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Chapter Ten
Archer
Afeatherlight touch on my arm pulls me from deep sleep, but it’s the scent of coffee that opens my eyes.
I blink awake, disoriented for a hot minute since I’m in a bed. Not on the couch or a hotel bed, which would be less disorienting, but my actual bed. The bed I never sleep in. Normally this room feels as impersonal as a hotel suite.
Last night, Talia fell asleep in my arms. I debated waking her and walking her back to her place, but when she sleepily murmured indiscernible words into my neck, I changed my mind. I undressed her, tugging off her boots and jeans and sweater. And bra, because it looked uncomfortable. I slipped her under my clean sheets, covered her up, and went downstairs to lock up. I corked the wine bottle, and then stood staring at the black TV screen, the prospect of mindless drivel a pale substitute for a warm, sleepy Talia.
Last night, I didn’t want to sleep by myself.
I crawled into bed next to her. I don’t know if it was her rhythmic breathing or the way she smells—like cedar and vanilla, remind me to ask her what soap she uses—but I was out in no time.
Steam curls from the mug near my face. “Your morning java, Kingpin.” Her voice is low and damn sexy in the morning.
I push myself onto one elbow and she pats my hair, probably trying to lay down the patch that stands up when I sleep on my side. I scrape back the strands and then accept the proffered mug.
“You sleep like the dead,” she points out.
“You’re one to talk,” I mumble against the edge of the mug before taking a sip. Perfect. Damn. This is not a bad way to wake up. “You were comatose last night.”
“I had a big day.” She sits on the edge of the bed, and I scoot my legs aside to accommodate her. Her palm lands on my thigh and suddenly I don’t care about coffee any longer. “It’s seven thirty. I don’t know what kind of hours you keep, but in case you slept in and weren’t supposed to, I thought you might like a wake-up call.”
I set my mug on the nightstand and scrub my face with both palms. “I get up whenever.”
“Whenever is not a time.” She smiles. She’s in yesterday’s clothes, and her hair is up in some sort of sloppy topknot.
“Fuck, you’re cute in the morning.”
She laughs and shakes her head. “And you aren’t half as grouchy in the morning as one might expect.”
“Why would I be grouchy?” I grab her wrist and tug. She obliges me by crawling up my body to place a kiss on the side of my mouth. “I have a supermodel in my bed. Bringing me coffee. Talking to me in a voice made of pure sin.”
She laughs again, but I smother the sound with a kiss. I reverse our positions, rolling her to her back and blanketing her body with my own. “Let’s finish what we didn’t start last night.”
She sighs. It sounds like a yes. I maneuver my hand under her sweater and encounter soft skin. I memorize each small noise she makes as I tickle my way to her belly and then her ribs and then her breasts, sadly hidden behind a bra again.
“You undressed me last night,” she pants.
I pull down the cup of her bra and run my thumb over one smooth nipple. “You had on too many clothes. Kind of like now.”
She moans a nonword and paws at my boxers—the only article of clothing I’m wearing. I unbutton her jeans as she gives me a raw, desperate kiss. It’s frantic, wild.
God. This woman.
A second later, her mouth hits my chest, and she’s kissing her way down my torso. I don’t steer her. I don’t need to. She knows where she’s going. She rakes her teeth from my stomach to the hem of my boxers. With one hand she frees my pulsing, angry erection, and swallows it into her mouth with zero warning.
“Jesus. Fuck,” I rasp. She’s shocked me in the best way possible. I lift her hair away from her face. My ass clenches as I watch her cheeks hollow. Her nails scratch down my chest, and she sucks my cock with single-minded fervor. It’s glorious. The best thing that’s happened to me…maybe ever. “Like that, Wildflower. Just. Like. That.”
My voice is a puny wheeze, but she doesn’t need instruction anyway. In a short time, I’m reduced to a heavy-breathing, fragmented pile of sensations. By the time her mouth leaves my swollen member, I’ve knocked both pillows to the floor and I’m sliding into the gap between the bed and nightstand.
She climbs up my body, her sweater swiping my abandoned cock, and then lays a kiss on my mouth. When I reach for her, she hops off the bed and throws off her clothes. Literally. Her shirt goes flying across the room, her jeans, inside out, bounce against the closet door. Then she’s on me, a naked woman with a mission.
I laugh.
She freezes over top of me. Blinks and then grins.
“What?”
