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He can’t even get the words out. Because we both know.
I’ve felt the red-hot bloodbath of what his hands are capable of.
But the haunted look in his eyes…it wrenches at my heart.
“So show me,” I demand. I take his hand and draw it up to my throat. I guide his fingers so they fit around my neck. His deep brown eyes watch me curiously, suspiciously. “Show me what they can do.”
He closes his hand. Immediately, my breath catches.
“Be careful what you ask for.” His voice is dark, hard as granite.
He’s trying to scare me. But he’s going to have to try harder.
“I can take it.”
Before I can blink, he shoves me down onto the bed. His hand is locked around my throat, trapping me against the mattress. He hovers over me, those eyes flickering over my face, gauging my reactions.
I gasp a thin thread of air just in time. He tightens his grip, and my air is gone. My pulse pounds against his fingers. My cheeks are hot, flushed. My eyes don’t leave Archer, but my vision starts to blur. Instinctively, I reach for his wrist and hold on with both hands. My legs move, my feet pressing into the softness of the bed.
It’s like being underwater at a pool. That burning sensation in my chest as I play a game of chicken with myself, each time testing the limits of how long I can stay underwater before I need to come up for air.
My blood and flesh come alive underneath this man. But even as I grip him, even as I feel my legs start to kick, I know that he won’t let me drown.
Just when I’ve had enough, Archer releases his grip. I gasp, gulping in fresh, cool air.
His hand remains at my throat, but it’s just a touch now, not a hold. His expression—menacing, before—is soft again, strong brows furrowed.
My head is light, but my body is on fire.
“Did I hurt you?” he asks, his voice tight with concern.
“Yes,” I say, panting lightly. “You made me ache.” And then I part my legs, showing him exactly where it hurts. “Feel for yourself.”
He does. With the hand not around my throat, he reaches down. He pops the button of my jeans between his thumb and forefinger. Then he draws down the zipper. By the time he slides his hand inside, my sex is humming. Those strong fingers press against my labia, and then he curls one between my folds.
A moan leaves me. I’m so wet. I can feel how easily his finger glides along my slit. I’ve soaked my panties and myself.
Archer growls. It’s a low, hungry noise. My want has triggered his own longing, and the thought just makes me ache more. I find myself lifting my hips to meet his hand, needing more. He plays with me like this, tracing the seam of me, rolling his finger over the nub of my clit. He hasn’t even entered me yet, and already my thighs are trembling.
He grips my throat again, and my blood rushes to my head. As he teases my cunt, Archer leans down and kisses me. I didn’t realize how much I needed his lips until they’re on mine, and now I drink from him like a woman parched. He swirls his tongue in my mouth in time with the swirl of his finger on my clit, and the twin sensations make my entire body tremble.
Archer is in complete control of me, and for the first time, I don’t resist it.
“Teach me,” I whisper.
Those eyes—chocolate brown with whiskey hues flecked in places. They’re electric, and they never leave mine. “What do you want to learn?” he asks.
I wet my lips. “I want you to show me how to…trust.”
Archer’s Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. He understands. He presses a kiss to the edge of my mouth, then to my jaw, then under my ear, where he murmurs, “I thought you’d never ask.”
He retracts his hand from between my legs. I want to cry; the absence of his fingers makes my need twist in knots. But then he draws both of his hands to my shirt, which he unbuttons swiftly but with care. He opens my shirt, and I lift my arms so he can pull it, along with my bra, over my head.
My hair falls around my face, but he tucks it away by my ears and draws me into a sweet kiss. Then he reaches behind him and tugs his shirt over his head, tossing it. I love his broad shoulders, his strong chest, and I reach out to touch him, drawing my fingers through the wooly hair there as he tugs my pants from me.
He removes the rest of his clothes as well, so we’re both fully naked now. My gaze dips low enough to see that he’s already swollen for me, hard and ready.
Hello, old friend, I almost say.
