Blade (Archer's Creek Book 3)

by Gemma Weir

Arousal pools in my stomach, but I fight the urge to look at him. Instead, I close my eyes and try to fight my body’s reaction to him. I hear his soft chuckle and feel the barely there touch of his hand across my back as he walks past me. Blowing out a breath, I open my eyes and slowly turn to watch him move around my kitchen. “You need to leave,” I say, my voice weak.

  “Why? You expecting someone?” He asks, with an edge to his voice that I don’t recognize.

  “No.”

  He pauses in front of the stove. “Then why are you cooking enough pasta to feed ten?”

  “I like to cook. I’ll freeze what I don’t eat,” I snap at him, frustrated I need to explain myself.

  “You like to cook?” he says, repeating my words.

  “Yes,” I say tersely.

  Cam’s eyes lock on mine and I feel captured. “Well that’s real good, Duchess, ‘cause I love to eat.”

  Shaking myself from my reverie I look at him in question. “What? No.”

  “I’d love to stay for dinner, sweetheart. This all smells amazing,” Cam says with a smirk, as he walks past me and grabs himself a beer from my refrigerator.

  I groan. “Cam, I haven’t invited you to stay for dinner. I don’t want you here and I definitely don’t want you to eat with me.”

  “Awww, Duchess. It’s okay to admit you made enough for me, hoping that I’d come,” Cam says, winking at me playfully.

  I scowl and place my hands on my hips. “If I call the cops, will you leave?”

  He laughs and pulls himself up onto one of the stools at my breakfast bar. “Nope and we both know you’re not gonna call the cops.”

  Huffing, I turn my back on him and continue chopping the veggies, the knife hitting the chopping board each time with an angry thud. I twist to look at him, pointing the knife in his direction. “What do I need to say to get you to leave? Are you hoping for more deep, dark secrets? Because I’m sorry to disappoint but you already know all the skeletons in my closet.”

  “You don’t want me to go.”

  I widen my eyes and nod my head vigorously “Yes, I do.”

  Cam eyes are heavy and smoldering with lust. “No, Duchess, you don’t, and if you need me to prove how much you enjoy having me here, then I’m happy to come over there and see how wet your panties are.”

  Rubbing my thighs together, I try to stop my sex from fluttering at his words, because he’s right, since he walked through the door, my panties have gone from dry to soaking wet. With my teeth clenched, I turn away from him and carry on cooking.

  Stifling the laugh that’s desperate to get out, I keep my mouth shut, drink my beer and watch Nikki move around the kitchen. I have no fucking clue why I’m here. It’s bad enough that I crawled into her bed in the middle of the night, last night, but I have absolutely no excuse for turning up at 7pm.

  All day while I was riding between the sites we’re running security on, my mind has been consumed by her. The way her body had fit perfectly into mine, the way her insane ass had rubbed against my cock all night. My thoughts have been all Nikki for the last eight hours and even though I know I should have just gone back to the clubhouse and got one of the girls to suck my rock-hard cock, instead I turned my bike toward Chestnut Grove and let myself into her house again.

  My Duchess is the best kind of torture. I want her, she wants me, but at the same time we seriously piss each other off. Since she told me her secret, she’s toned down the evil hellcat attitude, but she’s still bitchy and mean. Fifty percent of the time, I wish she would just shut the fuck up, so I could take in how sexy as hell she is, without having to hear all the bullshit that comes out of her mouth. The other fifty percent of the time, I deliberately piss her off just to see how gloriously angry she gets. My Duchess is at her sexiest when she’s spitting feathers and stamping her feet.

  I’d expected her to freak the hell out when she found me in her bed this morning, and she had. When I’d stripped down to my boxers and climbed beneath her sheets, I knew there was a good chance she’d kill me, but I couldn’t resist, and when I’d woken up, the way she looked had made the risk more than worthwhile. Her hair had been messy and rumpled, and she hadn’t been wearing a scrap of makeup. For the first time ever, I swear my cold, dead heart skipped a fucking beat. She’s bewitched me and I just had to touch her.

