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“We have busy lives,” he continues. Pressing a kiss to the center of my chest, he angles me in the water so my eyes come down and meet his. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Because we both busted our asses to get where we are. But…” Gently, he brings his hand to my breast and elongates my nipple between his thumb and finger. My breath comes faster, and the pulse between my legs makes me brutally aware of my need for him. “At the end of the day, it’s just me and you.”
“Every single day?” I straighten my body until I become vertical again, then I wrap my legs around his solid form. My core pulses with want. My fingers itch to touch him. “Do you promise to be with me every single night for the rest of my life?”
He nods, fast and feverish, as he slips his fingers into the waistband of my panties and pushes them down. Cotton strains under his touch. But I don’t care. I want them gone, too. “Every single night till we’re old and wrinkled and still bickering.”
A soft laugh rolls along my throat. “We bicker a lot.”
“I’m convinced you consider it foreplay.”
Tearing my panties aside and leaving them to float into the ether, he trails his fingers along my hipbone and down to the apex between my thighs. One touch, to test.
A sigh rolls through my chest and escapes to bathe his shoulder. He slides two fingers inside and groans in tandem with the cry of pleasure that holds me captive.
“Fuckkkkk, Minka.” He plunges his fingers deep and hooks them back to grind along my most sensitive nerves. “So needy,” he breathes out. “So wet.”
“I don’t know how to have sex while swimming.” A nervous giggle escapes my lips so the water lapping at our arms rolls off again in a type of symphony we can see. “What do we hold on to?”
“You hold on to me.” Hungry, desperate, Archer’s fingers grow more demanding. He drags me closer to insanity so my release coils and sets off bubbles of pleasure. Like fireworks in my blood. Like walking to the edge of a waterfall and preparing to step over.
He surges closer and latches his teeth to my neck, biting, but not so it hurts. Gently sucking, but not nearly hard enough to leave a mark. His cock crushes against my hip. Challenging. Waiting. And for every second he works my pussy, he grows harder. Harder. Painfully pressed to my bone while he waits his turn.
“I love you so much,” he pants against my skin. “So fucking much, Minka.”
“I love you.” My breath comes short. My lungs ache as I cling to whatever I can inhale and keep inside. “It shouldn’t be this all-consuming, Archer. It shouldn’t be this heavy.”
“It’s exactly the way it’s supposed to be.” Losing patience, he tears his fingers from my core and swallows down my cry of frustration, but then he fists his cock and brings it between my legs.
The tip touches my fiery opening and leaves me whimpering for what I know it promises. Then he charges forward, sending the water lapping over my shoulders, and the breath in my chest bursting out to freedom once more.
He pushes deep inside until his hips slam to the underside of my thighs and the tip of his cock brings me an almost electrical current of pain, then he pulls out again and repeats his movements until we find a steady pace.
The sound of the waterfall competes with the shared groans floating in the air between us. Water rests on my lips, droplets that provide a chilly contrast to the fever I feel in my blood. Archer’s hands grip me tight, bruising, but I don’t mind. I love how they control me.
With every thrust, Archer’s heart thunders harder against my chest, and his breath comes faster. Frenzied.
“Archer.” I let my head drop back and my eyes close.
The moon shines brightly on my face, somehow warming my skin as the dancing wind I’ve coveted all day kisses my cheeks.
I sigh again. “Archer.”
He loops his hands under my arms and brings them up to hook over my shoulders. The perfect hold so we ride this wave of orgasmic bliss together.
“Come.” He bites out the word and growls when my pussy flutters tighter. Tighter. “Come for me, Mayet.”
ARCHER
Before Minka wakes in her bed the next morning, and before Fletch can knock on my door and start our day, I make a trip back to my apartment to collect a box of things.
Minka and I are moving in together in the world’s least official way.
We’re married now. We share a bed every single night and wake up curled together most mornings. Living together is the next step—in fact, it was a step we skipped before marriage—so we’re catching up. One bag of clothes at a time. One box of crap I probably don’t even need.
I wander through my apartment and collect things that catch my eye: a framed photo, probably the only one of its kind. A belt I have no particular affection for beyond the fact it holds my pants up. I snag a tub of protein powder and toss it on top, then a pair of jeans I don’t remember leaving on my sofa.
Stopping with a skid and lowering the box, I study my couch and narrow my eyes as I scan my living area. The TV remote: on the left arm of the chair, where I keep it. An old bottle of water on the coffee table:not sure I put that there.
Setting the box down, I turn away and reach into my back pocket when my phone trills with Minka’s music. I accept her call without even looking at the screen, then move to my kitchen and peek into the cabinets.
