Chapter 9
NINE
Despite himself, Archer was hooked. The pirate-lord-assassin—Edward—stomped into his cabin and threw a brush and bucket on the floor, telling the captive woman—Clara—to scrub his cabin floor until it shined. Edward was, Archer admitted to himself, pretty rude about it. Scarlett informed Archer that Clara had been impertinent and sassed the pirate-lord-assassin, and thus deserved her punishment. When Archer questioned whether that was fair, Scarlett just shushed him and kept reading. After the poor woman had been scrubbing the cabin floor for ages, Edward came back and noticed the woman’s eyes were puffy, and she was clutching a bleeding hand.
Scarlett read in an even voice: “‘My head snapped up as the cabin door opened, and there he stood, blotting out the light that streamed in behind him. His broad shoulders tugged at the fine linen of his shirt, which was unbuttoned so low it made me blush. His dark hair was windblown. There was no sign of the refined lord; this was a pirate through and through. The splinter in my palm throbbed as I curled my fingers into my chest and shrank back from the forbidding look in his pitch-black eyes.’”
“Wait, she’s scared of Edward? I thought she was attracted to him.” Archer had let his right hand drop onto Scarlett’s hip, where he’d started making circles with his fingers. He could actually feel her hipbone protruding, which had surprised him given she was lushly curved all over, and he traced the bone absentmindedly. She was still mostly on her back, sprawled over him on the couch, half on his chest, her right leg notched between his. The blanket still covered their legs.
Archer’s cock wasn’t throbbing quite so violently as it had been before, but it was still making itself known, and it was now pressed against the side of Scarlett’s hip. She either hadn’t noticed or didn’t mind, and both options seemed equally as implausible to Archer.
“She’s attracted to him, but he kidnapped her, remember? So of course she’s scared. Now be quiet and listen. ‘It took only three long strides for the captain to close the distance between us. He wrenched my hand away from my chest and stared at the blood staining my palm. “What’s this?” he demanded, black eyes crashing into mine. “What happened?”’” Scarlett turned the page, her head nestling against Archer’s chest.
Archer listened as the pirate scooped delicate Clara into his arms and sat her in his bed. Edward arranged himself behind the woman and sucked the splinter out. At that point, Clara felt faint and melted into him.
Archer frowned, his fingers stilling on Scarlett’s hip. “Wait. How big was this splinter? Why did she feel faint?”
“Archer, you’re missing the point.”
“What’s the point?”
“The point is now the pirate has her in his bed, leaning against his chest, and she’s only wearing his shirt and breeches, remember? Because she only had the one gown and it got ruined. Besides, he cares about her. He hates seeing her hurt. Seeing her blood really affected him. It made him realize he might have feelings for her.”
Hearing the earnestness in Scarlett’s voice was making Archer feel like he had something in common with the pirate lord in that respect. But all he did was nod and keep his arms around Scarlett. “Gotcha. Keep going.”
“Um.” Scarlett paused. “I think maybe we can stop there.” She flipped the page over to scan what came next, then closed the book. “Yeah. I think that’s all for today.”
Archer tightened his arm around her chest, then slid his other arm across her stomach. His lips were near her ear. “Keep reading, sweetheart. I’m into it now. What does Edward do?”
“No, I really think you get the gist.”
“Scarlett,” Archer cajoled. “Read it to me.”
Her cheeks were red, but she opened the book. She read the words a little bit faster and more mechanically than she had before: “‘His rough, calloused hand brushed the wound on my palm, the touch gentler than I would have expected. My heart rattled, and Edward hushed me. “You’re safe here, Clara. Don’t you know that by now?” My breath trembled as he lifted my palm and pressed a kiss to it, his other arm’”—Scarlet cleared her throat—“‘his other arm sliding across the top of my chest. He held me there for a long moment, until my breathing slowed, and a strange heat began to grow in my thighs—a strange, delicious heat. The shirt I wore gaped open, and the captain slid his warm, broad hand to trace my collarbone.’”
Archer hadn’t even realized he’d mimicked the captain’s movements until Scarlett’s breath caught on a gasp. But he had her in his arms, and his fingers had slipped beneath the neckline of her cardigan to trace her clavicle. Her skin was soft—softer than he’d imagined. He could feel her heart pounding against his forearm.
