Chapter 34
34
LAYLA
I wake up the next morning to the sound of wood-chopping in the distance. Before I’ve even opened my eyes, a smile stretches across my face. Archer…
Crawling across the bed to the window, I peek through the curtains. Archer is nothing but a tiny figure in the distance, swinging his ax in the woods. But just the sight of him sends a spark of happiness through my body.
And I don’t know why, but everything feels brighter, more colorful right now. The sky. The trees. The snow. It’s all blindingly beautiful this morning.
I release the curtains and flop onto my back. Gosh—I really needed that orgasm .
And what an orgasm it was. Two orgasms, to be precise.
Can’t lie—those orgasms were top-notch. I’ve never had my toes curl like that. I released so much tension, I slept like a rock.
The thought makes me clench my thighs together. That’s when I realize that I’m not wearing any underwear and I’m embarrassingly sticky between the thighs. Scientifically speaking, it will take me three to five business days until I’m fully recovered from the events of last night. Yet still, I need to get myself together before my son wakes up. So I swing my legs out of bed and tiptoe into the hallway bathroom.
I get a glimpse of myself in the mirror and flinch at all the bruises on my chest. There’s not enough makeup in the world to conceal this damage. But still, a smile erupts across my face as I gently trail the marks with my fingertips. They are concrete evidence that I didn’t just hallucinate last night. It really happened.
But it’s also evidence of something else. These bruises prove to me that I’m not so disgusting and undesirable after all. Archer Brighton wanted me last night. He wanted me even with all my so-called flaws. His lips were all over my stretch marks. His hands didn’t shy away from my love handles. He touched my body like he was blind to my imperfections. Maybe it’s superficial of me, but I think I needed that validation more than I needed the orgasms themselves.
I’m on cloud nine as I quickly shower, wash my hair and brush my teeth, replaying the events of yesterday in my head. From that kiss at the hockey game to the toe-curling orgasms in Archer’s bathroom. The voice of reason is trying to remind me not to get caught up in the fantasy. But I won’t let the voice of reason talk me down from this high.
After all the shit I’ve been through, I just want a moment to bask in something that feels good for once. I’m happy for once. Even though it will probably be very short-lived.
Sky is awake by the time I’m out of the shower. “Hewo Mommy!”
He rolls over on the mattress and rises to his feet, holding his arms out to me.
“Good morning, Sky.” I scoop my happy, well-rested baby out of his crib and kiss his head. “Did you sleep well?”
My son babbles away as I carry him out for breakfast. I set him up with some toys on the living room floor. I hum to myself and dance to the song I hear in my head as I move around the kitchen, starting the coffee maker, popping bagels into the toaster and getting Sky’s oatmeal started on the stove.
The sight of the calendar on the wall reminds me that this fairytale of mine is quickly winding to an end, though. Don’t get too comfortable, Layla.
My happiness begins to wither away but I’m distracted from the unpleasant thought when the front door swings open and then shut. I hear Archer kick off his boots at the door. Then, he’s chatting animatedly with Sky for a little while before his heavy footsteps carry him to the kitchen.
I’m not prepared for the way my heart starts galloping when our eyes meet.
“Hi,” he says, a boyish grin on his face. The tips of his ears are pink and I can’t tell if he’s blushing or if it’s because he just got in from the cold.
My tongue nervously swipes over my lips as I stand at the counter, trying to sweep away my own smile that’s creeping up on me. “Hi.”
“Did you sleep well?” he asks me.
“I did.” I fiddle with the dish towel in my hand as I turn to face him. “Did you?” I lean against the sink.
He leans against the counter across from me. “Slept great.” His lips curve even higher in that smug grin.
We stand there like fools, staring at each other and grinning while the tension between us ratchets up, turning the kitchen into a summer inferno.
I notice a reddened fingernail scratch running down the column of his throat and my mouth waters. Oh god.
“I’m just gonna, um, wash my…” He points at the sink behind me.
I blink, stumbling out of the way. “Yeah. Your hands. That’s good. Wash your hands. Yeah.”
Wow. I sound like a genius right now.
In my defense, some people are not fans of washing their hands. Razor being one of them.
When Archer turns back around, his eyes roam around the kitchen, his wet hands outstretched. I eagerly step forward, handing him the dish towel.
