CHAPTER 26
Betty
The hotel room was modest by royal standards, which meant it was merely luxurious instead of obscenely opulent. I had exactly two seconds to appreciate the view before Archie pressed me against the door and kissed me like he'd been waiting for this moment all day.
Which, to be fair, he probably had.
His hands bracketed my face, tilting my head to deepen the kiss.
I tasted champagne on his tongue and something underneath that was purely him, familiar now in a way that made my chest ache.
My fingers found his lapels and pulled him closer, wanting the weight of him against me, wanting to feel surrounded.
"I've been going crazy," he said against my mouth. "Watching you in that dress, knowing what's underneath, having to make small talk with your father while you were right there looking like that."
"Like what?"
He pulled back just far enough to look at me. "Like everything I've ever wanted. Like the rest of my life, standing at that counter, promising to choose me."
"I did choose you."
"I know." He kissed me again, slower this time, savoring. "And I'm going to spend tonight showing you how much that means to me."
His hands slid from my face to my shoulders, then traced down my arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. When he reached my wrists, he lifted my hands and pressed a kiss to each palm.
"You're being very gentle," I observed.
"Is that a complaint?"
"An observation. You're usually more... urgent."
"We have time." He turned me slowly, his breath on the back of my neck. "No crises to interrupt us. No secrets between us. Just you and me and the whole night ahead."
His fingers found my zipper and drew it down, the sound loud in the quiet room. The silk slid off my shoulders, pooled at my waist, then fell to the floor. I stood in my white lace and the bracelet he'd given me, facing the window with the city lights beyond.
Archie's hands settled on my hips, steadying me. His lips traced the curve of my shoulder, then the line of my neck, then the sensitive spot behind my ear that made me shiver.
"You're so beautiful," he murmured against my skin. "I thought so the first time I saw you, covered in flour and glaring at a customer. I thought so when you were learning to ride and falling off horses. I thought so every single day since then, even when you were furious at me."
"Especially when I was furious at you?"
"Especially then. You're magnificent when you're angry." His hands slid up my stomach, fingers splaying across my ribs. "All that fire. All that passion. Directed at me because you trusted me enough to show me the real you."
"The real me wanted to throw things at your head."
"The real you cared enough to be hurt." He turned me to face him. "The real you gave me another chance when I didn't deserve one."
I reached for his shirt buttons, needing something to do with my hands. "You're wearing too many clothes."
"So are you."
"You first."
I worked his buttons open one by one, revealing inches of skin I'd touched before but never tired of. The plane of his chest, the ridges of his stomach, the trail of hair that disappeared beneath his waistband. When I pushed the shirt off his shoulders, he let it fall.
"Better?" he asked.
"Getting there."
I unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants, pushed them down his hips until he stepped out of them. In just his boxer briefs, the evidence of his arousal was impossible to miss.
"Much better," I said.
He laughed and pulled me close, skin against skin, his hands unhooking my bra. It fell away, and I heard his breath catch.
"Betty."
"You've seen me naked before."
"And it still knocks the wind out of me every time." He cupped my breasts, thumbs brushing across my nipples, watching my face as I responded. "I love these. I love the sounds you make when I touch them."
"What sounds?"
He pinched lightly, and I gasped.
"That one." He did it again, then soothed the sensation with his tongue. "And that one."
His mouth closed over my nipple, hot and wet, and my head fell back. He sucked gently, then harder when I arched into him, his hands steadying my hips as my knees threatened to buckle.
"Bed," I managed.
"Not yet."
He kissed his way to my other breast, giving it the same attention while his hand slid down my stomach. His fingers traced the edge of my underwear, dipping just beneath the lace, teasing.
"Archie."
"Yes?"
"Stop teasing."
"I'm not teasing. I'm savoring." But his hand slipped lower, fingers pressing against me through the damp lace, and my hips jerked.
"You're wet," he observed, sounding pleased.
"I've been wet since what you said in my ear at the reception."
"Have you?" He stroked me through the fabric, finding my clit and circling it with just enough pressure to make me gasp. "Tell me more."
"You were talking about getting me out of this dress, and all I could think about was your hands on me."
"Like this?" He pressed harder.
"Yes. No. More."