When she spoke again, her voice was breathy. “‘It was improper. I should have stopped him—but I couldn’t. The heat in my thighs only grew as I watched as his hand…moved to… his hand moved to the buttons at the front of my shirt.’”
Scarlett paused, then, and time stood still.
Archer hesitated. His own pulse was thrumming. Scarlett hadn’t moved, but he was sure she could feel his throbbing cock against her hip. But she hadn’t put the book away.
So he slid his hand to the buttons of her cardigan, and he heard her soft exhale. Relief? Arousal?
Scarlett read: “‘With deft, unhurried fingers, the captain worked the topmost button free,’” and Archer followed her instruction. The buttons of her cardigan were large—about the size of a silver dollar—and made of wood. The top one rasped against the wool of her cardigan, and then it released.
He stared at the buttonhole for a long time, his fingers trembling.
Scarlett sipped in a shallow breath, then said, her voice hoarse, “‘The second button came open faster, then the third, then the fourth. My chest heaved’”—Scarlett’s chest did the same—“‘as the pirate who had taken me captive made quick work of the fastenings, then finally pushed open the sides of the shirt I wore to expose…’” Scarlett gulped, and Archer’s hand stilled.
He’d unbuttoned every button he could reach, but the two sides of her garment were resting against each other. He couldn’t see any more flesh than before, but he already knew she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. Now his fingers were curled around the buttonhole side of the cardigan, waiting for Scarlett to go on. To give him permission.
If she didn’t, Archer would die. He’d stop as soon as she told him to, of course. But he’d die. Because he’d never been this turned on in his life, listening to her narrate the actions that he should take.
Her breath trembled as she let it out, but Scarlett finally whispered, “‘…then finally pushed open the sides of the shirt I wore to expose my breasts. He rested his hand over my trembling stomach, stroking me with a gentling touch.’”
Archer wasn’t exactly sure what the author had meant by a gentling touch, but when he’d laid his palm flat on her bare stomach, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from petting her there. From his vantage point, his head just above hers, he had a perfect view of her pert breasts and rosy nipples. His own hand looked rough and scarred against her unblemished skin, which pleased him for reasons that were probably perverse and wrong.
Somehow, they’d jumped from friendship to…whatever this was.
He ached to move his hand up, to feel the weight of her tits against his palm. He wanted to slide his hand down her stomach and find out if she was as wet as he was hard. But this was a game, and he understood the rules. If he broke them, the spell the book had cast over them would pop like a soap bubble, and the moment would be over. If he rushed her, he’d lose her.
So he waited.
When Scarlett let her head lean against his shoulder, Archer let out a breath. He still had one hand on her thigh, and he realized he’d been clamping it tight, so he eased his grip. This time, when she read, her voice was stronger. “‘The captain slid his hand to my ribs, then over my breast.’” Scarlett’s breath was shaky, then, and Archer should have asked her if she was okay. But maybe he was a rogue just like the pirate lord, because he didn’t ask her a damn thing. He only stroked her breast with his thumb, then squeezed it gently so he could feel it against his palm, then rolled her nipple between his fingers.
Her tits were glorious. Soft and heavy and just the right size and had he already mentioned soft? And glorious? And in his hand at that very moment? Archer watched himself touch the woman he was quickly becoming obsessed with, and he lost himself in it. He never wanted this to end.
Scarlett’s breaths were jagged, and she kept reading. “‘I couldn’t stop myself from arching into his touch’”—Archer nearly came then, because Scarlett did arch into his touch—“‘as my head rolled against his neck. He crooned low words to me while his hands explored my body, feeling the weight of my breasts in h-his…in his palms. He…’”
“He what, Scarlett?”
“‘He pinched my nipples, both at once’—oh!—‘and heat s-speared through my middle.’” Scarlett let out three or four panted breaths as Archer toyed with her breasts. She arched and writhed against him, the book trembling in her hand. Her free hand crept down to his thigh, fingernails biting at him through his jeans. She began to grind against him as he plumped and pinched her breasts, and now Archer knew she could feel his hardness. She was searching it out with every writhing movement of her hips.
Archer couldn’t think of anything except the heat of her body against his and the perfection of her breasts in his hands. His own breaths were harsh, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.
