20. Tinsley
CHAPTER 20
Tinsley
For a week, Archer hasn’t spoken to Hunter. Anytime his brother shows up at the house, he either won’t open the door or I have to tell Hunter that now isn’t a good time. All of Hunter’s texts have gone unanswered and Archer sends any calls he gets to voicemail—all of which have gone unheard.
This was exactly what I had hoped to avoid.
Eleanor and Ryder both assure me that the twins will work through it, but I don’t know how. Archer is steadfastly digging his heels in when it comes to holding onto his anger. Not that I can blame him; I’d been doing the same for weeks with Hunter, which ultimately led to the cracks that let out the truth.
Still, I feel terrible now more than ever. We’re at the municipal airport with Briar—Mikey and John along with Will, my pilot, and the small crew waiting for us—and the two still haven’t spoken.
Eleanor wraps me up in a fierce hug, kissing my head several times as she tries not to tear up. “We’re gonna miss you, sweet girl.”
“I’m gonna miss y’all too.” I sniffle before quietly correcting, “Going to; I’m going to miss you all too,” my speech having become lazy and thick with accent over the last several weeks of being home.
The real world is coming back for me, and in just a few short hours, I have to slip on the mask of Tinsley Jacobs—one I couldn’t live without before and now wish I could smash to pieces.
“Miss Jacobs?” Will politely interrupts from the plane’s stairs. “We’re going to need you to board soon if we wish to keep our schedule, ma’am.”
“Of course,” I reply, squeezing Eleanor tighter before letting go.
“Be patient with him,” she whispers. “It’s going to be a lot for him so just… be patient.”
“Having him in L.A. with me is more than I ever thought I’d experience. He could refuse to go anywhere with me publicly and he’d still be giving me more than I could ever give him.”
She smooths her hands over my hair and tucks it behind my ears. “Remember what it was like without each other. You keep that and how much y’all have always loved each other in mind, and everything else will be easy to roll with as it comes.”
I step back and hold my arms out for Ellie, who’s being carried by her dad. We rub our noses together one last time and, with her big green eyes looking at me, she bursts into tears.
“Hey, hey, hey, I’m going to bring your uncle back, I promise.”
She flings her arms around me, holding on tighter than I thought possible for an eight year old and sobs, “You can keep him; I have another. It’s you I don’t want to go!”
“Ellie!” Ryder tries and fails to scold, laughing instead.
I hug her back and promise, “You’ll see me again. Plus, Archer got me a phone and your daddy has my number, so we can talk whenever you want.”
“Promise?”
“Pinky swear,” I solemnly offer, holding out my right hand.
We loop our pinkies together, kissing the ends, and tapping foreheads.
“Love you, mini.”
“Love you too, big.”
Ryder takes his daughter back, who sniffles as she pushes his grown out hair back from where it’s fallen forward into his face. He opens up an arm and takes me in a side hug, dropping a kiss to my crown.
“You know, if it doesn’t work out with my brother?—”
“Don’t even think about it,” Archer warns, playfully pulling me free of Ryder and tucking me against his front. His arm comes around my collar bone and he plants a kiss on the top of my head. “I’ve already fought one brother; don’t make me go for the set.”
“Hey I’m just sayin’, I could do a helluva lot worse than a woman who loves my kid, knows her way around my kitchen, is easy to talk to, and is pretty to look at.”
“Sorry Ryder, you’re just not my type,” I sing-song. “I’d only be with you for Ellie.”
Archer stares his brother down for a minute before cracking a smile and reminding him, “Don't forget, Ellie starts camp on Monday. She needs to be there at nine. And on Tuesdays and Thursdays they go to the lake, so she needs her swimsuit. And on Mondays, Wednesdays, and every other Friday they do?—”
“Archer, I know my kid’s schedule. Not to mention, you made me a color coded calendar for the next three months in case I forget how to be a dad to my daughter.”
“I still think you should have hired a nanny.”
“We’ll be fine; now get out of here.”
Kissing Ellie’s cheek, he says, “You call me if you need me, angel face.”
“We’ll be fine, Uncle Archer, I promise.”
“Good,” he replies seemingly mollified. “You be good for your dad and Gigi.”
“I will.”
With his arm still around me, Archer leads me over to the plane’s stairs where Briar is waiting. He doesn’t spare a glance for Hunter, who surprised everyone by coming out here to send us off, and it chips a corner of my heart off to see them so disconnected. Before he leads me up the stairs—his hand beginning to sweat—I glance to his evil twin who stands apart even from the rest of the family, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans and face blank as he watches the grass move in the summer breeze. I don’t think he’s going to look at me, though I know he feels my eyes on him from how much more rigid his hunched posture becomes. But as I climb up the first few steps, his blue streaked green eyes look up at me.
