by Alam, Donna
‘You first,’ I murmur, laying my hand on the centre of his chest. I see the way he looks at me, the concern. ‘Please.’ Archer wets his lips, but it feels like a prevarication. My counter move is to trace my palm down his chest and over his belt to palm his cock. I feel the tension slip from him, his head tipping back with a pained sounding exhalation.
‘You’re so hard.’
‘Yeah.’ The words are delivered in a little huff, a groan to follow as I tentatively curl my fingers around his length. His cock pulses in response, between my legs echoing the sentiment in an achingly acute surge of desire.
God, I want him—want this like I’ve wanted nothing else ever in the history of me.
‘Take your clothes off.’
‘Fuck.’ Archer’s hand is immediately behind my head, our mouths fused in a powerful kiss. ‘I thought I was supposed to be in charge.’ His voice is all rasp and husk as his teeth trail my neck. ‘But there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do when you look at me like that.’
He takes a step backwards, his expression dark and confident as he tugs the cotton from his waist before his fingers begin to make short work of the buttons of his shirt. I suddenly realise it’s not called a striptease for nothing. With each button released, I see a little more of his toned and tawny skin, the low light from the lamp playing across his muscles as he slips the shirt from his shoulders, dropping it to the floor like a statement.
Here I am. All yours.
My hands are like magnets to his skin, unable to resist tracking the ladder of his abdominals, relishing in those hard planes contracting under my fingertips, the muscles taut and warm. He looks like something out of a magazine or a movie, my eyes greedily following the ledge of muscle dipping beneath his waistband. It’s no surprise I’m smiling, given what he says next.
‘What’s so funny?’ His fingers still on his belt.
I pause to untangle my tongue before answering. ‘You are. Just look at you—you’re just ridiculous . . . hench. I find myself smiling at my down with the kids compliment.
‘Hench?’ He cocks a brow. Standing shirtless, he has his hands on his belt, and I realise the devil doesn’t come dressed in a red cape, complete with horns. He turns up at the side of your bed looking like everything you’ve ever wished for.
‘Yes.’ Did I not say it right? Maybe it doesn’t mean what I think it means. ‘All muscles and stuff.’ I reach out and press my finger to one of his pecs, where there’s very little give. Then I flatten my palm there, the tip of my little finger caressing his copper coloured nipple.
‘This seems like a very one-sided affair,’ he growls, taking my hands and pulling me to him. I don’t have an opportunity to complain as his fingers slide my hair over my shoulder before beginning to inch the zipper of my dress down.
My instinct is to cross my hands over my chest to stop it from falling. To stop him from seeing because I’m standing in front of the mirror, by accident or by design, I can’t be sure.
‘Archer, listen.’ I address him through the mirror, avoiding my own gaze. ‘I don’t have the kind of body that—’
‘No.’ He cuts me off immediately, his expression grave, his eyes burning dark. ‘We’re not doing this. Not now, not here.’ He grasps my hand, bringing it behind my back, pressing it to his hard cock. ‘You’ve done this to me, Heather. You’ve made me this fucking hard—you and your delectable body and your smart fucking mouth. All night long I’ve been thinking about you, about this, ready to sell my soul just for a taste.’
I raise my chin, and it’s like something in his expression reads something in mine.
A recognition.
A realisation.
A meeting of desires.
Wordlessly, he brings my hand to my side again, pushing the dress from my shoulders and feeding it down my arms. Where my hand is pressed tight to my chest, he removes it, before skimming my dress down my thighs until it pools at my feet.
My eyes are lowered as he helps me step from it.
Lowered still as his arms cradle mine, bringing them to my waist where he grasps them both in one of his hands.
‘Look at yourself,’ he purrs, and when I don’t, his fingers tilt my chin to our reflection. My nakedness shocking, my eyes wide. I feel so exposed, so much worse than just being naked. I feel like he’s staring into my soul.
‘You are so beautiful.’ His lips brush against the soft skin of my neck, his free hand sweeping the length of my arm, travelling across my ribcage.
I gasp as his thumb brushes my already hard nipple, his fingers drawing it into a tight, aching point.