Scarlett, somehow, turned back to the book. “‘Distantly, I knew I should tell him to stop, but…’” She trailed off for a moment, adjusting the book in her grasp. “‘But his heat was all around me, his hands were rough and skilled, and a strange, pleasant wetness was gathering between my thighs.’” Her breasts and stomach trembled with every inhalation, and Archer would never forget the sight of it for the rest of his despicable life.
“How about you, sweetheart?” Archer couldn’t help asking as he pinched her nipples again just to hear her gasp.
“How about me, what?” Her voice was breathless.
“Are you wet between your thighs?”
“Archer, I don’t think?—”
He could have punched himself, then, for ruining the moment. So he dipped his head to put his lips near her ear and interrupted her: “Keep reading, love. I want to know what happens next.”
She hesitated. He felt it in the tension that gripped her for a second, saw it in the way she bit her lip as she found her place in the book.
But she didn’t stop.
“‘The captain’”—she flipped the page—“‘The captain’s hands felt rough as they slid down to the fastenings of my breeches. His breaths were hot on my ear as he said, “Have you ever been touched where you need it most, Clara?”’” Scarlett gulped. Her voice, when she spoke, was tinged with self-deprecation. “I don’t know if I’m qualified to play the virginal heroine, considering my history. Maybe this was the wrong book to choose.”
But Archer wasn’t going to let her pull away. Not now, when he had her half-undressed in his arms, when he was so hot for her he couldn’t think of anything else. All that existed was this game, this role play, this moment. He couldn’t think about her past, or his past, or all the reasons they weren’t supposed to do this.
So he did the only thing he could. He slid his hand down to the elastic waistband of her pants, where the fastenings would have been. In a low voice, he repeated, “‘Have you ever been touched where you need it most, Clara?’”
“Oh my God,” Scarlett whispered, and her legs clamped together. She held the book to her chest as her legs twitched.
Archer’s hand trembled as he lifted the book so she could keep going, his thumb stroking the back of her palm while the other hand teased the waistband of her loose pants.
She was going to stop. Archer knew it. He forced himself to come to terms with it and prepared himself. As soon as she was done with this game, he’d take his hands away from her. It would kill him, and he’d need to get out of here as soon as possible so he could take care of himself properly, but he’d let her go.
But he’d judged her wrongly, because she didn’t stop. “‘Then his hand slipped beneath the placket of my breeches, and all th…a-all thought fled from m-my mind. He said… He said…. He said…”
Archer had one hand down her pants—where she wasn’t just wet, she was absolutely drenched—the other pressed to her stomach, holding her tight to him. His heart was beating so fast it hurt. His cock had never been this hard in his life, and he realized he was grinding it against her like an animal desperate to breed.
“He said—” Scarlett’s voice was hoarse. “Archer?—”
Archer squinted and forced himself to look at the page. God, she was wet. His fingers slid against her clit with no resistance whatsoever, and she was so soft it made his head spin. He couldn’t wait to get inside her. Couldn’t wait to feel all that wet, hot heat squeezed around his cock. Couldn’t wait to fill her with his seed, to watch it drip out of her while he kept her spread with his thumbs so he could watch. He was a degenerate for thinking that. He knew it, but he thought it anyway.
Scarlett moaned, and Archer forced himself to focus. The letters on the page jumbled until he found the line that Scarlett’s thumb marked for him. He had to focus, had to make his brain work properly for this. It was hard enough for him to read without having one hand occupied pleasuring the woman of his dreams.
He could barely get the words out, his voice was so hoarse. But finally, he managed. “‘A cu’—fuck, Scarlett, you read pure filth, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she gasped, and he heard the smile in her voice.
All he could do in response was read the line, meaning every word: “‘A cunt this sweet and wet can only belong to me.’”
Scarlett’s whole body contracted. She cried out, dropping the book on the ground, her hands pressing against Archer’s so she could ride out her orgasm just the way she needed.
And Archer didn’t stand a chance. He ground himself against her hip and went temporarily blind as he made a mess of himself, and it was the most intense orgasm of his entire life.
Then, before he was able to think about what had just happened, before he was able to come down and face the reckoning and the consequences that awaited him, his phone began to ring.