6:08 p.m.

 

Day One

 

Jo sighed and wrapped her arms around her legs, resting her chin on her knees. She stared straight ahead, squinting her eyes as a strong breeze washed over her.

They were on the famous Mulholland Drive, at the Universal City Overlook. It was a good twenty or so minutes from home, but it was probably her favorite spot in the whole world. And Archer had known that, so he'd taken her there. Without asking, even. Had just driven straight to it without a word, parked, then walked way from his bike, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

She liked that spot, liked looking out at all the twinkly lights. When she'd been growing up, that had been her dream. For Archer Calhoun to fall in love with her, and then they would run away to the big city together. She'd get some fabulous, yet easy, job working for a production company. He'd be all sexy and successful in a minor sports league. They'd make enough money to be comfortable, but not enough to turn them into douchebags. They'd vacation in Mexico, and post annoying selfies from Malibu.

But she'd never made it. In fact, by moving to Van Nuys, she'd gotten farther away from her dream. The closest she ever came was the occasional club night, and only ever at some of the least reputable clubs. The last couple years, she'd completely forgotten about her dream. Archer had never shown any real interest in her, and she made nowhere near enough money to move downtown. L.A. was a lost cause.

It should have depressed her, looking at something she could never have, but it didn't. It was beautiful, and she'd always appreciated beautiful things. Looking at the cityscape while sitting next to Archer actually reminded her that maybe, just maybe, some dreams weren't so far away. Maybe she just had to look at them from a different angle.

Compromise. Life is about compromises.

“I can't go home,” she whispered, her eyes locking onto a large apartment building. She wondered what the people inside were doing, if they had any problems half as serious as hers.

“No, home would be a bad idea right now,” he agreed.

“Okay,” she shook her head, clearing out the bad thoughts. “So let's go over what we know – the body in my trunk is Bernard Krakow. He's been watching me for like two weeks.”

“He orchestrated you going to that club last night, he wanted you there,” Archer added.

“Yeah. They said he'd been 'sent' to watch me – so someone else told him to come after me,” she continued.

“Yes. And now they know where you live.”

“I can't go home, and I can't go to the club, and you can't go home, and ...” she let her voice trail off.

“And ...” he tried to contribute and failed.

“Fuck, Archer. We still haven't learned anything!” she snapped, slamming her fist into the ground. “Other than a name. Bernard Krakow – which means nothing to me. So we're no better off than we were this morning.”

“That's not true,” he argued, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and forcing her to lean into his side. “We know your boss is willing to sell you out at the slightest hint of trouble. We know bad guys are chasing you. We know Krakow's been stalking you, and best of all – we know where he lives.”

“Used to live,” she chuckled, then was immediately embarrassed at her dark humor. “Oh god, I'm sorry. Jesus, I'm going to hell.”

“No, you're right. They've probably figured out by now he's most likely dead, so they know he won't be going back to his apartment. He certainly won't be going back to his apartment, soooo ….”

The puzzle pieces lined up and she gasped.

“So there's an empty apartment sitting on Ventura Boulevard that no one will be checking out,” she finished.

“Exactly.”

“Maybe,” she started to get excited and she moved to kneel next to him. “Maybe he has like a laptop, or a computer, or whatever … notes, I don't know. Maybe we can find out what the fuck this has to do with me!”

“Yeah, maybe. We should get going. We'll get there and we can hole up – take showers, order food. We've been moving all day, we can take a break. Make a plan,” he suggested.

“Yes, please, that would be amazing.”

They got back onto his bike and as he revved the engine, she took one last look at her happy spot. At the Los Angeles skyline. She may have been nothing more than strip mall trash, but she still felt like she belonged down there.

Some day. Some day, it'll happen.

At the best of times, Archer drove like a prison inmate late for a conjugal visit, that's why she rarely ever rode with him. On that night, he was even more maniacal than usual, though admittedly, it was for a good reason. Jo squeezed her eyes shut tight, prayed to every god she could think of, and held on for dear life.

Google directed them to a small nondescript apartment building on a hill. After they'd stashed the bike down the street, Jo started to get nervous again. What if the bad guys were waiting? What if his building had a doorman? Or a secure door? How would they get inside?

Archer solved the problem by pulling out a ring of keys when they got to the unmanned door. She stared in awe as he tested several keys before finding one that let them into the building.

“How did you do that?” she whispered, following him inside.

