ARCHER
Music blasts through my villa as Kat and I prepare for a date. It’s the second one this month, but it’s special. She just doesn’t know it yet.
Kat is dancing and singing in the bathroom as she puts on her makeup. She comes out wearing a red bra and a tiny strip of fabric for panties, her wavy hair styled over one shoulder, her lips cherry-red.
She’s fucking hot. A year later, this contrast between her feisty, sporty style and the sexy bomb-shell she can pull off within fifteen minutes of preparation still amazes me.
I’m dressed in black creased pants and a white shirt, casually unbuttoned at the neck. Kat loves this look and loves me wearing a tie for business meetings. And I love watching her as she takes the red ankle-long silk sleeveless dress and pulls it over her arms and head, letting the fabric slickly fall over her full breasts and hips, down her beautiful legs and brush the floor with its hem. She stands on her tiptoes in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror by her walk-in closet and poses, turning from side to side, inspecting herself. Her eyes meet mine, watching her in the mirror, and she winks at me.
“Wild thing, bring your shoes over here,” I say as I take a seat on the edge of our bed.
There have been many changes in this house. In the bedroom? An Alberta king bed, eight by eight feet, that can accommodate any fantasy Kat and I come up with without lack of room.
Kat tiptoes into the closet and walks out with the golden stilettos hanging off her fingers. She sashays sexily toward me.
I curve my forefinger for her to pass them to me.
“Your foot, kitten.” I pat my thigh, and she purses her lips as she lifts her leg and sets her bare foot on top of it.
I love spoiling her. Even more so right before she submits to whatever crazy ideas I get about sex. We’ve worked out this exchange to perfection. Though I should say that it’s not an exchange, because I genuinely get turned on catering to her every whim.
I pick up one of her shoes and slide her foot in it. The red fabric of her dress slides off her leg, baring it, the slit giving me a peek of her red panties.
I fasten the shoe clasp around her ankle, then tap her foot with my fingers. “The other one.”
She pulls the foot away, the red fabric of the skirt falling closed and then opening again as she puts her other foot on my thigh.
A wave of hair falls into Kat’s face as she watches me. Her gaze is charged with need. I feel lucky having roped in this sexy minx.
I reach over and brush a part of her dress skirt farther apart so I can see the thin strip of her panties.
“Ar-cher?” she warns me.
“Wild thing?” I mimic her, holding her foot hostage.
There’s a sneaky smirk on her lips when, slowly, she slides her hand between her legs and, with a forefinger, pulls her panties aside, baring her pussy for me.
I have to stifle a grunt as my cock stirs to life in my pants.
Without taking my eyes off her pussy, I pick up her other shoe.
She knows what this view does to me, my cock hardening, my balls heavy with need. I slide her foot into the shoe, taking my time with the clasp so I can stare at her finger that makes circles around her clit then slides between her pussy lips.
“Are you gonna do something about it?” Kat asks seductively.
I flick my gaze up at her. “After dinner, yes.” I tap her foot. “All done.”
Kat straightens up, her lips puffed out in disappointment.
I rise from the bed, step close to her, and reach in the slit of her dress and between her legs. Slick with want—my kitten is fucking drenched. In seconds. Jesus fucking Christ, and I always thought I was the sex fiend.
“Tease,” she exhales when I brush her pussy with my fingers.
“Your panties are soaked,” I murmur into her ear, not kissing her so that she is all wound up and ready for me by the end of the night. “Such a horny girl. What am I gonna do with you?”
“Tsk,” she responds with reproach in her voice.
I pull away from her and slap her on her ass. “Go change.” She’s so wet, it’ll stain the dress.
I don’t follow her, don’t peek into the closet, though I want to. I adjust my erection in my pants, because the image of her pulling off her panties is enough for me to pull my dick out and quickly have my way with her.
“Wait!” She darts out, trots on her heels out of sight, then comes back with her phone. “There.” She stands in front of me, her back to my chest, grabs my hand, and puts it on her waist. By the time she opens the phone camera, I wrap my arms around her and nuzzle her neck, and she laughs as she snaps a selfie of us.
She’s never come across as girlie, but little moments like this make me want to fucking melt into a puddle at her feet.