‘Put your hands here, sweetheart.’
My heart skips a beat as he guides my palms to the mirror, tilting my hips back to meet him. Every nerve ending sings with need as his fingers begin to tease my skin, to knead and squeeze, layering torment on torment, tease upon tease until I’m panting so hard, my breath fogs the mirror, and my whole body aches to be filled.
As though he knows this, his long fingers slide between my legs when he cups me.
‘You’re already so wet.’ His rasp is pure praise as his middle finger parts my flesh, gathering my wetness and bringing it to my clit. ‘So wet for me.’
My eyes roll closed as I moan, arching my hips in invitation, desperation coating my skin as his slippery fingers pet and tease, driving me to the edge of distraction as his teeth and lips lay claim to my neck, making me a mass of jangling, tingling nerves. As though he can’t get enough of me, as though he needs to see more, his fingers make a V, pressing my pussy open.
‘So very beautiful.’ His words are more rasping growl, a uniquely masculine sound that’s like a flicked switch to my pleasure centres. Or maybe a flicked clit as my body bucks at the first brush of that sensitive bundle of nerves, causing a surge of swirling electricity beneath my skin.
‘Archer, please!’ I twist my head, met by his savage kiss, a kiss that feeds on my need as his fingers continue to thrust and glide, playing my body like it belongs to him.
I cry out—words of nonsense and need as, in one fluid moment, Archer drops to his knees, pressing his mouth between my legs.
I would never—I can’t. Oh, God, I never want this to end.
‘That’s it, sweetheart,’ he growls, ‘ride my fucking face.’
My palms pressed to the mirror I begin to come apart. Little by little. Lick by lick. Kiss by kiss.
Just when I think I can’t take any more, he twists me, the cold glass not quite as shocking as the way his dark gaze flicks across my body, owning every inch of me. He bends forward, placing a reverent kiss on the dainty triangle of hair between my legs. Another, then another, as he works his way to my centre where he kisses me as he would my mouth, every press of his lips and swipe of his tongue driving me to that unseen edge.
‘You’re so fucking delicious,’ he growls as his tongue solidly strokes, opening me, his whole mouth licking, sucking, devouring. ‘You’re going to come for me, sweetheart.’
‘I’ve never . . .’ I’ve never ever done this kind of stuff. Felt this kind of ecstasy from a man’s touch.
‘Sweetheart, you’re almost there.’
‘But—’
‘It’s mine. And you’re going to give it to me.’
Oh, God. Commanding Archer Powell is so sexy. That voice and those masculine grunts and growls, it’s like I’m the best flavour ever, the vibrations of his enjoyment adding another layer to my ecstasy.
‘Archer, oh. . . oh yes!’
My back arches from the mirror as I anchor my hands in his hair. I’ve never known a sensation like this, which is just as well because I’m certain this is how addictions begin.
I’m close—so close—the noises I make raw and beseeching. I’m panting and crying and chanting his name as it all becomes too much, as I struggle to break free from his hold, he continues to work me with mercilessly with his tongue, the sudden thrust of his fingers pushing me violently over the edge. As an encore, he groans into the very core of
me, effectively killing me.
Yes, killing me.
I am dead.
And I’m pressed against the mirror.
And I’m not sure I’ll ever function as a human again, not as his palm presses to my thigh as he pulls back to look at me. His lips and chin shine in the low light making everything twitch inside me.
‘Y. You. Look very pleased with yourself.’ I think I say. I’m pretty sure those were the signals my brain sent to my mouth. Oh, God, the way he’s looking at me, maybe I asked him to do that again.
He rolls his bottom lip inward, the light in his eyes nothing but wickedness.
‘Is that your idea of a compliment?’
I nod. I feel like my gaze should have one of those signs they have on buses.
NOT IN SERVICE.
‘Good. Because we’re not finished yet.’
I’m not quite sure how I make it from the mirror to the bed, but the next thing, I’m looking up at him as he pulls the wallet from his back pocket. He flips a foil square to the mattress, dropping his wallet to the nightstand.
‘You came prepared.’ My voice is hoarse, like I’ve been running.