“When I got his wallet this morning,” he replied in hushed tones as they hurried into an elevator. “I found the keys in his jacket pocket. Thought they might come in handy, so I took them.”

Mr. Bernard Krakow lived at the very top of the building, his apartment taking up the entire floor. It certainly wasn't the nicest, ritziest place in the Los Angeles area, but it still couldn't have been cheap. The penthouse in any building meant top dollar, and when Archer let them into the apartment and Jo saw the view, she knew why Bernard had chosen to live there.

“Wow,” she breathed, walking up to floor-to-ceiling windows and pressing against them. There was a pretty good view of the neighborhoods sitting below them.

“I'm fucking starving,” Archer groaned, shutting the door and bolt locking it. “I'll look around the place – you go find something to munch on.”

A wide galley style kitchen sat off the living room and Jo was slow as she walked through it. Everything was very nice and very clean, but looked like it had come straight out of the 1980s. When she glanced back into the living room, she saw a white leather sofa and a gold standing lamp, all courtesy of the decade that brought the world Cyndi Lauper and parachute pants. Apparently, Mr. Krakow spent all his money on rent, but not on redecorating. In fact, if she had to guess, she'd say he must have moved in fairly recently. There were no personal touches about the apartment, and the furniture looked beyond old.

She sighed and started pulling open cupboards, but she was surprised to find almost nothing. A couple cans of cream-of-chicken soup, some dry pasta, and an expired box of pop tarts were the best his kitchen had to offer. The fridge had a case of beer and moldy cheese in it. There were dirty dishes in the dishwasher, but no indication of how they'd gotten dirty. Bernard Krakow didn't seem to have any groceries.

There was a door in the back wall that she'd assumed was a broom closet, but when she opened it, she found a pantry. The light from above the stove showed her a couple bags of off brand cereal, but it was too dark to see anything else. She stepped inside and patted the walls for a light switch, but found nothing. Another step and something hit her in the face. She swung her hands wildly in front of her and smacked what felt like a string, batting it away from her head.

Probably a pull cord for a light – this is the apartment time forgot, after all.

She stuck her arms out straight and waved them around, hoping to connect with the cord again. Instead, her hands connected with something else, knocking it off a shelf. A pouch of sorts hit her on top of her head and virtually exploded. Suddenly, she was surrounded in a cloud of dust. She yelped and coughed and gagged on something dry in her mouth. She back pedaled out of the pantry, rammed into the door jam, ricocheted into the fridge, then stumbled into the living room.

“What? What!?” Archer yelled, and she could hear him running from another room.

“Oh my god!” she screamed, looking down at her hands. They were covered in a white powder. The same white powder that was now covering her face and coating the inside of her mouth.

“Jesus,” Archer exclaimed, coming to a stop in front of her. “What happened to you?”

“Oh my god, is this coke?” she yelled, holding up her hands. “This is coke! Oh my god, I've never done this drug! I inhaled, Archer! I INHALED!”

“Just calm do-”

“This looks like a lot!” she started to panic. “Is this a lot? Did I just OD? Oh my god, am I ODing right now!? Call an ambulance, for fuck's sake, I'm an OD!”

“First of all, you're not ODing!” he shouted, reaching out and grabbing her hands. “Second of all, calm the fuck down and let me look at you!”

“How would you know?” she demanded, watching as he dragged a finger through the substance on her palm. “Have you ever ODed? It's happening. Holy shit, I can feel my heart in my nose. I'm having a heart attack. Archer, I think I'm having a heart attack!”

“Shut up,” he growled. As she watched, he stuck a white-tipped finger into his mouth.

“What are you doing?” she was shocked. He sucked on his finger for a bit, then he started laughing. Guffawing, really. Loud and hard.

“Jojo,” he gasped for air, pressing a hand to his stomach.

“I'm glad my possible overdose and eventual death are so hilarious!” she snapped.

“Baking soda,” he managed to choke out. “You're covered in baking soda.”

She blinked a couple times, then stuck her own finger in her mouth. She'd never tasted cocaine before, but she was pretty confident it didn't taste floury and bitter. Plus, in the movies, dudes were always rubbing coke on their gums and getting a rush. She didn't feel anything.

“Oh jesus,” she groaned, dropping her hands. Archer kept laughing.

“'I just ODed!'” he mocked her. “'I'm an OD!'”

“Shut up.”

