CHAPTER TWELVE
KELSEY
“HEY, KELSEY!”
I groaned, but stopped to watch Peter Danforth loping across the parking lot toward me. His mop of hair was rumpled, his suit wrinkled, and his pencil-thin tie was flapping over his shoulder. He stopped in front of me, breathless and grinning engagingly.
“I heard that the National Science Foundation is looking at the Spiral Project,” he said. “Any word from them yet?”
I shook my head. I wasn’t lying. I hadn’t heard from the NSF yet, but The Weather Institute had also rejected my proposal in record time.
“A number of agencies are still looking at the proposal,” I told Peter.
That, actually, was a lie. The NSF was the only agency left.
“When do you expect to hear something?” Peter asked.
“I don’t know.” I sighed and turned to face him. “Look, Peter, the Spiral Project’s future looks dim, okay? It’s a massive, ambitious, expensive project that, so far, is not backed by hard evidence. That’s why SciTech cut off funding. And why it’s an uphill battle to get anyone else interested.”
Peter frowned. “I’d think King’s would be all over such a ground-breaking project.”
“They’re not,” I admitted. “If I did get reliable funding, I’d have to negotiate with the King’s administration because I’d need to use university resources to assimilate all the data. And the meteorology lab is overextended as it is.”
“You wouldn’t go out into the field to collect data?”
“No. If the Spiral Project is ever funded again, my plan is to use King’s as the home base and direct the unit from there.”
“Seriously?” Peter asked. “You structured the project as a fully mobile, nomadic unit, and still you wouldn’t even go out with your own team?”
“That’s just it, Peter!” My frustration got the better of me suddenly. “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t, because King’s would never let me abandon my commitments to run off chasing tornados. And I wouldn’t want to because I don’t storm chase anymore. But none of that matters anyway because the project is on life support, and King’s has no intention of helping me revive it. No one does.”
Peter blinked with surprise at that barrage of information.
Great. I’d just let off steam to an eager-beaver reporter. All I needed was news of my irritation with the Meteorology department getting back to Stan and, god forbid, Chancellor Radcliffe.
I forced my tone to soften. “Look, Peter, if I find out anything new, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, I’d appreciate it if we could keep this conversation off the record.”
“What conversation?”
I smiled faintly. “Thanks.”
“Okay, but I’m the first to know, right?”
“Second. I’m always first.”
He gave me a salute and jogged off toward campus. I watched him go, trying to find my way back from renewed frustration and disappointment.
Last week when Archer had defended me in front of my colleagues, I’d felt something more than just appreciation. I’d felt a spark of new hope.
“She’ll find another way.”
Archer had sounded so convinced. But there were only so many scientific research agencies, only so much money, and word had already spread that SciTech killed the Spiral Project because of dubious evidence. No other agency wanted to jump on board a sinking ship.
If I could, I’d try to find funding through other channels. But who else would want to fund tornado research? And why? I had no other ideas. There didn’t seem to be another way.
Peter disappeared around the side of a building. I got into my car, pushing all thoughts of him and the Spiral Project out of my mind.
Despite how all-consuming the project and my job had been in recent months, it wasn’t at all difficult to stop thinking of them. In fact, it was a relief. Because the space they left in their wake was filled with a dominating male presence who both thrilled and unnerved me.
As I drove home, I thought about how Archer was also surprising me in all the right ways. Although I’d believed him when he’d told me he was clean, he’d forwarded me a copy of his most recent test results via email. I’d had a recent doctor’s appointment since I was on the pill for endometriosis issues, and I’d also received a clean bill of health.
I hadn’t even had to ask Archer for proof. He already knew how much I valued evidence, and I liked that he left me no room for doubt.
I parked in the driveway and went into my house. Usually my haven of peace and quiet, now even my house seemed filled with a tense, edgy air of impatience.
I was nervous. I normally didn’t like being nervous, but I couldn’t deny that this was sort of… fun. I didn’t know what to expect. It was the thrill of the unknown, both exciting and scary. My nerves tingled with anticipation.
Plus… Archer.
Of course, I overthought everything. Should I follow his “order” or not? What would really happen if I did or didn’t? If I did, what should I wear? If I didn’t, what should I wear? Was he expecting dinner? Should I light candles? Why was I acting like such a ninny?
