Chapter Five
Marin
I probably shouldn’t like this, but my entire body is on fire with some kind of energy I’ve never felt before.
Suddenly, my breasts feel swollen, my clit won’t stop throbbing, and I’m needy and desperate for touch.
For Archer’s touch. For his eyes. For the way he looked at me when I was spread eagle on his desk scrubbing that vibrator over my clit.
For the hungry, fevered desperation in his hands when he spanked my ass for being so naughty. Ugh—
My pussy tightens as I lean my head back, letting the hot water roll down over my shoulders.
It feels so good to finally get an untimed shower.
For weeks now I’ve been at the truck stop on the outskirts of the mountain.
You’d think two dollars would get a girl longer than five minutes, but that water turns off promptly and without warning.
I often still have soap in my hair and my towel nowhere in reach.
Now, I get the full-on heat of a warm shower for as long as my heart contends and I’m pretty sure there’s a hot meal coming too. I heard pots and pans clanging together as I entered the bathroom.
I feel so… taken care of. I’m not sure that’s a feeling I’ve ever truly had before.
Sure, my ex would act like he cared, and every once in a while, he’d come home with a bouquet of flowers or he’d pretend to listen to me talk about my music, but deep down I never truly felt like he was present, like he really wanted to be there for me. Not like this.
When Archer picked me up today, I felt his desire to protect me deep within my bones. It’s enthralling, that level of care. It’s addictive, all-consuming, and I want to return it to him tenfold.
For a second, I imagine what that would look like, a life with reciprocity. A life where two people care for one another. A life where the days are easy and kind. That feeling sounds just as good as the physical needs currently coursing through me at light speed.
Tilting my head back, I close my eyes and let the hot water flow down my back and over my shoulders as I try not to think about how he looked at me in his office. It’s a look I’ve never seen on another human.
It was feral, needy, aching, desperate.
My clit aches to be touched and I figure now is the time to get out of the shower before I get caught with the shower head between my legs, though maybe that’s what I want.
Another spanking. Another stern talking to.
Another reason for Archer to lose his cool and demand I do things he’d never tell me to do if the blood weren’t all rushing to his cock.
When I pull open the shower curtain, he’s there, a towel and a T-shirt in his hands, his eyes wide. “This has to stop happening.”
I could reach for the towel on the hanger by the door, but like the little tease I am, I stay dripping wet, staring at him. “You did walk into the bathroom while I was taking a shower so… I kinda think you did this on purpose. You can’t fake ignorance this time.”
His gaze drops to my tits and up again as a slow growl rumbles in his throat. “You’re a little brat.”
“You like that I’m a brat, though, don’t you?” I twist my hair to the side and squeeze the water out.
“You’re playing with fire.”
“I can take it.”
The muscles in his shoulders tense as I watch his gaze follow my curves down and up again. His cock is hard, fighting with the restraint of his zipper. “Get dressed. I made dinner.”
He’s barely finished the sentence before the door slams shut, shaking the framed mirror above the sink.
He’s seen me. He’s seen me completely nude and I’m positive now that he wants me. He wants me as badly as I want him. I make his cock hard. I make him all flustered. I make him growl and lose control.
God, I want him to lose control.
I grab the warm towel he left off the counter and wrap it around me before stepping onto the cold stone floor.
There’re no floor mats, and from what I’ve seen of the cabin, it’s very minimal, very obvious a man lives here alone.
I wonder when his last relationship was, where he gets his needs fulfilled, how long he’s been flying solo.
Scrubbing the towel through my hair, I tie it on top of my head before pulling down the T-shirt he brought in for me to wear. I have my own clothes, but they could use a wash, and honestly, I’m looking for a reason to get swallowed up in his musk, in the fabric that usually lays against his chest.
The second it’s on my skin, I feel like I belong to him, even though I don’t. I can’t. I never could. Still though, it feels like I do, and I like it here. I like the thought of this big, burly, inked-up, wild man protecting me.
That’s still something I’m trying to understand, considering I’ve spent most of my life crushing on suits and ties. I mean, there’s a huge difference there.
