23. Well, That’s New
23
WELL, THAT’S NEW
O’CONNOR
Did I think Archer was too vain?
Well, yes.
And no. Definitely no.
I’d never much enjoyed being eaten. I knew I was supposed to love it, but I wasn’t one of those women who came easily. Research proves that some 50 percent of women do not regularly have orgasms during sex, so I knew there was nothing wrong with me.
On the other hand, damn.
Archer’s way was better.
I stretched, bowing my body to press against him more closely. The nearly painful sensitivity of my clitoris had crested, leaving a pleasurable itch in its wake.
More , that itch whispered.
Could he do it again?
“Forget vanity,” I purred. “Archer, don’t you want to get laid?”
That exceptionally handsome face broke into the triangular grin. I felt a tightness in my chest. He was so good-looking that he was giving me palpitations.
“Don’t mind if I do,” he said. “Are you ready? Want more time?”
“Why do you still have these jeans on?” I wriggled a hand down between us so I could go after his belt. He shrugged away with a laugh.
“Because my condom is in my wallet, and my wallet is on my ass. Can you give me a minute, Miss Greedy?”
He sat up next to me, and I rolled to my back to watch him. I was greedy. He’d made me greedy.
Archer fished in his wallet and tossed the packet down between our hips. Now what was he doing?
Oh. Unlacing and removing his boots. How adult. And when I was feeling so deliciously hungry too.
Miss Greedy.
His jeans vanished, leaving me a tantalizing glimpse of a perfect ass, and he rolled back to me. His movements were easy and graceful, but not so fast that I hadn’t seen the lovely, thick cock.
Perfect. Bigger than expected, but not so big I feared he’d rip me open. Oh, give me that now.
“How?” I asked, my mouth suddenly dry. “How do you want me? On my back?”
He was rolling the condom on and then reached for my hip. “Like this. On your side. Face me. We’ll do it together, okay?”
The excitement—the desire—was bigger than I could contain. I had to bite my lip to keep from moaning. My breasts against his chest, his eyes gazing into mine. Neither one on top, neither one dominant. “Show me,” I gasped.
He lifted my leg, pulling my thigh up so my shin hung down behind his hip. Instead of forcing his hand down between us, he reached over my leg and slid a gentle finger along my seam from behind. “Ready? Want more time?”
“Do it now. Please hurry. Archer, please do it. Show me.”
He fumbled between us, and then I felt him—the stretch, the strength, the heat of him. He got his cock seated at my entrance and then he moved his hand, wrapping his arm around my waist. “Go ahead, if you’re ready.”
My lip came out of my mouth as I gasped. Miss Greedy. Aching. Needing.
I tilted my hips into him and pushed forward. His cock slid into me, the stretch pulling against the skin around my clitoris. The deed was done. Archer was in me. I whimpered and nudged again. More.
“More,” I whispered.
Archer was still watching me, but his mouth was open, his breaths coming short and fast. His free hand slid to the knee over his hip. He pulled my leg forward as he leaned into me, and his cock slid in further. “God, you’re a furnace,” he groaned. “So hot. So good.”
“More. Do it again, Archer.”
“Yeah. More. God, O’Connor—” Then he had nothing more to say.
We learned how to work together—how to shift our bodies, pulling and pushing, establishing a rhythm that pounded through my clitoris, suddenly oversensitive again and desperate. He wasn’t even touching my clit, and I was wracked with the electricity that meant I was winding up.
“O’Connor,” he panted. “God, you’re incredible. Come on—more, baby. Let’s . . . oh, come on . . . ”
His inarticulate murmurs were more than I could come up with, but he coached me into stronger, more powerful thrusts. I clutched him, feeling stars in me, their wicked, sharp points spinning deep inside of me, gathering energy, gathering speed .
“O’Connor! Let me hear you, baby. Sing it, girl!”
Somehow, the idea of screaming out the madness he was causing . . . it triggered me. The silvery stars exploded within me and I cried out, shivering in his arms.
Distantly, I heard him bellow. His arms tightened around me, pulling us together into a sweaty, heated, delicious whole. My first conscious thought was that I was sobbing.
I never cried.
And here I was, shedding tears of relief and fulfillment. I hid my face in his chest, and he held me as I came back down.
“You okay?” he whispered.
Laughter bubbled up in me, an insane contrast to the tears I was wiping on his neck. “I’m good. I’m so good. I’ll be okay.”
“Okay.” Happily, he didn’t seem to need to pursue it, so I got to lie there, pressed to him and drifting. “I need to get that condom,” he said.
“Yeah.” I rolled off him and watched lazily as he dealt with it.
“Still intact,” he said. “We’re good.”
“I’m on the pill anyway.”
“Yeah?” he said, rolling back to lie at my side. “But you want me to have that condom anyway. Because I’m a man slut.”
I grinned and rolled away from him, tugging on his arm until he spooned me. “All my research turns up that you are fanatical about condoms.”
