Chapter 13 #2
Everything about Archie pulled my focus in a way that felt unnatural. The kind of fixation that narrowed the world down to a single point and refused to release it.
Center of gravity.
That’s what he’d become.
Intuition pulled me inward, aligning around him until the rest of the world felt secondary at best.
Too much.
Too fast.
Too consuming.
And still—I wanted it.
His skin rippled under my touch, nearly vibrating as I exposed the rest of his chest and pressed forward.
Soft strands of my hair grazed over exposed skin, dragging lightly across his stomach. His skin was fever-warm under my hands, so thin I could almost feel his heart thumping.
My lips painted a line from the center of his chest to the base of his throat, nipping at the soft skin. His pulse jumped under my tongue.
One, long full body shiver tore down his spine when I scraped my thumbnail across his nipple.
My cock strained behind the zipper, throbbing against the metal in a pleasure plus pain kind of way. It made my fucking head spin.
Wrapping my fingers around his thigh, I shoved it higher, forcing his hips into position while I ground against him.
“Ohmygod.”
“You like that, Rabbit?” I whispered, rolling my hips while nibbling on his neck. “You want more?”
He choked on his breath. “Please.”
“Take your cock out.”
Frantic, impatient hands wedged themselves between our bodies, trembling with anticipation.
Chin to my chest, I watched him fumble with his button before forgoing it completely, tearing at his waistband and scrambling beneath me until his slacks were just below his ass.
He gasped as cock sprang free, flushed from root to tip, a bead of liquid racing down his shaft.
“Is that for me, sweetheart?”
Bracing my palm against the table, I rose just enough to catch that drop on the pad of my thumb before bringing it to my mouth.
I painted him across my bottom lip before sucking it fully into my mouth, groaning as the taste of him burst across my tongue.
“Now take my cock out.” I ordered.
Need flared beneath his glossy eyes as he reached for me, yanking at the belt I wore with a frustrated growl.
The sound of my zipper falling made me groan, and then he was there, delving his fingers in the coarse curls above my cock.
Impatience got the better of me, and I reached downward, shoving my goddamn briefs out of the way.
Only then did he wrap his hand around my shaft and pull.
Lust shot straight to my balls, buzzing through the rest of me like a live wire.
Grinding into his fist, I dropped my forehead to his. The arm holding me over him shook with effort, but I ignored it when his plump lips quivered, beckoning me.
I surrendered, pressing my mouth to his and pulling his needy little whimpers straight down my throat.
“Wrap your hand around us both, baby.” I whispered between kisses. “I bet we feel fucking perfect together.”
“Henry.”
His chest knocked against mine, kisses fervent as he wrapped his palm around us both, squeezing lightly with each stroke.
“I was born to be touched by you,” he vowed.
I grabbed his chin and turned his face, ghosting my lips over the shell of his ear. “Fuck yes, you were.”
Back arching, he doubled his efforts, thrusting his hips in time with his strokes, chasing a pleasure so deep, it threatened to pull me apart by the seams.
Sweat rolled down the column of his throat, and I buried my nose in the spot, inhaling deep.
Pulling away from him, I rose to my knees. He jerked up, my absence like a bucket of cold water against his otherwise heated skin. A wounded, desperate sound pulled deep from his chest, and he reached for me with grabby hands.
“Come back,” he pleaded, and fuck if it wasn’t a punch straight to the lungs.
“Sweetheart.” I popped a kiss between his brows before sliding off the table completely. “I want to taste you.”
Straightening, I put space between us for the first time since I’d tore him from his chair.
Just enough to take him in fully—flushed skin, color breaking unevenly across his chest and throat in warm, spreading patches.
My loafers scraped faintly against the floor as I stepped back, shifting position at the head of the table. Wood bit under my palm when I braced myself there for half a second, and then my knees hit the floor with a quiet, solid thud.
Both hands closed around his ankles, thumbs pressing into warm skin as I dragged him across the table.
His body followed the pull, hips shifting and legs yielding beneath my hands.
