17. Tilly
Chapter seventeen
Tilly
S plinters are the devil’s confetti.
In hindsight, attempting to move a few pieces of wood that are much larger than my tiny arms can handle wasn’t the best idea. I try to grab the little sucker with my tweezers but wince as I rip a crevasse in my fingertip. Abandoning the effort to remove it, I discard the tweezers with a huff. Glutton for punishment that I am, I blink away the tears and reach for another slab of wood.
Sweat coats my skin, dripping down into the tank top I changed into after Archer left. My mouth is parched, and the droplet of saltiness cresting my upper lip is the only thing I’ve consumed other than my morning chorizo, egg, and avocado stuffed yam. Arms wide, I clear the doorway and am almost to the table when a wave of dizziness hits me. I waver, nearly tumbling over the extension cord on the ground.
“Whoa, Tilly,” Archer shouts as he comes up behind me, arms reaching to meet mine on the wood.
His solid stomach is against my back, his breath hot on my neck as he walks me forward and I bend over to place the wood down. Exhausted, I nearly collapse onto the table. A strong arm bands around my stomach, and I nearly lose it. The tightness of his arm holding me against his firm chest, my ass nestled in a spot I’ve dreamt about too often the past couple days, the breath coasting along my neck.
One by one my touch receptors explode .
Archer’s body weight presses the corner of the table between my legs, and the feeling rips a moan from me. There’s a sharp intake of breath, but I’m unsure if it’s his or mine, because before I know it, there’s a weight settled between my ass, and the pressure from the table is there again, causing me to whimper.
My mind does overtime catching up to the rest of my body. It screeches to a halt and downpours disgust into my veins. I rip Archer’s hands from my body, inwardly whining as I do so, and push him back.
“Fuck.” He throws his hands up in surrender then reaches for me with a pained expression. “Tilly.”
Snagging a bottle of water, I move as far away from him as possible. “I’m okay,” I lie, fighting the urge to move closer. “I’m going...I’m gonna use the bathroom.”
Inside the sanctuary of the bathroom, I lean my exposed back against the cool tile wall. I chug water, not stopping when it spills out of my mouth and down my chest. My skin is on fire, nerves that haven’t been activated in forever thrown into a tailspin. The tile at my back sends a chill down my spine, the water rolling down my breasts makes my nipples hard, and slowly, so slowly, my hand makes its way down my body.
Arousal continues to overtake my system; my skin is hungry for any touch I’m willing to give it now that it remembers what it’s been missing. In a daze, I slide my fingers along my stomach where he touched me and try to replace the image of him behind me with Jessie.
My heightened senses beat their wings like a butterfly finally free from its chrysalis as I circle the pulsing need between my legs, but instead of uttering my husband’s name, Archer’s name slips from my lips on a moan.
Flooded with shame, I slump against the wall. My cheeks are ruddy in the mirror, my hair messy and clinging to my skin. Tension stretches the muscles of my neck and shoulders, and my normally calm stomach twists in knots.
Frustrated, I head back out to the workspace. The silence is what I notice first. No loud saws or hammers banging, no rock music blaring through the speakers.
Only silence.
Questions batter my brain, and of course it takes the worst road possible. Archer must be disgusted by what happened too.
Damn it, Tilly.
We were just starting to get along. Almost.
I ball my hands into fists, frustrated at the conflicting feelings bouncing around my chest. Archer hasn’t given me any indication there are unresolved feelings on his side, so it’s ridiculous to feel rejected over something so small.
Trying to take my mind off the fact that Archer left me here, I slide a roll of nails in the nail gun and begin the wood paneling. An hour passes, then two, and still no sign of Archer. Part of me wants to call him to check in, but I won’t.