33. Tilly
Chapter thirty-three
Tilly
“ T here’s only one bed.”
Archer laughs, laying his journal and car keys on the small nightstand. “You’re still just as good at math as you were in college.”
I push him and he chuckles. “It’s not funny, Arch.”
He turns to me, rubbing his hands up and down my arms. “I’ll sleep on the floor, Til. No worries.”
The nice person in me wants to say no, but the woman who hasn’t slept with another person since her husband died with his arms around her can’t bear the thought of it. Thankfully Archer, being the amazing human he is, doesn’t push the subject. He takes the top cover off the bed and lays it on the floor with a pillow, grabbing his journal and pen.
“What are you always writing in there?” I lie on the bed, spinning my ring on my finger.
Like a teenage girl with a diary, Archer presses the book to his chest and gives me a scathing look. “I’m drawing pornographic images of you on that bed. Prop your head up and show me some skin so I can sketch you like a French girl.”
I laugh and throw a pillow at him. We lie in silence for a few minutes before the smell finally reaches me. The inside of my nose stings with a noxious scent. “Gosh, that smell is horrid. ”
Archer grimaces as he looks up from his notebook. “How does the ranch hand endure this? I’m not sure I can sleep with the odor this strong.”
I pinch my nose. “Me either.”
He rises from the floor and peeks out the window. “It’s not raining anymore. Not that it’ll be much better, but maybe we can find some extra blankets in that chest in the hallway and sleep out there? The breeze might help.”
I follow him out of the room, eyes lingering on the opened journal on the floor. I almost stop to steal a peek at it, but something holds me back. Archer’s voice calls to me from down the hallway. He’s standing with covers piled onto his arms, a smile of success on his face.
“Let’s see if we can find a semi-dry spot outside.”
Horses neigh and huff as he walks down the stairs and out the door. The sky is completely clear of clouds as if a few hours ago it wasn’t raining. It’s a tad humid, but the air isn’t as heavy with the smell of manure. Archer pats the ground, searching out the least wet spot.
“What about the bed of the truck?” he asks, hopeful.
I shrug. “It’s actually larger than the bed inside, and worst comes to worst, I can sleep in the front seat.”
He rolls his eyes and swipes the small amount of collected water onto the ground. “We’ll make it work.”
He throws handfuls of clean hay into the bed of Bob’s truck, making a layer over the ridges so they won’t hurt our backs. I spread out the covers while Archer runs inside to get our pillows and belongings. When he returns, I’m already two covers deep staring up at the stars in the sky.
Coming from the city, it’s rare to see stars. San Antonio is filled with twenty-four-hour Whataburgers and gas stations galore. There’s always too much light to see anything but buildings for miles .
The truck dips when Archer climbs in and slides beneath the covers. Even with another barrier between us, I can still feel the heat from his body. He lays on his back, arm bent behind his head, and I struggle to keep my eyes from staring at his bulging biceps.
“Did you bring your camera?” he asks.
“Huh?”
“You’re ogling me like you want me to take off my shirt.”
“I am not,” I reply, haughtily. “But I wouldn’t mind it if you did.”
He laughs, reaching behind him and pulling his shirt off with one of those sexy one hand maneuvers. My hands wrap around the blanket in an effort not to reach out and touch his smooth pecs or allow my fingers to trace each individual pillow of muscle on his stomach.
“Are you doing okay?” Archer turns, staring at the side of my face.
Even though the temperature has dropped, my underarms gather moisture and make the double covers unbearable. Why did I think wearing leggings under this dress was a good idea?
I slide out from the bottom layer and into the top. My brain screams, nearly naked man beside you , but I shut it down.
“I’m fine, just a tad hot.”
“You’ve always been hot,” he says.
I slap his chest. He catches my hand, bringing it up to his lips to kiss each pad of my fingers before he places one in the center of my palm then lays it down on his chest. The feather light kiss sends my heart on its own racetrack around my body, speeding past my stomach and moving into my core.
“Are you okay when I touch you?” His eyebrows are cinched tightly, a pained look on his face. “I just realized I never asked if this was…okay? ”
Warmth rises in my chest. When he first started touching me, I thought I’d freak out, but I noticed it didn’t affect me the same way I expected. His touch brings me a sense of peace.
