CHAPTER NINETEEN
KELSEY
AFTER I TOOK SOME FOOTAGE OF the tornado’s path, we got back into the van and drove on. Darkness fell. Another line of storms encroached on the night sky. We checked in to a roadside motel, bringing the equipment into the room along with our travel bags. Energy still zinged through my blood like thousands of electric sparks.
My hands shook as I sat at the table to check my cameras and identify what we’d captured. I looked at shot after shot of the vortex, the rotating column, and the mesocyclone from which the massive tornado had formed. The video was amazing, the tornado’s roar filling the audio and almost drowning out Archer’s and my shouting.
“I need to send this to Colton and Tess,” I said, hitting the rewind button. I glanced up at Archer, who was watching the footage over my shoulder.
“Can you believe we did that?” I asked.
“You and me? Sure I can.” He pressed a kiss to the top of my head and went to unpack.
I replayed the video, hearing our excitement and crackling fear. I uploaded it as an email attachment, but stopped just before hitting the send button.
I wasn’t quite ready to let my graduate students see the video. Right now, with the rain still pouring and my heart still pounding, it was too intense to share with anyone else. Too private. Too ours.
I pushed away from the table and stood. “That was the most incredible thing I’ve ever experienced.”
Archer lifted an eyebrow. “The most incredible thing?”
“Well.” My breath caught at the look of heat in his eyes. “Second most incredible.”
I turned back to close my laptop just as Archer slid his arms around my waist from behind. Another bolt of lightning flashed through the window. Every part of me responded to the fire arcing through the sky and downward into us. His arms tightened around me with an edge of undeniable possession. His body was tense, almost pulsing with energy. The same energy that roared in my blood.
We were both so jacked up that urgency and heat fired between us immediately. His lips touched the back of my neck. A shiver ran clear down my spine. My nerves sizzled. Rain pounded on the window. Thunder rumbled.
Archer unfastened my jeans and pulled them down, then slipped his fingers between my thighs and rubbed me through my panties.
“Nice,” he murmured, his voice vibrating against my neck as he moved his finger beneath the elastic to touch my bare flesh. “You get so hot so fast.”
Lust uncoiled in my belly. I tried to turn and face him, wanting his mouth on mine, but he held me in place and continued his slow exploration. My legs weakened. His touch was teasing but possessive, as he trailed his finger up over my folds and into me.
I moaned, clenching around him. The sensation of his muscular body against my back and his breath on my skin sent me into a storm of sensations. He didn’t stop his easy but relentless stroking, and before I could stop it, the pressure began to build.
“Archer.”
“Come on, my little kitten,” he murmured, his lips moving against the back of my neck. “It’ll be the first of many tonight.”
Holy mother of—
I came with a choked cry, fast and hard, my thighs clamping around Archer’s hand. He worked his fingers against me until the shudders faded, then eased my jeans and panties off. In another five seconds, he had my shirt and bra off, and my naked ass pressed against his thighs.
He ran his hands all over me from behind, the scrape of his callused palms delicious against my skin, my whole body quivering. He moved his hands to my hips and guided me forward to the bed. I started to turn.
“No.” He put his hand on my lower back and pressed me down. “Say it.”
My breath stuck in my chest. I squeezed my eyes shut.
“I give up,” I whispered.
“Not that. Say it.”
“No.”
“Get on your hands and knees.”
“I…” The words refused to form.
He stroked his hand up and down my spine like he was soothing a restless cat. My heart pounded, blood rushed into my ears. I let him press me forward, fisting my hands in the bedspread, my knees sinking into the mattress. Cool air washed over me. I shivered.
I twisted again, trying to look at him over my shoulder. I heard the slap before I felt it, the strike of his broad palm against my ass.
“Archer!”
“Told you you were getting spanked.” His voice was heavy with lust and a trace of amusement. “I’m a man of my word, you know.”
“Well, I didn’t think you’d… ow!”
He spanked me again, the sting of pain radiating over my entire cheek.
“Archer, I swear—”
“Good girls don’t swear.”
“I’m not a good girl.”
