Chapter 40
Julian
My dad slings a hand over my shoulder while entertaining the table with a story from my childhood. I groan to myself as my sister laughs, poking my side.
“So you want to tell us where you got the shiner?” he asks, loud enough to get the attention of the table.
“And why it matches his,” Amelia adds, pointing to Archer.
He attempts to hide behind a bouquet of flowers.
I clear my throat uncomfortably. Freya’s mom is wearing a pained expression, and I feel terrible that this is her first impression of us. I could lie and tell my family something that might align more with their idea of me, but I don’t.
Instead, I shatter every image they have of Julian Kade.
“Street fighting,” I say before taking a sip of wine.
My mother gasps, and Amelia covers her mouth with her hand.
“Illegal street fighting,” I add.
“Julian!” my mother shrieks. “Why on earth would you do that? Tell me you’re lying.”
My dad only chuckles. “Don’t worry, baby girl,” he says to my mother, making me wince and pull away. “I heard the whole story from Lucien this morning. Apparently, our son was quite the hero, rushing in to save his boyfriend.”
“For the record,” Archer says, “Freya threw the first punch—a good one too.” When Mira glares at Archer with a scolding look, he puts up his hands. “She was not in any danger…ma’am.”
“Still,” my mom says, fury etched between her brows. “That is very unlike you, Julian.”
I shrug apologetically to my mother. “Yeah, well…I feel very unlike me, Mom. And I don’t think that’s such a bad thing.”
Her features soften, and my dad nudges me with his shoulder. Everyone thankfully drops the subject and starts talking about something else.
Turning my attention away from the table, I look for Freya in the kitchen. Every time I get a glimpse of her through the window, she looks stressed and busy but happy. There’s something in the way she gives orders without barking them or raising her voice that I admire about her.
She really is the greatest person I’ve ever met. And I remember the day I met her. Something about Freya’s fearlessness scared me. It was almost like I could see in those first few encounters that this girl would somehow tear down my walls, and I was terrified of it, so I pushed her away.
I needed to be forced into a confined space with them in order to let someone in. I’m glad it was them.
My phone lights up with a message on the table, so I pick it up and see a text directly from Archer to me with one word…
Archer: Pantry.
My brows furrow as I stare at it. Then I turn my head and glance at him, but he’s still carrying on a conversation with Freya’s mom.
“Well,” my dad announces at that moment. “It’s getting late, and we should really let someone else have this table.”
“Yeah, I guess we should,” Amelia says with a hint of hesitation, glancing at Matis as if she doesn’t want to leave, and I don’t blame her. It really is perfect in here.
Dad claps a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll make sure Mira gets back to her hotel.”
“Okay,” I reply. “I’m gonna stay here to help close up.”
A smile of pride stretches across his face. “You’re a good man, Julian.”
Those words feel heavy as they land on my chest, but not heavy as a burden. Heavy as a blanket. What my father said that day at lunch has stuck with me, about how worthy of a risk love is and how even unconditional love is still worth something. I realize why I’ve been pushing his away for so long.
Wrapping my arms around my dad’s neck, I don’t say the things I’m thinking out loud, mostly because it feels too morbid for this occasion. My time left with him might be finite, but our time with everyone is. So while I have him here, I hug him, no longer afraid to do so.
“Love you,” I mutter. “Thanks for coming.”
Blinking the emotion from my eyes, I quickly say goodbye to everyone else. Freya’s mother peeks her head in the kitchen one last time to congratulate her daughter, and then they’re all gone.
I lost sight of Archer in the chaos, so I go to the one place I assume he is—the pantry.
But when I walk into the storage room where the dry goods are kept, it’s empty. It’s just metal shelving and rice, flour, and beans. Before I walk out, I feel my phone buzz again.
Pulling it out, I find his next message on the screen.
Archer: Grip the top shelf. Don’t let go.
A smirk appears on my face as fire ignites in my groin. Facing the shelves, I look up and wrap my hands around the top metal shelf. Giving it a quick tug, I test the structure, finding it very sturdy, which is a relief.
Who knows what Archer has in mind?
The pantry door opens and closes, but I don’t budge. The sound of the cooks working hard echoes behind him, and I pray none of them has to come in here for anything.
“What is this?” he asks in a playful tone. “For me?”