“Pussified,” Marlow calls it. Droga says, “Domesticated,” finding new things in our living room every time he comes. I mean, I’m into minimalism. With Kat? Fuck me… Shelves, plants, curtains, gadgets, paintings—there are so many additions in our villa that it’s by no means minimalistic. But neither is Kat. She is a fire starter. My villa used to be a beautiful tomb. Now it’s a beautiful, messy home.
I open the front door for Kat as we are leaving for the restaurant. “After you, my lady.”
“Oh, now I’m a lady, not a horny thing?”
But when we walk into the Bacaro restaurant and the cliff terrace reserved just for the two of us, she lights up in awe.
Our table is set under a flowery gazebo, overlooking the ocean and the lit-up yachts. It’s glowing in candlelight and lanterns floating in the air above it. Something out of a fantasy.
“Archer? Candles, really?” she coos as I lead her to the table. “You feeling all right?”
I laugh. We don’t do this often. Well, not just the two of us, dressed up and all. But I flew in a famous Venezuelan chef Tsariuk recommended. The chef is making dinner for us. Hispanic music is playing. Kat’s hips are already swinging to the tune before she takes a seat. I am planning to dance tonight. Dance with my beautiful girl.
She surprises me every day. She is a mystery, still. Not a tigress but a unicorn with fangs and claws and so fucking gorgeous inside out.
“Where’s the menu?” she asks. “I want those beef medallions they make. I’m starving.”
“There won’t be any. It’s a special menu tonight,” I say.
She frowns, a little annoyed. “They changed it?”
“A Venezuelan chef will be cooking your favorite Central American dishes tonight.”
She stalls in surprise for a second, so fucking adorable when she forgets to keep her face straight.
“Oh,” she says with a little smile. “You didn’t tell me it’s a special date.”
“Every one is.”
“Archer Crone.” She tilts her head, taunting me. “Aren’t you romantic lately?”
She’s glowing when the waiter comes over and pours us wine. She is not spoiled, and despite all these jokes about dates and candles, she secretly loves it when we do something special. She was the one who surprised me two weeks ago with candles, a dinner she cooked for me, and a tantric sex tutorial gone wild.
I can’t wait to say all I want to say to her tonight. Then eat with her, discuss the future, dance to her favorite songs, then fuck her any way I choose.
“We’ve been through a lot, Kat,” I say, starting from afar.
“You don’t say.” She chuckles and takes a slow sip of her wine.
“We clashed. We played games. We cried. Well, you did.”
She gives me a mean glare, making me smile.
“We were kidnapped. We fought. We had the best sex of my life. You failed at the upside-down pose.”
An amused snort escapes her, her lips stretching into a smile. “You are yet to agree to pegging.”
“I’ll fuck your pretty mouth right now if you interrupt me again,” I warn with a grin.
She cocks a brow and elegantly leans on her elbows on the table. “Don’t make me handcuff you and edge you until you whimper like you did last week.”
I grin, trying to conceal a blush. “I warned you.”
“Should’ve teased you longer.”
I study her, the woman who definitely ups everything she comes across in her life. Overachiever. Smart. Brave. Wild. Sexy. Nuts. Kat. Kitten. Wild thing. My horny thing. My queen. I can go on and on, but I’ve told her all that. And right now, I’m coming to terms with all that before I let her know that I’m a hundred percent in.
She’s throwing me suspicious glances, her dark eyes glistening with the candlelight reflected in them. “What’s up, Arch? Better tell me. If it’s something bad, something you’ve done that you need to butter me up for and ask for forgiveness, better stop beating around the bush.”
With a feigned mean stare, she leans back in her chair.
“Ka-tu-ra Or-tiz,” I slowly pronounce every syllable.
She cocks her head, all haughty and playful. “I like it when you say my full name. Go on?”
“Oh, yeah? You know what would be better? If it were shorter.”
“Ha! Whatever.”
I keep quiet as I give her a meaningful stare.
She frowns, still oblivious to what I mean. “What?” She blinks in confusion.
“Katura Crone. Sounds edgy. Suits you.”
Her lips part as she is about to say something, but she doesn’t. A smile flickers on her lips but falls off as if scared away. She chuckles to herself, takes a sip of wine, bites her lips, glances at me, and smiles again.
