Archie blinked at me, eyes dreamy and half-lidded, a lazy, blissed-out grin spreading across his face. “So okay,” he slurred. “Let’s do it again.”
A laugh broke out of me, and I pressed another kiss to his temple. “Give me ten minutes.”
17
ARCHIE
Iwoke up before my brain caught up with my body.
That happened sometimes. Usually it came with that sharp, immediate inventory.What time is it, what’s wrong, what did I forget.
This wasn’t that.
This was…warm.
Not surface-level warm. Not just blankets and body heat. It sat deeper than that, pressed into my spine and shoulders like something had been holding me there all night and hadn’t quite let go yet.
The sheets were softer than anything I owned—which, honestly, wasn’t a high bar. I was a “grab whatever’s cheapest and hope for the best” kind of sleeper. These? My hand dragged over them and didn’t catch on a single thread, just slid smoothly like the fabric had its life together in all the ways I didn’t.
Cheek rubbing against the pillow, I buried my face in the silky pillowcase and inhaled.
Daddy.
His scent was there in the fabric, worn down into it, settled deep enough that it didn’t fade when he left. That same dark,steady note I’d been circling since the moment I stepped into his office, but closer now, stripped of distance and restraint.
Mine.
It wasn’t just a scent. It was presence, pressing in around me, settling under my ribs.
My body stretched on its own, arms reaching overhead, legs extending as something slow and satisfied worked through my muscles. The sheets shifted under me, the mattress dipping in slightly as I moved—and that’s when I felt the space beside me.
I turned my head, then my hand followed, sliding across the bed until my palm pressed into the lingering heat Henry had left behind. Fingers wide, I pressed down as if I could hold it in place. The warmth gave under my touch, not disappearing or fading, just there—quiet proof that I hadn’t imagined any of it.
Something in my chest tightened, then pulled.
Longing.
Iwantedhim.
Not in the careful, overthought way I usually approached things. This was a simple, undeniable pull toward him that had nothing to do with logic and everything to do with where my heart had already decided it belonged.
I let out a breath and rolled onto my side, pushing myself upright. The sheet slipped down my torso as I sat there for a second, letting the room come back into focus around me.
My glasses rested on the nightstand.
I reached for them, sliding them on, and the world sharpened all at once—slotting into place in a way that made everything feel more real than it had a second ago.
The bed was king-sized—dark wood, solid, the kind of frame that didn’t shift or creak no matter what you did to it.Of course it was.This was Henry fucking Rothwell. There was more than enough space for distance.
I’d fall asleep with my face buried under his chin anyway.
Muted gray walls were warmed by the morning light pouring in through tall windows that stretched nearly to the ceiling. The curtains were pulled halfway open, sunlight cutting across the floor in long, clean lines that made the space feel bigger without losing any of its weight.
Books were everywhere.
Some stacked near the wall, others spread across a chair by the window, one left open where he’d stopped reading, pages slightly bent as if he meant to come back to it.
Nothing about the room felt untouchable.