They went back into the kitchen and she bee-lined for the sink, holding her face and hands under the faucet. When she'd cleaned the last of the baking ingredient out from under her fingernails, she turned the water off and moved back towards the pantry. Archer was standing in it with the light on, his head tilted up as he looked over all the shelves.

“Why does Bernard Krakow have a shit ton of baking soda?” he wondered out loud as she walked up next to him.

“He's a baking enthusiast?” she guessed, though it didn't seem likely. Literally every shelf in the pantry was lined with bags of baking soda.

“Sometimes,” Archer spoke slowly. “People use baking soda to cut cocaine.”

“They do?”

“Yeah. I mean, it's total garbage coke. Makes more product at a shitty quality which you can sell at the same price as the good stuff.”

“You can?”

“Sure you can – doesn't make it a good idea, though. Sell to the wrong person, and you'll wake up with a shotgun in your face. Still, it looks to me like that's what our buddy Bernard was doing.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, I found a huge package of cocaine in the bedroom. He's been fucking over his boss by cutting the pure stuff with baking soda, selling it, and keeping the difference,” Archer guessed.

“How do you know so much about this?” Jo asked, glancing up at him. He chuckled.

“A combination of shitty friends and the A&E show 'Intervention'. C'mon, you take a shower and I'll order pizza,” he offered, then he pushed her back out into the kitchen.

“No olives,” she insisted. “I think today of all days, I get to call the pizza shots.”

“You're a pizza Nazi,” he replied, but when she went to argue, he held up a hand. “But you have had a shitty day, so fine, no olives.”

Jo stood under the shower for a long time. Too long, the water started to turn cold before she got out. She felt kind of bad because it meant Archer wouldn't be getting any hot water, but once she'd stepped under the spray, she hadn't been able to move. She'd sat down on the floor and wrapped her arms around herself, her knees up to her chest, and had just let the shower beat down on her.

She couldn't wrap her brain around it. Twelve hours ago, she'd been sleeping off a hangover, oblivious to the entire world. Twenty-four hours ago, she'd been getting ready for an evening out with friends, pre-gaming in her kitchen. The same things she did every weekend, for pretty much the past four or five years.

In fact, nothing had changed in the past four or five years of her life. She worked all week so she could spend all her tips on the weekend. She went out with random guys all while pining over Archer, who – it turned out – had been pining over her for years, too.

I'm such an idiot.

That's what Jo felt like – stupid and young. Clueless and oblivious. She'd never been a big “goals” person, she hadn't been one of those kids in drama class or junior achievers or anything like that, but she'd had some pretty basic dreams. Get a solid job, meet a nice man. Get married some day, have some kids, all that jazz.

Is that asking so much?

Sure, she'd never done much in her life, but she hadn't done bad, either. How had she ended up in such a mess? What had she done to deserve any of this? She'd gone over and over it in her mind. Had she flirted too much with a customer? Had she invited the wrong person to a party?

No. The answer was no, none of those things. She was somewhat notorious at work for being a frigid bitch – hence why her tips weren't very good. And she didn't let strangers into her home, not even when Archer showed up at her parties with all his random construction buddies in tow. She made them party at his place.

So why the fuck had some drug dealing piece of shit been stalking her, on behalf of his evil bosses? And how had he ended up dead in her trunk?

“Think,” she growled to herself as she stomped into Bernard Krakow's walk-in closet. “Think, Jojo!”

She put on her underwear, then searched through his clothes. Mr. Krakow hadn't been a very large man, it seemed. She couldn't remember what he looked like standing up, but according to the inseam on his pants, he was a little shorter than her. She finally pulled on a large sweatshirt. It settled over the tops of her thighs as she padded out of the room.

Archer was taking his shower, so she wandered into the kitchen and found a large pizza. She put a couple slices on a plate, grabbed a beer out of the fridge, then stood in front of the windows for a while. She ate while she contemplated, balancing the beer on the back of a Barcalounger.

Maybe she was going about it the wrong way. She'd been trying to figure out what her role was in the whole thing, but she hadn't gotten anywhere. She'd had the thought before – she needed to start looking at it from a different angle. Who was Bernard Krakow, and more importantly, who did he work for? She knew she hadn't done anything wrong or illegal, so what the fuck had Krakow been up to?

After she finished her pizza, Jo went back into the bedroom. The shower was still going and she stared at the door for a second. Archer was inside, scrubbing and cleaning and wet and … naked.

