22. Gear Shift
twenty-two
Gear Shift
Liam
Icannot believe Archer propositioned me. Asked to take me home, just like that. I don’t know what to do. I haven’t even kissed him. I guess I kind of held his hand, a bit. I guess he… he did save my life. I mean, I know I’m attracted to him but… wow.
I won’t pretend my feelings aren’t mixed. My adrenaline’s still pumping from the last few days. There’s a world of shock I need to sort through. There’s a fuck tonne of trauma I’m actively pushing down right now.
But Archer’s hot and he wants me, and I’m not passing this opportunity up.
Twenty-four hours ago, I could never have imagined this happening. He’s so gorgeous, he’s like a model. And how often do you get to sleep with men who look like models? In my case? Literally never.
Now I’m in the front seat of his car, speeding through London, to what will be… well… probably not as hot as it should be.
My mind’s reeling about what to do here.
At what stage do I tell him I live with my mum?
I’m very much putting it off because I’m still desperately hoping some brilliant plan will jump into my head between here and there and save me from…
quiet sex in my small council flat room with my mum next door on the other side of paper-thin walls.
Fucking hell, that’s grim.
I can’t have him back to mine.
But we’re getting close now, and what do I do? Is there a hotel on the way? A decent one? As if I can afford that.
Would he pay? How do I suggest that? Does that make me look like a sex worker?
Fuck, if it wasn’t so cold out I’d just suggest a walk in the park. Or…
This is a nice car, actually. It’s an Aston Martin, an old one, which I know means it cost a lot. It smells great in here, all clean and leathery. I wonder if he’d consider this. He’s tall, and it could be awkward, but no more so than trying to sneak him past my mother.
God, I feel like such a loser. He’s only a few years older than me, and look at him. His own house, albeit a haunted one, a fancy car, a real job, expensive clothes. The confidence to ask me just like that. ‘Do you want to fuck?’ And to know I’d say yes. Of course I was going to say yes!
We pull onto my street, and alarm bells are going off in every corner of my brain. I need to be the one to keep this in his car.
Fuck, what’s he going to say if I have to tell him I live with my mum…
He smiles across at me, warmly, sweetly, and I guess that’s my cue to do something.
“Just over here is great,” I say, which is obviously a brilliant way of getting him off my street and somewhere better.
“Just there?” he confirms.
“Yep.” For the millionth time today, my heart feels like it’s about to beat out of my chest. It’s still fear, just a different kind.
Fear of being judged. Fear of being rejected.
Fear of… I don’t know. Of losing the possibility of an actual thing with a guy like this in exchange for a quick handjob in the car.
I wish I had my own place. I wish it was nice, and I could invite him in, and maybe even talk to him for a bit.
But instead, the car comes to a smooth stop, and Archer cuts the engine. He turns towards me, one hand on the steering wheel, the other slipping along the gear stick in a way that probably shouldn’t be sensual, but absolutely is.
This is the bit where we’re supposed to get out, go inside. This is the bit where I have to act. Where I have to tell him. “Mr Gravely—”
He cuts me off with a loud laugh, his head dipping. “Are you still calling me that?”
Heat floods my cheeks. He’s not my boss right now, or my boss’s boss, or… I don’t know. Whatever he was. Now he’s a guy I’m about to…
No, wait, he’s still a client.
God, is this okay? I don’t want to take advantage of that.
But no, wait. If anything, he has me at a disadvantage, not the other way around. I’m his employee, technically. And he knows all the things, and I know fuck all. So… I don’t think it’s anything wrong? I hope it’s not.
“Archer,” he tells me, breaking into my thoughts. “I think we’ve reached the stage where you can call me Archer.”
“Archer,” I repeat. And because I have about as much game as a puddle of water, I follow it up with, “I like your name,” because I do. It’s a really nice name. And it suits him. Because he seems strong and brave and so fucking hot.
The corner of his mouth quirks, quizzical. “I like your name too, Liam,” he says, a little playfully.
“Do you?” God, the desperation in my voice.
He laughs again, but a little bashfully this time. Not the laugh I’d expect of a man who just asked me for sex so openly. “I like it a lot.” And there’s a gravel in his voice. A warm rasp, and I’m so into him.
Which leaves me two options here. Explain the situation, look like an immature mess of a man, and risk him losing all interest in me on the spot. Or… “This car is really nice.”
Oh my god. Maybe he could run me over with it and save me this embarrassment.
“Thank you,” he replies, gaze running across the dashboard and not me, which isn’t exactly what I wanted. “It was a… gift. From a client.”
