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I blush—I’ve slept here for hours.
“My favorite nest,” he says, chuckling.
“Asshole,” I murmur as I try to tame my curls.
He sits up, grunting, leaning on his good arm.
“You shouldn’t move!” I protest.
“Come here.” Weakly, he pats the mattress next to him.
Carefully, I crawl onto his bed, prop myself on my elbow, and lean in to give him a proper kiss.
His mouth takes mine with urgency like he wasn’t just sedated for hours.
“Whoa, mister, so full of energy,” I murmur, my heart so full of love for him that it feels too big for my chest.
“Missed you.” He kisses me again. “I woke up once before. You were sleeping in the armchair.”
“I was?”
I kiss him again when the knock makes us pull apart.
Slate’s giant form appears in the doorway. “Boss.” He grins—Jesus, does he ever? “How are you feeling?”
“Fantastic,” Archer responds, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and pulling me closer.
Maddy comes to check on him, then another nurse.
“Kai was here while I went home to take a shower,” I say, my hand absently stroking his chest clad in a blue hospital shift. Archer looks incredibly humble in a hospital bed. “Also Marlow, Ty, Axavier. Bishop stopped by. Margot.” I hide an evil chuckle. “She has a new haircut.”
“What?”
“A pixie. Looks cute.”
Archer frowns. “She hates short hair.”
“Not anymore.”
Her new haircut doesn’t bring me as much joy as the memory of her shrieks while I was cutting her hair like I was taking her life away.
Bitch.
We talk for almost an hour and can’t stop touching each other. We had to be kidnapped by thugs, beaten up, and go through bullets and explosions to get here. I’m not surprised. Nothing about us is mundane since we met. And as we talk, I steal more touches and breathe him in like a total creeper.
The sun sets, sinking the room into dimness.
Archer’s kisses get a little too insistent, and I love it. We’re back in our own little bubble, if only for a short while. There’s security outside the door, outside the hospital, and at our houses. I feel somewhat safe outside, but next to Archer—well, I could go through the best and the worst with him. Except this one-on-one time is becoming my favorite. God, what happened to Kat-on-the-go?
I run my forefinger along his split brow and still-swollen nose.
“You have all these wounds. They give you an edge,” I say, trying to sound playful.
“An edge?” His lips curl in a smirk.
“Yeah. I like that.”
“My edge?”
