Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Archer was waiting on the porch when Elton swung his SUV into the gravel lot beside the cabin.
The hanging Edison lights cast him in a warm glow, but even from behind the wheel, Elton could read the distress on his face and in his frame.
Gone was the steady, serene expression that usually graced his features in the vineyard and missing were the twinkling hazel eyes and flirtatious smirk that often greeted Elton whenever he returned.
Instead, Archer’s eyes were weary, his features pinched, his cheeks pale, and the slump of his shoulders worrisome.
Archer portrayed the grump, but the prickly exterior hid a deep devotion to his people and his plants. He was fiercely protective. No surprise that he was on his feet, white-knuckling the railing, by the time Elton reached the porch.
“Did you find out anything?”
The uncharacteristic crack in his voice made Elton drop his bag and close the distance between them, hands cupping his cool, rough cheeks. “Baby, how long have you—”
Archer clasped his wrists, squeezing. “Did you find them? Miguel and Daniela?”
“They were on a flight out of LAX.” Archer clenched his wrists so hard Elton winced, then rushed to clarify. “To Peru. Daniela booked the tickets herself.”
Archer exhaled. “Their sister is there.” He eased his grip on Elton’s wrists, but the weariness still shone in his eyes, still deepened the divot between them. “And the others?”
“Mel and her team are working on it. They’ll get us a list.” He gently rubbed his thumbs over Archer’s cheeks above his beard, working to get color and warmth back into them. “You should have called me sooner.”
“Probably,” he said, before casting his gaze aside. “But I didn’t know if I’d be interrupting and . . .”
Elton ducked his head, forcing eye contact. “And?”
“It’s not important right now.”
“And?” he repeated with a light press of his fingers, gently demanding an answer.
“You didn’t call me,” he mumbled, like he was embarrassed to say it out loud, evidenced by the heat rushing to his cheeks beneath Elton’s palms. “It’s been two and a half months, and I don’t know where I—where we—stand.”
He tried to divert his gaze again, but Elton used the grip on his face to angle it up, wanting Archer to see the truth in his eyes when he confessed, “I didn’t call because if I heard your voice, I’d be on the first flight home.”
Archer’s lips parted on a gasp.
Elton dipped his head and dropped a kiss on his right cheekbone. “You stand at the front of my mind.” Then on the left one. “And beside me at the edge of a cliff I need help jumping off of.”
Archer didn’t hesitate to drag him off that cliff, slamming their mouths together, and Elton melted into his arms, into the heat that exploded around them, their bodies back together after far too long apart.
Fuck, how had he gone so long without him?
And how could he ever go that long again without Archer Scott in his arms?
Without Archer’s hot, wet mouth beneath his, without his calloused hands scorching a path up his back, without his cock hardening against his thigh?
Elton reached a hand down and palmed him. “Want to suck this,” he mumbled against his lips. He’d dreamed of doing so, of returning the favor, countless times over the past ten weeks.
Cursing, Archer thrust into his hand, then grabbed his other one and hauled him inside the cabin.
It was a race from there, shedding clothes as they stumbled through the cabin toward the bedroom, only making it as far as the cozy living area where Elton pushed Archer into a high-backed leather chair.
Lips swollen, eyes bright with desire, a blush spread across his skin, he looked better than he had when Elton first arrived. In fact, he looked like he had that night fifteen years ago—naked, heaving, and hard, only now with more attractive gray hair added to the mix.
Elton stroked himself once, staving off his own desire, before he dropped to his knees between Archer’s spread legs. “I might be terrible at this.”
Archer stared down at him, chin resting on his chest, arms hanging like noodles over the armrests. “Have you ever been terrible at anything?”
Marriage flitted through his mind but that would kill the mood. “Not much.”
One side of Archer’s mouth hitched up, then he scooted his ass to the edge of the chair. He lifted one, then his other leg over Elton’s shoulders. “Prove it.”
Something he’d spent his entire career doing, proving a case and rising to the challenge. Clasping Archer’s thighs, he lowered his head and extended his tongue, licking a stripe up the underside of Archer’s erect cock.
Archer’s ass shot off the chair and he cursed. Cursed again when Elton closed his mouth around his cock and used it to pin him back in the chair. “Yes, fuck, just like that.”
Elton licked and sucked, inhaling deep each time the wiry hair at the base of Archer’s cock tickled his nose.
Learning the scent of him, the taste. Rich and complex, reminding Elton more of the earth beneath the vines than the vines themselves.
Wanting more of that earthy goodness, he released Archer’s cock and dipped his head lower, nuzzling in the curls around his hilt and teasing his balls, sucking one then the other into his mouth, the sensations, the reaction it drew out of Archer, new and thrilling.
“Fuck, Elton,” Archer groaned, writhing. “I can’t take much more of this.”
Elton held him by the ass cheeks. “You want me to make you come?” he murmured against the underside of his cock.
“Yes, fuck, yes.”
He didn’t delay, not wanting to torture Archer any longer—and too close to the edge himself to prolong this.
He closed his lips around Archer’s tip and flicked his slit, then the underside of his head with his tongue, before sliding all the way down Archer’s length, deep enough to swallow around the tip.
Archer’s moan echoed his own.
Two more slow, wet strokes and then Archer palmed his head, holding him there as he exploded, filling Elton’s mouth with come that he gamely swallowed.
He drew back onto his haunches and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, admiring Archer’s naked, satisfied sprawl.
He was beautiful, even more so now than he had been at that party years ago.
His thick thighs that Elton palmed and lowered from his shoulders, his field-toned arms and torso that slouched loosely in the chair, the wiry brown and gray chest hair that Elton glided his fingers through.
Archer laid a hand over one of his, drawing Elton’s gaze the rest of the way up to his sexy smile and hooded eyes. “Come on me,” he said. “Right here.”
Elton darted a hand down and grabbed his balls, the gravel in Archer’s voice, the mental image his words had painted, hauling him right to the edge again.
Archer chuckled, the sound rumbling beneath Elton’s hand, and Elton thumped his chest for the sass.
Then stood and gave him exactly what he asked for.
One hand braced on the back of the chair, the other around his cock, he stroked himself, hard and fast, Archer’s “yeah, baby” and “come for me” encouragements making him swell, his breath hitch, his groans deepen, his hand go faster, until he came with a shout, spilling over Archer’s chest, right there with him.