I nod. “I like when you touch me.”
The need to have him touch me in places long forgotten rises, and my thighs quiver with the restraint of keeping them closed. My fingertips tingle as I play with his small patch of dark chest hair, trying to convince myself it’d be a bad idea to kiss him again. If the lights coming on hadn’t separated us at the bakery, would we have been able to stop before we went too far? Is this thing between us just something fun, or does it have potential for…more?
A tug in my chest tells me it’s the latter, and that has me leaning forward and sealing my lips over his. He groans like he’s been waiting for this all day, and his hands move into my hair, tilting my head so he can taste me deeper. A spark in my chest urges me closer to him, desperate for the intimacy I’ve denied myself.
His firm grip lands on my thigh, squeezing and pulling my leg across his body. He’s hard beneath my leg, so close to where I need him but so far. Soft caresses move their way up the side of my shirt, thumb testing the underwire of my bra.
“Tilly,” Archer rasps, breathlessly ripping his lips from mine. “If this is not something you want, something you’re not ready for, we should stop right now.”
I capture his lips in a bruising kiss and shake my head.
He smacks my ass with his other hand. “Words.”
“I want you,” I squeak.
His thumb slips beneath my underwire, circling my painfully hard nipple. It’s overly sensitive from underuse, and the sensation drives me to the edge. My skin burns with his touch, with the need to be bare with him, for him to have all of me. I cry out when he lifts the bra and sinks his teeth into the soft flesh of my breast, nipping and tugging on the dark bud.
“More.” I arch my back for him to take off my shirt and bra.
With expert hands, he removes both, barely releasing my nipple from his mouth. His hands skate down my bare sides, gripping my waist and pulling me closer. His fingertips dip beneath my waistband, softly skimming across my pelvic bone. I suck in a breath, nervous excitement stealing the air from my lungs.
“Is this okay?” Archer asks. “Do you want me to stop?”
Tension strains his voice, like it’s the absolute last thing in the world he wants to do but would if I asked.
“Please don’t.” His touch is dopamine to my touch starved brain. I push his hand down further, chasing the feeling.
It takes all of two seconds for him to start exploring the soft hair of my mound, his fingers moving lower until he grazes my clit. I hold my breath and squeeze my eyes tight when he presses down and circles my most needy spot.
“Fuck,” he breathes into my neck.
I silently agree and open my legs further. There’s a small nudge in the back of my mind, reminding me we’re out in the open, down the hill from Mr. Bob’s house. But the thought immediately vanishes the moment Archer delves between my folds, pushing against my opening.
Thick fingers sink inch by inch into my core, twisting, plunging, greedy for my slickness. Archer’s growl vibrates down my chest, and it’s a moment before I realize his body is moving along with it.
“Arch.” I whine when he removes his fingers, the loss of pressure driving me insane .
He stands at the edge of the truck bed, his hair disheveled, lips red and swollen.
“Hold on, baby girl.” He wraps his hands around my thighs and pulls me to the edge. I squeal and the covers bunch beneath me, creating a pillow that forces my hips up into the air. He removes my leggings and panties then lowers his face between my legs, eyes locked on mine. “I’m hungry.”
I bite down on the meaty part of my hand to stifle my scream when his tongue touches my clit, his beard tickling my inner thighs as he explores me. His tongue is a weapon, somehow sensual in his strokes yet explosive when he thrusts his tongue into my center. His growls of pleasure drive me insane, and when he adds his fingers to the swirling of his tongue, I shatter. Stars dance above me as my inner walls pulse around the fingers he’s still moving inside me.
“I need you,” I say, breathless and panting.
“Damn it.” I rise up on my elbows, confused by his curse. His fingers are in his mouth, eyes locked on mine as he cleans them.
“What?” The truck dips as he climbs back up and hovers over my body to kiss me.
“No cake, no…cookie, nothing on earth could compare to how you taste.”
Warmth floods my chest, and my hands find their way to the erection heavy between his legs, palming and squeezing it. He hisses against my neck and thrusts into my hand.
