Page 154 of Dead Vengeance

The thought of that, combined with what his hand is doing, makes mine slide lower, down to his belt. I scoop my fingers over the edge, and while he doesn’t stop me, he does pause me when he whispers, “I want to fuck you.”

Oh, god. I mean, yes. Absolutely, yes please, but… “Is this something we need a conversation about, or… Because I haven’t been with anyone else for so long, and…”

“And?” he rasps between urgent kisses that, in tandem with his hand, are stealing almost all my thoughts.

“And… Oh, god…” He presses down on my slit, tightening his fingers. His other hand slides down to my ass, and he wrenches me in. “I can. Like this. Just… Like this. Um… if you want to…”

“I want to,” he growls against my mouth. “I want nothing more than to fuck you raw until you’re screaming my name.”

Okay. That’s an answer. That’s a very good answer. How best to say, turn me around and take me right here against the door?

But he does not. He steps away, leaving me gasping, leans into the shower and slams the water on. That’s fair. Dead demon ghost thing. Probably bits of it in my hair. Not the best and most sexy.

But it’s also a breathtaking shame.

But then it’s also the opportunity I’ve been needing.

I have no condoms in the bathroom cabinet, of course not. I don’t exactly make a habit of bringing men to my shower. There has to be something in here I can use as lube, though.

I scan the half-empty bottles. Moisturiser? Probably not. Almond oil? What if he has a nut allergy? Surely he would have mentioned it. But if he doesn’t know, what a way to find out… I shove a few bottles aside then come across a little tub. One hundred percent pure coconut oil. That will do nicely.

Hoping it’s not too expensive, I pluck it out of the cabinet, then jump up and almost straight into him.

He glances down at it, raises one eyebrow.

“Apparently it’s good for taking make-up off…” I mumble.

He laughs, plucking it out of my hand and placing it on the shower caddy. “You know, I heard beds are a whole thing.” His hand is immediately back on my cock, his lips on mine, but this time, he’s not getting away with his clothes on.

“They’re overrated. Trust me.” I get to work on his belt buckle, loosening, pulling, while the hot mist of the shower swirls around us. His pants are on the floor, a beautiful, crumpled mess. I rip his sweater off and drop it on the pile. Then I almost slip over when I try my best to nonchalantly step into the wet bathtub like I’m not absolutely gagging for this.

God, it’s small. It’s too ridiculous. What was I even thinking?

But Archer doesn’t seem to mind. He steadies me, steps in close, then he’s against me, hot water cascading over us, gorgeous in the cold night, gorgeous against the warmth of him, holding me, kissing me… turning me around?

Okay, yes. Yes, let’s do that. But…

Pop goes the cap on a shampoo bottle.

I reach for the coconut oil in a small panic. Surely he’s not planning to go in with shampoo. It’s slippery but just seems super soapy and—

Archer’s hands slide into my hair and I melt. Utterly melt. He’s not uncertain in his movements. He goes right in for the massage, and I’m putty. Putty, but also… I don’t know. What do you call this?

I’m so happy to let this man fuck me right here and straight away, but this is some other kind of vulnerable. Some beautiful and soft vulnerable. Some sweetness that runs fingers hot and firm up behind my ears, that presses down at the base of my neck, that runs little circles in places I didn’t realise could make me ache this way. Ache heavily, deep in the centre of my heart.

He takes deft, careful, and confident hands to my shoulders, works at the knots of tension there. He takes his time and loosens years of stress while the hot water and the steam and the closeness of him all work their own magic. My head falls back on his chest, moans of pleasure pouring out of me, but not at all the sort I’d expected when we first walked in here.

He chuckles, the rise of his big chest so good and solid against me. “Does that feel nice?”

“It’s amazing. You’re amazing.” His kiss is amazing too, on my cheek as he raises me up gently to let the water cleanse my hair, running his fingers through it, his hands moving over my body in a way that feels too beautiful, too caring. That makes me reach up for him, sink my fingers into his hair as I turn to face him. “I want you,” I whisper. “Not just… Not just physical, you know? I want you.”

“I know.” His hand wraps my jaw. He kisses me—and why does it feel like this? It feels too passionate. Too final. Like he’s pouring something into this, some sadness and some longing that isn’t the fast and sexy thing I’d planned on.

It is still sexy. But it’s some kind of elevated sexy—some kind of unrequited feeling thing that is totally requited. Or maybe it’s just like this for men like us. Men who thought they’d never find anyone. Men who have been alone for so long, who finally found the one person who can understand them. The person they’re so scared to…

My heart clenches.

I know exactly what it is.