‘Your observation sounds like a complaint.’
I shake my head. It’s almost like I don’t have a quip or a retort left in me.
‘Now I know how all of our arguments will end.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, now I know the key to making you submit.’
‘In your dreams,’ I say with the kind of somnolence that speaks of bedtimes. The sleepy kind.
‘You have been.’
An aftershock runs through me, a live line bringing me awake.
‘What? Have you? Dreamt about me?’ Like I’ve dreamed about you?
‘Eyes closed and eyes open.’ He shakes his head bringing my attention to the messy thatch of his dark hair. His jaw clenches as he reaches for his belt, throwing the angles of his cheekbones into sharp relief . . . and bringing my attention to the bulge right there.
‘Does it hurt? When you’re hard like that?’
He nods, his eyes closing tight, swallowing as he answers. ‘It’s a good kind of hurt.’
‘Can I . . .’ Pushing up onto my elbows, I bite my lip but can’t keep from saying the words. ‘Can I touch it?’
In answer, he makes quick work of the rest of his clothes until, one knee on the mattress, he looms above me, his cock jutting out from his abs, hard and wet tipped, veins standing proud. It’s not the first penis I’ve seen, but I’ve never seen one in so candid a setting. I’ve never asked to have one made available to my inspection or touch.
I feel like I shouldn’t tell him his is the most beautiful, even if it definitely is.
I also feel like I shouldn’t tell him it’s the biggest I’ve ever come across.
Not that I’ve come across any.
In a fit of daring, I push up onto my knees, pressing him back against the mattress to better explore the silken length of him, making him smile like a man who knows he’s in for a treat as he moves himself up the bed, sliding his hand under his head.
I trail a finger over the thick ridge of his crown, then explore the solid weight of him, the expanse of his girth. I curl my forefinger and thumb to experience the satin feel of him.
‘Like that?’ I whisper.
The muscles in his thighs tighten as I take his shaft in my hand.
‘Harder.’ His voice has a thickness to it, like he’s choking something back.
I lick my lips and lower them for the briefest of kisses to his crown. At least, that was the plan, but as Archer’s head falls back, I find myself opening wider and going down . . . my hum a counterpoint to his hiss.
‘That’s good. That’s so fucking good.’
I notice his hands ball into tense fists as I repeat the action, tightening my lips at his crown, hollowing my mouth for a slow return.
‘Sweetheart.’ The endearment is more plea for mercy as he reaches for me, pulling my body flush with his as he shoots me a swift but wicked smile. ‘I need to be inside you.’ I taste myself in our kisses, hurried and sloppy as we fight to get the condom on him, unable to unlock our mouths as though we can’t bear the lack of connection.
He presses his hand to my shoulder, moving me onto my back, veins popping and muscle sinew standing to attention as he pushes his hand next to my head to take his weight. It feels so good, the solid masculine weight of him. The rapture on his face as his cock slides through my heat, some unseen force driving me to widen my legs for him, the intrusion when it comes, so slick and so sublime.
‘Oh, God, you’re so big.’ My hands grasp his shoulders as though to hang on to the sensation.
‘We’re a perfect fit.’
But I don’t answer, unless you count my sigh as he draws back, filling me again, his gaze hooded as he watches me, his body more or less planked over me until he pulls back, his expression fierce as he flicks the tip of his tongue across both nipples in turn before taking them into his mouth.
‘I’ve been dying to do that all day. Those cherry tits have been driving me to distraction.’
Oh. My. God. Who knew it could be like this? Why didn’t anyone ever tell me words could cause this sort of thrill, as his next words are punctuated by a deep thrust of his hips.
‘You’re so tight.’
‘Your pussy feels like velvet.’
‘Every inch of you was made for my touch.’
My sighs turn to whimpers and my whimpers turn to cries, cries that become louder and more desperate as he picks up the pace, sliding from base to tip, alternating between shallow movements; small jabs and punches of his hips.
