27. Shall We Dance?
27
SHALL WE DANCE?
O’CONNOR
Archer was a better dancer than I was. It probably came from that impressive vanity. Only a man with massive confidence could turn his back to me and, swaying that ass, bend all the way over to unlace his high-tops. I damn near applauded at his grace.
Once the sneakers were loosened, he put his hand on the floor, looked back to make sure I was watching, and twerked his luscious butt like the most skilled stripper.
“Wow,” I breathed. “That is . . . pretty good.”
He rose with a smile and pivoted slowly until he faced me. He stepped out of his shoes and nudged them delicately to the side. He smoldered at me, his gaze hot and magnetic, and crossed his arms at his waist, picking up the hem of his sweater.
“Oh,” I said stupidly.
He gave me that triangular grin. He whipped his arms up, but as he lifted, he pivoted again so I was treated to the sight of his naked back .
“So nice,” I said.
He smiled at me over his shoulder and turned again, now holding the sweater coyly to his chest. I bit my lip in anticipation and then he tossed the fabric aside, standing boldly with legs spread and fists on his hips. He raised his arrogant, beautiful head and laughed like a pirate.
I was on my feet before conscious thought, running my hands over the muscles of that chest, of that abdomen.
“Don’t you know the house rules?” he whispered as he kissed my neck. “No touching the strippers.”
I was unable to think of witty banter. “You’re really good at this.”
“Mm.” He had my hips in his hands, and we swayed to the music together. “I’ve done bachelorette parties.”
It stopped me. “You really were a stripper?”
“Hell yes. I got great tips. But I never got to do this to any of those brides.” His hands slid up my back, taking my sweater with them. I raised my arms obediently, and then I was swaying in his arms in my prettiest bra. “Look at you,” he said admiringly, “in your secret, naughty, gorgeous underwear. Don’t you know that if you show a man this bra, you’re going to get fucked, O’Connor?”
“Oh god, I hope so.”
“I’m a sure thing, honey. Count on it. Could you get my belt?”
He slid the zipper of my skirt down and I unbuckled, unsnapped, and unzipped him.
We kicked our clothes away from our feet and he pulled me back to him, his cock folding up against my belly. “Nudity achieved.” He grinned. “Well, mostly nudity.”
I still wore my bra, and his fingers traced along the thong between my cheeks as he nuzzled my neck. Then he slid a hooking finger beneath and tugged back gently, pulling the cloth at the front against my sensitive clitoris. So close—so close.
“Tell me,” he said. “Tell me what you want now.”
“Condom.”
“Already? You don’t want a little attention?”
Need made me greedy. And inarticulate. “Condom. And sit there.”
He bent for his pants, and I couldn’t resist running my hand down his ass to cup his balls from behind.
He yelped and straightened, turning to swoop me up and smother my laughter with his kiss. “Watch those hands, missy,” he growled.
“I’ll watch that ass instead.”
“Squats and lunges,” he said, pulling the condom from the wrapper and rolling it on. “Can’t be beat.” He sat in the chair and patted his knee. “Come on, sweet thing. Up you get. Use me. Please use me.”
His choice of words was unfortunate, reminding me that I was supposed to be gathering scandalous dirt about him. I shook off the reminder and stretched onto my toes so I could straddle him without touching him. I braced myself on the back of the chair and held myself in anticipation.
“You’re keeping the lingerie on,” Archer said with approval.
“Benefit of the thong,” I murmured. I slid the fabric to one side and bit my lip as I lowered myself that critical inch. I slid my fingers down his sheathed cock and watched as his eyelids lowered. “I’m going to use you for a minute.”
“Use me,” he repeated, his hands tightening on my hips.
I brushed the head of his cock up my center until I stroked over my clitoris. Bolts of excitement tightened every muscle in my core. I did it again.
And again.
His jaw was tight and his eyes were closed, but he didn’t rush me. “Feel good?” he asked .
“Feels so good.” I threw my head back, my ponytail brushing my ass, and ruthlessly scrubbed him across my clit, scratching an itch he’d awoken in me.
“Yeah,” he gasped.
Then it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. I rose again and recentered him. Then I removed my hand to ensure no impediment and lowered my hips.
He slid up into me, parting the swollen flesh with hot stone. I gasped as I stretched, sliding helplessly down until he was fully seated in me. “You know,” I said, brushing hair out of my eyes with the back of my hand, “it’s been almost four years since I had sex.” I shifted, standing again so I could repeat the invasion. “And I didn’t even like it very much then.”
“Do you like this at all?” he grunted, helping me slide almost all the way off his cock.
“Yes, I do.” I slammed back down onto his lap, gasping.
