Chapter 17 Archer
Archer
He thought about just letting her see. Letting her realize who he really was. But once he did, there would be no taking it back. With her company in the mix, it’d be better to stay anonymous for now. Get everything figured out there first, and then reveal who he was.
He took advantage of the darkness to study her unguarded face, tracing her features with his eyes in a way he couldn’t when she was awake and looking back at him.
In sleep, she appeared younger, more vulnerable, her usual confidence and spark momentarily subdued.
A length of hair had fallen across her cheek, and he gently brushed it away, his touch feather-light to avoid waking her.
The tenderness he felt watching her sleep surprised him with its intensity. How had this woman—this remarkable, resilient woman—come to mean so much to him in just a few short days? It defied logic. Contradicted every carefully calculated decision he’d ever made.
And yet it felt inevitable, as if some part of him had been waiting for Morgan Reeves without realizing it.
Desire stirred within him, a physical manifestation of the deeper connection forming between them.
With deliberate care, Archer slid down the bed, lifting the sheet to reveal her naked body.
The darkness cloaked them both in shadow, with just enough ambient city light filtering through the windows to outline her form.
He silently moved down the bed and positioned himself between her legs, pressing a gentle kiss to her inner thigh, then another higher up. Morgan stirred slightly but didn’t wake. Encouraged, Archer continued his exploration, his mouth moving with increasing purpose toward her center.
At the first deliberate stroke of his tongue, Morgan gasped softly, her body tensing then relaxing as she hovered between sleep and wakefulness. Archer continued, using long, slow passes of his tongue to gradually bring her to full consciousness.
“Archer?” Her voice was thick with sleep and arousal.
He hummed an affirmation against her sensitive flesh, the vibration making her gasp again. His hands slid up to hold her hips as he increased the pressure and precision of his attention.
Morgan’s fingers found his hair, tangling in the strands, her body becoming more responsive with each passing moment. “Oh god,” she breathed as he focused on the spot that made her tremble.
Archer could feel her climbing toward release, her thighs beginning to quiver, her breathing becoming ragged. Just as she teetered on the edge, he pulled back, leaving her gasping with unfulfilled need.
“What—?” she began, confusion in her voice.
Before she could finish, Archer moved up her body and flipped her onto her stomach in one smooth motion. “Not yet,” he murmured against her ear, positioning himself behind her. “I want to feel you come around me.”
He lifted her hips, bringing her to her knees while her upper body remained pressed against the mattress. In the darkness, their bodies were mere silhouettes, which made the experience all the more intense—touch and sensation taking precedence over sight.
Archer entered her with a single, deep thrust that drew a moan from both of them. The position allowed him to reach deep inside her. He established a steady rhythm, each movement deliberate and controlled.
One hand slipped around to find her breasts, fingers teasing her nipples while his other hand sought the sensitive bundle of nerves between her legs. Morgan responded immediately, pushing back against him, meeting his thrusts with growing urgency.
“Please,” she gasped, the word both demand and supplication.
Archer increased his pace, the controlled rhythm giving way to something more primal as her arm reached back to grasp his hip and pull him harder against her.
Morgan’s channel gripped him tight before milking him as she came with a muffled cry in her pillow, her body shuddering through the pleasure. He gave a few final thrusts before she pulled him over the edge with her, his own climax crashing through him with unexpected force.
For several moments, they remained joined, both catching their breath as the aftershocks subsided. Then Archer carefully withdrew and guided Morgan to lie on her back.
Starting at her neck, he began to trace a path down her body with his lips, each kiss a silent expression of love. He took his time, mapping her form with unhurried attention—the hollow at the base of her throat, the curve of her collarbone, the swell of her breasts.
Morgan sighed contentedly beneath his ministrations, her body relaxing into the mattress. By the time he reached her stomach, her breathing had deepened again, her body hovering on the edge of sleep.
Archer lay back against the pillows, gently pulling Morgan on top of him. She settled against his chest with a drowsy murmur, her body warm and pliant. In the darkness, he guided himself to her entrance once more, feeling her breath catch as he slid inside with exquisite slowness.
“Again?” she whispered, surprise and desire mingling in her voice.
“Different this time,” he promised, establishing a gentle, shallow rhythm. “Slow. Just feeling each other.”
Morgan adjusted her position slightly, settling more comfortably astride him, their bodies merging in the darkness. Archer kept his movements minimal, deliberate—small, controlled thrusts that maintained their connection without rushing toward completion.
The languid pace soon had Morgan desperate for more, her body shifting restlessly against his. “Please,” she whispered, beginning to move more purposefully.
Archer placed his hands on her hips, encouraging her movement. “Show me what you need.”
Morgan began to ride him in earnest, setting her own pace, chasing her pleasure.
The shadow of her body moving above him in the darkness was perhaps the most erotic sight Archer had ever witnessed—he could just make out her head thrown back, breasts swaying with each movement, her body claiming his with confident purpose.
His hands moved up to cup her breasts, thumbs brushing over sensitive nipples, drawing a shuddering gasp from her lips as she gripped his wrists tight to keep them in place. The sight and sound of her pleasure fed his own, tightening the coil of need building within him.
As Morgan’s movements became more urgent, Archer matched her rhythm, thrusting up to meet her downward motion. The friction and pressure built between them, driving them both toward the edge.
“Archer,” she gasped, her body tensing above his. “I’m going to—”
“Yes,” he encouraged, hands moving to her hips to pull her down harder, to deepen the connection. “Let go, Morgan. I’ve got you.”
Her climax washed over her in waves, her inner muscles pulsating around him, drawing his own release from the depths of his being. Archer called out her name as pleasure overwhelmed him, his body emptying into hers, their connection never more complete than in this moment of shared surrender.