“Wow. They just gave it to you?”
That laugh again. “They did.”
“You must have really rich clients.” I think I’ve put my foot right in it when his eyes widen a little. Talking about money is crass to rich people like him, and I know that. Jesus. I sound like I’m down the pub with my mates.
“My clients tend to be… older,” he explains.
“People who don’t get much use out of their belongings anymore.
So, it was more like junk they had sitting around than anything.
To them. Not to me. I couldn’t have afforded something like this in…
in an ordinary job. Something I was… qualified for.
” His face screws up. “Not like… I’m obviously qualified for this, you know?
But it’s not something… Well, it’s not something you go to university for. Or whatever.”
“Antiques dealing?”
“Y-yep,” he stumbles. “That. Antiques dealing. You just have to get to know the right clients, and it’s all smooth sailing from there. You’d be amazed what some of these people can find for you.”
“It sounds fascinating.”
“It has its ups and downs.”
The conversation dries up.
He doesn’t move. And I don’t move. But I should. I should just open the door and run inside and forget this. Pretend I didn’t understand his suggestion earlier. Maybe that’s for the best. “Well, goodni—”
“Liam…” The tone of his voice is too serious. It’s not sex-serious, unfortunately. It’s something else. It halts me with my hand on the door, waiting. “What are you going to do?”
Wait. Maybe sex is on? God, this guy is so confusing. “I’m… um… Is there something… you think… I should do?”
“Y-yeah. Kind of.” His eyes settle on the road in front of us. “I know I’m not in any sort of position to be asking you things or making suggestions…”
My heart beats a little quicker with the words. Is he actually nervous too? Like… like this is more than a quick something in the car?
It’s not that I minded him making the suggestion to hook up in such a forthright way. I think sex would be great fun. But… I’d be lying if I didn’t want it to be… just a little more than that. Maybe even… more than a onetime thing?
“I don’t mind you making a suggestion,” I cut back in, maybe a little suggestive, maybe a little breathy. “Is there something you’d like?”
His head spins towards me like a double take, but it’s one fast take, and I think he got the message. But I still can’t bring him upstairs, and I still want him, and this tension is killing me, so before my mind can even stumble to keep up, my cock beats out the words, “Mr Gravely?”
Dead silence. Pin-drop silence. Not a movement, not a breath.
Archer’s frozen like I’m Medusa and he just saw my face for the first and last time.
I think I might die. I really think I might die right about now.
“Um…” I watch the movement of his throat as he swallows. “It was… Um… What…” He licks his lips, and I want so badly to kiss them. “What I was saying…”
I take hold of his gear stick as I swivel around to face him. “Mmhmm?”
His eyes fly to my fist, tightening on his leather. “Uh. Life’s… um. Complicated.”
My hand tightens, and he watches closely. “It is, yeah.”
“Um…” The pulse throbbing in his neck… “So. In life, sometimes… you have to…”
I run my fingers down the shaft just as gratuitously as I can. “What do you have to do?”
“You have to…”
I stroke back up, then scrunch my fingers so tight into the leather it makes an obscene sound.
“You only… live once… so… if there’s something you want…”
My heart is beating so fucking hard right now. “So, if there’s something I want…” I breathe.
“Yeah,” he rasps.
I lock eyes with him. “Then I should go for it?”
His long eyelashes tremble, slightly and briefly. Then, clear as day, he replies, “I think you should go for it.”
I lunge for him. His lips meet mine just as eagerly as I throw myself at him, and it’s like all the tension of the past two days slips out of my body and into him. His tongue lashing across mine rips new energy, new life into me. This kiss is… It’s electric. It’s…
Archer snaps back, breaking the kiss, and the gasp he takes in seems to steal all the air from the car.
My heart stops—pounds to one explosive end in my chest.
I did wrong. I did the wrong thing. I was so sure… “I’m sorry.”
His dark eyes search mine in the meagre light of the foggy night, and I realise I’m too close, frozen in this tiny space, leering over him. By instinct, I reel back, desperate to get away and out of here.
But he catches my wrist. And he utters only, “Liam…”
Then his lips press mine, and his arms come around me, and fucking hell. It’s on. It’s on. This is really happening.
The second kiss is more intense than the last. He edges forward, and I lean into his arms as they tighten around me, as the smell of his cologne comes heady and the right kind of overwhelming. Realising how hard I’m leaning on that gear stick, still grasping it tight, I shift my hand to his knee.