  I consider myself a pussy connoisseur. I’ve seen, touched and tasted a hell of a lot of vagina and nothing, nothing, has ever compared to the way Nikki looks, feels and tastes. The moment my hands connected with her skin, she’d melted in my arms, and I’d just had to taste her. The noises she’d made as I licked, kissed, and fucked her with my tongue and my fingers will be engrained onto my soul for the rest of eternity. I swear if I had to pick just one thing to do everyday for the rest of my existence then I’d pick that.

  Nikki might portray a brazenly confident image to the outside world, but this morning, before she had a chance to paint on the armor she uses to protect herself, she was real, honest, and absolute utter perfection. As I’d pushed her closer and closer to release, her back had arched off the bed and her tits had been thrust upward, as she pushed her pussy closer to my mouth. Her breath caught right before she exploded into orgasm and that millisecond before she came, her mouth parted and a silent gasp came from her lips. When I pushed her over the edge, I could taste the sweetness of her orgasm on my tongue and it was fucking delicious.

  My mouth waters at the memory of her taste and my eyes don’t leave her as she chops, stirs, and tastes the meal she’s making. It’s only a matter of time until she figures out that I took her spare key and when she does, she’ll probably change the locks; but I don’t regret letting myself into her home tonight. I’ve never craved the house, wife, and two-point-four kids, but for a split-second when I opened her front door and saw her cooking in the kitchen, a sudden desire for all those things had risen in my chest. For a moment I’d wished she was mine, and that this was our life, a life where I came home to her every night and woke up with her every morning.

  Finishing my beer, I grab another two from the refrigerator and place one in front of her, lifting her empty one out of the way and dropping it into the trash. Nikki watches me beneath her lashes, like she doesn’t want me to know she’s watching, and when our eyes meet, she scowls and turns back to the pan of creamy sauce. Neither of us speaks, but the silence isn’t awkward, just filled with an edge of tension and anticipation as I watch her cook and she pretends not to watch me.

  “Can I do anything to help?”

  “What?” Nikki asks, looking over her shoulder at me, obviously surprised that I’ve broken the silence.

  I laugh at the incredulity in her voice, like she’s shocked I offered. “I asked if I could do anything to help.”

  “Oh,” she says her voice high-pitched. “Err, you could maybe lay the table.”

  I chuckle and slide off the stool. “Sure, where are we eating?”

  “Do you want to eat outside?”

  “Perfect, point me in the direction of silverware and I’ll get everything setup for us.”

  Her mouth falls open slightly, but she quickly closes it and nods. “Okay, er, thanks. Silverware is in the top drawer, placemats and napkins in the one below,” she says pointing to some drawers.

  Sliding off the stool, I gather everything and walk out of her French doors and onto the small covered patio. I lay the table and then light the candles she has in hurricane lamps dotted across the space. When I walk back into the kitchen she’s just lifting the plates of pasta. “Here, let me take those,” I say, lifting the plates from her hands.

  Her eyes narrow at me suspiciously “Ok, err, thanks,” she says, grabbing a bowl of salad and another full of garlic bread.

  Motioning for her to lead the way, I follow her onto the patio again, my eyes locked on her ass the entire way. She places the salad and bread on the table and then slides into her chair. I place one plate of pasta on each place setting and then grab our beers from the kitchen before
returning to the patio and sitting down.

  She’s watching me, her brow furrowed, like she has no idea what to do with me. The expression is so fucking cute on her that I want to laugh, but I swallow it, and instead dig into the food. The creamy rich flavor hits my tongue and I groan in pleasure. “Fuck me, woman. This is amazing.”

  Nikki shrugs and stabs a piece of pasta, lifting it to her mouth. Her eyes fall closed for the briefest moment as she savors the taste and instead of shoveling more of the delicious food into my mouth all I can think about is tasting her. I eat quickly. The pasta is incredible but sitting opposite Nikki I barely taste it. All my attention is on her. On the way she licks the sauce from her lips, the barely audible sighs she keeps making, and the heated look in her eyes she keeps giving me when she thinks I’m not looking.