Maybe I should just cancel the whole thing. It really had been a long time. I wasn’t even sure if I remembered what to do with a man, much less a man like Archer who was the crazy-hot walking definition of the word virile.
I paced the living room. I couldn’t figure out if I felt like a total slut or a virgin on prom night, ready to lose it with the high-school bad boy. Somehow, it seemed possible to feel like both.
Finally, I took a shower, making certain to use the almond-milk-and-honey soap that he’d liked, then put on lotion and dried my hair. I studied my overflowing drawers of lingerie and chose a somewhat modest, navy blue chemise and a matching thong. After I wiggled into the lingerie, I pulled my Japanese silk robe on. I slipped my feet into a pair of blue, heeled sandals.
The doorbell rang.
My heart stopped. I clutched the bedpost. Was I trembling?
“Get a grip, Kelsey,” I muttered.
I grabbed my glasses from the nightstand, putting them on as I strode to the door. I knew how to handle men. Whatever Archer West had in mind, I’d go mano a mano with him.
I opened the door and favored him with my sharpest look.
Oh, sigh.
He looked gorgeous, all rugged and sexy in black trousers and a dark green shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his thick hair brushed away from his forehead.
He smiled. My knees went weak. His gaze, hot and assessing, swept a path over me from head to toe.
“Nice robe,” he remarked. “Take it off.”
I held up a hand. Shit. I was trembling.
“Wait a minute.” I tried to put some steel into my voice. “We need to establish some… oh!”
Before I knew it, he’d pushed his way in, kicked the door shut behind him, and was crowding me up against the wall so fast that all the breath escaped my lungs in one whoosh. Lust darkened his eyes the second before his mouth came down on mine in a kiss of crushing, aching possessiveness.
He shoved his knee between my thighs and thrust his tongue into my mouth. My head fell back, and my whole body swayed toward him, so flooded with desire that I swore his grip on my shoulders was the only thing keeping me upright.
“Say it,” he whispered, his lips burning a trail to my ear, his breath warm on my neck.
“I…”
He nipped at my collarbone as his fingers found the opening of my robe. Then his hand was between my thighs, cupping my sex. The heat of his palm burned into my blood.
“Say it,” he repeated, circling my clit with his thumb. He lifted his head to look at me, his eyes smoky but unwavering.
I swallowed hard. I was almost ready to come and he was barely touching me. He pressed harder. I gasped.
“I… I give up.” I’d never said that before in my life. Never given up. Never given over.
“Not that,” Archer whispered. “Say it.”
I could hardly speak. “I… I can’t.”
“One day,” he promised, “you will.”
His mouth covered mine again. I parted my lips to let him in, sinking into the delicious sensation of his tongue sliding against mine. He moved his hand from between my legs and tugged at the belt of my robe. In seconds, he had it unfastened and pushed the robe from my shoulders. He took one step back to look at my lingerie-clad body.
“Beautiful,” he murmured. “But I can’t wait to get that off you.”
His husky whisper bolstered my faltering confidence. My pulse streamed hot as he lowered his head to press his mouth against the swell of my breasts, cupping one in his hand. He pinched my nipple through the silk, and a thousand sparks shot right to my core.
I grabbed the edge of the foyer table to try and steady myself, watching as he tucked his fingers beneath the lace border and pulled the cups down to expose my breasts. I sucked in a breath, shocked by the sudden exposure, the rush of cooler air, the heat of his eyes.
And when he took my nipple into his mouth, I moaned, faintly aware I was reaching the point where I would do anything he asked me to. The point where I realized there really were no boundaries. Not with him.
“Archer, I’m—”
“Hold on tight.”
I watched in disbelief as he went down on his knees in front of me and slipped his hands against my inner thighs.
“Spread them.”
“I’m…”
“Do it.” His voice was deep and hoarse with lust.
I did it. Trembling, I gripped the table with one hand and found the door frame with the other. I spread my legs, watching Archer as he tangled his fingers in the string of my thong and pulled it right off me.
