of a conflict of interest?”

“Strangely, yeah. I don’t want you to do it, but in an alternate universe where you did, I still wouldn’t have a concierge doctor for a full year while you did your residency. He’s leaving me with little options, and he knows it.” Maximoff gestures to me with his soda. “I even asked him if he could recommend a new physician, and the only name he could give me was yours.”

“That’s fucked up.” I run a hand along my jaw. Calling my father back won’t change his mind. He only wants one thing, and it’s not words.

Maximoff nears and hooks a couple fingers in my waistband. We draw closer, and his stoic gaze thunders against me, the heady beat saying we’re dealing with this shit together. Not apart.

I grip the hem of his shirt, but he takes over and lifts the gray fabric off his head. Knowing I’m examining his muscle again. He has swimmer’s shoulders, really used to being stretched and rotated. Especially with the butterfly stroke.

There’s no bruising and the swelling is gone. Better. “How does it feel?” I ask.

“Just sore,” he says. “I haven’t been swimming as much while on tour, and I think maybe I’m just tight. I need to stretch more.”

I nod. “I’ll keep an eye on it.”

He tucks his shirt in his back pocket. “I know I’m making it worse—the friction between you and your dad.”

“It was never going to get better.”

Maximoff offers his Fizz Life, and my mouth rises as I accept the can. Taking a sip.

“That’s kind of how I feel about Charlie and me,” he says, his large hand on my waist, pulling me closer. Our legs knock, and neither of us shifts back.

I hold the curve between his neck and good shoulder. “Have you ever talked to him about Harvard?”

He shakes his head. “Even if I wanted to, I can never get that far. He makes it impossible.” Maximoff frowns at a thought. “I know I don’t make it any easier, either. It’s just…” His brows scrunch. “…some people aren’t meant to be friends. Maybe that’s just us.”