13. Allie #2
I nod, a tear finally spilling over, making its slow descent down my cheek.
“I still believe that someday we’ll make it work. Someday we’ll figure it out.”
I let out a sniffling laugh. “Maybe by forty. Like the marriage pact we made when we were twelve.”
“Hopefully much sooner than that.” He smiles against my mouth. “Until then… We could…” He pulls away, peering down at me through hooded, love-laced eyes that are somehow both devastated and hopeful. “Play pretend? Just for tonight?”
Play pretend.
Our horrifically negligent ongoing promise to our future selves that we won’t let the love we make tonight hurt us in the morning—but we’re always wrong, and it always does.
“It’ll break our hearts tomorrow.”
“I’ll be heartbroken, anyway.” He holds my face, tilting my head just enough for my mouth to brush his bottom lip.
“We shouldn’t,” I whisper.
“We were always going to.”
“Yeah.” I nod, breathless—letting go.
He catches me. Kisses me. Soft at first, then ferocious. Commanding and claiming and consuming every fragment of me.
His hand grips my neck and he falls backward, guiding me over him, never removing his lips from mine. Our limbs twist and tangle as we savor, touch, and taste.
I straddle him and lick his neck. He flips us, settling in the cradle of my thighs, nipping at my chest. Continuing his descent, Archer's tongue drags over my skin, leaving it pricked and glistening in his wake.
“Missed this,” he murmurs, pulling the neckline of my tank top down, freeing my breasts. “Missed you.” His breath skates over my peaked nipple. “So goddamn much.”
Archer lifts his gaze, piercing me with blazing eyes as he flicks his tongue over me. It elicits a whimper from my lips, and when my back arches off the bed, he pins me with a massive hand splayed over my hip.
“So responsive,” he rasps, words fractured and incomplete, like he’s too worked up to muster a complete sentence. “Fuckin’ love it.”
The gravel in his tone has my insides fizzing, like I’m being shaken up and brought to the brink of spilling over.
“Archer.” I sigh, hands rushing to rake through his thick strands of hair as he continues kissing me, twisting his fingers in the fabric of my shirt bunched at my stomach.
“Can I take it off?” he asks, raising his head and licking his lips. “All of it?”
I nod desperately.
His fingers hook into the waistband of my bottoms, tugging them off my legs along with my panties as I slip my top off entirely.
While he tosses my clothes to the floor, I sit up, sliding my hands beneath the fabric of his tee and lifting it in silent demand.
He obeys, and I fall back onto my pillows, displaying myself for him as he removes his shirt, and his hands come to his belt.
Time warps—slows and suspends when his eyes meet mine.
The click of his buckle, the slide of his belt through the loops, the sound of his zipper, all echo through my quiet studio—deafening with his intention.
His motions are drawn out and torturous.
He speaks to me through the flame in his eyes, a kaleidoscope reminder that he’ll own me tonight.
He pulls off his jeans before kneeling between my legs—towering above me with his god-like body.
Honed to utter perfection through years of treating his body like the ultimate machine.
He has a tall, slim build, but his shoulders are unbelievably wide, arms flexing with fine-cut muscle as he begins pumping himself.
My eyes follow the movement, down his sculpted chest and stomach, until they settle on his cock—hard and raging between his toned thighs.
My breath hitches. I’ve seen it—tasted and felt it—a million times before, but I find myself wrapped in awe each time, like it’s the first. He’s thick and long, nearly too much for me to handle, though we both know I always do.
Pre-cum leaks from the tip, and I can’t help but watch as he swipes through it with his thumb before guiding down his base.
“You see what you do to me, Amor?” he growls. “How fucking beautiful you are?”
My eyes flick to his face as I open my knees. “I want you to see what you do to me.”
“I want to feel it.”
I spread my legs wide, lifting a foot and sliding it up his chest, resting my calf on his shoulder. My next words crawl from my throat in a wrecked and needy whine, “Take it.”
Whatever thread of composure he’d been hanging onto seems to snap. Archer launches forward, blanketing me with his body, aligning our faces. His cock nestles in my slit, his hard, hot length setting a pulsing throb between my thighs.
He cages me between his arms as he hovers above me, searching my eyes for any ounce of hesitation. My lashes flutter, and I know I’m offering him nothing but desire. He drops a chaste kiss to my lips before sitting back on his knees, lifting my hips, and throwing both legs over his shoulders.
He fists his cock and smacks my clit, causing a hiss to fly from my mouth before he drags his length through my lips and notches at my entrance. He pushes in, just the tip, and even then my body burns—stretching to accommodate him.
A whimper crawls from my throat. “Big. So…big.”
“Mm-hmm,” he moans. “I know, baby.”
He fucks me harder. Relentless. Feral.
“And you’ll…”
A torturous retreat.
“Take…”
A swift slide back in.
“Every. Inch.”
“Archer,” I cry.
“Fuck,” he growls, sinking his teeth into my calf. “I never tire of that. That staggering gasp you make every time I slide inside you. Like you’ve forgotten what it feels like to stretch for me.” He thrusts deeper. “But don’t worry, baby. I’ll remind you.”
I moan, back arching to force him even deeper, desperate for him to fill all the space inside me.
Wrapping his strong arms around my thighs, Archer sets a punishing pace, hitting the places I need him most. My skin heats, embers sparking in my veins, body igniting with the flame he sets to life in me.
Archer is a masterpiece—a piece of art as he works inside me, drawing pleasure from hidden depths only he has ever reached.
His head kicks back, throat moving with a carnal groan. “Fuck, Amor. How do you ruin me?”
“You,” I breathe. “Ruin me.”
His eyes fall open, spearing me with their lust-laced glow.
A bead of sweat forms on his chest, cascading down his stomach when he leans over, folding me in half.
I could kiss my knee, and while the new position tightens my entire body and causes my muscles to strain—it’s a delicious kind of pain.
He drives even deeper than before, deeper than should be possible, stealing my breath.
Bracing his weight on one arm beside my head, Archer cups my face with the other.
My lips part, stuttered, choked exhales leaving them as oxygen becomes trapped inside my lungs from the way he’s holding me down.
Exhilaration floods me at the control he takes, the power he holds over me in this moment, the way I rely on him for not only the pleasure but for the very air I need to breathe.
Only he can give me this, and only he can take it from me.
Every pulse, every thrust, every hammer of his body into mine is a gift granted.
“Pretty girl,” he murmurs. “My pretty girl takes my cock so well, doesn’t she?”
“Yes,” I cry.
A building wave of ecstasy begins to crest, preparing to wash over the flame searing my flesh. His words, his tone, the way he fucks me with abandon—they send me floating.
“And it’s yours?” he mewls, sliding his hand behind my head, he knots my hair, pulling hard enough to sting. “This cock belongs to you, doesn’t it? Made just for that tight little pussy, huh?”
“Archer,” I moan, nails clawing at his back.
His fingers twist in my hair harder, forcing my eyes to open—to meet his scorching gaze. “Yes?”
“Yes!”
He relents his hold, lips falling onto mine. “Atta girl, Amor.” A bruising kiss. “Fuck. I’m gonna come.” A bite to my lip. “I’m gonna make a mess of you.”
“Yeah.” I pant, lifting my hips—desperate and brazen. “Yeah. Make it messy.”
Archer rises, freeing my legs as I gasp, my lungs expanding with a critical influx of oxygen.
His hands slide down my waist, gripping hard enough to leave an imprint as he fervently rocks my body over his.
The salacious sound of our joining flesh echoes through the room, mingling with his breathy moans and my piercing cries.