Hunter doesn’t say anything and neither do I. We simply stare at each other for a single heartbeat, maybe two, before he gives the slightest dip of his head. Taking it for what it is, I do the same before continuing up the stairs, clasping Archer’s hand in mine and pulling him along.
Inside the plane, Archer starts mumbling facts about my Dassault Falcon 8X, tugging on my arm when I go sit in the first forward facing club seat.
“Nope,” he swiftly replies, gently pushing me forward but not before tugging at the collar of his t-shirt. “Best chance of survival in the event of a crash is toward the back, ideally in the middle of the plane by the emergency exit.”
At the wings of the plane, he first sits down in the backward facing seat. Then he moves to the forward one opposite it. His butt barely hits the seat before he’s going back to the first, all the while miming opening the emergency door.
“What is he doing?” Briar whispers as we watch him lift his glasses and scrub his hands down his face before shaking his head clear and putting them back on askew.
“I don’t know…”
“Here,” he announces, getting back up and guiding me to the forward-facing seat. “The door opens and falls to the right so you’ll be on the side with immediate access.” Then going to Briar, he grasps her upper arms and tells her, “And you’ll sit here so you can get out right behind Tinsley,” having her plop into the seat to my right.
Over the armrest, she whispers, “Is he afraid of flying?”
“I never thought to ask,” I confess, watching him as he paces, head bent down to accommodate the ceiling. I reach my arms out to him and coax, “Archer, baby, come sit with me.”
“Yeah, yeah, I can do that,” he nods, swallowing. He’s about to sit in the seat, his hands on the armrest and legs bending to lower himself when he springs back up, arm raised just in time to stop him from hitting his head on the cabin’s ceiling. “Nope, can’t sit; sorry, Shortcake.”
“Here,” Mikey says, shoving a tumbler with two fingers of whiskey on ice into his hands. “Drink this. It'll settle the nerves.”
Archer throws it back, downing the liquor in one go, hissing through the burn before rolling the cool crystal over his forehead.
“I’ve never flown before,” he confesses.
Eyes wide and brows raised as if to ask me how did I not know this—something I’m wondering myself—Briar replies, “We gathered as much.”
I stand up and slowly walk over to him, as if I’m trying not to startle a terrified animal that’s been backed into a corner. Methodically, I roll onto my tiptoes and reach up to fix his glasses and quietly say, “Hey, Superman.”
His green eyes are dilated behind the black frames of his glasses, and sweat beads at his hairline and across his upper lip.
Taking the glass from him, I blindly hand it behind me to Briar and guide his hands into my loose hair. His fingers instantly tangle into the waves—one hand holding on like I’m his lifeline and the other combing through the length. With him pacified, I cup my hands on either side of his face like blinders on a horse and direct him to look down at me and I repeat, “Hey, Superman.”
Archer’s breath is ragged when he sucks it in and it comes out in a stuttered exhale. He takes another breath—eyes locked on mine and hands moving through my hair to pull out the adrenaline that’s riding him so hard—this one a little more steady. On his third, he murmurs, “Hey, Shortcake.”
Pulling him down to me, I whisper against his whiskey coated lips, “There you are, baby.” With the plane blocked from his view, I slip my hands into the front pocket of his jeans and turn us so I can start walking backward. “Eyes on me, Superman,” I encourage.
Behind him, John follows us, smirking and shaking his head as I lead Archer into the back of the cabin. The area is like a small bedroom and has the benefit of being able to shut out the rest of the cabin. There’s two chairs that sit angled to one another with a table between them, a bed just big enough for two people who enjoy snuggling close, a slightly larger television than the small individual ones in the main cabin, and just beyond, a functional, albeit tiny, closet and a full bathroom where I can freshen up before stepping off into wherever my latest destination is.
Once inside, John says, “Stay buckled until we level out, Miss Jacobs,” closing us into the private space.
Ignoring my bodyguard, I get Archer into one of the club chairs and before he can buckle himself in, I sit down in his lap, facing him with a knee on either side of his thighs.
“Tinsley.”
“Archer.”
“Shouldn’t—” I cut him off by colliding our mouths together, my tongue immediately seeking his out.
When his hands come around to grasp my ass and move me over his growing erection, I trail my lips off to his stubbled jaw and murmur, “Be reckless with me, Superman,” moaning when my clit lines up with him through my shorts and his jeans.