  This is the sweetest torture. My cock is rock hard and my hands itch to reach over the table and pull her to me, but I don’t. Instead, I force myself to stay nonchalant until she rolls the last piece of pasta around her fork and then lifts it to her mouth. I hold my breath when her pink tongue bobs out and wraps around the fork, then I wait impatiently as she chews and swallows. Time stands still, and it feels like an eternity until she places her silverware onto her plate and drops her napkin on top.

  I don’t realize I’m moving, my actions guided solely by need and lust. I pull her from her seat into my arms and then onto my lap as I move us from the table to the plush cushioned couch on the other side of the patio.

  I swallow her squeal of surprise when I kiss her. Her tiny hands push at my shoulders once, twice, and then instead of pushing me away, her hands are holding me closer and her tongue is in my mouth. She rips her mouth from mine and pushes me until I’m lying on my back against the cushions and she’s sitting on top of me.

  “I still don’t like you,” she says as she pulls her shirt over her head.

  Smirking, I go to work unzipping my jeans. “I don’t like you either, Duchess.” Those are the last words either of us says for the rest of the night.

  How did this happen?

  My eyes are wide and unblinking as I stare at my bedroom ceiling above my head. Cam’s heavy arm is draped across my waist and his body is curled around mine. Almost every inch of him is touching me in some way and even though I know how we ended up in this position, I still feel a little shell-shocked.

  The last sensible thought I had last night was picking ingredients from the refrigerator for dinner. The moment he opened my front door and let himself into my house I swear all common sense leaked from my brain, and now I’m here. Naked. In bed with Cam. Again.

  I should be appalled with myself. I had sex, several times, with a man I don’t like. But the truth is, I’m not sure I still feel that way about him. The first few times I met him, he was a total asshole, but there have been times in the last week, where he has been sweet and surprisingly endearing.

  Looking down at his arm wrapped around me, I remember the way he touched me last night. At first lust had driven us to be frantic and desperate, but after the first race to release we had become slow and indulgent. I had feasted on his body and he had made love to me, worshipping me and pushing me to heights of pleasure I never knew existed.

  Last night he’d pulled me onto his lap, wrapped my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck. He’d fucked me slow, all the while staring into my eyes and telling me how perfect I was, how amazing I felt, how nothing had ever been as good as when it was with me, calling me His Duchess.

  His.

  For the first time ever, sex had felt like more than a release. I’d felt connected to him on more than a physical level and I have absolutely no idea what to do with that. My first instinct when I woke up wrapped in his arms, was to kick him out again, but when I’d thought about moving, something had stopped me and instead I’d sunk further into his embrace.

  Turning over to face him, I take in his sleeping features. His hair is greying; his skin is tan, and although not wrinkled, he’s definitely showing signs of middle-age. I don’t even know how old he is. Yes, I’ve poked fun at him for being an old man, but we’ve never had a serious conversation where I could have asked him his age.

  I’ve had sex more times with him than any other man and yet we’ve only had a couple of actual conversations. Yet, I feel profoundly comfortable with him. He makes me feel safe, which considering he’s confessed that he used to kill people for a living, is incredibly ironic. There’s no happy medium with Cam. I’m either kissing him or screaming at him, but nothing inbetween and I have no idea what that means.

  Cam’s hand tightens around my hip and he pulls me closer into his chest. “Morning, Duchess,” he rumbles, his voice full of sleep.

  “Hi.”

  A throaty laugh erupts from him and his hand caresses from my hip upward and then around my back. “You gonna kick me out?”

  I stay silent, trying to figure out the answer to his question. Should I kick him out? Absolutely. Do I want to? Honestly, I’m not sure.

  His brown eyes open and there’s an emotion so clear in them, that it’s practically sparkling, but I don’t understand what it is. “I gotta go soon anyway, but I need something from you first, baby.”

  “What?” I ask quietly.

  His fingers stroke up and down my spine as he speaks. “I need you to come kiss me, and then if you want me to go, I’ll climb my ass out of this bed and get out of your way.”

