42. Saige #3
“Thanks Jack,” I say, tugging Archer away from the terrified merchant. “You didn’t have to be such an ass.”
“He’s selling Azkari gold, stolen or illegally traded with a courtier of—”
“Look around, General. That’s part of the job description here. Now’s not the time for a debate of ethics.”
“He was flirting with you.”
I stop in my tracks and stare at him, unsure if I should laugh or not. “Nonsense.”
A muscle twitches in his jaw. “He was.”
“And why, pray tell, would that matter?” I ask.
He closes the gap between us in a single stride, towering over me, his scent, his power invading all my senses as he crowds me. “Because.” It comes out in a growl, low, deep, and he’s close enough that the answer vibrates through my chest.
“Because why, Archer?” I press.
The General answers me with a glare that only make me grin harder.
I don’t wait for an answer, instead I push him towards the exit. “Wait for me at the entrance to the tunnel.”
“Where are you going?” he demands.
“Can’t a bookbinder have her secrets, General?”
His eyes narrow. “Be quick.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Archer tips his chin to the ceiling on an exasperated sigh, muttering to himself, “Triad save me.”
Grinning like a fool, I disappear into the crowd back towards the art quarter.
I’m not gone long, and when I return, weaving through the crowd, Archer is leaning against the wall of the tunnel entrance, one boot propped up underneath him, his arms crossed over his broad chest, looking as surly as ever.
“You look far too pleased with yourself,” he observes.
I offer a casual shrug. “Just thought I’d go say a proper goodbye to Jack. Apparently I missed the signs that he was flirting with me.”
That muscle feathers in his jaw again. “He was.”
“Again, not sure why that matters,” I quip lightly, though I can’t stop myself biting my lip as I watch his throat bob and that emerald gaze sears me, right down to my core.
“Because you’re mine.”
My breath hitches as the word hangs between us, and passersby glance our way. The Underhill Exchange is no place for prudes, but it is rife with curious minds and prying eyes. Our compromising position practically welcomes such things.
But I tilt my chin up in defiance. “Oh? Since when?”
The ring of black fire around his irises burns hot, and otherworldly heat pours off him in waves. “Since the moment you saw me in that alley.”
“Prove it.”
“Right here?” he muses.
“Right fucking here, Archer.”
His gaze darkens and magic thrums, a glimmering veil that falls into place around us, shielding us from view as his ringed fingers close around my throat.
Every part of my body tightens with anticipation as he walks me back against the wall.
Even though market patrons are no more than a few feet away as they pass, no one glances our way.
When I’m trapped and at his mercy, he leans in, his lips caressing my jaw. “I did say I’d kneel before you…”
“Archer.” His name is little more than a whimper on my lips. “Please.”
His words are hot on my skin as he continues to deny me, deny us. “One more second like this and I won’t be able to pretend anymore.”
“So don’t pretend.”
He groans, as though the thought of not having me physically pains him. “We’re not supposed to do this.”
My body aches to be touched, I want to feel him, I want pleasure, I want release, but I don’t know the words. “Are you going to let that stop you?”
He braces himself over me against the wall on one arm, while the hand around my throat loosens and trails down to where my collarbones are exposed and my breasts rise and fall beneath the fabric of my dress. “I’ve dreamt of this, Grayson. Over, and over…”
I writhe beneath the whisper of his touch, desperate for more, my undergarments dampening. There is so much tension built up inside me I’m worried I might combust. “What have you dreamt of?”
“All the things I’d do to you…” His ringed fingers ghost over the curve of my breast, brushing against my hardened nipple.
I gasp at the all-too-brief sensation before his hand drops lower, grasping the fabric of my skirts and inching them up my leg as he continues.
“I’ve dreamt constantly about what I’d have done if I’d known you before the war, if I had you in my bed. ”
Cool air kisses my thigh as Archer brings the hem of my dress up. Even as the fabric brushes my bare skin, I see him warring with himself.
“I don’t care about what you would have done then.” My breasts are straining against my bodice, my legs spreading of their own accord; I’m a panting mess. “I care about now, General. What do you want to do now?”
I see it—the moment he breaks for me. His green eyes glitter, his pupils dilate, and the heat that radiates from him threatens to swallow me whole.
I cry out as his fingertip brushes against my center, the soaked fabric of my undergarments the only thing between his touch and the most intimate part of me. Until he shifts the material to the side. My knees go weak as I’m exposed.
“What do I want to do?” he muses darkly, circling my entrance. His mouth closes over mine in a searing kiss, and his finger pushes inside me. “This.”