“God, yes, ride me. Ride me, O’Connor.”
So I did. Like he was a horse and I was a broncobuster. Like he was a yacht on the high seas. Like he was a sex god and I was a nymphomaniac priestess.
And when I came—when I made myself come using his cock like the warmest, most vital dildo—I didn’t smother the sound. I sang it out, a shriek of freedom and bliss. I was still shivering from the orgasm when his hands clenched on me and he roared his own release.
I fell forward onto him and held on, panting for breath and laughing. “Oh my god,” I gasped. “I can’t even count the number of times you’ve made me come in the last twenty-four hours.”
“This one wasn’t me. You definitely made yourself come.”
“Yes, I did.” I smiled, happy. His hand slid down my back, stroking my hair.
“Jesus god, you feel good,” he sighed.
“Yes, I do. ”
“So arrogant.” He was smiling. I couldn’t see his face as I was nuzzled under his chin, but I could hear it in that voice.
“Trained by the best.”
“Damned right. Stand up a minute, honey. Let me deal with this condom. Okay. Bedtime?” He didn’t wait for my answer but scooped me up like we were in a romance movie. I looped my arms around his neck and surrendered to the perfection. “Hey. Someone’s made up this bed.”
I turned to look. “Chocolates on the pillow. This hotel is doing okay.”
He put me down on the bed and reached for the chocolates. “This is nice. Look at that. Mm, eat yours. Damn, that’s worth the calories. Shit, I forgot. Hang on, I’ll get the champagne.”
I curled up under the covers. Very-high-thread-count sheets were like suede against naked, just-fucked flesh. What a joy.
“Four years, huh?” Archer joined me under the blankets and handed me a glass of champagne. Still chilled. It hadn’t taken me long to get Archer into that chair so I could give myself a shouting orgasm.
“Yep. Four years. I got tired of people wanting things. Of not trusting. You know?”
“No, I don’t. I don’t think sex has anything to do with trust.”
“That’s because you’re a man.” I settled against his shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around me. “You just want to get laid.”
“Well, yeah. And you don’t?”
I thought about it. “Not at the expense of my peace of mind. I mean, I can fuck you because I know what you want. You want me to write about Aftermath and about your reformation as a former teeth kisser.”
“Mm. Teeth kissing. I really don’t think you’ve given tooth kissing the credit it deserves.” He kissed me, slow and languid and without even a hint of teeth.
“Maybe,” I answered. “The point is, there was no pretense. You didn’t pretend you really liked me in order to get me to pay attention to your band.”
“I really do like you.”
“Yeah, now. Now that you’ve seen my lingerie. At first you hated me, which was okay because I hated you too.”
“Yep. That’s true. Meanwhile, all you wanted was the amazing cock of the gorgeous Archer Armstrong.” He flashed me his trademark grin and kissed my temple. Then, apparently not getting enough, he took my champagne flute away and rolled me onto my back so he could kiss me properly. “Everyone wants something,” he said, biting at the straps of my bra. “Like, right now, I want to strip you out of these things so I can hold you naked and then sleep for about ten hours. Good?”
Everyone wanted something. I wanted more than his impressive cock, but I was repressing that. “Then what will we do tomorrow?” I shifted so he could remove the bra he’d put on, and he was very enthusiastic about sliding the panties off my hips.
“More fucking?” he said hopefully.
“That sounds good,” I admitted. “And I have to work on next week’s podcast. I need a beauty product, and I thought about your foot scrub for that.”
“Oh yeah.” He came back up the bed to share my pillow. “That peppermint is the best. Who will you interview for the celebrity segment?”
“I was thinking . . . what if I got Kevin the personal shopper to talk to me? Would he be interesting?”
“Oh, shit, yeah. That guy. I bet he has a million stories. You might have to mask his voice, though.”
“I have the tech to do that.”
“I can come with you when you talk to him, right?”
“You need to spend some time working on your truck song,” I insisted. “Because you’re going to sing it for Mal and Ian tomorrow night so you guys can perform it at The Salt Shed on Saturday.”
“I’m going to do that? Hey, good for me.”
“You don’t want to?”
“I guess. Do you really think it’s ready?”
His uncharacteristic shyness touched me. I cupped his cheek. “Do you think it’s ready?”
“I don’t know. I guess. I’m not sure now that you’ve said it’s about me, not the BFT.”
I nodded. “Ask Ian and Mal. They know more than me. About music, and about you.”
“Maybe,” he said, his arm sliding over my waist to draw me in closer. “I think you know me okay.”
A thought from the forbidden topic slipped into my head. I know you okay, Archer, but you don’t really know me at all.