Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
‘W hat’s on the pancake menu tonight, chef?’ Iris asked, wandering out into the kitchen after tucking Olive into bed, and reading her extra stories, and catching and releasing the spider that was living in the corner of her bedroom, and bringing her fresh water. It was a whole thing. Sometimes Olive insisted Iris do it and sometimes she demanded Archer do it and sometimes she liked them to do it together in a way that was uncomfortably domestic for Iris. They’d started the bedtime procedure over an hour ago and Iris was only mildly convinced that Olive was going to stay put.
Archer was in his usual position behind the kitchen island in his usual after-work outfit of a fitted T and gray sweatpants that made Iris absolutely feral, but instead of cooking he was reading over his notes from the town meeting two weeks ago.
‘Just trying to figure out what to try next.’ He frowned. ‘Although half of these ideas are just new things people want to see on the menu.’ He looked up at her as she slid onto her stool. ‘Give it to me straight. Is this whole town just fucking with me? Like is there even an original recipe for these pancakes, or is this all some kind of joke to chase me out of town?’
Iris shrugged. ‘It’s hard to tell with this crowd. Probably a bit of both.’
His frown deepened.
‘Don’t get me wrong!’ Iris continued. ‘There’s definitely a much-beloved pancake recipe out there somewhere, but there is also probably a good amount of fucking with you going on,’ she added with a smile.
‘Wonderful,’ he grumbled.
‘You’re grouchy tonight.’ She wondered if the increasing amount of sexual frustration building up in her was also the reason for his grouchiness. The way he looked at her, she thought maybe she was right. His eyes were dark and a slight flush had worked its way up his cheeks. His gaze kept wandering to where her oversized T-shirt had slipped off her shoulder.
She remembered what he’d said about that. About wanting to graze his teeth over the skin there. And God, did she want him to do that.
Realistically, if she had met Archer in some other circumstance, she was certain they would have slept together and moved on by now. They were fighting their natures by avoiding the inevitable this whole time, and honestly, she wasn’t sure she could do it anymore.
Maybe she’d been blowing this whole thing way out of proportion in her mind. They didn’t have to become some official couple and parade their relationship in front of the whole town and the freaking custody lawyer. What happened in this kitchen, stayed in this kitchen.
No one had to know.
Especially not Olive.
Fooling around with Archer did not have to be that serious.
She hopped off her stool and came to his side of the island, which, of course, was a terrible idea but Iris was no longer thinking with her brain. She was thinking with her lady parts. Her very keyed-up lady parts, who demanded to be closer to him.
‘I’m going to be your sous chef,’ she said with a smirk. ‘Teach me what to do.’
He stared down at her like he was fully aware of what she was doing, and also fully aware that it was a bad idea. But he didn’t tell her no.
‘You want me to teach you to make pancakes?’ he asked, his body close to hers, warm and solid. He always showered right after work, and he smelled like soap and the laundry detergent he used that made his shirts so soft. She was probably going to keep the one she slept in when they were drunk.
‘Yes, chef,’ she said, and his eyes sparked in delight.
‘Okay, Iris. I’ll teach you.’
Neither of them moved. They stood face to face just waiting to see who would break first. They were both sober tonight. Anything that happened now would be because they both chose it. Archer reached out and tucked a stray hair behind her ear, his knuckles brushing against her cheek and Iris’s eyes fluttered closed.
Thank God.
‘This hair makes me crazy,’ he said.
‘Because it’s a health-code violation to have it down while I’m cooking?’ she asked, opening her eyes and finding Archer staring at her hungrily.
He shook his head. ‘No, Iris. That’s not why.’
‘Then why?’ Her voice was just a breath.
He shook his head again like he wasn’t going to answer, but instead he squeezed his eyes shut and said, ‘Because I want to see it draped across my pillow; I want it wrapped around my fist. Christ, Iris. I want you so bad and I don’t know what to do about it anymore.’
She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her body against his. He let out a soft groan.
‘Give in,’ she whispered.
His eyes were still closed. The muscle in his jaw ticked. Iris held her breath.
And then his hands were on her waist, his fingers digging into her flesh as he lifted her onto the counter of the island. Her surprised gasp was swallowed by his mouth on hers, greedy and hot. He kissed like he did everything else in this kitchen, with perfection and complete dedication.
He deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against hers, his fingers in her hair. And all Iris could do was hold on. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer as her hands roved across the muscles of his back.
This T-shirt has to go.
She grabbed his shirt from the bottom and pulled it up, breaking the kiss only long enough to get the shirt off and tossed to the side. She ran her hands across all the firm muscle and soft hair that combined perfectly to create Archer. God, he was hot. This was hot. Iris was melting. Or burning. Was it possible to come just from kissing? From kissing Archer Baer, maybe it was. Because Iris had never been kissed like this before, like she was Archer’s last meal. Or his first after he’d been starving for years.
It was all-consuming, urgent and insistent. This wasn’t just a kiss. It was an assault, a release of all the tension that had been building between them for weeks.
‘Iris,’ he groaned, pulling away and resting his forehead against hers.
‘Don’t say it.’
‘This is a bad idea.’
It was a bad idea. She knew it was a bad idea except right now in this exact moment she was having a hard time remembering why it was a bad idea.
Because he was her boss? That only made it hotter.
Because of Olive? As long as she never found out, as long as Iris didn’t make any promises she couldn’t keep, everything would be fine. Iris could kiss Archer by night and care for Olive by day, no problem. It didn’t have to get complicated. It could just be this, two people kissing like their lives depended on it.