I smirk to myself as he steps closer. As his body presses against me, I close my eyes and savor the feel of his hard pecs and strong thighs.
“Is this pretty rich boy all mine?”
I don’t respond as I stare straight ahead at a bag of sugar. His large, heavy hands roam my body, starting at my back and working their way around to my chest. I moan into his touch, struggling to hold on to the shelf when all I really want to do is melt into his arms.
When his hands make their way down to my groin, my body lights up like it answers to him. My cock is already hard—it was the minute he walked in that door.
I’m at his mercy. He can do whatever he wants to me, and for once, I don’t scoff at the idea. I love it.
His mouth finds my neck, and I close my eyes, trying to commit this feeling to memory. With anyone else, I’d hate this, but Archer doesn’t just see through the armor, he obliterates it.
His warm tongue creeps up my neck, sucking on the tender skin, and it takes everything in me not to thrust my hips to seek out friction.
And when his hands begin working open my belt, I nearly whimper with relief. His touch is greedy and rough, proof that he’s taking more than he’s giving. I slightly tense at the idea, not because I wouldn’t let him fuck me but only because…we’re in Freya’s pantry.
“What a pretty ass, fancy pants,” he says after jerking my pants down to my thighs.
Archer grabs a handful of my ass in his large hands, and it makes my cock twitch. The hint of pain mixed with degradation is my catnip. I want him to degrade me, own me, and let me prove that I’m his safe space. He is always safe with me.
When he drops to his knees behind me, I gasp, glancing back at the door to be sure no one is coming. Then Archer’s teeth clamp down on the flesh of my backside, and I have to bite my lip to keep from screaming. I’m thrashing against the shelf, knowing he’s going to leave a mark.
And only moments after releasing his teeth from my ass, he spreads my cheeks and spears me with his tongue. I’m assaulted by a wet, warm sensation that nearly knocks me off my feet. Again, I have to clamp my lips shut to keep from crying out, this time from pleasure instead of pain.
He’s doing this on purpose. Driving me wild because he can. Making me feel what it’s like to be the used instead of the user.
My knees begin to wobble, but I keep quiet as Archer licks me, making my cock leak precum onto the tile floor. When he stands again, I hear the sound of his belt and pants, and I tense with anticipation.
He spits loudly, and I feel the smooth head of his dick pressing between my thighs.
“Squeeze your legs together,” he says, and I do, creating a tight seam for him to fuck. His hips thrust rapidly as if he’s already chasing his orgasm. When his lips find my neck again, I smile into the sensation.
He’s using me, and it’s incredible. I am not just content with the sound of his pleasure, I am overcome by it.
“Look what you do to me,” he grunts while fucking my thighs. “Your ass, your body, fucking all of you.”
My head hangs back, resting on his shoulder as he finds pleasure in my body. I’m so close, even without touching myself. My hard cock bobs with every thrust.
“I’m yours,” I whisper.
“Mine,” he growls, holding my neck roughly.
When he comes, he bites the top of my shoulder again, the same way he did that night in the club, and I smile at the idea of his teeth marking my skin.
The inside of my thighs is sticky with his cum, but I don’t mind. In some sexy way, I love the idea of being covered with it. It’s a sign that I was properly used up.
Archer pulls back and slides his hand down the inside of my thighs, slathering his palm like he’s rubbing it into my skin. Then his sticky hand finds my cock, and he strokes me roughly as if demanding my climax.
I offer it up to him in seconds. Biting my lip, I grunt quietly through my orgasm, filling his hand with my release.
By the time we’re done, we’re a mess.
“If Freya finds out about this, she’s going to ban us from the restaurant,” I say. I pull my hands from the top shelf, and my palms ache, red and sore.
“You really think she expected us to behave?” he asks as he grabs a towel from the counter. After wiping up his hands, he runs it along my thighs next. I’m still in desperate need of a shower, but it’ll do for now. Besides, I still like feeling his cum on my skin.
Just another one of his brands on me.
After our pants are up and the mess is mostly gone, he tosses the towel in the trash, and I make a mental note to buy more. Then I move to the door, and he grabs my arm, hauling me back toward him.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks. “You’re mine, remember?”
“Don’t let it go to your head,” I reply as I fall against his chest.
But when his hand slides behind my neck and he presses his soft lips against mine tenderly, I lose any argument I was about to give. Because he’s right.
I am his.