My fingers shifted at his ankles, steadying him first before working his shoe with quiet precision. Laces came undone one by one, slow enough to make him choke with anticipation.
His foot flexed in my grip, and I tightened my hold just enough to still him before slipping the shoe free and setting it aside. The second followed the same way.
My palms slid upward again, slower this time, dragging along the length of his calves and over the tension in his thighs. Slipping my fingers below his waistband, I tugged, tossing his pants over my shoulder, until nothing stood between my hands and the heat of him.
“Spread your legs for me, baby.”
Archie shoved his legs wide without hesitation, heels braced against the table’s edge, muscles tensed and waiting.
Obedient.
Eager.
Perfect.
I pressed a kiss just inside of his left thigh, and held it there for a beat before easing away just to give the same treatment to the other side.
Nuzzling closer, I dragged the bridge of my nose through that tender space where thigh met hip, breathing him in. That sweet vanilla scent was laced with desire, and fuck if it didn’t make hunger coil low in my gut.
Heat radiated between his thighs.
Every exhale against sensitive skin drew a new sound from his lips, equal parts plea and surrender. My hands steadied him, palms splayed across his hips, thumbs tracing small, grounding circles as I drank in the sight of him.
“You’re going to ruin me,” he whispered, voice already frayed at the edges.
“Good,” I hummed, letting my breath drag hot across his skin. “Let go for me, Rabbit.”
Lowering my head, I took his cock into my mouth, savoring the way his breath caught, the way his entire body leaned into the moment—begging for more.
Begging for me.
My throat spasmed around him, but I ignored it, reveled in it actually.
One hand on his hip, I used the other to cradle his balls, tugging in time with each bob of my head. Cheeks hollow, drool pooled at each corner of my lips, and something bright unraveled me from head to toe.
It wasn’t just lust.
It was worship.
“God, please,” Archie gasped, the words tumbling out. “I need—”
I pulled back slowly, biting down on his sack and squeezing his thigh. “You have me. Right here.”
A choked sound escaped, half-laughter, half-sob. “You’re not fair. You know that, right?”
“Not with you, I’m not.”
Wrapping my thumb and forefinger around the base of his dick, I kept hold while sucking the tip into my mouth, licking over the slit.
“Your cock is weeping for me, gorgeous. You feel how much you want me?”
“You,” he choked. “Just you.”
“Good fucking boy. Now, fuck my mouth.”
I pulled him back into my throat. His hips snapped forward, forcing himself deeper. The cords in my neck went taut, his balls swelling beneath my deft fingers. A garbled version of my name touched my ears just before he painted the inside of my mouth.
I wasted not a single fucking drop.
Scrambling upright, desperation twisted through every nerve. One hand braced on the table beside his head, the other wrapped tight around myself, slick with need.
Archie stared up at me, pupils blown so wide the grey nearly vanished, lips swollen and parted, a smear of spit shining at the corner of his mouth.
“My cum drunk little angel,” I breathed. “So fucking pretty.”
I pumped my fist with an unforgiving pace, every last nerve in my body burning with want. My toes curled. The look he wore drove me right to the edge.
Growling, my balls seized up. Pressure built, white-hot and relentless. A guttural sound tore from my chest, vision blurring as release crashed through every muscle, splattering his stomach in ropes of white.
My muscles gave out as I lowered myself over him, careful not to crush him beneath my weight.
Sweat slicked our skin, hearts racing in tandem.
Archie’s chest rose and fell in sharp little bursts, cheeks flushed, hair wild against the table.
I brushed sweat-damp strands from his forehead and pressed a kiss to the soft skin just below his ear.
He was wrecked, still open in a way that made something tighten deep in my chest.
My thumb swept the corner of his mouth, catching the shine there and dragging it away, but the movement slowed before it could stop, tracing the curve of his lip.
“Beautiful,” I swore.
He drew in a slow breath, something in his expression softening as it left him.
Slipping his arms around my shoulders, he anchored me in the warmth of his body. “I like you,” he declared.
It made me laugh. “Yeah, baby, I like you too.”
So. Fucking. Much.