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I poked him. “Yes, I’ve gotten all the cat hair off.”
Amused, he slid an arm around me and held his phone up in selfie mode. “One for the road?”
I grinned and he pulled me closer, heads tilted together then snapped a picture. He did a couple then he pressed his lips to my cheek for a third.
“Frankie,” he beckoned for my attention and I turned then his mouth closed over mine and I forgot about the selfies as he kissed me. This was slower than our hallway kiss, teasing rubs of our lips together, mouths open and then slowly he cupped his hand against my jaw and tilted my head. The lint roller landed on the floor along with the ripped off and used tape.
Wrapping my arms around his neck, I held on as he teased my tongue delving deep and he tasted like coffee, sugar, and something minty. Oh, God. He’d been sucking on a breath mint. The tautness in my system went soft and the butterflies turned into sparkles or some shit. Something thumped, but I floated as I leaned into the kiss.
Kissing Archie was—it was like kissing a live wire. It electrified my senses and sent tingles zinging everywhere. I had to hold onto him because as unsteady as my legs had been earlier, I was leaning into the kiss. He had one arm around me, braced against my lower back like a band of steel.
I lost track of how long we stood there kissing, but finally Archie lifted his head, and we were both panting. With care, he steadied me as I slid my hands down to rest on his biceps.
His lips were shiny, and his fingers were warm when he brushed them against my jaw. “Where were we?” His voice had deepened, a rawness that hadn’t been there before.
“I have no idea.” It was like every molecule in me strained in his direction. “Dinner? Maybe?”
Chuckling, he slid his hand down to my throat. The weight of it there calmed my rabbiting heart. I took a deeper breath. “Dinner was the plan.”
“Was?”
“Still is… though I admit, I am far more interested in dessert.” Devilment in his eyes, he grinned.
Oh God. I groaned and the ballooning tension around us popped. “Archie, that’s awful.”
“Cheesy is not awful,” he countered.
“Yes, it is…” Had he really just said that?
“I happen to know you love cheese on a lot of things.”
True. “I’ll give you that.”
“Thank you,” he murmured, his hand drifting lower across the bare portion of my upper chest and shoulders. “I really, really like this dress.”
“I’m not going to lie,” I told him honestly. “I really like this dress, too. You’re taking me out on a date. I really like that, too.”
“I am,” he said slowly. “I kind of wish it was your first one.”
“It kind of is.” At that admission, he stilled.
“What?”
“Mathieu and I had our date here,” I pointed out. “Technically a first date, but we were here. I’ve been to Ian’s place, Jake came here, Coop came here…”
“But I’m the first guy taking you out?” Satisfaction curved through his expression. “I like that.”
“Course, we actually have to leave to make that come true.”
“I’m aware,” he said. “Running through the amendments to the Constitution at the moment.”
I blinked. “What?”
Catching my hand, he pressed it to his groin and the rock-hard cock tenting his pants. “The 8thAmendment prohibits excessive fines and cruel and unusual punishment.”
He kept my hand right there, as he danced the fingers of his other hand across the expanse of bare skin above the bodice of my dress.
“The 18thprohibited the manufacturing and sale of alcohol in the United States.”
