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I whimper. This guy coaxes the most embarrassing sounds out of me, but I can’t help it.
Archer must know this place by heart, because we are still kissing when he suddenly spins me around and lowers me down, my butt landing on a small hard surface that feels like a coffee table. His hand between my legs vanishes and appears at my chest, yanking my dress down to my waist together with my bra.
He takes my breast in his mouth, making me moan, then the other one, his kisses turning into open-mouth bites so delicious, I seep with want.
He leans into me, lowering me onto my back, and I scramble for any surface to prop myself on when my hands find the couch right behind the table. Archer yanks the hem of my dress up, pulls my panties to the side, and his tongue does a long swipe along my slit.
“Archer,” I whimper.
Another swipe. Then another. His hands hook under my thighs. He’s not playing a sensual game, not teasing. It’s raw licking like he’s trying to swallow every drop of want I have to offer. I moan, needing more, so much more of him.
“Not enough,” I blurt out. “I need you, Arch. Right now.”
We need to fuck this obsession out of our systems quickly so we can use our brains and do things at a normal pace. We’re impatient and unapologetic about our sexual needs. It’s too obvious when Archer straightens up and hurriedly undoes his jeans, then pushes them down his hips and drives his hard cock into me in one thrust.
I cry out.
The cry is chased by another when Archer starts pounding into me.
Properly fucked…
I never understood the words until I got to know what passion can do—unravel me, scorch me, strip away my shame and dignity.
I’m balancing on the small coffee table, my hands behind my back, holding on to the couch arm for dear life as Archer holds my hips and fucks away like a psycho. He lowers himself onto me and takes my mouth in a violent kiss. I can taste myself on him. It’s raw and sexy. He grunts into my mouth, the sound that drives me wild because I’m the cause of it. My calculated Archer loses his cool in moments like this, and I love seeing him unhinged.
I can handle anything this guy gives me. But the coffee table can’t. It wobbles, swinging on its legs harder and harder with Archer’s every thrust. I’m so gone, it feels so good, like I’m on a rocking horse, that I only catch myself when my body feels like it’s free-falling, and the table gives a loud cracking sound and starts descending under me. My legs wrap around Archer’s torso. His cock slips out of me. In a split second, I squeal, but Archer’s arms around my back catch me.
“Fuck,” he grunts and trips on the table that collapses onto the floor with a loud crashing sound.
I’m wrapped around him like a monkey, but he doesn’t halt. In a moment, he lowers me onto the floor next to the couch and the broken table. In one swift thrust, he’s back inside me, reigniting the lost spark. He places his hands on the floor on each side of me and starts pumping.
This is next level madness. We are animals. My thighs fall open to take more of him as he pounds away. I’m a sweaty mess, my hands somewhere on his body, but I don’t register much as the heat in my core turns into a fireball and sweeps across my body, making me cry out in an orgasm. My blood is on fire, the center of the blaze my pussy that Archer keeps ravaging with his cock until he grunts like a beast and falls on top of me, panting.
There’s a minute of heavy breathing, then Archer falls off me and onto his back.
“Holy shit,” he murmurs.
I grin, lying like a starfish on the floor, the dress bunched up around my waist, panties skewed to the side, exposing my bare pussy, boots on my feet—yep, I’m classy, not, and I love it. I’ve never felt so sexy, so undone, so shameless, and yet so wanted as I do with Archer.
He wipes his face with both hands, exhaling through his puffed lips, and I grin. My sexy guy. Undone just like me. On the floor, his jeans still around his thighs. His beautiful cock out—his trademark pose when he’s with me.
“Dinner must be cold,” I say, smiling, as I fix my wet panties and rise to my knees.
Archer chuckles and squirms on his back on the floor, pulling up his jeans. “I’m down for whatever cold dinner, kitten. As long as you stay the night.”
Our smiling gazes meet. Fuck, how I adore this post-sex smile of his—cocky yet warm, giving a glimpse of his gentle side before he turns back into the calculated reserved Archer Crone.
I’m about to bite back with a clever comeback when there’s the soft sound of the front door opening, and we both freeze like opossums.
Soft footsteps follow, and I glance from behind the couch to see Raylin, Ty’s sister, walk slowly through the living room toward the bedroom.
She doesn’t notice us on the other side of the room.
“Raylin,” I mouth to Archer, who cocks a brow, and we both hear her soft voice from Marlow’s bedroom. “Nick?”
No one calls him by his first name. Except her, apparently. That’s the story I have yet to pry open from Marlow, aboutthat one night, andanother chance, and all that nonsense that almost got me in trouble.
But right now, I want a cold dinner with my hot guy.
