Chapter Thirty-Eight
Zoe
I couldn’t focus on anything else but the act—Archer’s lips, his hands, the force of his breath pounding against my face, and the way he turned his head and pressed the tip of his tongue into my mouth.
He pressed me against the dining hall door and pulled the slit of my dress aside, letting his hands move up my thigh. He stopped just short of the spot between my legs. It was like tasting a single drop of water in the desert.
He reached around me and opened the door. I fell back, and he caught me, then pulled me into his arms. The candlelight was dancing over his chest, and his eyes were sparkling. He kicked the door closed behind him and rushed me upstairs.
He set me down on the bed gently and knelt down beside me. At first, he didn’t do anything but study me and smile. “What’s that?” I asked.
“What?”
“That look you’re giving me.”
“I still can’t believe you’re real.”
“No?”
“No.” He rose up and pulled himself on top of me. He was hot, like standing next to a flame, and tender. All of the edge had been taken out of him. The gentle nature that he supposedly lacked had taken over.
His kiss was soft, his hands slow, moving up my body, examining the curves, the ridges and mounds, as well as the imperfections. He loved them just the same. I didn’t have to feel self-conscious or worry about whether or not I looked good, or if I was doing it right.
He moved his hand down my neck, so soft that goose bumps rose up behind it. I shivered, and he laughed softly, his fingers trailing down my chest now, examining the simple plane, memorizing every pore and freckle. He hooked his fingers around my dress straps and pulled them down slowly as if he were unwrapping a present that he didn’t want to break.
The feeling of the material sliding down my skin only magnified the chill and pulled it deeper inside me. I wanted him to pull me in with it, lead me into the moment, and make me forget the world. I closed my eyes and imagined that we were the only things that existed, dancing back and forth together in an infinite void. I was met with kisses down my chest and along the tops of my breasts while he slid my dress down further.
His hand found my exposed thigh, and he reached up to push it under my dress, and slide his hand up my leg and my hips, around my back so he could unhook my bra, pull it out and throw it down to the floor.
He pulled up, his cock pressing against my leg, and met my eyes. “I love you.” He kissed me. A rush of warmth passed over me, and my breath bubbled out as our lips parted. “I love you.” He kissed me again, and I felt my heart pounding. “I love you.” He slid my bodice down, exposing my nipples. “I love you.” He pressed one in between his lips. I was flying through air, drunk and reeling as his tongue flitted over the tip of my nipples.
“Ah,” I gasped. He bit down, and I jolted. My body reacted instantly. The space between my legs was throbbing, and I tensed up. If I didn’t find a way to maintain control, this was going to be over before it started.
He didn’t care. He moved on to the next nipple, and his hips slid up and down, grinding his cock against my leg. The force building up inside me wasn’t a soft wave or a crackle of fire. It was like a meteor ready to crash into the Earth, and the resulting explosion wouldn’t just destroy me, or even Archer. Nothing would survive.
He reached up to kiss me. “I love you so much,” he sighed.
At that moment, all I could think about was how badly I needed to express the way that I felt, but words weren’t enough. Nothing could possibly describe what he was doing to me. I responded with touch. My hands dipped down between us, over his chest, down his ridged stomach, into his pants, where his cock was sitting upright, so swollen that I was certain that it would burst out. I wrapped my hands around it and pulled my palm up the shaft.
“Yes.” He let out a long drawn out breath.
“You like that?” I pushed down.
He nodded his head and rested his hand on my thigh, while I circled my thumb around the tip. He rose up, pulled off his jacket, and flung it onto the floor. I pulled my hand out and focused on his shirt buttons. This was my favorite part, watching him unfold and change from the stoic gentlemen into the gentle giant I knew him to be.
His chest was exposed now, and I was starting to reveal his stomach. This wasn’t a sexual act, not in the strictest sense. It was pure intimacy—one person discovering another in the way that only new lovers could.
His hand moved up my leg, closer to the space between my thighs. I felt a sense of anticipation, tore open the rest of his shirt, then threw it onto the floor. He laughed. “That was designer.”
“You have twenty. I counted.”
He rested his finger on my chin and bent down to kiss me, sliding his legs down so that he was on top of me. His cock fell into place. “That’s it.”
He pressed in deeper, and I felt something trickling out. I couldn’t control it. He’d taken hold of my senses, and I was blind with desire. Deeper still, and I tensed up. A cataclysmic burst was rising to the surface.
He moved his head down. His lips pressed against my chin, his breath fell over my neck, then my chest as he pulled lower. I could feel his hands around the edge of my bodice. I thought he was going to rip my dress down, but his hand was moving over my stomach, and the other was circling my areola. His eyes met mine, and the sharp jolt of the fiery green globes pressed in, revealing a deeper layer of golden yellow and a ring of orange enclosing the pupil.
He dove down again, pressed his lips into the space between my breasts, and edged my dress down further. The anticipation was killing me. He looked at me again, pressed his lips against the space just above my bodice, and lowered it further. Another kiss, another look, a little further now. Each kiss was a sign of devotion, reaffirmed by his look.