Stop it. There's slightly more important things going on right now.

She found a laptop that was dead, so she plugged it in so they could investigate it later. Inside the closet, she stood back and once again looked over Krakow's clothes. He favored a practical look. Lots of dress shirts and pants, with pullovers and plain dress shoes. Muted colors – navy, forest green, brown. So much brown.

There is not one thing about this man that stands out in any way.

All his shoes were arranged by light to dark colors, and while shuffling around them, she stubbed her toe on something hard. When she knelt down, she found a small safe. She frowned as she picked it up. What was the point of a safe if someone could just pick it up and walk off with it? She poked and prodded at the combination lock while she carried it back into the bedroom.

“Wha'd you find?”

She looked up to find Archer standing at the foot of the bed. He was wearing a pair of briefs and was in the act of pulling on a t-shirt. She cleared her throat and walked around him so she could crawl onto the mattress.

“I don't know,” she finally replied, sitting with her back against the headboard and the safe between her legs. “I can't get it open.”

“Weird,” he mumbled, and she felt him stretch out next to her.

“What's weird?”

“He has a safe.”

“So? He's a drug dealer, he's paranoid. Makes sense to me,” she replied, glancing at him. He was staring at the fireproof metal box.

“Yeah, and I get all that, but if drugs and money aren't valuable enough to go in his safe, then it makes me really wonder what was worth enough to put in there,” Archer asked, then he pointed across her lap. She followed his finger and saw a large brown package on the nightstand. Several bands of duct tape went around the middle, but a small tear had been made in a corner and a pinch of white powder had fallen onto the table top.

Jo glared. A safe without anything valuable in it. A man who was as bland as dry toast. A dead body in her shitty car.

“Fuck this,” she growled, flipping the safe over. It tumbled to the floor with a loud thump. “I am so tired of not knowing what the hell is going on.”

“C'mon, Jojo,” Archer teased. “How is this different from any other time in your life?”

She snapped out her leg and kicked him in the side.

“Eat a dick, Archer.”

Before she could pull her leg back, though, he grabbed her ankle and held it in place. Then both his hands were on her feet, giving her a light massage.

They didn't say anything for a while. Archer leaned over her foot, digging his thumbs into her sore muscles. She bent towards him, her heavy brown hair falling over her shoulder. Eventually, he sighed and moved his hands, massaging her calves.

“You never wear your hair down,” he stated abruptly. She looked over at him.

“Excuse me?”

“Your hair,” he repeated himself, glancing up at her. “You always have it up in a ponytail. Even when you go out, it's like up in a knot or whatever. I didn't realize it was so long.”

Jo grabbed a hank of hair, holding it up in front of her face. It was still damp, just barely starting to dry. It would be awkwardly wavy and frizzy in the morning.

“I know. I always think I should cut it, but then I just can't bear to,” she explained.

“I like it. I mean, I like it long. Looks good on you.”

“Why, Archer Calhoun, was that a compliment?”

“Shut up, I compliment you all the time.”

“You say things like 'nice tits' or 'great ass' – sometimes it's nice just to hear something … nice,” she told him. He snorted, but he was smiling as his hands worked their way up and over her knee.

“Right after we graduated, when your brother knew he'd be moving away and I'd still be living down the street, he made me promise I wouldn't mess around with you,” he told her. She was a little surprised. No one had ever told her. Andy had never paid much attention to her, so it was kind of hard to fathom him being concerned about who was or wasn't “messing” with her.

“Why would he say that? I mean, you guys were friends,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, exactly – he knew how I was with chicks. Plus, you're his baby sister. He's a dick most of the time, but the way he talks about you, he thinks you're like a princess. No one was good enough for you, but especially not me.”

“Okay, I can't even process this,” she laughed. “Andy thought no one was good enough for me?”

“Yup.”

“And why especially not you? I mean, you were his best friend. He had to have thought of all people, you'd be good enough.”

“Because we were such good friends, he … I'm kind of a dick, too, Jojo. I make fucked up choices and do the wrong thing most of the time, and I'm just an idiot. Like us, for example. We've known each other forever, I've wanted to put the move on you for years, so what happens? I practically eat your face off at a rave.”

She burst out laughing, pulling her leg away from him as she bent over again. She pressed her hands to her face, trying to stifle her giggles.

