Shit.
The rumble of the bike had me clenching my thighs around Archer’s hips. It wasn’t even all that intense, but I was pregnant, my hormones were running rampant, and I’d just spent the past hour battling all sorts of dirty thoughts on top of the image of Archer holding baby clothes, which shouldn’t have been hot, but was. I shifted as he gave the bike gas and maneuvered it out of the parking lot. The cold air did nothing to abate my rising temperature.
Once we were on the road, I didn’t dare move, afraid any slight squirming would send the tires out from under us. As we drove, the visuals that Shayna’s mention of our bathroom rendezvous brought up had my body buzzing like a live wire. Being wrapped around Gettysburg’s wet dream of a firefighter didn't help either.
This is pathetic. Get a grip, Darcy.
I started reciting the alphabet backwards, and when that failed as a distraction, I tried counting by sevens.
True to his word, Archer drove like he was taking the driver’s test—textbook and cautious. He actually probably would’ve failed for driving too slow. The logical part of me recognized it as the safe and responsible thing to do, and I appreciated it immensely since it wasn’t just my life in his hands, but the part of me that was slowly being consumed by my hormones needed him to get me home ASAP.
At a red light close to my apartment, he turned his head toward mine, yelling so I could hear him over the engine. “You good?”
Apparently, I’d been doing a crap job in the no-squirming department. I gave him a thumbs-up, not trusting my voice to come out normally. What I needed was for him to hurry up and get me back to my place.
At the next red light, I cleared my throat in attempts to mask the groan that almost escaped me. My body was growing increasingly aware of my proximity to the man in front of me, and my muscles were tight, all pretense of counting vanishing. He was all I could think about.
Archer’s head tipped ever so slightly, and then he revved the engine, the rumble of the engine intensifying momentarily. I bit down on my lip to keep from making a sound. There was no way he knew what was happening to me back here, but then he revved the motorcycle again, and I knew that he somehow did.
When the light turned green, he gave it a little more gas than he had previously, but kept our speed well within the speed limit. My legs squeezed his tighter, and I bunched my hands in the leather of his jacket. It really shouldn’t have felt this good. Maybe this is why pregnant women weren’t allowed to ride motorcycles—for fear of near-orgasming. It definitely wasn’t the no-seatbelt, no-protective-barrier thing.
Pulling into my driveway, he cut the engine, the bike falling still beneath us. I hopped off quickly and practically threw the helmet at him.
“Awesome! Cool! Well that was fun! Thanks for the ride. I’ll text you!” I spun on my heels, about to run for the door when he called my name.
I looked over my shoulder to find him, eyebrows quirked in confused amusement, and my shopping bag in his hands.
“Right! Whoops.” I took the few steps back the way I’d come so I could take my things from him, then quickly retreated again, his gorgeous green eyes tracking my every movement. “My bad. Thank you!”
Then I really did run, right up my front steps, not stopping to spare a backwards glance as I closed the door behind me.
I deposited the shopping bag on my kitchen table and made a beeline for my bedroom. Inside my nightstand drawer, I pulled out my tried-and-true vibrator—the purple rabbit one that did the trick every time. I discarded my jeans and panties hastily, wanting to find the release that I’d been edging for the past fifteen minutes.
Turning it on, I lay back on my bed, and was just about to insert it when I heard my front door open.
What the actual fuck?
I quickly hit the power button, the toy stilling in my hand. Stepping into my panties again—because there was no way I was going to get murdered without panties—I walked into the hallway, freezing the second I did.
Archer froze too, midstep in the middle of my kitchen, eyes colliding with mine before dropping to my right hand.
Where I was still clutching my vibrator.
Shit.
I didn’t move to hide it. It was too late now anyway, which meant it was game time. No way in hell was I backing down right now. One, because this was my house that he just invited himself into, and two, because I was convinced I would get severe clitoral damage if I didn’t get off in the next three minutes.
So, with those two things as my motivators, I broke the silence of our stare down. “What are you doing here?”
His gaze returned to mine, his tongue sliding between pressed lips before answering. “You forget I know exactly how those legs feel wrapped around my waist when you’re about to come.”
I fought the urge to press said thighs together now. He was still staring at me, but he hadn’t moved—not even an inch. I observed him, the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the intense heat in his eyes. It wasn’t just me that was affected.
I smirked, unable to resist teasing him. “You can take a picture if you want. You know? So it’ll last and all that.”
“Get back in the bedroom, Brat.”
A shiver ran down my spine at the command, and for as much as I wanted to disobey him because of the “brat” comment, I was too excited to see where this was going.
