“Please,” was all she could manage, her entire body trembling with anticipation, knowing she was already dripping and ready for anything.
The first touch of his tongue against her core nearly undid her. Wet heat, the shocking contrast of unyielding metal, the perfect pressure—Morgan cried out, her hips bucking involuntarily. Archer’s strong hands held her steady as he explored her with devastating precision, finding every spot that made her gasp and moan.
The piercing. Oh god, the piercing.
It added an element to each stroke of his tongue that had her climbing toward orgasm with shocking speed. When he focused his attention on her most sensitive bundle of nerves, alternating firm pressure with gentle flicks of that metal stud, Morgan felt her control shatter.
“Archer,” she gasped, a warning and a plea.
“Let go,” he urged against her heated flesh. “I’ve got you.”
The orgasm crashed through her with unexpected force, her body arching, muscles tensing, a cry torn from her throat. Archer worked her through it, gentling his movements as the aftershocks rippled through her.
As she floated back to awareness, Morgan felt him move up her body, pressing soft kisses to her stomach, between her breasts, along her collarbone, before finally claiming her mouth. She could taste herself on his lips, their combined taste making her dizzy with renewed desire.
“That was..." she began, unable to find adequate words.
“Just the beginning,” he promised against her lips.
Morgan reached for him, hand sliding down his still-clothed body to cup the hard length straining against his jeans. “Let me,” she whispered, fumbling with his belt. “I want to touch you.”
Archer caught her hands, bringing them to his lips to kiss her palms. “You don’t have to.”
“I want to,” she insisted. “I want to make you feel good too.”
She felt his hesitation before he guided her hands back to his belt. Together, they worked it open, then the button and zipper of his jeans. Morgan pushed them down his thighs along with his boxer briefs, her breath catching as her fingers found him—hard, hot, silky skin over steel.
“Tell me what you like,” she said, stroking him experimentally.
Archer’s breath hitched. “Just like that,” he managed, voice strained. “But Morgan, I don’t think... I’m not going to last long. It’s been... a while.”
“I could use my mouth,” she offered, surprised by her own boldness.
His groan was answer enough. “As much as I’d love that—and god, I would—I’m too close. Just looking at you, feeling you... I’m barely holding on.”
A wicked idea formed in Morgan’s mind. “Would you... would it be better if you came on me?” She caressed her own breasts to be sure there was no confusion in her invitation.
Archer went utterly still, his breathing suspended for one telling moment. “Is that what you want?”
“Yes,” she admitted, heat flooding her cheeks beneath the mask. “I want to feel you.”
He needed no further encouragement as he helped her to her knees, positioning her at the edge of the bed while he stood before her. His hands cupped her face with unexpected tenderness as he dropped a brief kiss to her lips before straightening.
She heard his breath quicken, felt the subtle movements as he stroked himself, his barely-there groans. One of his hands remained on her shoulder, steadying her, connecting them.
“Morgan,” he groaned, her name a prayer on his lips.
Moments later, she felt the warm splash against her stomach, and another streaking across her breasts. The intimacy of it—feeling him come undone because of her, for her—was unexpectedly powerful.
Before she could process the emotion swelling in her chest, Archer was pulling her against him, his mouth finding hers in a kiss that was both fierce and tender. His arms wrapped around her, holding her as if she were something precious, something he feared might vanish if he let go.
“Stay right here,” he murmured against her lips as he helped her sit back on her heels. “Don’t move.”
He left briefly, the sound of water reached her ears before he returned. With gentle, reverent strokes, he cleaned her skin with a damp cloth, the care in his touch making her throat tight with emotion.
“Shower?” he suggested softly.
Morgan nodded. “Yes please. But I don’t want to get my hair wet, can you get me one of my hair clips on the counter?”