“Practically,” she agreed when she got her laughter under control. “But I wasn't exactly complaining. I've wanted you for a lot longer, and I never had the balls, either.”

“It's not just about that,” he sighed, reaching out and stroking his finger over her toes.

“Then what's it about?” she asked.

“I agree with him. I think you can do better than me,” he said plainly. She lost her smile.

“Maybe I don't want better than you,” she countered.

“Hell of an argument, Jo.”

“I feel like I'm getting dumped,” she said. “And we aren't even dating.”

“You're not,” he assured her. “I don't know what we're doing, or what's gonna happen in the morning, and I just wanted to tell you ...”

He was still touching her foot, but he was staring absently across the room. Jo took the opportunity to study his face. He had almost two days worth of stubble, giving him a sexy, rugged look. He always kept his hair pretty short on the sides, but he'd let it get long on top, so the ends almost brushed his eyebrows. It gave him a sort of boyish look, the way the locks curled at the very tips. Paired with the naughty grin he was always flashing, he was almost impossible to resist.

From the neck up, his most defining feature was probably his eyes. She loved them because at first glance, they just looked light brown. But they were hazel, and upon closer inspection, they were always shifting and changing, depending on the light or his mood. That moment, they were an almondy color, with just a hint of green. His thick lashes made them pop out of his face – it really wasn't fair, she spent a fortune on mascara to get the same effect.

Jo could stare at him for hours, and felt like she had at different points in her life. At his amazing body and long legs. Those thick arms and broad shoulders. He was built like how she felt a man should be built, tall and strong and broad. A little dirty and a lot naughty. Perfection.

More than ever, though, now she was noticing the other parts of him. How thoughtful he was – stealing the newspaper from the shut-in down the hall so she could read the funnies every day. Bringing her lunch before she had to go to her evening shift. Fixing her internet whenever the router gave her attitude, and letting her come over whenever she wanted, day or night.

Like helping her. He'd just automatically trusted that she hadn't killed the guy in her trunk. And when she'd pushed him about it, he'd said he would bury the body for her. How could she have been such an idiot? Was there anyone she treated half as nicely? Was there anyone she would bury a body for?

Archer Calhoun, if you asked me to, I would dig a grave for you.

She leaned forward and kissed him, catching him off guard. He was motionless for a couple seconds, then his hand was on the back of her head, his fingers curling in her damp strands of hair.

“It's okay, Archer,” she whispered. “I like you, too.”

“That's not what I was going to say,” he whispered back, all while smoothing his free hand up her bare leg.

“Then what? What is it?” she asked, scooting closer to him and putting her hands on either side of his face.

“I don't know how to say this ...” he sighed. Jo felt like her heart was going to pound right out of her chest.

Holy shit, this is really happening. Be brave. Say it first.

“It's really okay,” she managed to say in a shaky voice. “I feel it, too. I think I've felt it for a while. I think … I think I'm in -”

Her sentence was cut off as he quickly kissed her again. It was different from the first kiss, much more aggressive. Breath taking. She gasped as his hand shot up her thigh, squeezing where it reached her crotch.

“You know,” he said as he started pulling at her sweater with his other hand. “You really do have nice tits.”

“I know, Archer. And a great ass,” she laughed, ducking her head and lifting her arms so the material could slide free of her body.

“How are those not nice things to say?” he asked, stretching out alongside her.

“They're great. Super. But you know what's even better?”

“What?”

“If you don't talk at all right now.”

As she ran her hands under his t-shirt, Jo wondered if she would ever get used to having such free reign to touch him. Not that she'd never touched his bare skin before – he had little to no shame when he was at home, he was always walking around bare chested or in his boxers. But it was different now. Actually running her hands over his skin and feeling it jump and react to her touch. It filled her with a sense of power.

“How did we go for so long without doing this?” she whispered, moving her hand up his chest and through the neck hole in his shirt, smoothing her way to his jaw. She tapped her nails against his bottom lip.

“Sheer will power,” he chuckled, then he nipped at her fingertips. She laughed and pulled her hands free of his clothing. “And a lot of cold showers.”

“This isn't right,” she moaned as he rolled them so she was laying on top of him. “We're in someone else's bed, it's been such a fucked up day. There's so much to do, and we're doing this.”

“Jojo, if you can think of anything else you'd rather be doing right now, please. Inform me.”

She wasn't given the chance, though. Before she could open her mouth to make some smart ass comment, he sat upright. She squealed and held onto his shoulders, almost toppling over backwards.

