"Drink?" I asked. "Though I guess I should have asked when we were downstairs."
Stop rambling, Hazel!
"How about something better?" he offered, encircling my waist with his large hands and pushing me back gently onto the couch. "I wanted to do this in the conference room," he said, kissing me, his hand pressing between my legs. "And when you made that stack of very sexually suggestive pancakes and then that night when you jumped out naked at me."
"I was wearing a towel," I said and whimpered, arching against his hand.
"It was the skimpiest towel I've ever seen," he whispered in my ear, stroking me through my panties.
Where previously Archer had been playful, now he was all serious desire. He kissed me, his tongue stroking the inside of my mouth. I leaned back against the couch as Archer pulled at my top. The flowing fabric yielded easily. He pulled my breast out, sucking on it, his tongue and lips rolling the hard nipple. I moaned, my head leaning back.
"Archer," I whimpered. I spread my legs to give him easy access to me. His hand pushed under my panties.
"You're so wet," he groaned. His fingers curled, stroking me. His mouth moved back to my breast. My hips bucked against him as he stroked and teased me, his mouth sucking and biting at my nipple.
"I told you I was a good finger painter," he said, kissing back up along my jaw to my mouth. "But I also have other mediums I excel at."
He knelt down slowly. I was breathing hard as he kissed his way up my inner thigh, and I felt the heat of his breath through my soaking-wet panties. He eased them off of me, then he pressed his face between my legs.
"That feels amazing," I moaned. His hands were on my legs, spreading them. I leaned back into the couch pillows.
He reached up, his hand finding my breast, pinching the nipple, rubbing it as he licked and sucked. His tongue found my clit, and I cried out.
"You're making me so hard," he mumbled.
I tangled my fingers in his hair. His large hands held my hips steady as he licked and teased me, trailing his tongue to my opening and then back up the slit to suck on my clit. He slipped two fingers in my opening, curling his fingers, making me gasp.
My belly tightened, and my legs trembled. "I want your cock," I begged.
He ignored me, continuing to lick me. His tongue did this twisting thing around my clit. I clutched at his hair. I came with a cry, Archer drawing out the pleasure.
"You should have said you wanted to be on my paintbrush," he told me, kissing a nipple then kissing up to my collarbone.
"You're a really good painter," I slurred, running my fingers down his skin, tracing the tattoos through his open shirt collar and down the column of buttons. His zipper was half undone, and he was hard.
"I feel like you didn't savor it enough," he said, voice gravelly with desire. "The craftsmanship of good art needs to be appreciated."
I squeaked as he grabbed my waist and spun me around so I was face-first in the couch. He pushed up my skirt and pressed his face against the sensitive flesh. My back arched, and I gasped.
"I want you to fuck me," I moaned. His large hands gripped my hips, and he stroked me with his tongue slowly and deliberately. My fingers gripped the arm of the couch.
One of Archer's fingers teased my clit while his tongue dipped in and out of my opening. His fingers moved up to pinch my nipple, rolling the pebble-hard pink nub.
"Please, fuck me!" I begged Archer. He seemed content to explore every inch of the flesh. His fingers moved back to my opening, his other hand still playing with my nipple. He inserted two fingers in my opening, stroking me.
"You mean like that?" he asked. His voice was so deep. I moaned, grinding back against his hand.
"I want your cock," I said hoarsely, my head tipped back.
"I want to make you come again first. I love those little noises you make," he said, his fingers moving in and out of me. I whimpered.
His fingers went away, replaced by his mouth. He went after my clit, nipping and sucking until I was a sweaty, writhing mess. I bucked against him, but his large hands held my hips in place as I came with a curse.
"Crap, that was good."
"I told you I was a good painter."
"Yeah, but you didn't tell me you were that good," I said, standing up. "I still want your cock," I told him, turning to set my hands on his broad shoulders.