“We shouldn’t. Most plane crashes happen during takeoff and?—”
“We definitely should,” I entice, rolling my hips over him and running my tongue up the column of his throat, leaving behind a sucking kiss at his jaw. “I’ve had this jet for seven years, and the only thing to christen that bed and these seats has been my own fingers in my pussy.
“Make me soak the sheets, Archer. Fill the cabin with the smell of sex. Paint me with your cum and then wash it off of me in the shower.”
He swears under his breath, hips thrusting up against mine, and his head falling back. His grip on my ass tightens when I try to move over him again, and his breathing is sharp and ragged as if he’s seeking control of himself. I’m sure I’ve lost him to the anxiety of flying. But then Will’s voice comes on over the intercom, telling us to prepare for takeoff.
“If we do this, we do it my way,” Archer finally says. “Do you understand, Tinsley? You listen to me and do exactly as I tell you. And if I think it’s no longer safe?—”
“I won’t object,” I promise.
My smile slips off into a parted gasp when his hand grabs my throat. He adjusts in the seat, keeping my eyes on his as he stares unblinkingly at me. “My way, or not at all. I won’t take any chances with you. Nod if you understand.”
I do as I’m told, my thighs clenching around his as my greedy pussy ruins my panties.
“Good; now take off your shorts and turn around,” he orders, letting me go.
I’m quick to shuck the denim off my thighs, playing with the lace waistband of my thong, teeth biting my lip as I silently ask if I should keep going.
He studies me for a moment before deciding. “Take it all off, baby,” he commands, spreading his legs out in the seat and tugging his shirt off with an arm bent behind his head.
Naked, I sit in his lap with my legs between his and my back to his chest. Not happy with the position, Archer hooks his hands behind my knees and lifts my thighs up. He spreads me open, draping each one over his own and locks me into place by opening his own legs even wider.
The plane starts to taxi and he stretches the lap belt over the both of us. He wraps the excess around his hand and yanks on the strap to tighten it until it digs into my skin.
His lips touch my shoulder, fingers sweeping my hair to the other side, and he asks, “Are you comfortable, baby?”
“Yes.”
“It’s not too tight?”
I shake my head and he pulls on the belt a little more. “Words, Tinsley. Give me your words.”
“It feels good.”
“Good. Now let me use this pretty pussy to distract myself.”
“I’m all yours,” I whimper, feeling how wet I’ve become.
“Yeah, baby, you are,” he agrees, palming my breasts. “Mine to use; mine to fuck; mine to love. And I’m yours, aren’t I?”
Quickly, I nod my head—my back arching as he pinches my nipples—and claim him right back. “Mine.”
“Yours.”
“Ours.”
“Ours,” he repeats, letting my poor nipples go with a sharper pinch and a tug that makes me gasp and groan.
Archer sweeps his fingers down the center of my body. They circle my belly button and dance from the protrusion of one hip bone to the other in quick, broad strokes that send tingles down the short distance to my pussy. His fingers follow them down and trace along the crevice of my thighs and over my soft mound, whispering at the top of my spread lips.
When I think he’s finally going to touch me where I need him, his hand disappears and comes back on the outside of my thighs. He drives me into a babbling, begging madness as he teases from my hip to my knee and back up, slowly making his way to my inner thighs.
“Archer… please,” I sob. “Touch me.”
“I am, Shortcake.”
I frantically shake my head no, my face screwing up tight as another pass leaves a phantom touch between my legs.
“I need you.”
“Where? Where do you need me?”
I try to lift my hips up to guide him but it only serves to draw his hand away when he’d come so close.
“Tell me, Tinsley. I want to hear your pretty voice tell me where you want my hand… my fingers… my mouth… my dick. Tell me what you want me to do to you.”
“My pussy,” I plead in a hurry. “Touch my pussy; play with my clit; finger me; fuck me with your tongue; fill me with your cock and cum; something, anything, please !”
“You sound so sweet begging for me,” he murmurs almost devilishly. “I could get used to hearing it. But—” He breathes, cupping his hand between my legs and drawing out a pathetically cried, “Yes,” from me. “I hate leaving you wanting for me. I’d much rather hear you beg me to stop—that your pussy can’t take anymore—than to know it’s suffering without me, or worse, because of me.”
The relief is immediate. No sooner has the last, roughened syllable fallen from his lips than does he begin playing me to orgasm. His thumb plucks at my hard, swollen clit, and his fingers strum along my walls. And like he wanted, I all but sing for him with lyrics of, “Yes. More. Right there. Don’t stop,” growing higher and higher in pitch.
