Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
The first time Scarlett had kissed Archer all those months ago, she’d been a little tipsy and a little lonely—a lethal combination. They’d clawed at each other, and she’d loved the way his stubble had abraded her lips, her cheeks, her neck. His hands had been warm and strong and sure as they’d pawed at her body, lust driving every movement. It had been hot—for a few minutes.
But the moment his hand had slipped to her inner thigh, Scarlett had felt reality like a slap in the face. She’d remembered where she was— who she was. It had been easy to walk away.
The second time they’d kissed, just a couple nights ago, it had been quick and hard. He’d been giving her a message.
The third was different.
There would be no walking away from this. Archer’s grip tightened on her nape as he angled her head where he wanted it, and Scarlett melted like butter on a hot pan. His kiss sizzled through her. He hooked his other hand around her knee and drove his towel-clad hips against her naked ones, and she knew this was a runaway train there was no hope of stopping.
All I care about is being your last , he’d said, a moment before his lips collided with hers. Now he used his lips and tongue and teeth and hands to systematically destroy any defense she could have erected against him.
She wasn’t ready for a relationship. They were supposed to be friends. If this blew up in their faces, they’d ruin the entire friend group. She’d lose the only support system she had. Every holiday and get-together would be awkward because they weren’t able to resist the lust burning white-hot between them.
And she didn’t care.
All I care about is being your last .
The words rattled around Scarlett’s head until she couldn’t make sense of them. What little brainpower she had left was too busy keeping her lungs and heart working while Archer kissed her.
His body was hot and slick with the steam from the shower that still pelted behind them. He crowded her against the vanity, tugging at her bottom lip with his teeth. She gasped against his lips, loving the way he moved her. Loving how little control he seemed to have.
She was splayed open for him, balancing on one leg while he held the other against his hip. All traces of cold had vanished from her body. As her fingers sank into his shoulders, his arms, Scarlett felt nothing but heat.
“Love the way you taste,” he told her, then deepened the kiss. His tongue slid against hers and a rush of fire charged down her spine. “Can’t wait to taste you everywhere.”
“Yes,” she panted, clawing at the towel that separated them. Whatever this was between them—whatever the consequences would be tomorrow—didn’t matter. What mattered right now was the pulsing ache in her core and the man who could ease it for her. Her nails scraped against his skin as she yanked at the towel. It fell to the floor, and then Archer’s cock was pressed against her, its hot hardness a brand against her skin.
And Scarlett’s eyes jerked down, shocked.
She’d felt it before, through their clothing. But seeing it, hard and veined and throbbing, was another story.
“Fuck,” he grunted, his hips punching forward. “You’re so wet and hot, and I’m not even inside you yet.”
“Not sure you’ll fit,” she said, eyeing the cock trapped against her body.
His grin wasn’t the least bit timid. “I’ll fit, sweetheart. Don’t worry about that.” And as if to prove his point, he rocked against her and rubbed where she needed him most.
Shuddering, Scarlett clung to his shoulders and ground herself against him. “That feels so good.”
His big, calloused hands dropped to her hips. Scarlett let out a keening moan as he ground her harder onto his shaft, her feet leaving the floor as she balanced on the edge of the vanity. Her heels dug into the backs of his thighs as he forced her to rub her clit against his cock, controlling both their movements. Her vision went white.
“You look so perfect like this, Scarlett,” he said, voice soft. “Dazed and needy and wet for me. Tell me how much you want my cock, sweetheart.”
“Archer,” she panted, his hands still guiding her movements. “Don’t be a dick.”
His eyes were heavy-lidded, lips curling into a sinful smirk. His thumbs pressed harder into her hipbones as he changed the angle of their bodies. Scarlett gasped.
“Love feeling you so wet and hot against me,” he rasped, grinding against her. He leaned over her, so her back was pressed against the chill of the mirror and his mouth was near her ear. “I can’t wait to get inside. Can’t wait to feel how tight you’ll squeeze me when you come on my cock.”
Scarlett’s heart stuttered. The dark rasp of his voice made heat spiral below her navel. This was—this was not the charming, easygoing Archer she thought she knew. The laughing man with an easy smile and a joke for every occasion apparently had a filthy mouth.