Oh, god. I was exposed, wet, aching. And he was there, right there, his long fingers opening me to his questing penetration. A gasp choked my throat at the first touch of his tongue. And then he was licking me, slow and easy, up one side and down the other, drawing my clit gently between his lips. I trembled, panted, unclenched my fingers from the door frame and gripped a fistful of his hair.
“Archer…”
He made a muffled noise before pushing his tongue inside me. I couldn’t stop a groan from breaking forth, and then again when he eased two fingers in and slid them back and forth, deep enough to reach the sweet spot that drove my urgency even higher.
He sat back, his chest heaving and his eyes black with lust. “Tell me.”
I shook my head. I couldn’t do it. And even through the drenching heat of need, I didn’t get it. I didn’t know why I was uncertain and timid, of all things. I didn’t understand why I was like this with him. Only him.
He put his mouth back on me. So incredible. I closed my eyes and dragged a hot breath into my lungs. He worked me with his fingers and sucked my clit until I couldn’t hold back any longer. I clenched my fist in his hair, pushing my hips forward as an orgasm ripped through my body and stole my breath.
I was shaking, gasping, sweating. I couldn’t look at him, but he was still there, his mouth and fingers working the last sweet sensations from me, his breath caressing my sensitive flesh.
Then he rose, his sharp cheekbones crested with a flush, his eyes burning like coals. He planted his hands on the wall behind me and lowered his head for another long, deep kiss that tasted like both of us combined. I gripped the front of his shirt and tried to remain upright.
Archer slid his hands around my waist and lifted me. Just as I’d known, it took him no effort whatsoever. Like I was a feather, a leaf, a wisp of cotton. His body was hot and hard against mine. I wrapped my arms and legs around him, buried my face in his strong neck, and clung to him as he strode to the bedroom.
I was giving over. It scared the hell out of me, but I was doing it. He lowered me to the edge of the bed and stood in front of me. Heat radiated from him.
My chemise was half off, the straps falling down my shoulders, my breasts exposed with my nipples hard as pebbles. I fought the urge to cover myself, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing I was so nervous.
Archer reached down to take my glasses off. Suddenly that was too much. I tried to grab them back.
“Give those to me.”
He shook his head and put the glasses on the bedside table. I made another grab for them. He grasped my wrist, and his fingers circled it like a manacle.
“Archer!”
“Your hand belongs right here.” He slowly but insistently brought my hand to the front of his trousers.
Blood rushed to my head. His grip tightened on my wrist. I spread my fingers out tentatively to cup the big, hard bulge pressing against his thigh.
Holy mother of god. A bolt of lust fired through me, centering in my core. My mouth went dry. I ran my hand over his length, wondering at the sheer size of it, trepidation already snaking through my belly.
He pushed his hips toward me. “Take it out.”
Trembling, breathless, I unfastened his fly and tugged his trousers down his thighs. He wore boxer briefs that hugged his lean hips and did nothing to conceal the massive ridge of his erection. A thousand second, third, and fourth thoughts blistered through my mind. I sat back and just stared.
He started to unbutton his shirt. I felt the sheer burn of his gaze on me. Unearthing some latent courage, I lifted my eyes. My heart crashed.
Beautiful. Oh, he was beautiful, his torso defined with muscles so sleek and rigid they looked as if a master artist had sculpted them. His shoulders were smooth and tense, his corded arms dusted with dark hair. Enhancing the beauty of his body were the elaborate tattoos inking his right shoulder, the design flowing up from the bird’s wing coiled around his upper arm.
I was too enthralled by the utter perfection of him to study the tattoos I hadn’t yet seen. Instead I let my gaze follow the slopes of his shoulders over his powerful chest, the ridges of his abdomen, down to where a line of hair disappeared beneath his boxer briefs.
I was shaking. Hard.
I tried to remember that I was a woman known for getting shit done. Taking a breath, I hooked my fingers into the waistband of his boxer briefs. My heart hammered as I pulled them down his legs.
I moaned. I actually moaned at the sight of it—his gorgeous, stiff cock projecting straight out. I wrapped my hand around the shaft, feeling the veins pulsing beneath his smooth, tight skin. Slowly I moved my hand up to the damp head, darkened to a deep red, and swept my thumb over the crevice at the tip. I squeezed my thighs together as I tried to imagine all that hot, hard flesh filling me.