“That’s it, baby; soak my hand with your sweetness. Get me nice and messy so I can cover my dick with it and then fill you with my cum.”
I blindly pat around for his other hand, needing just a little more from him to get me there. Archer’s so incredibly attuned with me and my body, however, that he knows what I need before I can ask, demand, or beg for it.
His other hand snakes up from where he’s been keeping my bucking hips pinned to him and wraps it around my throat. His large hand rests there for a moment, long fingers coming to lay over my pulse. Then when he feels me inhale, he squeezes, stealing my breath and shoving me over into a state of euphoria. He starts to let go and I’m quick to cover his hand with mine, urging him to stay as my pussy rapidly starts to flutter and contract, my vision going into a blissful haze. Hand over his, I encourage him to squeeze just a little more.
The additional pulse he gives me hurtles my body into a rushing orgasm. It’s so intense, he has to clamp his hand over my mouth to smother my scream as I squirt for him, dripping cum down his wrist and soaking his jeans and the leather of the club chair.
“So fuckin’ pretty,” he praises, slowing his tandem work of my clit and pussy until I’m sagging against him, struggling to catch my breath, lost in delirium.
When the warm haze finally clears, Archer has released the lap belt and brought me down to the floor where my knees are cushioned by a pillow from the bed. My body is sloped, my arms stretching with a soft bend into the seat. He’s tying the nylon of the lap belt around my wrists, and when he’s done, he yanks on the slack to tighten his knot so I’m kept secure to the chair.
“Does it feel okay?”
“Perfect,” I smile, looking up at him through my lashes.
“Good.”
He walks back around, the button and zipper of his jeans undone, and kneels behind me checking my position. Not satisfied, he taps my hip, and I rock back onto the balls of my feet, freeing the pillow. When I lower my knees again, he gently drags me back until I’m stretched and my ass popped out.
“You look beautiful,” he croons, caressing my skin.
With the pillow back in place, he comes up behind me and grips my hips, pulling my body back into his as he thrusts several times.
“Still good?”
“Incredible.”
He kisses the small of my back and then I feel him right there at my pussy, the head of his cock nudging into me, and even though I just came, my hips are already pushing back to meet him, my body eager to be filled.
Once he’s in place, he slowly eases into me, groaning long and deep when his hips connect with my ass. His fingers sink into the flare of my hips, holding me to him, keeping me steady so he can savor the feel of my body hugging his.
When he starts to move, it’s slow and drawn out. Each thrust is methodical and precise in dragging along every spot inside me that sends shivers down my spine. Archer’s quick to pick up his pace though, those slow movements turning deep and hard, each one coming with more frequency until he’s fully using me to chase his pleasure.
Moans and quiet swears fall from his lips, and the shape of my name is repeated with reverent devotion. Mixed in between are intoxicating whimpers that make me feel powerful with how easily he’s brought to his knees by my pussy clenching around his cock like a vice. Even restrained and used for his pleasure as I am, it’s still me and the feel of my body under him that has him lost to sensation. It’s me who upends the careful order of his world and his mind, making him a slave to his primal needs and urges like the rest of us.
“Shit, baby, I’m sorry,” he groans, rapidly thrusting into me as hot ropes of cum spurt into my pussy. Bent over me, he kisses my shoulder blade, riding my body through his orgasm and breathlessly repeating, “Sorry; you felt too fuckin’ good to stop myself.”
I rock back and forth on him, drawing his release out even further, preening as I say, “I like making you lose control.”
“I know, Shortcake, but it’s a problem when you do it before I can make you come on my dick. Luckily, this is an easy fix.”
Archer slowly pulls out of me, wiping his fingers up my thigh where his cum is beginning to drip free. He taps the outside of my knee and orders, “Open up.”
“What are you doing?”
“Making sure you finish,” he answers easily, going to the floor on his back and scooting up so his head is between my thighs.
“But you just?—”
“And?” When he’s laying where he wants, he grips my hip in one hand and pushes the finger he used to clean me from his other into my mouth, telling me, “Sit on my face, Shortcake.”
I stare into his emerald eyes while licking him clean. When I can't taste any more of his cum, I ask, “Are you sure?”
“Positive,” he answers, putting his other hand on me and yanking me down to his mouth.
The first lap of his tongue obliterates any other question from my mind as I sink the rest of the way onto him. Inhibitions gone, I bounce and rock over his mouth as he licks and sucks at my pussy, my head hanging down so I can swim in the devotion shining from his eyes.
