Chapter 8
BONER
Iknow this is Archer's book, but I've never had my cock sucked by another man. For the record, I liked it. He and Harlow could suck me anytime.
Also, don't tell Jules, but the way he banged her was hot as fuck.
Archer
If you're familiar with Clifton Strengths, it won't surprise you to know I'm number one Intellection. That means I think a lot. It's hard to turn my brain off. That might also be my autism speaking. When I sit down to work, I can stay still for hours.
Like tonight. After everyone went to bed, I sat down at my desk and started writing. The ideas flowed out of me like fresh blood. Although, from the first word, they headed in a totally different direction from what I intended. I rolled with it.
Believe me, I could have written a detailed description of Harlow's body and the way she looked and sounded when she fucked. I watched her closely, taking in every single detail, committing them to memory.
Instead, I focused on the screen in front of me. Dialogue and description. The nuances in her voice when she spoke. The flash of her smile. References to her freckles. So many references to those.
"What are you working on?" I didn't know Harlow got up until she placed a cup of coffee beside me. The steam rose off the surface, the aroma soothing and stimulating at the same time.
"The next big thing." I gave her a nod of thanks. "I might win an Oscar for this one."
"I don't know how I feel about that." She leaned against the edge of the desk. "On one hand, I'd love that for you. On the other, if this is about me…"
"You don't want the scrutiny." It wasn't a question. I knew she didn't. She was taking enough of a risk increasing her profile with two restaurants.
This could thrust her into the limelight faster than my dick into her wet, ready pussy. With the limelight came fans, people watching and cataloguing her every move, taking candid photos, stalking her social media.
Stalking her.
"If you don't want me to finish it, I won't," I said. I tapped my fingers on the desktop as I thought.
"I'll make changes so no one will know it's you. My protagonist could be a ballet dancer or work in a pet shelter."
I'd have to give her fewer freckles. That made me so uncomfortable I shifted in my seat. I had a picture in my mind of what she looked like. Deviating from that took adjustment.
"That's probably a good idea," she agreed, visibly grateful I made the offer.
"Is it?" I twisted around and looked up at her. "When we find Hypnos and Zeus, will we need to keep killing?" That wasn't the simple question it seemed to be on the surface. Hunting and killing was all but ingrained on us at this point. Other people took holidays. We took lives.
She pursed her lips. "I don't know. Part of me would like to put all of that behind me, focus on my restaurants and living my life."
"But part of you remembers they're two monsters out of many,” I said for her.
She drew in a long breath through her nose and exhaled softly. "Exactly. I wish I could snap my fingers and they'd all, I don't know, shrivel up and die."
I managed a slight laugh in the back of my throat. "That would surprise a lot of people. When a bunch of men around them, and women too, disappeared into dust."
"That's the thing, isn't it?" she said slowly. "They would be surprised. Not all of them, but some. Plenty. People like Hypnos and Zeus are good at hiding in plain sight."
"Yes, they are," I agreed. "But we're better." We had to be. We were outnumbered by monsters.
"I hope we are," she said. "But if someone is trying to mess with us, maybe we're not as good as we think." Her eyes were laced with worry.
"Are you wishing you stuck to working alone?" I asked.
Having three others along for the ride was new for me as well. I wasn't sure I'd adjusted quite yet. Jules said he wasn't a people person, but neither was I. I was good at masking and pretending I was almost as social as those around me.
Maybe I should be more like him and be grumpy. Keep people at arm's length with my personality. I couldn't though, it wasn't who I was.
Besides, I liked having Harlow around. As long as I got some time to myself when I needed it, I'd be okay.
"No," she said slowly. "It is riskier, but I like that you all have my back. Not that I didn't enjoy it when it was just you backing me up."
Slowly and slightly, I raised an eyebrow at her, then the other. "Who was backing who up?"
She smiled. She baited me and I'd walked right into it.
"We were backing each other up," she said quickly, as if somehow she might have offended me.
I wasn't that easy to offend.
"Yes, we were." I reached for her hand, curling my fingers around hers.
Her skin was smooth and smelled good. Her scent today like frangipani and lilac. Soft and tropical. Appropriate for her. Soft and warm when she wanted to be. Hot and steamy when she needed.
Nothing about this woman was simple, straightforward or uncomplicated. She was fascinating and complex, wrapped in a skin of beauty and perfection. Yes, I know that sounds flowery, but I am a playwright and screenwriter after all. Flowery prose is my bread and butter.
Harlow was the sweet strawberry jelly on top, maybe with a hint of peanut butter. The smooth kind, not the crunchy. I hated the texture of crunchy peanut butter. It was almost as bad as overripe banana and soufflé. Yuck.