“I would get so mad at you.”

He was whispering, his voice close to her ear. Then he bit down on her earlobe and she gasped, digging her nails into his shoulder blades.

“Me? Why?”

“I knew what you were doing.”

“What was I doing?”

“When you slept with that guy after Thanksgiving,” he hissed, and he paid her back by dragging his own nails down the length of her back. “And the one guy from our softball team.”

“I ...” she couldn't properly respond as his nails went back up to her shoulders.

“So competitive,” he chuckled as he moved his teeth to her neck. “You wanted to show me how grown up you were. Wanted to make me jealous.”

“It's funny,” she was panting as he bit hard enough to leave a mark. “I never thought you noticed.”

“Oh, I noticed. And I'm not laughing.”

“No. Not laughing at all. You fucked anything with tits. Fair is fair, Archer.”

“It was different,” he sighed into her skin. “Completely different.”

“How?”

“You were doing it to get back at me. I was doing it to stay away from you.”

“But why -”

She gasped when he squeezed her breast, rolling her nipple between his fingers.

“They really are perfect. You have no idea how many times I've fantasized about this,” he told her, lowering his lips to her flesh.

“That makes two of us,” she panted, scratching her fingernails through his hair.

He was moving too slowly, almost methodically. It was driving her insane. While his tongue lapped at her areola, she started squirming around on his lap. Desperate for more speed, more friction, more everything.

“So pretty,” he breathed, moving to her other breast. She tugged at his hair.

“Archer,” she growled.

“What?”

“Let's make up for lost time.”

He laughed, but got her message loud and clear. She helped him pull off his pants and after she'd chucked them across the room, she watched as he took off his t-shirt. While he was still struggling to get the material over his head, and she reached out and stroked the tattoo on his side, the large tree.

“What does this mean?” she asked, lightly tickling his ribs. His skin jumped and flinched, making him chuckle as he pulled away from her.

“Something special,” was all he said as he gently pushed her onto her back and went about removing her underwear.

“I know everything about you, but I can't know about a tree tattoo?”

“You don't know everything.”

“I know a lot.”

“You do,” he whispered, kissing his way up her stomach. His stubble scratched against her skin, making her moan and hiss.

“So why can't I – whoa, fuuuuuuck,” she groaned, her eyes rolling back in her head and her back arching off the mattress. Two fingers. Without a word or a warning, he'd thrust two fingers inside her.

“Goddamn, Jojo,” he breathed, and she felt his lips against her neck. “I will never get tired of seeing you like this.”

“Never tired. Nope.”

“Writhing. Moaning. Wet. Needy.”

“Dying. I'm pretty sure I'm also dying.”

He laughed out loud, causing her to laugh, then her hand found its way to his dick and they were both groaning again. His forehead dropped to her breast bone as she began stroking him.

“Yeah,” he panted. “Dying sounds accurate.”

“How could you keep this from me for so long? So unfair,” she groaned, rolling her thumb over his sensitive tip.

“Grossly unfair,” he agreed, sucking air through his teeth. “I'm going to make up for it, right now.”

She moaned when he pulled his fingers away, then shrieked when he yanked her upright. He pulled her back into the position they'd been in before – both sitting upright, her on his lap with her legs around him. His erection stood up between them, drawing all her attention.

“You're so fucking beautiful,” she whispered, and he laughed again.

“Look at me.”

She lifted her head to stare at him, and didn't break eye contact as he wrapped an arm around her hips. Kept staring as he lifted her, and still managed to hold his gaze as he lowered her back onto his shaft. She struggled to catch her breath and even moaned as he slowly filled her, past the point of comfortable even, but she still didn't look away.

“If this … is a contest ...” she was so full with him, she felt dizzy. “I think I won.”

“Then I guess you'd better claim your prize.”

God, she loved being so close to him. She was a tall, somewhat gangly girl, but she felt small and delicate in his arms. They were also good enough friends that she didn't feel awkward or self-conscious, either. And thankfully, their ecstasy-induced bang session had done away with those pesky first-time-jitters.

Good. Because I could really use a stress reliever right now.

They moved in sync, one of Archer's hand on her hips, keeping her in time with his thrusts. She reached her arm out behind her, leaning back to grab the headboard so she could use it as leverage to push harder against him. He slid his free hand up her back, his fingers sliding around on her sweat slicked skin, then he scratched his way back down to her ass.

