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Which is so much more irritating than I could have imagined.
Shaking my head and picking up the fresh coffee, I wander back into the hall and pass an observant Chloe, but when she turns to follow me into the bedroom, I hip-bump the door closed in her face and take perverse pleasure in the way she scratches at the wood to be let in.
Not today, you little shit. He’s my husband. Not yours.
Coming around to Archer’s side of the bed, though he’s pretty consistently in the middle these days, I set the coffee down, similar to the way he left me a glass of water before going to sleep last night, then holding my towel closed and cradling my arm to my body, I sit so the bedframe squeaks ever so slightly and the mattress compresses under my weight.
Instantly, Archer turns in my direction, just like I knew he would, and drapes his arm across my lap until his fingertips settle high on my thigh. Goosebumps sprint along my skin, and my stomach jumps with energy I haven’t felt in too long.
Exhaustion has kept me drained for weeks. My iron levels, too low. My ability to stay awake, almost non-existent. But the scent of coffee, and the effects of pain meds, a hot shower, and my husband’s warm body in a dark room leave me with new life after too long spent in the fog.
“Archer?” I stroke his hand with my fingers, and groan when his thumb twitches in response and inadvertently brushes near my all-but-naked core.
Screw the ‘four a.m.’ nonsense. We’ve lived on less sleep before.
Leaning closer, so my wet hair dangles forward and strokes his scarred chest, I search for his lips and press mine over top.
Traffic hums outside, the city buzzing despite the early hour. But in here, it’s just the two of us, so I slide my tongue across his bottom lip, thrilling at the idea of touching him while he sleeps. Of being with him when he’s not yet conscious.
“Are you in there?” I nibble along his stubbled jaw.
Masseter muscles flex and grind, so I nip again, and grin when his hand on my lap grows a little heavier. His fingers, a little more rigid.
“If you wake up right now, I’ll suck your dick.” Another bite, but I follow it with my tongue to soothe any sting I might’ve left behind.
I whimper when his hand inches closer to my core, his fingers spidering along my thigh despite his otherwise peaceful appearance.
It’s like he knows, even while sleeping, to pleasure me.
“Wake up,” I mumble and press my lips to his. I dip my tongue inside his mouth, moaning when his thumb brushes against my already wet slit, so I could almost swear he’s awake and alert.
But he’s not. I know he’s not. Because if he was, he’d tell me no.
You’re too sore, Mayet. You’re not healed enough.
These are the words I’ve heard for a month straight. The first few rebuttals were warranted; the next few, good timing, since I was too tired anyway. But the times I wanted to, and he said no, my heart stung with rejection I never thought I would get from this man.
Not today.
Today, I’m taking back what’s mine.
“Wake up, Archer.” I open my legs just a little wider, and moan when he touches. When his knuckles tease my clit, and his body somehow grows larger. Warmer. Closer.
I untuck my towel at my breasts and let it fall away so it’s just me and him. No clothes but for the shorts he wears, and no blankets, since he runs far too hot and has a habit of kicking them away in the middle of the night.
Reaching between my legs to cup his hand with mine, I maneuver his fingers until the tips are so close, so very close, to sliding in. A groan of want, pent-up and long overdue, rolls along my throat and leaves me breathless, so I finish what I started and push him inside me.
A gush of pleasure makes our movements easy, and Archer’s curling fingers send waves of ecstasy through my body.
I release his hand and roll my hips, and reaching across, I tug his black shorts down to reveal all of him. Hard, even while he sleeps. Ready for me, even when consciousness will tell him to stop.
To protect me. To keep me from hurting myself.
I pull the material down until his weight keeps me from moving it any further, then I reach up and wrap my palm around his shaft, tightening my grip until I elicit a sound of desperation from my husband, and his waking sneaks just a little closer.
“You do me,” I groan, grinding my hips. “I’ll do you. Then we’ll meet up at the end and finish it right.” Leaning over him, using my core muscles when I’d rather have the use of my left arm, I open my mouth and take his length all the way to the back of my throat.
Tears spring to my eyes, and my stomach jumps with lust. Nerves. Want. Need. Archer’s desire for me is constant and unwavering, even when he’s resting.