“Yeah, you are. You just don’t want to be.” He stroked my ass again. “It’s what I love about you.”
Shock bolted through me. I froze, fully expecting him to freeze too when he realized what he’d just said.
He didn’t. He kept rubbing my rear end in little circles that created a pattern of warmth over my skin. Something trembled low inside me, like an earthquake starting far beneath the surface. I shoved it back down, forced it to die. I wasn’t going to take this places it was never meant to go. Not even inside my own head.
I was glad when he spanked me again. The sting distracted me, brought me back to the present. Away from the approaching earthquakes and storms. I tightened my fists on the bedspread.
“Spread your legs,” he said.
I did. Another clap of thunder shook the walls. My breath burned my chest. I heard the rasp of his zipper. I wanted to turn and look, to drink in the sight of his thick erection, the brilliant blaze of tattoos over his muscled shoulder, the smoky look in his dark eyes.
His discarded sweatshirt lay crumpled on the bed. I grabbed it and lowered my face into it. The shirt smelled like Archer—sweat, sawdust, wind, and rain.
I closed my eyes. The bed dipped as he climbed onto the mattress behind me. I was open, unhidden.
He slid a finger into me. My whole body tingled in response.
“You want my cock here?” he asked, his voice husky.
Jesus. His voice alone could make me come. I nodded. Heat washed over me from the inside out. My heart throbbed. And as much as I wanted it, wanted him, I flinched when the hard knob of his cock pressed against my entrance. In this position, so exposed, all I could do was take him. Nothing else.
He stilled. His breath sawed through the air above me. I pictured him behind me, all hot skin and hard muscles, one hand curled around his shaft, the other hand gripping my ass.
“Take it,” he murmured. “Then I’ll come on your pretty ass.”
Heat surged through me. I couldn’t believe how his raw talk could ratchet my urgency so high, so fast. I pressed my face harder into the sweatshirt and reached between my spread legs.
Archer’s hand clamped around my wrist. “No. Not yet.”
With a moan of frustration, I pulled my hand away and grasped the bedspread. He eased his cock into me. Impossibly big. A cry stuck in my throat. He stopped again, rubbing his hands over my lower back, then around my torso and up to my breasts. My breath shortened as he rolled my nipples between his fingers. Sparks shot to my core.
“Take me,” he said.
“Yes.”
He pressed his hand between my shoulder blades, urging my upper body down, which pushed my rear up higher. Anxiety twisted through me when he started pushing into me again. I felt myself stretching to accommodate him, felt the heavy pulsing of his shaft, the slow glide of every thick inch.
I squirmed, twisting beneath him. He gripped my hips to still me and pushed in farther. My legs trembled.
I couldn’t do it. Fear snaked through me. It wasn’t that I’d never done it like this before. I had, many times. But never with him. Never with a man who could break me apart and put me back together in the same breath. Never with a man who had lightning in his eyes, a man who made earthquakes tremble in my blood.
He stopped again, half embedded inside me, his hair-roughened thighs against mine. I pressed his crumpled sweatshirt to my face.
“You want more?” His voice was hoarse.
I bit my lip. Tasted blood.
“I want more,” I whispered.
“How?”
“Rough. I want more, and I want it rough.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Say it.”
“I surrender.”
I had just enough time to close my fingers on the bedspread again, to brace myself, before he surged into me with one hard thrust.
He groaned. “Oh, sweet fuck.”
The impact jarred me to the core, pushed me forward, closer to the edge of the endless abyss. He didn’t stop, not this time, only pulled back and plunged in again, his hands gripping my ass, his hips slamming against mine.
My body burned. I put one hand on the wall in front of me, tried to match his movements but couldn’t. All I could do was take him. Take his repeated hard thrusts, the dig of his fingers into my skin, the slap of his flesh against mine. He spanked me again, a sting that intensified the sensations swirling through me.
It lasted for hours. It lasted for minutes. I lost all track of time. I arched my body and fell into the storm only he could create. He clutched my waist, turned my sweat-slick body around. I spread my legs and hooked them around his hips, letting him surge into me again, raking my gaze over his damp chest. His tattoos shifted with every flex of his hard muscles, the pattern like a beautiful, living creature sliding across his skin.
