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Exotic islands, fruity drinks, and Archer Malone in a ridiculous pair of shorts with little palm trees on them. That’s what I dream of until a shouting phone alarm jolts me from my slumber.
Hern. Hern. Hern. HERN!
I sweat under blankets and a cop’s arm, under a bitchy cat, and inside an apartment warmer than mine. But I haven’t had enough sleep. My eyes sting, my brain is slow, my thoughts dragging like they’re walking through mud.
And that alarm keeps going.
Hern. Hern. HERN!
“Archer.” I groan and squeeze my eyes shut.
Just five more minutes. Just get me to the good part of my dream before I have to get up.
But no, because the robotic screams of a phone don’t care for my wants. For my needs. For basic human decency.
“Archer!” I smack his arm and attempt to shove him off. “Get your stupid phone.”
“Hmm?” He doesn’t roll the way I want him to. Instead, he shuffles closer and buries his stubbled jaw against my neck. “Shhh.”
“It’syouralarm! You set the damn thing.” Crawling across his broad body, half-lying on his muscled arms and growling when his hand goes to my naked ass, even in his sleep—why am I naked?—I smack his phone to silence the alarm, and when I peek at the screen to find it filled with messages, emails, texts, but no missed calls, I slump back into bed and whimper.
Because I’m tired, and Archer set an alarm for four-friggin-thirty in the morning.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I want to cry. I want to roll into a ball and die. “Why would you set an alarm after a late night?”
“Shh…” He licks my neck, even in his sleep. “Too loud.”
“You’re too dumb!” I smack his arm and try again to push him off. “It’s still nighttime, but I’m awake.”
“You taste good.” He licks again. His hand drops to my hip beneath the toasty warm blankets, and before I can throw it off and storm away from this bed, Archer crawls closer. Closer. Then on top.
“Archer!”
“I’m awake.” Sniggering under his breath, he sets his knees between my legs and his elbows on either side of my head. His face remains buried against my neck. His lips on my skin. His stubble is coarse enough to make me sigh.
But then the tip of his cock touches the apex between my legs, and somehow, without warning, he has me humming with something other than anger.
“You wanna?” he mumbles.
“The least romantic segue to sex in my life.” I glance toward the ceiling and leave my words flat. Bored. But my racing pulse tells an entirely different story. My sprinting blood. The slick between my legs.
It takes only a beat for the exhaustion in my brain to make way for lust. For want. Then I open wide, like we both knew I would, and when Archer slips inside with one fast thrust, we both grunt from the way he so perfectly fills me up.
I’m still warm. Sweating, because I was covered in too many blankets and too much of Archer Malone. But the moisture on my skin isn’t only for me. Archer’s is the same, and when he lays heavier on me, his shoulders in my line of sight and his body moving over mine, I pull him closer and taste.
Bite.
Love.
“Archer…”
“Mm.” His hips grow a little faster. A little less lazy. “Fuck, you feel so good.” Bringing his face around, he latches his lips onto mine and takes. Takes. Takes.
Morning breath doesn’t exist, and the fact it’s four-thirty doesn’t matter.
“Minka.” He pulls my bottom lip between his teeth, and when he opens his eyes, possibly for the first time since the alarm, our gazes lock, and his jaw grits as he slides over me. “Fuck.”
“I love you.” Damn, damn, damn me for falling in love. “Dammit, Archer.”
