I gasp, both at the ease with which he did it, and the new sensation of him changing the angle. On his knees, supporting himself on both hands, he looks down at me, and his eyes are hot, intense.
He bends and kisses me. “Do you know how long I’ve dreamed about doing this?”
I suck my bottom lip as he moves slowly inside me. “Minutes? Maybe an hour or two?”
“Years,” he states. “Years and years.” His brow furrows as he pushes forward, burying himself deep inside me, and I groan. “You feel so good,” he whispers.
“I hope you’re not disappointed.” I’m only partly teasing. I’ve not had lots of partners, and it’s not as if I know any clever tricks in the bedroom.
But he glares at me and says, “Don’t say things like that.”
I say innocently, “Or what?”
His eyes flare. “Oh, I see. Like that, is it?” He kisses my jaw and up to my ear, and whispers, “I didn’t expect you to be a brat.”
“And I didn’t expect you to be bossy.”
“Looks as if we’re surprising each other.” He moves back again, looking into my eyes. My heart’s racing. A switch has been flipped, and suddenly the temperature in the room has shot up by a few degrees. It’s hot anyway, and our skin is covered with a slight sheen of sweat, so our bodies stick together every time they touch.
“I thought we were making love,” I whisper. “But now I’m not so sure.”
“There’s always love involved,” he murmurs. “Even though it might not look like it for a few minutes.” He chuckles and thrusts hard,and I groan, lifting my legs to wrap around his waist. “Yes,” he says, obviously approving of the position, and then he begins moving with purpose, thrusting deep, and grinding against me with every push of his hips.
It feels amazing, just like sex should—hot, and passionate, and intense, and involving every single part of me from my head to my toes, which curl as pleasure ripples through me.
“Beth,” he says simply, “ahhh…”
He’s beginning to lose control, and the thought excites me and fills me with a kind of smug fulfillment at the knowledge that I’m driving him to the edge. Our bodies cling together, sticking and sliding, our hands and mouths hot, and I’m so turned on and sensitive that I feel after-ripples of pleasure all the way through me. And then he stiffens and jerks as he comes, and I feel him twitch inside me as each magnificent pulse of pleasure claims him. He shudders, and tears prick my eyes because it’s so wonderful to watch him, and I want to drink in the moment and freeze frame it, stay here for the rest of my life, because it’s so innocent and easy and simple, just me and him, just the pleasure of the soul and body, just connection and intimacy and being one.
But time never stops, and I sigh as he exhales in a rush and opens his eyes to look into mine.
Our lips curve up, and then he lowers down and kisses me. “Mmm.” He brushes his lips against mine. “That was amazing.”
“It really was.” I feel as if I’m emitting a radiant glow. “So good…”
He turns us so we’re lying side by side, and continues to kiss me for a long while, still inside me. When he eventually withdraws, I sigh, missing him, but he still holds me, and I realize how much I’ve wanted this connection.
I’ve had sex with another man. Hazily, I think how it was oddly similar and yet completely different at the same time. I loved Jude, or thought I did. But I never felt like this. So worshiped and adored.
“I want to kiss you all night,” Archer says, pressing his lips over my face.
“Mmm. Okay.”
He chuckles. “You don’t think you’ll fall asleep?”
“Oh, yes, I will, but you’re welcome to keep kissing me, I don’t mind.”
He laughs, lifting my chin so he can kiss my mouth. Then he kisses my nose. “Are you staying? Just until morning?”
We study each other for a moment.
“You mean in your house?” I ask. “Or in your bed?”
“Both. Either.”
I’m probably tipsier than I thought at first, and I’m very tired. I feel warm, sated, loved, content, and safe, and the last thing I want to do is move.
“Can I stay here? In your bed?”