I cherish this moment, but even more so, I cherish the idea that she will be mine, completely mine, very soon.
I get the small black box out of my pocket, get up, and get down on one knee in front of her.
The sight of her flustered, eyes widening, is everything. Kat doesn’t get surprised too often.
“Kat, I can sing serenades, write dissertations, and talk for hours about how much you mean to me,” I say, looking up at her as she nervously licks her lips, staring at me wide-eyed. “But the thing is, you mean everything. And everything is nothing unless I’m with you. I’m in, a hundred percent, all the way. Doing life. Being us and being together. Going through whatever else this crazy world throws at us. Because when it comes to the best and worst moments, there’s no one else I’d rather do them with than you.” I smile, seeing her eyes glisten with tears. “Katura Ortiz, will you be my wife?”
She produces a little laugh, but it gets cut off. She swallows hard, her eyes on the little black box in my palm before her. Her chest starts rising and falling heavily. And no, Kat can’t control her emotions right now. The number of times she bites her lips, then licks them—there won’t be any red lipstick left on them soon.
She finally looks me in the eyes and starts nodding rapidly.
I dip my head and raise my brows to encourage her to say it.
“Yes,” she says, still nodding, her lips spreading in a smile. “Oh, hell, yes, babe! Yes!”
I rise to my feet, and she jumps off her chair and into my arms, laughing like a maniac and kissing my face, which I’m pretty sure will get the rest of her red lipstick.
My heart is thudding in excitement. “Hold on.” I am yet to see her reaction when I show her her ring.
She grins when I open the box then take out the ring and put it on her ring finger. She’s puzzled, looking at it.
“What is this exactly?” She lifts her hand in front of her face, inspecting the masterpiece.
Okay, so I could’ve gotten her a million-dollar diamond, the largest rarest gem I could find. Anything eccentric or extravagant. But I know Kat, and I know she doesn’t get impressed with meaningless things, no matter the cost.
So, here’s what she gets.
Those shark teeth we collected almost a year ago—they sat in my drawer for a while. When she moved in, she put them in a glass case.
Our matching wedding bands, made to order, are made of rose gold and black titanium and inlaid with shark teeth fragments.
Her main ring is rose gold with a medium-sized shark tooth, the one we found together, outlined with pink gold, and adorned with dark pink diamonds. It looks somewhat vicious, but also gorgeous—like her.
“Is this”—her frown softens at the recognition—“a stone?”
“It’s a shark tooth, Kat. The shark tooth.”
She lifts her eyes at me, and if I doubted for a second that she would find the ring eccentric and silly, I sure as hell know I hit the spot because Kat’s eyes are sparkling with glee.
“You did this? For me?” She wraps her arms around me, leaning into a hug. “Arch, I love you so much. So fucking much. It’s perfect. It’s… So perfect… And so are you. It’s… I don’t know what to say…”
She keeps talking but doesn’t pull back to look at me. I know Kat. She never talks nonsense or blabbers or gets generous with fancy words. Unless she’s emotional.
I pull back and duck my head to see her eyes. She brushes her cheek with her fingers and smiles awkwardly. And I see it, the sight so rare and so beautiful—Kat tearing up.
Except this time, she’s smiling through tears. And this time, I won’t tease her about it.
“Kat, wild thing,” I whisper, tilting her chin until her sparkly eyes are on me. “I love you more than anything. You know that already. And I’ve never felt prouder and happier than when I am by your side. I want to make sure that I always am.”
She nods, leans in, and kisses me. “Can we tell Dad?”
She doesn’t say “my dad” anymore, just says “Dad,” and it warms my heart.
“Of course. Tell everyone,” I say.
She grins, spins on her heel, and goes for her phone right away.
I pull out mine because there is one person I can’t wait to tell, my brother.
So, I text Droga.
Me: She said yes.
He responds right away.
Droga: Congrats, asshole.
Me: So, you still up for the double wedding?
I follow it with a devil emoji.
Droga: You are crazy.
He sends laughing smileys. But seconds later, another message comes in.
Droga: Absolutely.
Then another one that almost makes me tear up.
Droga: It would be my honor, bro.
What can I say? I’m blessed.