“Please tell me you have a condom.” I nibble on his earlobe, damn near keening at the way he lavishes his tongue along my neck.
“Fuck.” He stills, head falling to my shoulder. “Hold on, let me check. ”
Archer hops off the bed and drops to the ground where our clothes are. I can’t see what he’s doing, but when he pops back up with a condom in hand, I can barely contain my excitement.
He sheds his clothes, and my mouth waters.
He’s glorious.
Broad, muscular chest. Cut abdominal muscles and obliques that curve into a V and disappear beneath his boxers. Strong quads that highlight the girth between his legs.
My lungs cease to expand. I touched him. Palmed his erection just moments ago. Yet, I didn’t imagine he was hiding that thing.
“I don’t think that’s going to fit,” I mutter, pulling on my lip as he fully undresses.
“We’ll make it fit, darlin’.” He chuckles and rips the foil packet open with his teeth, sliding it onto his erection entirely too slow. He climbs back over me, cock gliding between my legs, gathering the slickness from my orgasm and driving me wild.
“Are you sure about this?” He grips my hip to stop me from moving beneath him.
Unable to meet his gaze, I nod.
“Words, Tilda.” His fingers seize my chin, and he turns my face to meet his. “Are you ready for this? If you need more time, we can wait.”
The sincerity in his eyes makes my heart explode. We’re suspended in time, a moment in between breaths where I can see the line we’re teetering on. My pause isn’t because I’m second guessing stepping over it, but that I’m acknowledging the healing happening in this moment. I grab his cock and line it up with my opening. His eyes track my movements, and he leans down to capture my lips for a bruising kiss.
“Yes,” I say .
The word is barely out of my mouth before the first inch of him is stretching me. He groans into my neck, stilling his movements so I can adjust.
Once my lungs decide to start working again, I say, “Move.”
“I can’t.” He curses. “I swear if you move an inch, I’m going to embarrass myself.”
I laugh and my hips loosen, taking him in deeper.
“Damn it, Tilly,” he growls.
“Just do it,” I beg. “Don’t be gentle.”
I never realized how passionate the woman lurking beneath my surface was. The woman who likes to be bitten and to bite, to fight and to chase. She’s begging for something I’ve subconsciously needed but have been too afraid to ask for. The freedom to be me.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says.
“You won’t.”
His hands latch onto my waist, and he pulls out and slams into me until he’s fully seated. He smothers my scream with his mouth, his hands kneading the soft flesh of my ass as he thrusts into me in short spurts.
“Are you okay?”
I take a mental and physical calculation. The fire between my legs from his size slowly abates, morphing into the beginnings of pleasure.
“I’m okay.” I pull him down and thrust my tongue into his mouth. “Are you?”
He shakes his head, unable to speak as his eyes glaze over with what I think are tears.
“Fuck,” he says, trying to shake the tear away.
I grasp his face between my hands, clearing the wetness from his cheeks before I wrap my arms around his neck and bring him down so I can rest my chin on his shoulder. “I know,” I say. “Me, too.”
His spine raises as he inhales, and his breath is hot on my skin when he thrusts back into me. I’m savoring his slow movements, the short thrusts mixed with him pulling the entire way out and sliding back in, but I need more. I need all of him, as hard and deep as he can give me it.
“Harder,” I beg.
Archer curses and thrusts into me, hitting the spot I need him to over and over. Waves of pleasure crash over me when his thumb presses down on my clit, hand splayed against my belly as he pistons his hips faster until I cry out, pulsing around him.
“You feel so good.” Sweat slides down his chest as he speeds up, his thrusts moving my body further into the truck, the slapping sound of our flesh filling the nighttime air.
Unprepared, another orgasm blasts through my core just as Archer stills and groans, slowing his movements as he comes.
“Holy shit.” My chest heaves, synapses still firing. Even with the delicious ache between my legs, the rest of my body is more relaxed than I’ve been in months. My shoulders aren’t tight anymore, and my head is clear and empty of all the questions of ‘what if?’
Lying beside Archer, with the expansive sky of stars twinkling above us, I realize not once did I feel an ounce of shame. Thoughts of what other people would think if they knew, what Jessie would think, vanished from my mind and it was only us.