“On your knees.” His voice was dark and smoky.
Unthinking, I slid to the floor in front of him. His hand pressed against the back of my head. Gentle but insistent. Blood rushed into my ears.
“Open,” he murmured.
I opened my mouth. He slowly pushed inside, past my lips, the taste of him flooding my tongue. He stilled, his breath rasping above me, his fingers stroking the back of my neck.
I could do this. I remembered how. By all accounts, I used to be pretty good at it, too. Except this was Archer West, a man who had crashed into my life like a lightning bolt and set it afire. I had the growing, unnerving sense that nothing would ever be the same again. Including me.
I closed my lips around his cock and sucked. His shaft throbbed, a beat that seemed to echo in my blood. I grasped the base and slid my lips as far as I could, stroking my tongue over the underside. His body tensed, and his fingers tightened on the back of my neck.
I moved one hand to cup the weight of his sac, tight and hard, before easing back and letting him slide out. I pressed a kiss to the smooth head and started to draw him in again. He clenched his fingers on my neck. I stopped.
“I’m going to fuck your mouth,” he said.
My trepidation increased. But I relaxed my jaw, my throat, and took a breath before he thrust. I squirmed. Oh, it felt good. His thick cock pumping in and out of my mouth, his hand gripping my neck. Above me, his breath sawed through the air. The salty, male taste of him spread over my tongue.
“Pretty mouth,” he whispered, brushing my hair away from my forehead, sliding his hand down my cheek. “You want more?”
I pulled back only long enough to nod. I wanted more than more. I wanted everything he could give me. I wanted to find out just how much I could take.
He buried his hands in my hair, his fingers digging into my scalp as he pushed into my mouth again. I pressed my tongue against the vein throbbing on the underside of his cock. A groan rumbled his chest.
He moved back, letting me slide my lips up the shaft again, licking the tip before I looked up at him. From my position kneeling on the floor, he was bigger and more intimidating than ever, his eyes intense and his tattoos blazing.
“One day soon I’ll come in your mouth,” he said, grasping my arms to pull me to my feet. “But right now I’m going to fuck you until you scream.”
A wave of heat poured through me. I backed up until my legs hit the bed, and then I fell backward, my arms spread out at my sides.
Archer’s gaze raked over me. I was so aroused I couldn’t even muster up any embarrassment over how I must look with my chemise half off, my lips swollen, and my legs already spread—a messy, disheveled slut aching to be fucked.
He undressed, pulling off his shoes and socks, pushing his trousers and briefs to the floor. Before kicking them aside, he reached into his pants pocket.
“It’s okay.” I struggled to push up to my elbows. “I’m… I’m protected, and I want… I want to feel you…”
He pushed his clothes aside and moved to the side of the bed. He grabbed my legs and tugged me toward him. Sweat glistened on his muscular chest. His eyes burned into mine.
“I won’t be gentle,” he warned.
Anxiety twisted in my belly. “I know.”
He grabbed the top of my chemise, which had been pushed down to my midriff. With one tug, he ripped the thin material right off me. My heart slammed against my chest. I was naked. Completely. He pressed his hands against my inner thighs and pushed them apart.
Oh, god. The preliminaries were over.
Archer took hold of his cock and pushed inside me, slipping past the entrance of my body. My breath stuck in my throat. I arched my back and spread my legs wider, opening for him. He hissed out a noise of pleasure and put his hands on my bent knees as he thrust hard.
“Oh!” The cry ripped from me as he surged, filling me, stretching me.
I squirmed backward instinctively, like I was trying to escape an invasion, drenched in sudden, overwhelming chaos. Archer clutched my waist and forced me down onto his cock. I shrieked. He thrust again. Our bodies slammed together.
I couldn’t take it. It was too much, he was too big…
“Take it deep,” he whispered harshly.
I twisted, unable to think past this onslaught of sensations, my hands fisting in the bedspread.
“I knew you’d like it rough,” he continued, and his voice was like a hot, drenching rainstorm pouring over me. “Ah, you’re tight… grip my cock hard… that’s it… Christ, you’re so fucking sexy all spread open and hot.”
I tried to drag air into my tight lungs. He throbbed inside me. So hard. If he moved again… he pulled back and thrust, jarring me to the core. A whimper escaped me. Sweat ran down my neck, my breasts.