“I am. That’s true.” His hand stroked along my flank, and I arched under his touch. “I don’t want to get up yet.”
“Me either.”
“Hang on.” He sat up again, and I was too relaxed to track what he was doing, which turned out to be unzipping a sleeping bag fully. He threw it over the two of us and tucked himself in behind me.
“We’ve got time?” I asked.
“Easy,” he said. “We don’t have to be in Chicago for . . . we can’t check into our dive motel until four, and it will take about three hours to drive there. So we can only sleep for . . . twenty-one hours.”
I grinned and dozed, feeling whole and sane from my scalp to my toes. “So this is my one-night stand with Archer Armstrong,” I murmured the next time I felt like he and I were both awake.
“Could be a three-night stand,” he said lazily. “You and I haven’t talked about getting you to an airport for a while.”
I rolled to my back, and he opened one eye to watch me. “So were Mal and Ian right? You and I have gotten it on, and your dry spell has ended. Are you going to go back to screwing groupies now?”
He scoffed. “Not something I usually discuss with my dates.”
“Yeah, but I’m in the Venn diagram overlap. You can talk to me, remember?”
He closed that one blue eye. “What do you want me to do, O’Connor? Shall I call you up and report on the women I meet?”
Yes, that was what I wanted.
No, I didn’t want to know. Fuck the book.
“Well, I can’t imagine your confidence isn’t restored after you made me shriek.”
He smiled lazily. “I did, didn’t I?”
I wanted to pinch him, he looked so smug. And I wanted to kiss him. The thought of Archer with other women was like sandpaper on my soul. I sat up abruptly. “I’m going to get dressed and check on Charlotte.”
“Yeah? You don’t want to cuddle a while?”
My underwear was hopelessly tangled with my leggings. I teased the two apart. “This is a switch. You mean the guy wants to cuddle?”
“I’m a different Archer.” He rolled onto his back and crossed his arms beneath his head, watching me. “I kiss without teeth now.”
“Let all of America celebrate.”
Why was I being so snarky? Was it the thought of him with groupies?
“You could change into that lingerie if you wanted.”
I fastened the clasp on my plain cotton bra. “You should be so lucky.”
He stretched, muscled arms brushing against the tent wall behind him. “I just got pretty lucky. Don’t worry,” he added magnanimously. “It’s enough. For now.”
I rolled my eyes as I stepped into my leggings. Where were my sneakers? When had he taken them off me? I couldn’t even remember. “Are you hungry at all? I am. It’s almost sunset. And without that sun, Charlotte is going to freeze out there.”
“Hungry.” His eyes opened. “I am hungry.”
He was watching me turn my sweater right side out, the heat of his regard warming me. No, none of that. That was done. Let the publishing empire continue. “Bacon?” I said. “Pancakes? Egg-white omelet with steamed spinach?” Yuck.
“Bacon. I could eat about a pound of bacon. All right, O’Connor. We’ll cuddle later.” He stood, graceful and strong and entirely buckass naked. I gulped at the sight. He saw me looking and grinned. “Good, huh? Would have been better if you’d let me do all three sets yesterday.”
Christ. The arrogance of that man.
The fucking beauty of that man.
“I’ll check on Charlotte.” I ducked out.
“Chicken!” he called after me. Well, that was true. He didn’t need to know why.
One sexual escapade, and then we’d go back to being distant acquaintances. Archer would start screwing groupies again, and I’d write a book that would become the must-read of this Christmas’s gift-buying season .
Charlotte had dug herself a patch in the mulch until she’d reached earth. She was covered in dirt and not a bit remorseful.
“Dog, you are disgusting. Gross. Get up. Shake that off.”
She grinned at me, the size of a young tiger and completely happy with herself.
I was wondering if I could drag her to the bathrooms and force her into a shower when Archer appeared. Fully dressed.
Thank god.
Alas.
“Now you see why we have to stay in dive hotels. Let’s pack up.”
I helped him roll up the sleep-naked-under-me sleeping bags and deflate the writhe-with-pleasure-on-me air mattresses. No need to focus on such things. We collapsed the tent. He packed it neatly away and stowed all in the truck bed. “Come on, dog. Get in the truck.”
“You’re letting that filthy dog get into your precious BFT?”
“It wouldn’t be my first choice, but what else are we supposed to do?”
“Dog bath?”
He laughed. “You and what army? Come on, Char. Most of this will shake off on her blanket. Up, girl. I’m not—Charlotte. Damn it, Charlotte!”
He finally lured her into the truck with a chew bone.
“She needs training,” I said. “She’s too big to be a bad dog.”
“You sound like Nicky.” Archer was annoyingly cheerful. Didn’t he know I was out of sorts?
We headed north in search of dinner. Or breakfast. His lifestyle was so fucked up.
As we drove, I started thinking about the next night’s accommodations. “Camping is all well and good, but I’m looking forward to a real bed in Chicago,” I said.