“Holy fuck, Jo,” he grunted through clenched teeth. “You're so … fuck, this is better than any dream. Any fantasy.”

“So much better,” she agreed, then she bit down on her bottom lip.

He was so deep inside her, so large, it was creating a paradox of mind blowing pleasure and an insane level of uncomfortable. Her nerve endings didn't know what to focus on, it was driving her body crazy. She felt like she was going to explode at any moment.

“I'm gonna fix everything, and then we are going to be doing this constantly,” he groaned, his head dropping back.

“All the time,” she agreed.

“You need to quit your job,”  he urged.

“Okay.”

“You're going to move in with me.”

“Alright.”

“I take care of you. You fuck my brains out.”

“Deal.”

“Fuck,” he swore when all her muscles contracted. “And we are definitely going to -”

“Archer,” she interrupted him with a whine. Her whole body was trembling and she couldn't keep up with his thrusts anymore. “I can't … I'm going to … you're going to make me ...”

She almost started choking when he abruptly stopped moving, leaving her impaled on him. Then he kissed her hard, his tongue taking over her mouth at the same time as he gently pushed her away from him. He wouldn't let her complain, just kept moving his tongue against hers as he urged them both onto their knees.

“Don't worry,” he whispered when he finally pulled away.

“Please,” she begged, her trembling turning into shaking. “Please, please, please, Archer.”

“I'm going to make you come so hard,” he promised, and she moaned at his words. “But first I'm going to do something I've dreamed about for years.”

She was in no position to argue. She couldn't even make coherent sentences. So when he started pushing her and moving her in a circle, she had no choice but to go along. Didn't say a word as he put both her hands against the headboard. Sighed when he swept his hands down her back, then moaned when he pulled her hips back towards him. Then a long, shuddering groan escaped her mouth when she felt him moving behind her, forcing his hard length into her from behind.

“Better,” she whispered, letting her head drop forward as he held still for a moment, his fingers digging into her hips so hard she was sure she'd have whole hand prints on her skin.

“The best,” he corrected her, and she chuckled.

He was gentle, at first. Really, he'd always been gentle with her, in all their interactions. So it didn't surprise her. But then he started picking up speed, his hips slamming against her ass. She cried out with each thrust, curling her fingers around the top of the headboard so hard, her knuckles turned white. When he slapped her on the ass, she gasped.

“Jesus, fuck, where has this guy been this whole time!?” she shouted, then she moaned when he gripped her hair and yanked back, forcing her to look straight up.

“Hiding – I didn't think you could handle him,” he growled, leaning over her back.

“I don't think I can, either,” she agreed, then she groaned again when she felt him biting into her shoulder.

“Jojo,” he grunted, letting go of her hair and letting his hand wander down her back.

“Yes. Yes, god, yes, anything, whatever you want, please,” she babbled, her whole body starting to shake again as his hand continued on a path over her hip and around to her front, slipping and sliding between her legs.

“I want you to come for me, and I want to know it's not because of drugs, or some fucking party, or some stupid fantasy. I want it to be only for me,” he told her, breathing hard. She nodded her head.

“Only you. It's only for you. Only ever you. So close, Archer. So close.”

“So close,” he whispered.

He pinched his fingers together and she burst apart at the seams. Screamed and pounded her hand against the wall. A second, larger wave of pleasure rolled over her and she was reduced to groans and grunts, collapsing her front half onto the pillows. She sobbed and yanked at the blankets around her, unable to handle all the sensations running through her body. Every nerve ending was firing because of her tsunami sized climax, and she couldn't catch her breath. Archer's dick was pounding her inside out. He hadn't slowed down at all for her, had fucked her straight through her orgasm.

“Goddamn, that was spectacular,” he grunted from behind her.

“So … good,” she managed to pant, then groaned when he slapped her on the butt again.

“Such a perfect ass,” he whispered, petting his hand over a cheek before slapping it again.

“Perfect,” she agreed, still not quite sure what planet she was on, let alone what he was saying.

“Fuck, Jo, you're too much … I can't … fuck, I'm gonna come.”

Her ass was stinging, her hips were throbbing, and she was pretty sure her pussy was broken. It certainly wouldn't be any good for any other men, ever again. So when he slammed home one last time, then hitched his hips in tight, moaning and twitching against her, only one response came to her mind.

“Thank you.”