Her head falls back, her eyes closing, and her breath comes in ragged pants. She’s right on the edge, her toes curling, thighs shaking. I can’t get enough of this—watching her come undone, knowing I’m the one who’s driving her there.
"Ahh, that's it, beautiful girl," I murmur, my voice low and gravelly, pulling her back from the brink of her release. Her taste lingers on my tongue, sweet and addictive. "Mmm, I love the taste of your pretty cunt on my tongue."
I press my lips to hers, my tongue slipping past her parted lips, letting her taste the honeyed sweetness of her arousal on me. Her body melts into mine, hands tangling around my neck, fingers pulling me closer as if she can’t get enough. I kiss her deeply, the hunger between us palpable, but I’m still in control, holding the moment just out of reach, savoring her desire.
When I pull away, a cocky grin spreads across my face, and I can see the dazed look in her eyes. She’s nearly shaking, her body spent but wanting more. "Naughty girl," I tease, my thumbtracing the corner of her mouth where the wetness lingers. "You like the taste of your pussy on my lips too."
I watch as her eyes flutter closed again, and I wipe the remnants of her desire from her skin before popping my thumb into my mouth, savoring the taste once more. "So sweet," I say, shaking my head in mock amazement. She really is intoxicating.
I let the silence linger for a beat, just enough to make her feel the weight of my words, before I lean down, my lips brushing lightly against her ear. "Sweet dreams, beautiful Bella."
I wink, sauntering away like I own the room—because right now, I do. I know exactly what I’ve done to her, what I’ve left her with.
As I walk out, I can feel her eyes on me, jaw slack, still caught in the web of everything I’ve just given her. She’s shaken, in the best way, and I know she’s standing there wondering what the hell just happened.
This thing between us is more than lust—it’s something bigger. The way she tastes, the way she responds—it’s unlike anything else. And I’m not done with her. Not by a long shot.
I glance back one last time before I disappear down the hall, and there she is, licking her lips, relishing the flavor of her own desire mixed with mine. Sweet dreams, indeed.
Chapter Five
Bella
The next evening, the wind howls like it’s trying to claw its way into the inn. The windows rattle, the early winter storm slamming against the old building with a fury that sends a chill up my spine. I glance down at my phone, but of course, it’s useless—no signal, no updates. Just a blank screen reminding me I’m cut off from the outside world.
Then, like the storm’s final act, the lights flicker once, twice, and then plunge us into total darkness. Perfect. Just perfect.
I hear Archer shift from the other side of the room, and his voice, low and smooth, cuts through the dark. “Looks like we’re not getting any more work done tonight.”
I barely make him out in the dim light filtering through the window, but the steady confidence in his tone feels like it fills the entire room. “Seems that way,” I mutter. “But hey, at least the wiring’s not catching fire.”
His chuckle, deep and rich, sends a warmth through me that has nothing to do with the room temperature. It’s the kind of laugh that wraps around you and makes you forget the cold. Too bad I’m not trying to get comfortable.
“You wanna huddle up by the fireplace?” he asks, like it’s no big deal. “It’ll keep us warm until the power kicks back in.”
Huddle. Sure. Like that won’t end in trouble. I cross my arms, trying to keep my voice steady. “Huddle? I thought you were the guy who could fix anything. What, no generator in that toolbox of yours?”
“I left it in my other pants,” he fires back, his grin practically audible. “Come on, Bella. What’s the worst that could happen?”
I shake my head, but I’m already moving toward the fireplace. I would be lying to myself if I said I wasn’t already addicted to this man’s presence. I want his hands on my skin, his lips on mine, even just his gaze feels like a sweet caress on my body that sends shockwaves of arousal through me. The temperature is dropping fast, and whatever composure I had is slipping away with every inch the storm moves closer. The windows are vibrating, the wind is screaming, and now I’m stuck alone with him in the dark.
He crouches by the hearth, striking a match and bringing the fire to life with a few practiced movements. The flames catch, casting a soft, flickering glow over his face, lighting up the hard planes of his jaw, his eyes dark and focused. It’s unfair how effortlessly he pulls my attention to him.
“So,” he says, sitting back on his heels, watching me with that easy grin, “I’m guessing a city girl like you doesn’t do many snowstorms.”
I sink into the armchair closest to the fire, giving a dry laugh. “Please. I’ve survived a few New York blizzards. Though, to be fair, those came with central heating and a takeout menu.”
He smirks, leaning back against the couch, his body relaxed, his legs stretched out in front of him like he’s got all the time in the world. “I bet you had a guy lined up to shovel the sidewalk too.”
I narrow my eyes, but the smile tugging at my lips gives me away. “Why? You offering?”
“Depends,” he says, his gaze dropping down my body, his voice smooth as silk. “What do I get in return?”
My heart does a little flip at the casual way he says it, the confidence that rolls off him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. I try to keep my voice even. “You’re really pushing your luck.”
He laughs, the sound warm and rich, cutting through the storm’s chaos outside. “Maybe. But I think you like it.”
I open my mouth, ready to snap back, but the words catch in my throat. The way he’s looking at me—direct, no games—it’s like he’s daring me to stop pretending. Daring me to admit that he’s right.