She should have known, considering what happened on her couch.
“You know what I think about, when I’ve got my hand wrapped around myself?” He paused his movements, pinning her to the vanity with one hand while the other fisted around his length.
Scarlett watched, chest heaving. “What?”
Archer’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, but when he spoke, his voice was still rough as gravel. “For the past seventeen months, I’ve thought about you,” he admitted, his gaze glued between her legs. “I’ve thought about fucking you in every position I could imagine. I’ve thought about eating you out until you can’t take any more. I’ve thought about coming on your stomach and your tits and your tongue. I have wondered”—he gave himself a stroke, then moved his hand between Scarlett’s legs to slide two fingers inside her—“just how good it would feel to do this, right here.”
Scarlett had one hand on the wall, the other wrapped around Archer’s forearm. She gasped as he worked his fingers deeper into her, using his thumb to circle her bud. His free hand was still holding her tight to the vanity, so when she tried to buck, he held her down. Her nails dug into his forearm, and the corner of his lips kicked.
“Reality is so much better than what I imagined,” he told her, and a third finger joined the first two.
“Archer…” Scarlett’s voice came out like a whisper. It was hard to breathe. The air was so thick with steam and her blood ran so hot she was burning from the inside out.
He leaned over her and gave her a bruising kiss. She clung to him like he was the only thing keeping her tethered to reality.
“Come for me, beautiful,” he commanded, and she did.
She heard him groan as her body became a thing of light and ecstasy. She shattered, body jolting, and all she could do was cling on until it was over.
When she came back to herself, both their bodies were slick with sweat and steam. Archer’s fingers eased out of her so he could wrap a fist around himself. He groaned, closing his eyes for a beat. When he opened them again, there was no trace of blue in his eyes, only the black of his blown-out pupil. “Condom?”
“Um. Bedroom, I think. In my nightstand.”
Archer nodded. “Arms and legs around me.”
She did as he ordered, and he picked her up off the vanity—but they didn’t make it to the bedroom. He pressed her to the closed door, his cock notched against her as he slid his hands from her waist to her ass, pulling her closer so she could feel every hard inch of him.
“Nearly as good as the real thing,” he breathed, grinning—and then he began to move.
Pinned against the door as she was, all Scarlett could do was hang on as Archer punched his hips forward again and again and again.
And he was right; it nearly was as good as the real thing.
Their breaths turned to pants. Archer’s calloused hands gripped her curves and angled her body so she felt every bit of him sliding against her. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, Scarlett cried out as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter within her.
“Love the way you moan,” Archer told her, lips brushing her ear. “You were such a good girl to come on my fingers, sweetheart, but I want one more. Want you to come against me just like this.”
Scarlett’s teeth sank into his shoulder.
“That’s it,” he said, his movements becoming slower and deeper. She wanted him inside her so desperately she couldn’t think of anything else. “When you take my cock,” he told her quietly, “you’re going to take every inch of me. All of me”—he drove his cock against her once, hard—“just for you.”
The door rattled in its frame with every rhythmic thrust of Archer’s hips. And when he lifted one hand to her breast to pinch and tease her pebbled nipple, Scarlett couldn’t hold back any longer. She crested and crashed into an ocean of pleasure, body clenching on emptiness. Archer groaned, buried his head in the crook of her neck, and then shoved her harder against the door as his body went rigid. Warmth spread over her stomach as Archer gasped, and the dregs of Scarlett’s own orgasm flared and faded as she let her head fall back against the door.
Her ankles unhooked, and her legs flopped down as if they were wet noodles. Archer held her steady with his hands around her waist, drawing in deep breaths as he straightened. His gaze was hooded, contentment written plainly across his eyes.
When he kissed her, he did it gently. He brushed his lips against hers and gave her the slightest stroke of his tongue. It was pure bliss. Scarlett’s blood thrummed as he caressed her, and then he pulled away and led her to the shower.
Scarlett followed, blinking rapidly as reality reasserted itself. She followed him under the spray of water that he adjusted until it was pleasantly warm, knowing that whatever had just happened was not something they’d be able to ignore. A line had been crossed, and she’d done it with her eyes wide open.