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“I thought we said no office.”
“So I avoid being there,” he says, thrusting a little faster. “For your sake. Otherwise, I’d have to fuck you every few hours.”
His words work like triggers. The climax, sweeping over me instantly, is soft and deep. I turn my face into the pillow and moan, clenching around his cock until he releases into me and stills for a moment, breathing slowly.
“Alma made breakfast,” Archer announces as he gets off the bed right away and pads to the bathroom. That fast? “I’m jumping in the shower. You can join,” he says without turning.
He talks like I’m a usual breakfast menu now. Like it’s part of my job.
I’m not sensitive about things like this. Usually…
I try to figure out what bothers me about his tone but abandon the idea and tiptoe to the living room, hoping there is no cleaning lady.
The most annoying thing about casual hookups is overstaying your welcome.
So I don’t.
My clothes are scattered on the floor around the coffee table. I find everything but my panties, curse, throw the clothes on, and leave the villa.
It’s already hot outside when I stop by my bungalow, change into a bikini and sports clothes, and head down to the beach.
The ocean is beautiful, and as I float on my back, rocking on the waves, I stare at the blue sky and think about last night.
Back on the beach, my phone beeps.
It’s Archer.
I feel butterflies in my stomach.
It’s a picture—my panties, on his coffee table.
What was that story about that coffee table?
I bite my lip. I wish I could send him a picture of my butt and ask him if that’s where the panties belonged.
But my phone doesn’t have a camera. Dang it.
Me: Care to put it back where it belongs?
Look at you, Kat, hunting for another lay.
Archer: It’s a long and sophisticated process. Might take all night.
Me: Sophisticated? We are not talking about you, are we?
Archer: I’m keeping this. Next time I’ll hide your clothes so you don’t run away without a proper goodbye.
I grin. Whether at the innuendo ofproperor the fact that there is next time.
The guy is driving me insane.
He is ice and fire, cold in public but borderline possessive when he is alone with me.
My queen.
I laugh, remembering the king of the island on his knees between my legs, talking Russian. It will be hard to keep my face straight in the office.
But there’s something else I want to do before heading to work.
