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Chapter Twenty-Two
Talia
“Idon’t know why you fight me.” Archer peels my sweater over my head and tosses it onto his bed.
“I’m not fighting you,” I lie, my voice small.
“Not now, but you were.” His hands slide from my waist to my ribs to cup my breasts. I didn’t bother with a bra since I changed to come over here. Who am I kidding? I knew he’d have my clothes off the second I set one toe inside his townhouse.
He thumbs my nipples as a rich, decadent shiver climbs my spine. “You have a bad habit of pushing me away.”
I trap his hands over my breasts so I can focus on what he’s saying. “You have a bad habit of being mercurial.”
“And you’re not?” His brows pinch in thought before he tugs his hands out from under mine and unsnaps my jeans. “After the VP room of Club Nine, you couldn’t get away from me fast enough.”
He smells too good. His hands feel too good. I’m capable of resisting him, I just…don’t want to. Tipping my chin, I intend to set my lips to his for a kiss. He halts my movement, his knuckle under my chin and his thumb close to my bottom lip.
He angles a glance at me through narrowed eyelids. “Tell me what you’re afraid of.”
I tuck my hands beneath his Henley, tracing the bumps and ridges of his abs before encountering the crisp chest hair encircling his incredible pectorals. “The usual. Spiders. Public speaking. Loss of control.”
“You’re safe here. Spiders fear me.”
I offer a half-smile.
“And public speaking is a learned skill.” His grin is honey slow. “So is surrendering control.”
He grips my wrists and pulls them behind my back, holding them in place with one of his larger hands. Then he slides his other hand into my jeans and past my panties. I suck in a breath and wiggle, but his hold only tightens.
“I’ll let you go if you want. Or you can let go of some of that control of yours. You’ll like it.” He is convincing, kissing me senseless while tucking his fingers into my panties. By the time he’s gliding his middle finger back and forth in my wetness, setting me off like a book of lit matches, I stop trying to get free and simply enjoy myself.
His talented fingers play and wander. I close my eyes, at war with the instinct to close off, protect myself. Something’s changed between us, but the warning bell in my mind sounds flat. Either that or I can’t concentrate while he’s touching me like this. He confines his exploration to my clit, lowering his head to pull my nipple into his mouth at the same time.
“Almost,” he breathes, his warm breath covering me as he switches breasts and drives me out of my mind. I fight his hold, not to escape him, but because I have to touch him or I’ll die.
And so comes my impatient request. “Let me touch you.”
“Later,” he murmurs, giving me his full attention. He watches my face as he continues his languid strokes. He doesn’t let me go. He doesn’t look away. Overcome, I give in to the release surging forward. My shaking legs lose their strength, but he catches me and releases my wrists. I collapse like a bag of flour onto the bed.
He tugs off my jeans and shoes, throwing aside my panties as well. I’m dazed when he lies down next to me a minute later, naked, on his belly, his hands folded in front of him. His hair is a mess from removing his shirt. All I can think about is having sex with him for hours.
Dammit.I am so pathetic.
“You’re potent. Did you know that?” I grumble.
His half-smile suggests he does, but what he says is, “Not to everyone. Just you.”
He cups my jaw and leans in to kiss me. He’s watching me, and for a second I fear a pending pronouncement. There’s definitely something lingering in his eyes. I realize what we’ve shared has been intense, which for me is uncommon. In moments like these, it’s harder to remember why I don’t want more from him, but the instinct to flee is alive and well.
“Wildflower,” he murmurs, but what follows isn’t what I expect. “Get on your hands and knees.”
It surprises me so much I burst out laughing. He doesn’t. “Why would I do that?”
“Because. I’m going to grip those thick hips of yours and tenderly fuck you from behind. Slow. Then fast. Until you’re screaming my name. His voice grows lower as he speaks, ending on a whisper. He punctuates it with a grin of challenge. “Don’t you want a few more of those big Os you like so much?”
I resist moaning yes, please. Like I said: pathetic. Trying to hold on to what dwindling control I have left, I shrug and try for nonchalant. “I can live without them.”
He shrugs too, with his mouth and beard. “As you wish.”
