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He reveres me. Respects me. Protects me. Cherishes the very ground I walk on.
It’s not a bad position to be in.
“The more she talks,” he reasons, “the more likely she is to blow something open we don’t want heard.”
“We’re okay. No one knows.” I press a kiss to his neck and find pleasure in the way he softens under my touch. In his hum of satisfaction, and the grip of his hands growing tighter on my thighs.
Tomorrow, I’m likely to find bruises on my skin in the shape of his fingers. That’s what happens when a person—me—was born with a blood disorder that’s rarely, if ever, found in women, and then she goes on to marry a man whose love language is to touch. To taste. To savor.
But I can’t bring myself to regret that decision.
“Wanna go home?” His voice is gravelly and rough. Delicious and promising as he glides his hand along my ribs and up to my neck. “We have the apartment to ourselves again.”
“Now that your brothers have finally left the city?” I snicker.
“Just me and you.” He strokes the front of my neck and peppers kisses across my lips. “And sixteen hours until either of us are back on duty.”
“We’re both on call.” I roll my eyes, partly in sarcasm, and partly because his teeth do magical things to my flesh. “What are the chances someone is gonna commit murder between now and nine tomorrow, forcing us out of our bed anyway?”
“So long as it’s not the vigilante,” he slips his tongue past my lips and draws a purr of pleasure from deep within my chest, “I don’t much care.”
“You’re trying to distract me with sex because you’re stressed out.”
Though I reap the rewards of Detective Malone’s dysfunction, I push, push, push, because I worry about the weight he carries.
“Cato and Micah went back to New York, the vigilante is on the news, your best friend is practically cohabitating with his toxic ex-wife,andhe’s still not talking to you.” I angle my head the other way so he can move his attention across—equality and all that. “You’re not facing your issues, Archer. You’re trying to fuck them away.”
“So?” He slides his free hand along my lap. Closer, closer to the tops of my thighs.
This reminds me of the night we met. The kiss that began everything we are now. His refusal to be dissuaded, and his fingertips, exploring and seductive.
Hindsight makes me wonder if he was stressed that night, too. Chewing on something about work… A case gone awry. Or an argument he might’ve had with his best friend.
Detective Charlie Fletcher is Arch’s partner. His brother in all the ways that matter. His closest friend in all the world.
And right now, they’re at odds because of me. Because of the vigilante.
Fletch found out what I am, realized what I’ve done, and now he’s stuck in a ‘will I snitch, or won’t I?’ back and forth that leaves the guys at odds
Fletch and I have always had a good relationship. But being a cop and finding out your partner’s wife kills people in her spare time can cause a rift in even the strongest of bonds.
Now we’re in limbo, waiting for his move. Wondering what he’ll do.
It’s all made more complicated by the fact he’s the primary detective on the most recent vigilante murder. His knowing who the perp is, but unsure whether to arrest her, is leaving us all a little… out of sorts.
“I want to take my wife home to bed.” Archer’s tongue brushes my cheek as his words flitter into my ear. “Why is that a bad thing?”
“Because you’re not dealing with your issues.” My breath comes shorter, headier, and matches the staccato of Archer’s heart. “Because you’re sad and worried, but instead of talking to Fletch about it, you’d rather bang.”
“Banging helps me relax.” He pushes to his feet and snatches his wallet free of his back pocket. After dropping cash on the bar to pay for the sodas we’ve consumed—being on call means no alcohol for us—he grabs my arm and tugs me up beside him. “Banging my wife is my legal right, no? We have the marriage certificate and everything.”
A fast laugh escapes my throat and makes him smirk. “Nowhere on our marriage certificate, nor in our vows, does it mention sex.”
And yet, I let him lead me across the semi-packed room and toward the exit. Luckily for us both, our apartment is right next door.
“It’s been weeks, Archer.” I stop him before he opens the door. “Weeks.”
“I don’t wanna talk about it.”