He came over me, overcame me, his body hot and hard as he crushed his mouth to mine. I wound my arms around him, slid my hand over the glossy, shifting wing on his shoulder, dug my fingernails into his smooth back.
Tension unleashed inside me. I pushed upward to meet his heavy thrusts, needing him deeper, as deep as he could go. His teeth scraped my neck, my breasts. We rocked and collided and crashed, again and again.
I shattered what felt like a thousand times, shuddering and writhing beneath him, then on top of him when he rolled onto his back to let me ride him, then again with him plunging into me from behind. Still he demanded more, his voice a rough whisper pouring into my ear, lighting fires in my blood.
His rough hand scraped my back, fisted in my hair, and tugged. My body arched like a bow, tense and quivering. Endless moans broke from my throat with every surge of his cock into me. I ached all over by the time he spilled into me with a deep groan, his body collapsing on top of mine, his breath scorching my neck.
Gasping, I took the weight of him, absorbed the feeling of his sweaty, muscular chest heaving against my back. I took a few deep breaths and swallowed hard.
Archer rolled off me and onto his back. He flung his arm across his face. Rain splashed against the window. Lightning flashed.
I curled onto my side, still feeling as if he were throbbing inside me. My heart raced. He pressed his hand to my hair.
“Okay?” His voice was gravelly.
I nodded. Though I was spent, my veins hummed with energy, the last burst of exhilaration before the crash. The bed shifted as Archer moved, but aside from his hand on my hair, he didn’t touch me.
Again, I was grateful. I needed some space. It was strange how he sensed exactly what I needed or didn’t need. What I wanted or didn’t want.
The pressure of his hand increased slightly. I closed my eyes as the crash pulled me under and thunder broke the sky.
He was still sleeping when I woke. Wet dawn light seeped through the curtained windows, the rain having slowed to a drizzle. I got up slowly and went into the bathroom to brush my teeth.
I was sore everywhere, but oh god, did it feel good. It was the sweet, aching relief of knowing I could still withstand being pushed to the edge. That I still loved it. That I wanted more.
I took a shower, pulled on a clean shirt and panties, and left the bathroom. There was a microwave in a little nook by the wall, and I scrounged around in my bag for packets of instant coffee. I stuck two cardboard cups of water in the microwave. As I waited for them to heat, I saw Archer’s worn notebook sitting on the nightstand.
I eyed it warily, as if it were a time bomb. What the hell was he writing in there? It wasn’t his black book or his diary, for lord’s sake. It certainly wasn’t a book of poetry. A guy who hadn’t liked school wouldn’t spend his time writing poetry or stories.
As tempted as I was to open the book, I turned when the microwave beeped. I made the coffee and returned to the bed, giving Archer a nudge with my knee.
“Wake up. I brought you coffee. Don’t expect this to happen again.”
He rolled over and yawned. “You mean the tornado or the incredibly hot fucking or you bringing me coffee?”
A tingle of heat washed through me, along with an undeniable pleasure that he’d found our fucking to be incredibly hot. Not that I’d had any doubts about that last night, especially with both of us so revved up.
“The coffee.” I handed him a cup and climbed onto the bed.
As he lowered his head to take a sip, I took advantage of his distraction to let my gaze wander over his perfect, muscled body, the rumpled mess of his thick hair, the planes of his face, his jaw dusted with whiskers.
He glanced up and caught me staring. I cleared my throat and gestured to his cup.
“Instant coffee is all I have,” I said. “Sorry. I know it tastes like dirt.”
Archer shrugged. “Well, it was ground.”
I laughed. A genuine amusement filled me, in marked contrast to the intensity of the previous night. He grinned and put his cup on the side table. He reached out to trail his fingers over my bare leg to the bottom of my foot.
“Know any bad jokes?” he asked.
“Probably. Some of my grad students are as juvenile as you are.”
He grabbed my ankle to keep my foot still so he could tickle it. I yelped and poked him in the shoulder until he released me.