His hands reach from my hips to my ass, urging me on. In minutes, my knees are snapping closed around his head as my thighs clench at his cheeks, my release crashing through me like a wrecking ball.
After I relax and let him go from under me, Archer unties my hands and brings me to the plane’s bed, massaging my wrists and kissing the pinkish-red marks that’ll fade long before we land. Curled against him, I look up and brush my fingers through his hair.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
I hum, smoothing the tips of my fingers down along his temple and over his cheek. “For being so open about things like wanting your hand around my throat?—”
“I love doing that. I love touching your neck and feeling your pulse, getting to have you so close and exposed to me. So it’s not exactly a hardship.”
“And tying me up with the lap belt. Eating me out while your cum was still inside me,” I nearly whisper as if he’s not aware of what he just did.
Archer rolls so he’s on his back, propped up by the pillows, and then maneuvers me to lay on top of him. With his arms folded at my lower back, he says, “Tinsley, you’re the only woman I’ve been with—the only one I’ll ever be with. It’s as true for me now as it was then: I want to try and do just about everything we can find, read, and imagine. Keep being open with me and telling me what you want, baby; my body’s your playground.” Grabbing the end of the comforter and folding it over us he says, “Now sleep; there’s several hours between here and California, and I plan to spend as many of them as I can between your thighs so I’m not thinking about all the ways this plane could fall out of the sky.”
I chuckle but slither down so my head is pillowed on the hard planes of his stomach, promising, “You’ll get used to it.”
“I doubt it. But, if this is how you plan to distract me, I’m okay with that.”
* * *
I step out of the bathroom and find Archer securely buckled in the club chair reading The Princess Bride. He’s completely absorbed in the story, and yet the second I enter the space, his eyes come up and he drops a bookmark into the pages, closing the book and setting it aside.
“I didn’t get a chance to say this that night but you look stunning.”
With his eyes slowly taking me in and his words filling my ears, I feel shy and play with the skirt of my dress—the white one with strawberries that I wore to Dark Horse the night he brought Briar and I home—looking down and tucking my hair behind my ear.
“Thank you.”
“Come sit with me,” he says, holding out a hand.
I step to him, and the moment he can reach me, his fingers are in mine, tugging me down to sit on his thigh making me giggle.
Archer brushes his lips along my shoulder, sweeping my hair out of his way as he chastly kisses a path to the curve of my neck. When he reaches his destination, I rest the side of my head on top of his, my fingers playing with his as Will’s voice fills the speakers letting us know to take our seats as we’re about to land.
“This isn’t something you’re normally seen wearing,” Archer softly comments, his other hand brushing along the outside of my thigh.
“That’s because for the past nine years it was easier to keep the part of me that loved you tucked away. The label had been pushin’— pushing —to give me a makeover, especially as I started rising out of Landon's capital and garnering my own; we had to establish my brand in the industry. When I saw…” I trail off and close my eyes against the emotion building in my throat only for them to fly back open as I see the moment that shattered me play out. With a gentle cough to clear everything away, I skip over it completely. “Afterward, it was easy to give in and become whatever they wanted me to be. I wanted a fresh start without you and they wanted to strike while my star was rising and catapult me into the stratosphere. It was an easy match.”
“And now?”
“Now, I just want to be the woman you love. I’m happiest when I’m with you and in Berry Falls with a little mud on my boots and your hat on my head, and I refuse to let that part of myself get lost again.”
Proving my point, I grab the ivory hat I commandeered the night I wore this dress and pop it on my head.
Archer flicks the brim of it so he can see my face without obstruction and smiles. But when the plane begins its descent, his hand snaps back into place at my thigh and grabs hold of me. Through his strained teeth, he tries to remain distracted and asks, “And me? Am I gonna be enough for your fancy life?”
“As long as you’re happy here, yeah, Archer, you will be. If you’re ever not though, tell me and we’ll make a new plan. L.A. is my job. You are my home.”
Feeling his heartbeat begin to pick up, I end our conversation by kissing him until my strawberry pink lipstick is smeared and we’ve taxied across the tarmac.
Lipstick fixed and the plane’s door opening, I lace our hands together and look up and back at Archer, asking him, “You ready?” knowing the paparazzi have already gathered in wait of my arrival.
He places his hand on my throat to stretch me further back as he bends down and once again ruins my lipstick with his kiss. “Now I’m ready,” he smirks, wiping the pink color from his own lips.
As the door opens, I put on a smile and make sure I’m squarely in front of Archer, acting like a small shield between them and him.
“Here we go.”