Morgan collapsed onto his chest, both of them breathing heavily, bodies slick with exertion and their combined fluids. Archer wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as their heartbeats gradually slowed to a more normal pace.
The intimacy of the moment struck him with unexpected force.
Never before had he brought someone to his penthouse, to his personal sanctuary.
Never had he allowed anyone to see this much of him—both literally and figuratively.
The walls he’d built between his identities, so carefully maintained for years, seemed increasingly permeable where Morgan was concerned.
And the most startling realization? He didn’t mind.
His penthouse had always been a space of elegant emptiness—a showpiece more than a home, designed to impress rather than comfort.
With Morgan curled against him, the first hints of dawn just beginning to lighten the sky outside behind the blinds, it felt transformed.
Alive. As if the rooms themselves had been waiting for her presence to fulfill their purpose.
Archer tightened his arms around her, overwhelmed by a possessive desire to keep her here, in his space, in his life.
To never let her leave this bed, this apartment, this moment of perfect connection.
It was an irrational, primal response that contradicted his usually calculated approach to everything.
Yet there it was—the undeniable truth that Morgan Reeves had somehow become essential to him.
“What are you thinking about?” Morgan murmured against his chest, apparently sensing his contemplation.
Archer considered his answer carefully. “How different this place feels with you in it.”
“Different how?” She lifted her head slightly.
“More alive,” he admitted. “More like a home than just a place to sleep.”
Morgan was quiet for a moment, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. “It’s a beautiful space, and it seems to have some personal touches.” She said finally, “But it does feel a bit... impersonal. Like a very nice hotel suite.”
Her honest assessment made him smile in the darkness. “That’s exactly what it’s been. A place to rest between work days.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Until now.”
“Are you saying I’m like decoration?” she teased, but there was a note of genuine question beneath the humor.
“I’m saying you make spaces feel different just by being in them,” Archer clarified. “More real. More meaningful.”
The weight of the admission hung between them, heavier than he’d intended but no less true for its unexpected depth.
Morgan snuggled closer, seemingly content with his answer. “I like being here with you,” she said simply. “Even if it is just for a weekend.”
Archer frowned slightly at the qualifier. “Just for a weekend?”
“Well, I assume I’ll go back to my place on Sunday,” she explained. “Back to real life, trying to sort out this mess with my job..."
Archer hadn’t considered this—that she might view their time together as temporary, a weekend interlude rather than the beginning of something more permanent. The thought of her leaving, of his space returning to its former emptiness, was suddenly, intensely unwelcome.
“Stay longer,” he said before he could analyze the impulse. “As long as you want.”
Morgan went still against him. “Archer, that’s... are you asking me to move in with you? After a week?”
Put that way, it did sound precipitous. Reckless, even. Yet Archer couldn’t bring himself to retract the invitation.
“I’m asking you to consider it,” he clarified. “Not necessarily permanently. But while you’re dealing with the Vertex situation, why not stay here? You’d have space, security, and..." he hesitated, then finished, “Me.”
Morgan was quiet for so long that Archer began to worry he’d overstepped, pushed too far too fast. But when she finally spoke, her voice was thoughtful rather than alarmed.
“I don’t know if that would be wise,” she said carefully. “Not because I don’t want to be with you. I do. But there’s still so much we’re figuring out between us.”
“Such as?” Archer prompted, though he knew exactly what barriers remained.
“Such as the fact that I still haven’t seen your face,” Morgan pointed out gently. “That I know almost nothing about your life beyond what you’ve chosen to share. That we literally just met and are moving at warp speed.”
All valid points, all reasonable concerns. Archer couldn’t argue with her logic, even as something in his chest tightened at the implied rejection.
“I understand,” he said, working to keep disappointment from his voice. “The offer stands, regardless. Whenever you want it.”
Morgan shifted, moving up until her face was level with his in the darkness. “I’m not saying no,” she clarified. “I’m saying not yet. Not until we’ve figured out a few more pieces of this puzzle we’re building together.”
The qualification eased something in Archer’s chest. “Fair enough.”
“But I’ll stay the weekend,” she added, pressing a kiss to the approximate location of his chin in the darkness. “And maybe a few days next week, to see how it feels.”
It was a reasonable compromise—a step rather than a leap. Archer nodded, though she probably couldn’t see the gesture. “I’d like that.”
They lay together in comfortable silence as the first true light of dawn began to filter through the windows. Soon, Archer would need to move away from her, to don his helmet or retreat to the bathroom until she closed her eyes again.
But for now, in these last precious moments of darkness, he could hold her without barriers, skin to skin, face to face though invisible to one another.
“Morgan,” he said softly, the words coming from somewhere deeper than calculated thought, “I’m falling for you. Hard and fast and completely. I need you to know that.”
Her sharp intake of breath was audible in the quiet room. Then her hands found his face in the darkness, palms cradling his cheeks, thumbs tracing the contours her eyes had never seen.
“I’m falling for you too,” she whispered. “Despite every rational reason not to.”
He held her close as they kissed and she eventually drifted to sleep in his arms, and in that moment, with dawn approaching and reality waiting to reassert itself, Archer made a decision.
Soon—not immediately, but in the next few days—he would tell Morgan the truth.
About who he was, about Sullivan Enterprises, about the Vertex Creative acquisition in the works.
Lay out what she needed to know for a relationship like theirs to work.
The potential consequences were significant. Her anger at being kept in the dark. The possibility that she might see him differently once she knew his true identity. The complications his wealth and position would introduce to her day-to-day life.
But the alternative—continuing this half-connection, this relationship built on partial truths—was becoming increasingly unsustainable. Morgan deserved more. They both did.
For now, though, he would savor this moment, this connection, this woman who had somehow breached his carefully constructed defenses in the span of a single week.
The rest would sort itself out in time.