Archer looked startled. “I guess I need to get a second room for you and me,” he said .
I blinked. “You share with Mal?”
“And Ian. We had a bad experience this summer with tour expenses, so we’re back to saving our pennies.”
I shook my head. “Don’t you now have multiple songs in heavy rotation on SiriusXM?”
“Yeah, but they barely pay anything.”
My fussiness was not easing. I picked up my phone and dialed Jane.
“Good evening, Ms. O’Connor.” It was one of the women this time.
“Jane, I need a reservation for tomorrow in the finest hotel in Chicago that will accept dogs. Tell them I will pay a very large security deposit for a very large pet. Three rooms for . . . three nights.”
One thing I could say about the Janes: they were unflappable. “Am I using the O’Connor name to make the reservations?”
“Sure. I’d be willing to write them up if they perform well.” Archer was gesturing to get my attention, but I waved him off. “I also need an appointment for tomorrow—anytime after noon—with the best-rated dog groomer in Chicago. Use the Opinionated O’Connor name again. Have an expert auto detailer meet us at the groomer’s to clean a large pickup truck while the dog is being groomed. I’ll need to be finished by four. Got it?”
“Do you want your messages now, ma’am?”
“Email me. I’ll check them later. Questions?”
“No, ma’am. I’ll call you back when I have the confirmations.”
“Thank you, Jane.”
I disconnected, and Archer pulled into a family-style restaurant. He waited until we’d given our order to the waiter (he had added bacon to his flavorless, nutrition-conscious omelet) and I’d gotten down half a cup of coffee before he broached the subject .
“So, your secretary’s name is Jane, huh?”
I shook my head, filled with self-loathing. How could I be so . . . gross? “Virtual assistant. It’s a service. They’re all named Jane.”
“What’s that mean?”
I shrugged. “They’re in Indonesia. They promise twenty-four-hour access to an assistant, and they all insist their names are Jane. Even the guys. I’ve given up trying to force more personality on them.”
He rolled his eyes and refrained from commenting on how ridiculous my life was. “So, about the hotel. Maybe I didn’t explain about us saving pennies.”
I shook my head. “This would be on me if they were going to charge us. Which they are not. Believe me, once they know who I am, they’ll comp all three suites.”
“Suites? You said rooms.”
“We’ll get suites. Wait and see.”
“And we need three?”
“One for Mal, one for Ian, and one for you. Do you want me to get a fourth room for me?”
My tone had gotten accusatory, and he patted the air with his hands. “I’d love to share a room with you. Apparently for . . . three days?”
“You’ve got time before your next gig, right?”
“We have to be in D.C. next Thursday. I guess we’ve got time.”
“Tell Ian to bring Nicky. They’ll have the room until Sunday morning. Mal can bring a date, too, if he wants.”
“I’ll tell him. Are you mad at me?”
“Mad at you?” I put my coffee cup down and realized I was glaring at him.
“Maybe you think this afternoon was a mistake, huh?”
I glanced away, unable to look at his confused concern. “I’m not mad. I seem to be . . . I don’t know. I can’t put my finger on what’s going through me, but it’s not about sex with you, Archer.”
The waiter who put my salad in front of me looked all too interested in the conversation, and I flapped my hand to move things along. Archer and I ate in silence while I tried to come to grips with my feelings.
“I had a good time,” I said abruptly.
Archer put down his fork and waited. Smart man.
“I had too good a time,” I admitted. “And I got a little freaked out. I told you I’m not a one-night-stand kind of person, and I’m having to fit this”—I flapped my hand between us—“in with this.” I circled my hand around my middle.
“Ah.” His voice was studiously neutral. Again, smart man. “Well . . . three-night stand, right?”
Did that make it better? Knowing he’d hold off on banging groupies until I was back in California?
I found a slice of avocado hiding under a lettuce leaf. Surely that was a karmic sign to cheer up?
“All right,” I said, sliding my foot against his under the table. “Three nights. And then we’re back to our regularly scheduled lives.”
“Good.” His neutral gaze became heated. “And you can show me the lingerie you packed.”
The waiter had perfect timing; he arrived to freshen my coffee at that exact moment. I glared at him. “Move along, sonny. You do not get to see the lingerie.”
“Just tell me what color?” The kid had guts.
“Lavender,” I said crisply, “with ivory lace.”
“On a redhead? Damn. You’re a lucky man.”
Archer stretched and winked at him. “Don’t have to tell me. What kind of pie do you have?”
“Pie?” I’d never seen Archer eat anything so indulgent.
“We deserve pie. For all that . . . exercising.”
The waiter’s eyes were wide. This needed to be nipped in the bud. “One slice of apple, one of cherry,” I said firmly. “Thanks.”
“No,” the waiter said. “Thank you .”
Archer trapped my sneaker between both of his boots as the waiter vanished. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”