"I love you," I whispered so quietly I barely heard my own words. "I've loved you since the day we met." Before she could be facetious and correct me, I said, "The night we met," and smirked.
She smiled, letting me know I was right about what she was going to say.
"I love you too," she whispered back. "That was a hell of a night, wasn't it?"
"Oscar Hetherington," I said thinking back. "The third man on your list."
"Yes, he was." Her eyes were glazed, thinking back too.
"After the first two, I thought I knew what I was doing. He proved me wrong. He knew we were coming."
"He knew you were coming," I corrected, not from conceit, but because it was a fact. I liked facts. Precision.
"Right." She nodded slowly. "He knew I was coming. He was ready."
"And then I showed up and made things more difficult," I said.
"You showed up and made things easier." Now she was the one correcting me. "If you hadn't come in when you did, he would have shot me and we wouldn't be having this conversation."
"That depends what happens after we die," I said, "If he'd shot you, I would have been next. We might be in the afterlife, talking about how bad our timing was."
She laughed at that. "I suppose that's possible."
"Do you ever think about it?” I asked. "What comes next?"
She took another long, slow breath. "I think about it, but I don't have any conclusions. As far as I know, there's only one way to find out what comes next, and I'm not ready for that yet. When I am, I'll report back and let you know."
"You will not die before I do." I managed to put almost as much growl in my voice as one of her other boyfriends. "If you die, then I better be dead already."
She turned her hand around and laced our fingers together.
"I was going to say the same to you. I couldn't imagine my life without all of you in it."
"Including Jules," I said, teasing lightly.
"Including him," she agreed.
Lucky for all concerned, she didn't add, 'especially him.' I didn't mind the guy, but I didn't want to be an afterthought.
"You liked him being rough with you," I said.
Her lips turned up in a soft smile.
"I did. It felt good. And I know he enjoyed himself."
"Do me a favor," I said, locking my eyes on her. "Don't forget to put yourself first once in a while." When she started to argue, I cut her off with a glance.
"You're always thinking about other people. The innocent people you want to save. People you want vengeance for, like your sister. Your customers. Us. Sometimes Harlow St. James deserves to put Harlow St. James front and center."
"I'll think about it," she promised. "As long as you do the same."
"I do," I assured her. "I need time to myself to get my work done, for one thing."
For my sanity, for another. What does the meme say? The collective noun for a group of humans is a 'fuck nope.'
Four other people in my life was the right amount. Any more and I was going to have to insist we buy a large house in the Hamptons where I could have my own wing. That didn't sound so bad when I thought about it. I might look into that later.
"I've probably disturbed you enough," she said, realizing we'd been talking for a while. "I should leave you alone."
"It's okay," I said quickly. "I don't mind being sidetracked by you for a while."
I glanced at the screen to check the time. Blinked when I saw how much of it was gone. It was about two in the morning when I sat down here to start working. It was now almost seven. Definitely time for a break.
"Are you going to get some sleep?" she asked, giving me a worried look.
I rubbed the heel of my hand over my forehead. "After breakfast, I will," I assured her.
While the others were at work, I'd lie down and catch up with a nap.
Fortunately, both my job and my hobby allowed me to operate at night and sleep during the day because I was not a daylight person.
My mother used to joke that I was a vampire, but I preferred the dark and quiet of night.
The solitude. The time to think without comings and goings from the people in the apartments around me.
Not that they didn't come and go at all hours, but less so at night.
Sometimes I'd sit on the rooftop terrace and look out across the city.
Pretend I had the whole space to myself.
Up high and alone was a good place to refill the creative well in my mind.
To think about nothing in particular and let the ideas come to me.
Sometimes work with existing ideas until I was happy with them.
Now, I wanted to sit and look at Harlow. In the past, the city was my muse; now she was. The ideas she'd inspired since I met her were like nothing I'd had before. Likely none I'd have again. As long as I lived, I wanted to be around her, to let my imagination go wild with thoughts of her.
"Your coffee is getting cold," she reminded me.
Reluctantly, I opened my hand to let her pull hers back. The moment her skin wasn't touching mine, I felt empty.
Curling my hand around the cup of coffee did almost nothing to fill the vacuum. Coffee was good but there were things it couldn't do. Replace her was one of them. Especially not when, as she said, my coffee was almost cold.
"I'll get you another one," she said.
I shook my head. "No, I'll get you one."
"I tell you what, whoever gets to the kitchen first gets to make the coffee."
She grinned and started off on a run, her bare feet thudding on the hardwood floor.