He peeled my underwear down my legs and dropped to his knees. I looked down to find him staring up at me, his hands on my thighs, his mouth inches from where I needed him most.
"Hold onto my shoulders," he said.
I did. And then his mouth was on me, and thinking became impossible.
He licked a slow line through my folds, exploring, tasting. When he found my clit, he circled it with the tip of his tongue, light and teasing, making my hips chase the sensation.
"More," I breathed.
He gave me more. His tongue flattened against me, broad strokes that built the tension, then focused again on that bundle of nerves that made my legs shake. He seemed to know exactly what I needed, when to push and when to pull back, keeping me climbing higher without letting me fall.
"Archie, please."
He slid a finger inside me, then two, crooking them to find the spot that made me cry out. His mouth never stopped working, the combination of his tongue on my clit and his fingers stroking inside me building something enormous in my core.
"Come for me," he said against me, the vibration of his voice adding another layer of sensation. "Let me taste you when you fall apart."
I shattered, pleasure crashing through me in waves that made me grip his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. He worked me through it, gentling his touch as I came down, pressing soft kisses to my inner thighs while aftershocks rippled through me.
"Bed," I said again, barely able to stand.
This time he listened. He rose, lifted me, and carried me to the mattress, laying me down on the crisp white sheets. I watched him strip off his boxer briefs, his cock hard and heavy, and desire pooled again in my belly despite the orgasm still echoing through me.
"I need you inside me," I said.
He covered my body with his, settling between my thighs. I could feel him at my entrance, hot and thick, and I tilted my hips in invitation.
But he didn't push inside. Instead, he held himself there, looking down at me.
"This is different," he said.
"What is?"
"Tonight. Us." He brushed my hair back from my face. "Before, there was always something between us. Secrets, or anger, or the marriage being a lie. But right now, there's nothing. Just you choosing to be here."
"I've chosen you every time."
"I know. But this is the first time I really believe it." He kissed me softly. "Tell me what you want."
"You. All of you. No holding back."
He pushed inside me, slow and steady, watching my face as he filled me inch by inch. The stretch was exquisite, my body opening to accommodate him, nerve endings singing at the sensation.
When he was fully seated, we both stilled. I wrapped my legs around his hips, pulling him impossibly deeper, feeling the pulse of his heartbeat inside me.
"Okay?" he asked.
"More than okay. Now move."
He started slow, long strokes that dragged against every sensitive spot. I moved with him, learning his rhythm, meeting each thrust with a roll of my hips that made us both groan.
"God, you feel incredible," he said, his voice strained. "Every time. I will never get tired of this."
"Then stop talking and show me."
He did. His pace increased, hips snapping forward with more force, hitting a spot inside me that made stars burst behind my eyes. I clung to his shoulders, fingernails digging into his skin, the sounds I made lost somewhere between moans and gasps.
"Touch yourself," he said. "I want to watch you."
I slipped a hand between our bodies, finding my clit, circling it in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation built the tension faster, higher, my body coiling tight as another orgasm approached.
"I'm close," I warned.
"Me too. Look at me."
I opened my eyes and met his gaze. The intensity there, the love and want and desperate need, pushed me over the edge. I came with his name on my lips, my inner muscles clenching around him, and I heard him groan as his own release followed, his hips stuttering as he spilled inside me.
He collapsed against me, both of us breathing hard, sweat cooling on our skin.
"That was worth sneaking out for," I said eventually.
"That was worth everything." He rolled to the side, pulling me with him so we lay tangled together, my head on his chest. "I love you."
"I love you too." I pressed a kiss to his sternum. "And we still have forty minutes before we need to go back."
"Is that so?" His hand traced lazy patterns on my back. "What did you have in mind?"
"Round two. But this time, I'm in charge."
I pushed him onto his back and straddled his hips, feeling him already stirring again beneath me. His eyes went wide as he looked up at me, hands settling on my thighs.
"I'm at your mercy."
"Good." I leaned down to kiss him, then sat back, letting my weight press against his growing erection. "You've been running the show all day, making sure everything went smoothly. It’s my turn to take care of you."
"Betty, you don't have to—"
"I want to." I rocked my hips, and he groaned. "I want to watch you fall apart for me. I want to be the one who makes you lose control."