She squirmed and arched and pouted, but I held firm, amazed at my control.
“Beg, Pen.”
“Please,” she whimpered. I pushed a little more. Heat nearly blinded me.
“Mm. Beg again.” My jaw clenched.
“More, please.” Her hips bucked.
“Fuck.” I pressed farther in, stretching her tight walls, holding my breath.
“All of it now… Mr. Bellamy.” Her sultry tone did me in.
I thrust until I filled her, then stilled, letting us both get used to the feel of each other. Her eyes held mine, full of unsaid words, and I knew this wasn’t conquest—it wascollapse.Every wall I’d built came down, leaving raw need and greed to have this woman all to myself.
“Move Archer. Penetration is my thing.” Her hips urged, nails raking down my back, sparking fire.
We started slowly, then found a pace that blurred time. Her body arched to meet mine on every pulse. My name broke on her voice.
There was no boardroom, no policy, no world outside this room. Only the impossible truth—that one time with her wouldn’t be enough.
Pressure built; restraint burned away. She cried out, clutching my shoulders as if I was the only solid thing left.
Control shattered. My pace turned demanding. Her breath dissolved into gasps. Everything so right with her, the inevitability almost weakened me.
“So fucking sexy. Play with yourself for me, baby.”
She obeyed, hand sliding between us, moaning. Her eyes glazed, lips parted. “So close.”
I slowed, wanting us there together, squeezing every second we had out of this borrowed time.
I flipped her gently. “Hand on the headboard. Keep touching yourself.”
“Yes, God, yes.”
I thrust back into her from behind, groaning at how tight she still gripped me. Long, steady strokes. My hands bruised her curvy hips, holding on. Her moans drove the last of my restraint.
“Good girl. Don’t stop playing with yourself until you come for me.”
Her whimpers built to cries. She trembled, pulsing around me. “Archer, oh God?—”
I lost it at her climax. My hands joined hers on the headboard. I drove deep, groaning with my own, spilling into the condom, shaking the bed until I collapsed against her. Sweat stuck us together, breaths mingling.
My body stopped, but my mind didn’t get the memo—like one time with her and she’d rewired my brain, rewritten the history of everything that had broken me. I’d always trusted structure—angles, measurements, plans. But my growing passion for her was the one variable I didn’t bargain for.
I rolled us to our sides, wrapping her close. Our breathing calmed, but her quietness gnawed. Had we gone too far across the line? I kissed her cheek, temple, eyelids, whatever I could reach—anything to assure her—trying to ignore the worry at the edges of my mind.
“Everything okay?” I whispered, needing to know.
“Mm. Even better than that.”
“Good. I’ll be back.” I kissed her temple. In the bathroom, I couldn’t help grinning at my reflection while cleaning up. Who the hell was this guy?Happy Archer.
I returned with a warm cloth and tended to her gently. She watched me, eyes shining, then tugged me back into bed. We curled together, her back to my chest, my arm locked around her waist.
For a few stolen minutes, nothing else existed. Her breathing evened out, slow and content, and I let myself drift weightless, satisfied, alive in a way I hadn’t been in years. The emptiness that had once followed sex—the ache of something missing—was gone. She filled every hollow space I had.
If only real life didn’t exist the moment we left this room.