  I sigh in relief. I don’t know if I’m relieved he might leave, or that he wants me to kiss him, but either way his words loosen the knot that had formed in my stomach. Lifting my chin, I place my lips on his and rest my hands against his chest. His mouth lowers to meet mine and we kiss. It’s slow and sensual and by the time we part I feel ravished and owned. I can feel his hard length pressing against my stomach and I want him inside of me. I want him to own my body, the way he just took my mouth.

  “Fuck me,” I whisper against his lips.

  He kisses me hard, his hand cupping my cheek and holding me to him. “Roll onto your stomach.”

  Reluctantly I pry myself away from his lips and roll onto my stomach. Firm hands lift my hips into the air and then his hot tongue probes at my sex. “Oh God,” I groan, as he replaces his tongue with two long fingers, sliding them inside of me while his tongue torments my clit, lapping back and forth across the sensitive bud.

  His fingers slide in and out of me in long, firm thrusts, stretching me and triggering pleasure to build. I can feel how wet I am. My arousal is running along the inside of my thigh with every push of his fingers. “Now, Cam, please,” I beg and his movements still.

  “You want my cock, Duchess?”

  “Yes,” I cry, my voice a breathy gasp.

  “Too tempting, Duchess. You’re just too fucking tempting,” he rasps, as he slams his cock into me.

  The first thrust triggers a jolt of tingling sensation and my sex flutters and grips Cam’s cock tightly inside of me. His guttural groan only heightens my pleasure and I ride the wave of bliss as he slides into me again and again.

  His fingers stroke up and down my spine while his other hand holds my hip tight, guiding me harder onto his length. The tingling changes into a cacophony of bright light and white noise when an orgasm splinters inside of me.

  “Fuck,” Cam gasps, folding over me, his warm breath on the back of my neck. “Fuck, Nikki, I love this. You feel so… Oh God… so good. Your pussy is mine, never gonna want anyone but you, never want anything but this.”

  His panted words make me flush with pleasure. This man drives me to a level of ecstasy I didn’t even know existed and when he slams into me one last time, I hear his loud moan of rapture as he comes. Falling forward he rolls us to the side, his cock still buried deep inside of me, his arms pulling me tightly into him, my back to his chest.

  The room is silent except for the ragged sounds of our panting breaths and the almost audible beating of my racing heart. His touch makes me stupid, that’s the only rational way of
explaining why I become a wanton, lust-frenzied idiot, when he’s around me. I know why a man like Cam isn’t for me, but right at this moment, with my body still filled with lust and post-orgasmic bliss, I can’t think of a single reason why I should tell him to get out of my bed.

  Neither of us speaks for the next hour, but we stay tangled in each other’s arms, his cock still inside of me. Eventually he sighs, and the sound hurts my heart. His arms loosen their grip and even though I know he needs to leave, I don’t want him to let me go. His cock slides from me and I feel the burn of tears build in my chest. I don’t turn to watch him get dressed. If I do, I’ll either tell him to never come back, or beg him to stay, and right now I don’t know which would be worse.

  The mattress depresses behind me and Cam’s warm fingers brush the hair away from my cheek. “See you later, my Duchess,” he whispers, before dropping a feather-light kiss against my cheek.

  For a long second, I don’t react, frozen to the bed, unsure what I need to do. My body trembles, cold without his touch and I quickly roll over, suddenly desperate for him to stay, but he’s gone, and like always I’m alone.

  Why is it that when you don’t want time to pass, it seems to fly by, but when you’re counting down the minutes, each second seems to take an hour?

  Last night was different. The way we touched was different, the way we kissed was different, and I never once thought about pissing her off just to see her reaction. This morning had been different too, or at least I thought it had. She’d wanted me and she’d asked me to fuck her, but the moment we’d collapsed into a sweaty pile on the bed, I’d felt her retreat.

  I left her house this morning and decided that no matter how much I wanted her, no matter how much I enjoyed her reactions to me, I wouldn’t go back. I’m not looking for an old lady, and Nikki already feels like more than sex.

  I thought staying away would be better for me, for us both. Seems I was wrong. It took me until 4am to realize that in her bed, her arms, her body, there’s a peace I haven’t felt in years. I like being around her. I like pissing her off. I like fucking her. I like… her.