Because of that tender part of her heart that kept flaring up every time she saw Olive and Archer together? That was easily ignored.
Especially right now, when Archer still had his fingers in her hair and his half-naked body pressed up against her. She could ignore the hell out of that tender spot.
She kissed him again, nibbling his bottom lip. ‘I know, but let’s keep going, anyway.’
His laugh tickled her face. ‘What happens when this doesn’t work out?’
‘When what doesn’t work out? This fantastic make-out session? Because I think it’s working out just fine.’
Archer pulled back a little further, studying her face. ‘Just a make-out session?’
Iris smiled. ‘Just a harmless make-out session between friends. No big deal.’ No big deal at all. This was just a ‘we need to make out or we will explode so let’s just take care of it like adults’ moment. It didn’t have to be anything else.
‘No big deal,’ Archer echoed as she pulled him back in.
‘Exactly.’ She smiled against his mouth, and he slid his hands down to her ass, tugging her even closer so he was nestled between her thighs. She ignored the slight tilt of disappointment in his voice, the look on his face that said maybe he didn’t want this to be just a make-out session between friends. She put those things in the same little box she’d put her tender feelings for him and tucked it right back behind her spleen, where she’d never have to think about it.
Archer must have tucked it away, too, because he was kissing her again, thoroughly and enthusiastically, his hands roving her body.
‘Shit, Iris,’ he murmured against her lips. ‘You’re so— This is just—’ He kept starting sentences and then breaking them off with more kisses, never finishing his thought but making it pretty clear what he was thinking, nonetheless. ‘Let me touch you?’ His hand was on her inner thigh now, so close to the bottom of her tiny shorts that Iris felt like she would combust if he didn’t touch her.
‘Yes, chef,’ she purred against the soft shell of his ear and smiled at his answering groan.
‘You have got to stop doing that,’ he said. ‘Or I’m really going to embarrass myself.’
Iris’s laughter was cut off abruptly by the feel of Archer’s fingers slipping beneath her underwear. He didn’t waste time. He found her clit and pressed with his thumb and Iris momentarily lost consciousness.
‘Holy shit, Archer,’ she breathed, and it was his turn to smirk.
‘Like that?’
‘Yes, like that and…’ her voice hitched, ‘and more and…’ She wiggled her hips a little, side to side and Archer immediately caught on, moving his thumb from left to right with a little more pressure and, holy shit, was that good. This man was not screwing around.
Iris’s moan was far too loud for how early it still was, and the fact that they were in the middle of the kitchen and that there was a child—hopefully, please Jesus—sleeping down the hall. Oh God, this really was a bad idea, but pleasure was seeping into all of her limbs, sparking and hot, and they couldn’t stop now!
Archer covered her mouth with his, swallowing her moans and gasps and sighs, and that hand kept going, harder and faster until Iris couldn’t breathe or think or care that this was a categorically terrible idea.
‘Come for me, Iris,’ he rasped, his forehead against hers and Iris whimpered, the pleasure building so fast and sharp and sudden, that if Archer hadn’t kissed her again, she would have screamed loud enough to wake the neighbors.
‘I knew it,’ she said, pulling away, panting and shaking.
‘Knew what?’ Archer asked, his fingers still stroking her, slow and leisurely now and Iris trembled under his touch.
‘I knew those hands were capable of all kinds of things.’
Archer’s smile grew, pressing that thumb down again and sending a second wave of pleasure coursing through Iris’s body. She gasped and clamped a hand over her mouth, her legs shaking on the counter.
When he took his hand away and licked his fingers, his groan nearly as loud as hers, Iris practically melted clear off the counter.
‘That was a bad idea,’ he said, staring at where she was still loose-limbed on the counter.
She knew it was, but it still sucked to hear when she was in her post-amazing-orgasm state. ‘It was?’
‘Yeah,’ his voice came out choked. ‘Now that I’ve tasted you, I want more.’
Heat flooded Iris’s body. ‘Oh.’
Archer shook his head and took a step back and Iris immediately missed his heat between her thighs.
‘That was too risky, though,’ he said. ‘Olive could have come out at any time.’
‘It’s like being a teenager but in reverse.’
Archer looked confused.
‘Like being worried your parents are going to catch you making out on the couch, but now we’re worried about your kid catching us.’ And kissing Olive’s dad in the kitchen probably wouldn’t do much for her ‘we’re never getting married’ argument.
‘Right.’ Archer huffed a pained laugh. ‘And I don’t think I can afford doubling her therapy sessions if she catches us.’
‘Right,’ Iris said, hopping down from the counter onto shaky legs. Archer steadied her with a hand on her elbow. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have?—’
‘Don’t apologize.’ His words were stern, final.
‘But what about you?’ Iris gestured to the front of his sweatpants that were now even more obscene than usual due to the prominent erection pressing against them. Quite prominent.
Look away, Iris!
Archer flashed her a wicked grin. ‘Just more fuel for the shower, I guess.’
Iris’s eyes widened.
‘Goodnight, Iris,’ he said, planting one more searing kiss on her lips before turning and walking down the hall. When he went into the bathroom instead of his bedroom, Iris had to lean against the counter. Her legs were weak again.
Somehow that intense kitchen-counter orgasm wasn’t nearly enough and now thinking about Archer in the shower, thinking about her…
It was too much.
Time for bed, Iris.
And good luck sleeping.