13. Archer
CHAPTER 13
Archer
Reckless.
It’s a word that is definitely never used to describe me. But Tinsley, fuck. She makes me reckless. She has me doing things I never thought I would. From impulsively having that double strawberry tattooed on the inside of my wrist, to driving across the ranch, out to my house on the lake in the dark with her in my lap. I’m reckless and live in the moment with her, and I love every second of it.
I have one hand on the wheel and the other gripping her ass. Her hips rock and grind on top of me, threatening to make me come in my jeans. At my neck, she kisses and sucks a wet path from my collar bone up to my ear, pulling on the lobe before making her way down and across to the other side.
Intermittently, she stops and looks at me, drawing my eyes from the dirt roads. Then she kisses me—turning me even more reckless as I let her and kiss her back—before resuming her attempts at making me lose all semblance of control.
Her nails scratch along my nipples beneath my shirt, and I hear her breathy sigh of my name in my ear. With the persistent, eager roll of her hips on my jean covered dick, I know I won’t last.
“Tinsley, baby,” I plead, firmly squeezing her ass only to make her sigh stutter and turn into a moan. The sound is like a shot of pleasure straight to my cock, the damn thing weeping with so much pre-cum I’m surprised it hasn’t soaked through my jeans yet. Gripping her tighter in a futile attempt to stop her, I warn, “You keep doin’ that, Shortcake, and you’re gonna make me come before I can get inside you.”
“Then I’ll suck you till you’re hard again and make you come down my throat, then again in my pussy.”
Fuck me, I think I just died.
I groan and throw my head into the headrest, my hand beating the top of the steering wheel as I push the gas a little faster.
The truck’s headlights swing in front of my house and we screech to a stop in my driveway, kicking up dirt and gravel. I throw the door open and maneuver us both out, her legs wrapping tightly around me. I don’t even bother turning my car off, knowing it’ll do it for me if it’s inactive too long, and head straight for my front door.
Inside the house, I turn us around using my back to close the door. Tinsley disentangles herself from me and gives me zero chance to do anything but accept what she’s giving as she drops to her knees right there in my entryway.
Her hands are fast and determined as she rips my belt free and yanks my button open, tugging the zipper down. Pulling on my jeans and briefs, she frees my cock and has her lips around the head within seconds.
My hands slam onto the door, my head thudding against the wood and like a goddamn teenager, I whimper, again, when she starts to suck. I can’t bring myself to care though when she smiles up through her lashes at me, taking more into her mouth and using her hand to work the bottom part of my shaft.
I’m drunk on the honey whiskey of her eyes and the hot suction of her small mouth, unable to look away from her. I softly stroke the back of my knuckles down her cheek and under her jaw. Turning my hand, the tips of my fingers trace her chin and caress down her throat, feeling where she swallows around me.
Tinsley’s other hand comes up and falls over mine. She spreads my fingers until I’m touching both points of her pulse. Then she squeezes my hand and lets hers fall away.
“Message received, baby,” I groan, beginning to press on her fluttering heartbeat.
Her responding look of being drugged and blissed out as she moans around me encourages me further, counting four beats of restriction and letting go for eight.
I keep the rhythm on her neck, each soft suck of air when I release drawing me further into her mouth until I’m sliding down her tongue and hitting the back of her throat. I give her a final, longer squeeze, then let my hand drift behind her head and tangle in her hair. My other hand joins in and my blunt nails scratch and massage the base of her skull. But when she starts to bob up and down on me, her cheeks hollowing with the power of her sucking, and her throat constricting with every swallow, I’m done.
Gone.
Lost.
Ruined.
I try to pull her off, wanting to save it and savor the night with her and not lose myself within a handful of minutes, but it’s useless. She owns me, and the glimmer in her eyes tells me she knows it. She wants me to come and I’ll give her anything she wants, even an early ejaculation.
Tinsley lets go of my shaft and uses both hands to grip my hips—her fingers dimpling my muscles with her strength—and holds me to her. I push on her head just enough to bring the tip of her nose to my pelvis.
Her next swallow is my undoing.
I shout her name and my eyes roll back as my cum pulses down her throat. She sucks and swallows, slowly pulling off until only her tongue remains, cleaning me up and flirting with the slit on my tip.
When the haze finally clears and I can see again, she’s still on her knees, kissing what’s exposed of my thighs and watching me. Her eyes are bright, her cheeks flushed, her plush lips swollen and pulled up in a soft smile. In the corner of her mouth, drool and cum still dribble. I swipe my thumb over the spot and suck the pad of my finger clean.
Offering her my hand, I ask, “Are you proud of yourself for making me lose control?”
“Doesn’t seem like it’ll cause too much of a hindrance,” she tartly replies, tracing her tongue up the vein of my still partially hard dick, making me shiver with sensitivity. She takes my hand and stands up, my mouth finding hers in a lazy, unhurried kiss. Tinsley slowly pulls away, her fingers moving up and down my chest under my shirt and says, “Take me to bed, Superman. That was only to take the edge off. I’m nowhere near done with you for the night.”
Not bothering to fix my jeans, I sweep her up into my arms like a bride and carry her through my house—beams of moonlight dancing on the lake coming through the windows and lighting my way—and up to the loft that’s the master bedroom.
In the room, I set her on her feet and adjust the lights to come on in a soft glow, the moon’s light not nearly enough for me to see every part of her that I’ve been forced to live without. I follow behind her as she walks around the room, taking everything in. At my nightstand, she traces the titles on the stack of books I’ve pulled from the shelves downstairs to read. Her fingers map the intricate details of an antique picture frame she bought and left behind. She picks it up and examines the ripped piece of paper it protects that has lyrics scrawled all around it. She glances at me, her face maddeningly unreadable before setting it back down and traveling to my dresser.
