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MINKA
“Ihate you.” Waddling to Archer’s bathroom and cupping myself so his cum doesn’t dribble along my thighs, I step onto cold tile and slam the door. “I hate you, Archer!”
“I mean, she’s a pussy,” he calls across the apartment. “So you weren’t completely off about your jealousy.”
“Shut the hell up!” I intended to use the toilet and clean up, but instead, I flip the shower on and wait only a moment for the water to warm. “You’re stupid and immature and annoying.”
“And you were jealous of the other pussy in my life.” Snickering, he opens the door and sticks his head in. “Do you feel dumb?”
“Go. Away.”
When Chloe, the beautiful, fluffy cat with white fur and blue eyes, rubs along Archer’s leg and studies me with a gaze that maybe, just maybe, claims him as her own, I sneer and look back to the cop who might lose his life tonight.
With his own service pistol.
“You could have solved a lot of drama by saying Chloe was a cat!”
“And miss out on the show you put on?” Stepping into the bathroom in nothing but his boxer shorts, Archer strips them off and leaves the door wide open.
Not a problem, usually, but now he has a voyeur cat, and it’s bothering me.
“Move over.” He steps into the shower and drags me closer until my back rests against his chest. “You’re nice and warm.”
“Your pussy is staring,” I respond dryly.
But where I was expecting him to turn, perhaps even laugh at my discomfort, he drops his hand and cups me instead.
“Mypussy?” He buries his face in the back of my hair and slides a single digit inside until my breath stops. “This one?”
“Archer.” Weak, I tilt forward and press my forehead to the tile. “Shit.”
“Come again,” he commands. “And again. And again. And keep doing it until you’re in a better mood.”
“I’m never going to be in a better mood. You lied to me.”
“I didn’t lie.” He uses his free hand to cup my face and drag it around until his tongue dips into my mouth. “You made assumptions, and now you’re embarrassed. It’s okay.” He pulls my bottom lip between his teeth. “She slept in my bed. And I kissed her on the way out the door, so…”
“I loathe every single thing about you.” And yet, I come again and fill his palm. “I hate the air you breathe.”
“No you don’t,” he rumbles. “Because you’re the air I breathe.”
* * *
Icome twice. Three times. Maybe four in the shower, while frantically trying to ignore Chloe watching from the doorway.
Now I’m out again, dressed, and back on Archer’s couch.
“Thirsty?” In sweatpants and a shirt, Archer bangs around in his kitchen while I search his email for the security footage we intend to watch.
Trust. It’s all about trust.
“Wine, water, juice?” He stops and waits for my eyes. “What do you need?”
“Juice, please.”
I click on the link in his email and look closer when I’m presented with a bird’s eye view of a dark nightclub. Hitting pause so it’s sitting and ready for us to watch, I set the laptop on the coffee table and reach out for the bag I brought here tonight.
Another exercise in trust. Another olive branch extended to the man I crave more than anyone else in my life.