He climbed onto the bed, pushing between my legs and coming over me like a thundercloud. He grabbed my wrists, pinning my hands to the bed, his flat belly hitting mine, his hair-roughened legs abrading my thighs.
I couldn’t move. Didn’t want to. I only wanted to feel his weight, his incredible strength, his thrusts inside of me. So good. More than good. More than I’d ever imagined.
I strained against him, bucking my hips as if trying to dislodge him. He was locked tight against me, his powerful body pressing me into the mattress, trapping me. He shifted, thrusting again and again and again, the friction of his cock driving my tension to breaking point. My body writhed beneath his, my legs aching from the strain of being spread so wide apart.
His grip clenched on my wrists. My breasts rubbed against his chest with every surge. Electric currents streamed through my blood, lighting me on fire.
He increased the rhythm of his thrusts, pounding into me so hard that the headboard slammed against the wall and all I could do was concentrate on accepting his heavy thrusts. I tightened my legs around his hips, moaning every time he surged into me, my fists clenching and unclenching, my wrists still trapped in his grip.
“Come on, storm girl.” His hot breath caressed my cheek, my neck, his chest a solid wall of sweat-slick muscles against my breasts. “Show me how hard you can come.”
Oh, god. I barely felt that final tipping over the edge into bliss. I only knew that my world exploded with the sudden intensity of a supernova, and I couldn’t stop it, couldn’t do anything about it. I was helpless, capable only of taking this man’s cock deep into my body, unable to silence the scream that tore from the very center of my being as I shattered beneath him.
All thought broke apart. His voice was a low rumble against my ear, but I couldn’t make out his words past the dizziness in my head. He was still pumping into me, still rock-hard, and he was so big it was starting to hurt, but I wanted it to go on and on, never ending. My muscles ached. Everything inside me throbbed.
He released my wrists. I groaned as blood rushed back into my arms with tingles and prickles. Archer planted his hands on either side of my head and stared down at me, his face a hard mask of restrained, burning lust. His eyes were so black I couldn’t see the brown of his pupils. I licked my dry lips. His mouth came down on mine, hot and possessive
“You want more?” he murmured, low and deep.
Heat flooded me anew. My throat constricted.
“I want more,” I whispered against his mouth.
He lifted his head and got to his knees, putting his hands on my inner thighs as he plunged into me again, all hot, sweaty, demanding male. More than I could handle. More than I could take.
My face was wet. I pressed my hands to my eyes. I was fucking crying.
Archer put his hand on my damp torso and slid it down to my clit. I jerked in reaction when he splayed his fingers over the sensitive flesh. He murmured something and stroked, urging me higher.
This time, the wave trembled low in my belly before it spiraled outward in ripples of sensation. I gripped Archer’s forearms, shuddering as I tightened my body around his cock.
“Inside me,” I pleaded, digging my fingers into his arms, urging him to lie on top of me again, positive he was the only solid element left in the world. “I want… need you to come inside me. I want to feel it.”
“You’ll feel it,” he growled, increasing the pace, his pelvis slamming against mine. “And you’ll take it all, as deep as you can… squeeze your pussy tighter… you feel so damn good, baby… fucking incredible.”
He plunged into me with a groan, his muscles tensing and contracting, and then his seed filled me. Shivers raced across my skin. Archer lowered himself on top of me, heavy and damp, his face against my shoulder, and his chest heaving.
I wiped my face with the back of my hand. Tears still stung my eyes. I blinked them back furiously, refusing to let them fall again.
Slowly Archer rolled off me and onto his back. He threw his arm over his face, still breathing hard. I moved away from him, realizing I didn’t have anything within reach that I could put on. I started to ease off the bed when his arm clamped around my waist from behind.
“Archer, I—”
The words stopped in my throat as he dragged me back to him. With a low mutter, he pulled me hard against his side, burying his face in my hair. The bulk of his body blocked out everything but the heat of his skin and the smell of sex. He draped his arm around my shoulders and his leg across my hips. Trapping me.
Or… enveloping me. Before I could figure out which, his body shifted into the heavy rhythm of sleep.
And, before long, so did mine.