The top is free of clutter, only a tray where I put my watch after taking it off for the evening sitting on top. In the corner of the mirror—fitted between the glass and the wood frame—is one of the only pictures I ever took of Tinsley.
I used to think that because I can recall details as clearly as any picture at the drop of a hat, that taking them was redundant. But then she left, and amongst the mountain of my regrets was having not taken hundreds a day like she had or covetously recording countless videos like she did so I could hear her voice again speaking only to me.
The picture was taken the day after our first date. I hadn’t been able to wait to see her again, and as soon as I had gotten home, I called and asked if she wanted to spend the day out on the ranch with me, promising she didn’t need to be there at sunrise, but she was. Strawberry frappé in hand and sleep still in her eyes, beaming up at me and wasting no time in kissing me in place of saying good morning.
In it, she’s sitting on my old tailgate—my Vanderbilt hat on her head, my denim shirt over her lace trimmed tank top to protect her delicate skin that wasn’t yet used to being outdoors from sunup to sundown from burning, jean shorts, and pink cowboy boots—the sun acting like a halo around her, and writing on a scrap of paper she tore from my ledger. It’s the same piece that’s framed beside my bed. On that page is her first draft of the lyrics that would become “Reckless.”
She’d given it to me for safe keeping.
Not wanting her to lose a single line of what I knew would be brilliance, I took her to town that afternoon and spent over an hour with her in the store before she settled on the journal whose pages would become filled with the lyrics that told our story. And after the words were transferred over, she shyly gave it back to me and told me when she finished it, it would be my song.
Tinsley’s face is still blank when she looks at me again, her fingers hovering over the picture. Her eyes glance to the frame then back to the picture before returning to me.
It frustrates me that I can’t read her. That right now, in this place I had built for us, she’s wearing a mask and preventing me from seeing her.
She slowly turns in the room, taking it all in. When she stops, she’s facing the wall of windows, looking through our reflection out onto the lake.
I come up behind her, my hand finding her hip and pulling her back into me as I start to curl around her.
“Say somethin’, baby,” I whisper. “Let me in and show me what you’re thinkin’.”
She meets my eyes in the glass, her arm coming up and around the back of my neck as she leans into me, and murmurs, “I don’t know how I ever doubted you, and I can never apologize enough for having done it,” confusing the hell out of me. “Can you ever forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive, Tinsley. You’re here now, and that’s all that matters to me.”
Slowly, I pull the tie of her dress that she hastily redid before we left the field. I kiss the curve of her neck as it falls forward, revealing herself to me again. In the glass, I watch my fingers find the outer curve of her breast and begin to reverently trace the arrow with my name.
There would be days where I’d wonder if I was as much of a fool as Hunter called me. I would wonder if he was right, that I was merely hung up on Tinsley because she was my first. If maybe I was wasting my life by loving her. In the end it never mattered to me; logic and reason didn’t matter. I loved her and I knew I would wait.
It’s a steady devotion that’s come full circle having her here in my arms, with my name tattooed on her skin, knowing that for every day I loved and waited for her, she loved me right back.
I follow the feathered lines and the script of each letter coming up to the head, goosebumps passing down Tinsley’s body with each touch. At the tip, I continue to relearn the shape of her, trailing my finger under and around the inside of her breast. My lips travel along her shoulder, going right to the edge before making their way back in and up her neck where I tongue the cords of stretching muscle and tendon as she opens up for me.
I continue to circle the firm swell of her tit, the rosy tip darkening with every pass and puckering into a taut peak. Her breath turns short with anticipation, and when the rough pad of my finger grazes her eager flesh, a relieved, whimpering moan vibrates between us and she turns slack in my arms, surrendering to what’s coming.
She arches her back, ass pushing into my dick and her sweet tits pushing further into my hand. In the glass, her eyes are glazed and her lips parted.
“I took what you gave me; now it’s your turn,” I murmur, my voice sounding slow and thick even to my own ears while I fight the urge to lift her dress and rub myself along the crevice of her ass.
I play with her for a moment longer, drawing out the anticipation of pulling her apart one thread at a time. But she’s a devious thing who knows just how tightly wrapped I am around her finger.
“Archer, please,” she begs. “I’m ruining my panties.”
“Fuuuck,” I draw out.
I pinch and roll her nipple between my fingers one last time before letting her go. Hands on either side of her waist, I start to push her dress down. At her hips, gravity finishes the job for me and it falls to the ground.
Fingers hooked in the white lace of her thong, I drag the material down her thighs, groaning when I see the wet spot her pussy has left behind.
“This all for me, baby?”
She steps out of her panties and kicks her boots somewhere off to the side and replies, “It always has been.”
I kiss my way up the back of her thighs, stopping to nip at the muscle of her ass. At the base of her spine, I interchange between kissing and mapping the upward slope of her back with my tongue until I’m standing again.
Banding an arm between her tits, one hand coming up to rest around her throat and the other low on her hips, spreading to cover her smooth mound, I pull her naked body back into mine and kiss the top of her head before fitting her under my chin.
I feel whole for the first time in ten years.
I have my Tinsley back, and I’m not letting her get away this time.
“I love you, Shortcake,” I murmur, offering a moment of sweetness before I’m consumed with the need to own and possess every inch of her body.
“I love you too, Superman,” she returns, head falling to the side to look up at me and not my reflection.
I drop a kiss on her nose and one on her mouth then command, “Put your hands on the glass. Your pussy’s been neglected for too long,” lightly squeezing the plump flesh between her thighs and dipping my middle finger in to tickle her clit before letting her go.