“What does a wicked chicken lay?” I asked as he resumed skimming his fingers over my bare leg.
“No idea.”
“Deviled eggs.”
“Pretty bad,” he agreed. “What does Archer West lay?”
I rolled my eyes. “Kelsey March.”
“Mmm-hmm.” He pressed his lips to the top arch of my foot. “Hard and well.”
My body surged at the memory. “Indeed.”
He shot me a satisfied, very male smile.
Too much. Everything about him was too much. He was too big, too beautiful, too dangerous, too goddamned cute.
I hid my sudden disconcertion by pulling my leg away from him.
“Go dress,” I said. “We need to get on the road again. There’s a front moving north of here, which is good for us since we might catch another storm on the way back home.”
My heart suddenly clenched a little. I didn’t like the idea of going home after this insanely exhilarating time alone with Archer. I wanted to stay, to chase storms, and have wild, mind-blowing sex—with spanking, no less. I wanted to kiss him in thunderstorms and feel the heat in his eyes when he looked at me.
I didn’t want to go back to classrooms and my cramped little office, to the pressure of my tenure review and departmental bureaucracy. The very things I’d worked so hard for.
“Damn, woman.” Archer ran his fingers across my toes. “You have perfect feet. I need to study them more closely in those heels you wear.”
“Oh, god. You have a foot fetish?”
“I do now.” He stroked his forefinger over my instep, making me twitch in reaction.
Though I was thoroughly enjoying his attention and touch, I didn’t want him to know how ticklish I was. I pulled my foot away from him and tucked it underneath me. I reached out to rub the shifting wing on his upper arm. His skin was so warm and taut.
“I haven’t studied your tattoos closely either,” I remarked. “They’re beautiful.”
They were, too. Intricate and incredibly detailed, the wing spread from his right shoulder down to wrap around his biceps, the multi-colored feathers thick, the vanes holding them together both strong and delicate. The top of the wing curved over his shoulder into a rich pattern of flowers and silhouettes of two birds in flight. A cursive script flowed beneath them.
I peered at the letters, tracing them with my finger. Fear is the mind-killer.
“Wow,” I said. “What’s that from?”
“Frank Herbert’s Dune.” He touched the tattoo. “I read the novel years ago. I remembered that line, especially when I was trying to get clean and stay out of trouble. I was scared all the time.”
A shadow fell over me at the reminder of his past. I couldn’t imagine him being scared of anything.
I glided my fingers over the pattern of flowers and two birds. His souvenirs of life.
“Is that when you got the tattoo?” I asked. “When you were in rehab?”
He nodded. “The quote, yeah. I had the wing done when I was twenty. Can’t remember why. Guess I just thought it was cool.”
“No.” I slid my forefinger over the feathers, almost feeling their combined strength and softness. “It was about freedom. Flying.”
He shrugged, studying me. “Why don’t you have any tattoos? Tough chick like you?”
“I don’t know.” I brought my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. “I always wanted one, but I never knew what to get. Then when I started thinking about grad school, tattoos didn’t seem to fit with academics. Plus, they’re pretty permanent.”
“Not like blue hair, right?”
I nudged him with my foot again. “Go get dressed, or I’m driving.”
He shoved to his feet with a groan. “Can’t have that, now.”
After he went into the bathroom, I finished getting ready. I didn’t want to like this intimacy and silly teasing, but I did. Even if I couldn’t admit that I did, my heart was doing this crazy floating thing, which seemed to be lifting all the weight from me. I couldn’t ignore or suppress the feeling. I didn’t want to.
And of course that scared the crap out of me. I could take Archer’s heat and intensity, the challenges he issued, the sheer male power of him.
It was the other stuff I didn’t know what to do with. His laughter and warmth, the way he repaired a garden fence for my mother, his habit of opening doors for me, the fact that he’d cooked bacon after an insanely hot night. His almost casual use of the word love in reference to me.
Especially that.
And everything combined into one handsome, sexy man. It was far more than I’d bargained for. And I was beginning to think it was much more than I could take.