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Chapter Four
Talia
He tastes divine.
I mean it. After months of wondering (and believe me, I’ve wondered), I’m finally learning the exact feel of kissing his mouth. His lips are firm, yet soft. His beard tickles me but isn’t scratchy. I have the errant thought he must use some sort of conditioner when his hand cradles the back of my head. It’s not like he’s holding me in place, but more supporting me in case I faint. Not gonna lie, overexposure to Archer Owen is a possibility.
His mouth knows just what it’s doing as it moves along mine. He applies pressure to my mouth, opens, and teases his tongue along my bottom lip. Then he pulls his delicious tongue back into his mouth, leaving my lips damp and, frankly, my panties too.
It’s been a while.
A long while since I went to bed with someone, and, sadly, that someone was Brandon. He was uninspired, selfish, and boorish on a good day. I’ve essentially blocked further details from my memory. Making the decision to sleep with a coworker isn’t my proudest life moment. I knew better. Shame nudges its way forward in my chest, stunting my time with the man kissing me now.
“Second thoughts?” Archer murmurs against my mouth, dragging his soft beard over my open lips. “You seem distracted.”
He pulls his chin back, waiting for my answer. Like he really wants to know. His hand is nestled in my hair; his smile is slight. A zing of excitement zips through me at the sight of his smile. I suspected he had a brilliant one but worried I’d never see it.
“I’ve never seen you smile until today.” I’ve been rewarded with the hint of a smirk or a sideways slant of his mouth, but nothing more. Now he’s standing in my kitchen drinking bourbon after having socked Brandon in the nose. His smile is a prize I never dreamed of winning. I didn’t know it was available to me.
Can you believe I had the gall to ask him to stay?
“I’m skilled at keeping myself in check, generally speaking. You make it hard.”
“What else do I make hard?” I wiggle where I stand, thrilled to have him close. And alone. I flatten my hand on his shirt, stroking one firm pectoral and then the other, delighted by the shadow of a male nipple denting the fabric. I peek through my lashes and watch his expression go from warm and easy to hot and bothered. It’s an unforgettable sight.
His mouth covers mine, parting to accommodate my seeking tongue. I waste no time tangling with his. He tastes of sweet bourbon and pure masculinity, and every inch of my jittery, impatient body responds.
“I’ll tell you what you make hard.” He bends and lifts me, depositing me onto the tiny kitchen counter. I’d slide off the edge if he wasn’t standing between the V of my legs and holding me there with his torso. I’m drowning in his sharp green stare with no desire to be saved. His hands bracket my hips, palms down. He nuzzles my nose with his while he speaks. “I can’t think straight when you’re two thousand miles away, did you know that? I see your email, my brain quits working. I read the word Kingpin and picture your cute smile. I can’t concentrate on anything but you when you’re not around, let alone when I’m standing in your apartment, my mouth on yours while I wonder what’s beneath this outfit. I’m a brainless bastard with you, Talia. That’s not good for the bottom line.”
I melt toward him, my arms resting on his shoulders, my fingers linking behind his neck. I expected dirty talk, not flattery. Although if I’m weakening his brainpower whenever I’m near, I’m not sure if flattery is the right word. I’ve long suspected sexual chemistry was lurking beneath our banter—yes, even over email—but I had no intention of starting anything with him. Now that he’s standing in front of me, I can’t think of a reason why I shouldn’t have him. I want him. We’re both adults. We have the house to ourselves. What’s there to lose? I warn myself not to answer.
“Are you going to be okay?” I whisper, unsure if I can handle more of his signature brand of wooing, but tempting him all the same.
“Are you?” he asks against my mouth, his own tipping into an amused bow. His palms on my ass, he yanks me to the edge of the counter. I gasp as my center encounters something hard and unyielding…and it’s growing in size. “Sure you want me in your bed? I’m impossible to forget.”
God, I bet. I’m so enjoying his hoisted, cocky eyebrow, but I won’t let him believe I’m the only one with something to gain.
“Silly boy,” I murmur, noting the exact moment he registers the word boy and resists. His eyebrows curve downward and his mouth pulls at the edges. “You’re the one who’s going to have trouble handling me. And who says we’re going to bed?”
I slide my hand between our bodies and reach for his belt. As I unbuckle, his mouth lands on mine, moving languidly, exploring carefully. When I have his zipper open, I wrap my hand around his cock and stroke. He’s both smooth and long, hard and thick. I try not to compare but I don’t remember having felt one so exquisite. I end the kiss to look my fill, admiring the smooth plump head capping his rigid length.
My God, he’s glorious everywhere.
He shakily unbuttons my jacket, his breaths coming faster while he works. He palms my breast over the silky camisole, thumbing my nipple in the same rhythm as I’m stroking him. His eyelids are at half-mast, nostrils flared. Archer Owen wears pleasure like the finest, most luxurious silk.
He lowers his head and covers my breast with his mouth, dampening the material of my shirt. My other hand in his hair, I watch as he bites down. I cry out in pleasure, my head tipping back where it bumps the cabinet.
I settle for resting my head against the cabinet door, cognizant of avoiding the handle while he wrestles my jacket off my arms. I move to unhook my bra, and my hair becomes tangled in the cabinet handle—because of course it does. The sharp pain elicits a surprised yip, followed by a wince as I reach for the tangle of hair wrapped around the metal pull.
The heat in his lust-filled eyes tempers. He blinks, regards me with a half-smile, and then reaches for the knot. Gently, his wide fingers untangle my hair, his breath in my ear as he murmurs, “How the hell’d you do that?” Once I’m freed, he rubs the back of my head with his fingertips to soothe the pain. “Sure you don’t need more room to groove than this countertop, Wildflower?”
“I want you in every room,” I tell him plainly. “I wanted to try here first.”
He dips his head into a regal nod. “That, I can do.”
I lean in to taste his incredible neck, as obsessed with the column of flesh as I was the first time I saw it. My hand, still in his pants and wrapped firmly around his length, picks up speed. He pushes my camisole up and over my breasts, taking my bra with it. His thumbs and forefingers pluck my nipples, urging them into turgid peaks as my belly drops. I sink my teeth into his throat when he tips his head to the side to give me clearance.
“I wanted to do that the night of the fundraiser and every night since,” I admit.
