I hang on to every sensation of him until I’m drowning in his presence. The taste of his tongue as it slips into my mouth, dancing with my own. His strong hands are on me, one still tangled in my hair, the other slowly moving from my waist down to my hip and gripping tightly. His familiar musky scent is so much stronger when my body is tangled around him. Even the short, coarse texture of his beard rubbing against my palms anchors me to this moment.
Anything that isn’t my vision to depend on.
One of my legs lifts, cautiously finding purchase around his hip. With a deep, masculine groan, his hand holding my hip slides down to the back of my thigh as he pulls me closer, demanding more. The kiss grows in intensity as he roughly bites my bottom lip before softly licking where his teeth were moments before.
There’s a faint warning blaring in the back of my mind.
For once, I ignore it and don’t let guilt eat me.
I fall into the moment, enjoying each swipe of his tongue and flex of his hands on my body.
We kiss with reckless abandon, and it’s more liberating than any adventure to the city or motorcycle ride could ever be.
Archer pulls away from my mouth, taking a needy moan with him. He moves his lips down my throat, leaving a burning trail in their wake.
I take the opportunity to wrap myself further around him. With one hand holding onto the shelf above me and the other clinging tightly to his shoulders, I lift my other leg. Immediately, his hand untangles from my hair and roughly pulls my thigh up to settle on his waist.
“Archer,” I whimper as he sucks on my neck and trails his fingers up my bare leg and silk-covered side.
He uses his nose to nudge my sweater down my shoulder before his hand grabs my small breast. I’ve never been insecure about my body, but I never thought it was something to write home about either. He changes that in a second.
The moment his fingers find my peaked nipple and give it a hard, dominating squeeze, both of our hips buck. Another moan breaks out when he’s so close to where I need him, but not quite there either.
“You’re fucking perfect,” he says between kisses along my collarbone. “I’ve thought about what you would look like wrapped around me a million times. Exactly like this, desperateandagreeable.”
I can feel his smirk on my skin. He’s made me practically delirious that a soft chuckle slips out of me.
It’s short-lived, fading to the back of my mind as he bites my lower neck and kneads my breast harder. My wanton hips thrust, but with my limited range of motion, I’m desperate for more.
“Archer, please,” I beg. “I need…”
The words are right there but I can’t bring myself to say them. It will change everything for me once I admit how I feel about him. How I can’t imagine losing him after a decade of believing I’d never have him to begin with.
Now I’ll know what it’s like to have had him and lost him—and this already hurts immensely more than anything before.
He pulls back swiftly and looks me in the eye. One of his hands moves to hold mine in place where it’s holding the shelf, and the other pushes my hips back until there’s only a ghost of a touch between my legs.
“Say it,” he huskily demands. “Don’t fight this, Renata. Just for tonight—let us have this.”
Taking a few deep breaths, I watch the desperation cloud his features.
“I need more,” I whisper and tilt my chin up, trying to catch his lips again. “I need you, Archer.”
My words are his undoing, reminding me of what he called me the night on Gale’s porch.
My great undoing, he mused.
It’s only raw desire between us after that moment.
My legs tighten around his waist, and I use the hand on the shelf to get a better angle as I move along his thick length. Even covered by his jeans, it’s enough to send me into another dimension. One where it really is only the two of us and my growing orgasm.
Both of his hands are on my hips now, keeping them in rhythm with his own carnal thrusts. His groans are as feral and desperate as the sounds falling from my own lips.
With each drag of his cock along my wet heat, I’m positive I’m making a mess on the front of his pants. I can’t find it in myself to care.
Not when I’m so close.
“Fuck,” he grunts and stares at us, watching the way my panties stretch along my center with each thrust. “Fuck.”