He pulled the dress down below my waist and kissed my stomach, a little lower, lower still, each time another kiss, left then right, then below my belly button. His breath hit my clit when he lifted his head and pulled the dress lower. It was like falling through a cloud of never-ending steam.
He stood up and lowered my dress down all the way, then grabbed my ankle, and lifted my leg up. His hand slid down my hips and into the space between my thighs while he took in the sight of my bare leg. He slid up, over my thigh, my knee, and finally my ankle, where he began unbuckling the straps of my shoes.
He was gentle, more intrigued by the sight of me than the act of undressing me. He pulled the shoe off and kneaded the ball of my foot. “Oh,” I sighed. Then he started on my other foot, giving it the same care and affection.
He was pushing my patience to the limit. My body had needs that couldn’t be fulfilled with his simple touch. I needed him to pound into me, but he wanted to appreciate me, worship me, and take his time to make sure that I knew I was loved.
He pulled my legs apart and pulled me forward so he could kneel down at the end of the bed. Then, all at once, he dove in between my legs and whipped his tongue out, pressing it through just enough to give me a taste.
I needed more. I pushed forward, hoping to take his tongue in, but he pulled back, met my eyes, and said, “I love you.” He kissed my opening, his tongue swept through, and he pressed my clit gently between his fingers, moving them back and forth over the surface.
The intensity was so overwhelming that I could barely withstand the shock. My lips were quivering, and I felt myself throbbing, opening and closing, reacting to every touch and every breath. I never wanted this moment to end. I wanted to feel that way forever, but I knew that at some point the pressure would be too much, and I’d explode.
He pressed his finger through and focused his tongue on my clit. He pushed his finger in, drew back, then in again, all while watching my expression. He grazed my spot, and I knew that there was no way I was going to make it. This explosion was coming. I couldn’t stop it.
He was focusing on my spot now, massaging it, back and forth, back and forth. I clenched my muscles, hoping to put up a wall to delay the explosion, but his finger was slicing through it, and I could feel the warmth starting to pour out. It was like jumping out of an airplane, and those few precious seconds when my body sat weightless in the air before gravity started to pull me down.
“Fuck me.” I was breathless.
“No.” He pressed my clit between his lips, and the impact was instant.
I was writhing, shaking, pulsing, and crying out. My trembling hands grabbed the sheets, desperate for something to hold on to, but there was nothing but that rush. Gravity had taken hold, and I was falling, my voice flying out. I was going to crash. Nothing this good could possibly end well. I couldn’t survive this.
But it didn’t end. I kept falling, holding onto the blankets as if they could save me, but nothing was going to stop it. Archer stood up and pulled his pants down, his cock fell out, and he rushed in to pierce through me. I crashed and melted to the bed.
He slammed in, his mouth curled up at the side, and hit my spot instantly. I didn’t think it was possible, but another explosion was coming. This wasn’t a meteor, it was hot and sticky, a solar flare, intertwined with the creative forces inherent in the act of lovemaking.
He pulled out carefully, then eased it in, hit my spot, and pulled out again. He was going to draw out the moment and savor it, but that was only going to make it worse. He was stroking my clit, pounding faster, but not fast enough.
The searing, scorching heat became an unbearable force, stronger than a solar flare. This was a star, burning white, licking at my thighs, piercing through, already spreading out over the rest of my body. As the tempo increased, so did the pressure. He was pinching my clit between his fingers, then winding it around the tip.
“Oh, God.” He drilled his cock through me and rested it on my spot. Then, he bent down to kiss me. I wrapped my arms around his back and raked my fingernails up his shoulder. He lifted his head, bit his bottom lip, and smiled, then began kissing me again.
I could feel his cock pressing in, pulling out, a little faster, but not enough. The heat was growing to unimaginable proportions, and I could see that he was just as strained as I was. His lips began a frantic dance, his tongue pressed through, pulled out, then in again as his hips took on the infectious excitement that was all around us.
Then, like the quiet before a storm, he stopped, lifted his head, and said, “I love you.”
I lost it. The explosion began with a simple tremble, like a note piercing through the air, growing in momentum, gaining force, until it became a supernova, and I was holding onto him, screaming, moaning, then I stopped. I couldn’t move. The heat, the rush, the thrill—all of it combined into a shock that cracked open the space around me and replaced everything else, and I was drowning it.
I was vaguely aware of the sound of him moaning and the feeling of his body pressing against mine when he collapsed at my side, but I was too caught up in the moment to think of anything else but the sensation of losing myself in the current.
It didn’t go away immediately. It lingered inside me, always threatening to rise back up, then diminished, leaving another kind of thrill. There was the pressure of his arms wrapped around me, then his chest against my cheek, and finally the sound of his heartbeat.
That was proof enough that we were doing the right thing. He was perfect, even with his flaws. So long as he existed, I knew where I belonged. “I love you, Archer.” I kissed him and closed my eyes.