When I’ve brushed my hair and sprayed on deodorant, I open the bathroom door and watch the steam rise and roll out of the room as I breathe in whatever’s cooking for dinner.
“Sit,” he growls under his breath as he flips something onto a plate and turns toward me.
“Do you like syrup? I have maple and an apple butter that Mrs. Robinson made me for Christmas. It’s pretty great.
” He lands a stack of pancakes in front of me on the table and steps back, grabbing a small plate of bacon and a glass of orange juice.
“The apple butter sounds good,” I say, mouth already watering for the crispy fried bacon in front of me. “You’re not going to eat?”
“I ate earlier.”
“Well so did I.”
“And now you need more.” He nods toward the plate as he hands me the jar of apple butter with a handwritten label. “Come on now. Eat.”
I smile and sit in the chair he’s pulled out for me, breathing in the warm vanilla pancakes. It’s been so long since I’ve had a hot meal. Usually, I end the night with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich or a package of cheese crackers.
He pulls out the chair next to me and grabs a jar of whiskey from the fridge. It’s unmarked, unlike the ones at the distillery.
“Is that something new you’re working on?” I say as I bite into the bacon.
“Yeah. It’s something I thought I saw my dad make once. It’s,” he pushes the jar toward me, “kinda shit. I need to find his book.”
For the last week or so, Archer has been obsessed with finding his dad’s old whiskey recipes. Apparently, back in the day, he was known for making whiskey that had the whole mountain abuzz. He passed away without telling anyone where he’d left it.
I slide my knife into the apple butter and slather it onto my pancakes in a heavy-handed strip. “Where do you think it could be?”
“He used to hang out at this old hunting cabin near the river’s edge.
I don’t know if it’s there, but it’s as good a place as any.
” He readjusts his hat and draws his hand down over his beard in this super-hot, masculine way he does.
“If I can find his book, maybe I can draw some of the locals into the distillery. The old timers will want a taste of Dad’s whiskey and maybe some younger folks will follow them in for the novelty of it all. ”
“You could post the recipe search on social media, let people get invested in the journey.” I slice into the pancakes and slide them into my mouth with my own little sigh.
“If you told the story of your dad and got people all excited for some ancient recipes, I bet you’d fill the distillery up with more folks than you can handle.
Also,” I moan, leaning my head back, “these pancakes are so good… and this apple butter is absolute perfection. They definitely don’t make stuff like this in the city. ”
He watches me for a long moment as though he’s memorizing the look on my face. This is also something new. I’ve never had a man look at me like this before. Heck, I didn’t even know this look was an option. “Why did you leave the city? No bullshit.”
I swallow hard and lift the orange juice to my lips, letting the sweet nectar wash everything down as I think over how I want to respond to this very straight forward question.
On one hand, I’m not ready to go into details.
On the other, there are a few questions of my own I want answered, and maybe if I’m vulnerable, he will be too.
“I was dating this guy,” I take another bite of pancake and cover my mouth so I can keep talking, “and everything started out good. He was smart and funny and super successful. We got along great. Then, we moved in together and he just,” I shrug, “changed.”
“How so?” Archer brushes at his beard as I speak, his gaze focused on mine like he’s intently listening to every word I’m about to say.
“All the sudden my emotions became a problem. He got very defensive over every feeling I had. Like, he kept saying I was criticizing him but… I was confused by his actions and I need clarity. Then, that turned into him mocking me when I cried and—”
“He mocked you when you cried?” Archer stares toward me, his jaw tight. “What the fuck?”
“I put up with it for way too long.” I shrug and take another bite of the apple butter pancake.
“How long?”
“A year.”
His eyes widen. “You spent a year living with someone who mocked you for crying?”
“He only mocked me for crying about him.” I laugh under my breath at how ridiculous that sounds looking back.
“I don’t know… I gave him excuses, and I really believed at one point that I was the problem.
That if I could just stop feeling things, if I initiated the sex he wanted, we’d fix everything, and life would go back to good again. ”
“Jesus Christ, princess. That’s fucked up. Was he pressuring you?” A muscle flexes in his neck as he speaks.