“Thank you,” he says, still smirking as he accepts it.
I watch him wipe his large hands, remembering just how talented they are. God—I love those hands.
My eyes lift to his and he’s still smirking at me.
“I made you a bagel.” I urgently grab a plate off the counter and thrust it at him, the bagel precariously sliding around.
“That was very thoughtful, Belle.” His eyes eat me up as he accepts the plate from my hand.
We stand face to face for another long moment and I feel myself turning red. “Okay, then. I’ll just finish making Sky’s lunch. Okay.”
“Okay.” He nods.
I nod, too. “Take care.”
Archer chuckles quietly. “Take care.”
I quickly spin away from him to hide my horrified face. Take care? Did I really just tell the man to take care. Oh god.
Maybe I should, like, never open my mouth again. If I keep quiet, maybe I won’t embarrass myself more than I already have.
Maybe.
Moments later, I feel Archer’s hand on the small of my back as he reaches around me to grab a mug from the cupboard. The electricity of his touch makes me drop the spoon I’m holding to the floor.
“Ope. I’ve got it.” Archer squats quickly to scoop it up.
I glance down at him, before me on his knees. A tidal wave of memories smacks me square on the clit. Holy fuck.
I know Archer is thinking exactly what I’m thinking. Those dark brown eyes hook on mine, totally giving it away.
“Here you go.” He rises and hands me a clean spoon from the utensil drawer, his eyes housing the same heat that was on display when he cornered me against his bathroom sink last night.
Okay. I need to get this off my chest. I take the spoon from Archer’s hand and drop it into Sky’s lunch box. “I…I’m sorry if I’m being all weird today.”
He smiles understandingly. “Don’t apologize. I feel kind of weird, too.”
“You do?” I question him nervously. “Weird how?”
“Weird in an I-can’t-stop thinking-about-what-we-did-last-night way, Layla.” He steps closer, the forcefield of his presence crowding me against the counter.
“You have to stop thinking about that,” I whisper. “We both have to stop.”
“How?” he whispers back, his expression pained and serious. “How do you expect me to stop thinking about the way you were moaning my name? The way you came all over my bathroom counter? Layla—you had my cock inside your mouth. How the fuck am I supposed to ever forget that?”
Fuck. We’re both screwed.
“We can’t do it again, Archer.” I fold my arms across my chest like that’s supposed to offer me some sort of fortitude. “We have to just focus on the reasons why we can’t do it again.”
He squeezes his eyes shut and scrubs a hand down his face. “Care to remind me again what those reasons are? Because right now, I’m coming up with a blank.”
I laugh quietly, giving him a soft shove backward. “You have standards, Archer.”
“Right. Right.” He doesn’t seem convinced.
I go on. “And if we keep going down this path, you’re going to end up disappointed when I don’t meet your expectations.”
“Layla, you could never disappoi—”
“Stop,” I say firmly. “It’s best if we don’t continue this.”
He exhales heavily, the veil of lust lifted from his eyes when he takes a step backward. He nods to himself. He pauses. “I fucking hate this,” he says frankly.
I purse my lips, letting my head bob up and down. “I hate it, too. But this is the right thing. I really don’t want us to hurt each other. I care about you too much.”
“Right,” he says again. “And I’d never want to pressure you into a commitment you don’t think you can handle.”
“Right,” I echo him.
Silence lingers and I can tell he’s fighting with himself over this. He’s considering giving in. He’s considering compromising his values—again—just to make me happy. But I don’t want him to have to do that.
“You deserve to have the kind of relationship that you want, Archer. It’s not fair that you make all these sacrifices for me then end up settling for some knockoff, discounted version of the love you know you deserve.” Tears sting my eyes, because it sucks so bad that I can’t be what he needs. “I won’t do that to you. It would be selfish of me.”
“You’re not a knockoff version of anything, Layla. You’re the ultimate prize.” His shoulders sag in defeat. “But unless you can see that for yourself, I guess this is how it’s going to have to be,” he says conclusively.
His strong fingers gently stroke down my shoulder to curl around my bicep and he presses a long kiss to my forehead. I close my eyes against the brick of emotions that slams into my chest.
Archer is already backing away from me, putting space between us. He grabs his coffee and his bagel. He turns and retreats into his library.