“Let’s go in the bedroom,” he murmurs.
But I shake my head. “Here.”
His eyes meet mine, surprised, excited, filled with heat, and then before I can react he lifts me as if I weigh nothing and turns and places me on the counter. I squeal because it’s cold. He laughs but says, “Sorry.” He reaches over to pick up the sweater he leant me, spreads it out on the counter, and lifts me onto it. “Better?”
I nod, looking up at him, thinking how handsome he is, and how much I want him.
“Baby,” he says, cupping my face. “You’re so beautiful.” He kisses me, and I open my legs so he can move between them.
Part of me wonders if he’ll enter me immediately, and I wouldn’t have cared, but he doesn’t. He kisses me for ages while he strokes his hands over my skin, and then he uses his mouth to arouse me, kissing down my neck to my breasts, and teasing my nipples until my breaths are coming fast, and need is building inside me.
He kisses back up to my lips and slides a hand between us, slipping his fingers down into me, and I moan against his mouth as he gathers up my moisture and then circles his fingers over my clit.
“Oh, that feels so good,” I whisper, feeling as if I’m a tuning fork that’s been tapped, and I’m now reverberating and humming. “Please…”
He lifts his head and searches my eyes. “You’re sure?” When I nod, he pulls me towards him a little so I’m perched on the edge of the counter, and guides the tip of his erection to my entrance. Then he pushes his hips forward, and he slides slowly inside me.
“Ohhh…” My head drops back at the sensation of being filled and complete, at one with him.
“Beth…” He says my name like a caress, the word soft and gentle in his mouth. “You feel so good.”
“Mmm.” I close my eyes as he moves inside me, moving back before filling me again with slow thrusts. His hands continue to travel over me, lightly caressing my skin, and it feels as if every nerve ending is coming alive after a long sleep. I love the way he touches me, his fingers gliding as if he’s determined to connect every freckle, touch every inch of me.
I love how our skin tones are so different—we’re both brown, but mine is naturally cool-toned, the color of the sand in Sunrise Bay very early in the morning, while Archer is tanned, the color of the beach in the late afternoon, a rich golden brown.
His hands are large and warm, and yet he handles me gently, with finesse, teasing my body oh-so-slowly towards an orgasm as he slides his hand between us and arouses me with his thumb while he continues to thrust.
“Ohhh… I’m going to come,” I tell him eventually as the climax creeps up on me, and he growls his approval and thrusts a little harder, making me spiral out of control. I give in to the amazing sensations and let the orgasm sweep over me, clenching around him with hard, powerful pulses that make us both gasp.
He thrusts firmly, filling me to the brim with every push of his hips, and less than ten seconds later, he comes too, illustrating how he’d been holding back, waiting for me. He shudders, stiffens, and his hand clenches in my hair as he gives in to his passion, his sighs mingling with mine.
Oh, it’s so amazing to be wanted, to be desired… I bite my lip, overwhelmed with emotion and desire and pleasure.
When he’s done, his eyes open, and he looks into mine.
“Baby,” he murmurs, “are you okay?” His first thought is of me.
“Oh yeah. I’m fantastic.”
He chuckles and kisses my neck and shoulder. “You drive me crazy.”
“Idriveyoucrazy?” I shake my head in disbelief. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
“Maybe I do… a little.”
“Maybe.” I sigh as he gives me a long, lingering kiss.
“I’m going to cook for you every night if that’s the kind of thanks I get,” he murmurs.
“Mmm.” I know he’s probably exaggerating, but the thought that it’s possible a man might want to have sex with me more than once in a blue moon fills me with wonder.
He wants me. He desires me. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.
He chuckles then, and I follow his gaze to see Queenie still lying on the tiles. As we watch, she snores gently, clearly not interested in the entertainment.
He tears off a piece of kitchen roll and hands it to me with a sparkle in his eyes, and I clean myself up and get dressed while he does the same. Then he pulls me into his arms again. He humsYou to Me Are Everythingby the Real Thing, takes my right hand in his left, and dances with me, making me laugh. He has a nice singing voice, deep and melodic, and I sing along to the words with him, appreciating the sentiment.
“That’s very soppy,” I tell him.