I love it. And I can’t believe I’ve been missing out on this. Could it be that every one of our senses was designed for sex? To taste the musk of your own sex from the mouth of a lover, to lick the salt from their skin. To bury your nose in the hollow of their neck to breathe their essence in. To see desire in a dark gaze and the ripple of pleasure against skin. To bear witness to sighs of desire and the vigorous creaks of hotel beds. To touch the heart to another, to feel them at the very centre of you.
Archers arms suddenly engulf me, pulling our bodies closer, like he can’t feel enough, our skins slick against the other, our fingers desperate to touch
‘I want to bury myself inside you,’ he whispers, burying his face in my neck.
Everything inside me draws tight, my spine arching from the bed as I throw my head back. I want to watch, want to see his face and his movements, see the slick slide of him as he disappears inside me. But I can do none of this as he begins to fuck me solidly. Fuck me with power and intent, his whispers guttural and making little sense.
‘Archer, ohgodohgodohgod. I’m—’
I’m chanting. Quite possibly losing my mind too, as fluttering turns to pulsing, pulsing to something else. I know I’m not making any sense, not as I try to process the pleasure vibrating through me. I come, white bursts of heat and brilliant light shooting through me. My last conscious though is that every thought I’ve ever had about myself was wrong.
16
Heather
The world swims back into focus.
‘No more. I’m done.’ Limbs askew, I try to reassemble them though they feel like they no longer belong to me.
‘You don’t really mean it.’ Archer’s face appears in the periphery of my vision, his head swooping down, his lips catching mine before throwing himself down on the mattress beside me with such force, it makes me bounce.
‘I do. Well, for at least a little while. ‘You can’t really be ready to go again, can you?’ I raise my head—about the only part of me that I’m able to move, only to find his palm in my face as he pushes me back down.
‘Pervert. Stop trying to get a look at my junk.’
‘I was not!’ I reply indignantly. ‘Well, not for perverted reasons. Anyway, I had more than my eyes on it twenty minutes ago. I didn’t hear you complain then. Though you did make quite a bit of
noise.’
Archer sets off laughing, the sound of it clear and free and doing wonderful things to my stomach, filling it with fluttery butterflies. Or maybe that’s hunger. Rampant sex certainly seems to build up an appetite. I wonder if there’s any cheese left from the room service platter?
‘Are you suggesting I should apologise for enjoying myself?’
‘No. It was quite good for my ego.’ I bite my lip, but it doesn’t help keep in my giggle.
‘Listen to yourself,’ he drawls, ruffling a hand through his sex-messy hair. ‘Fishing for compliments.’
‘Ha! As if. The noises you made were praise enough. I can’t help it if it’s gone to my head. I think it’s the first time I’ve ever done it properly. You know, all the way to the finish line. I surprised myself.’ If nothing else, I was surprised by the strength of my desire to see him come for me, for him to come at the order of my hand and mouth. ‘And while swallowing wasn’t exactly the same as downing a cupcake, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant, sort of brackish and earthy, it was a lot better than the juice cleanse Vee, my friend, tried to get me to stick to last year.’
I sometimes say the wrong thing, it’s part and parcel of having ADHD. Sometimes I say really stupid things, but I think that’s just part of being me. Right now, as this silence descends, extends, I’m trying to work out which one this is.
But then Archer shakes his head as though trying to rattle something out of his ear.
‘Whatever you just said, I heard you love giving me blowjobs.’
‘Well, it didn’t feel like a trip to the dentist.’
‘You know your dentist isn’t supposed to stick his cock in your mouth, right?’ He stares down at me, his smile provocative, those blue eyes of his so very bold.
‘Har-har.’
‘I knew it would be like this between us, you know. It would be sheet tearing, limb flailing, and loud enough to wake the people in the next room.’
‘I hope we haven’t,’ I say, trying to lift my head again. ‘Besides, I think the sheets have just loosened from their hospital corners.’ At least, I hope so. I don’t want to pay for damage to the linen. As I glance down at the sheets, my psyche seems to suddenly realise I’m naked and lying on the bed with Archer Powell, and there are more lights on now than when we started this hours ago—hours ago. The shocking and sudden awareness makes me reach for the loose corner with my feet, dragging it up my calf.