Chapter Ten
We flew up the hill at what must’ve been ninety miles an hour. There was a sharp twist at the bottom and a cluster of boulders straight ahead, and Archer didn’t show any sign of slowing down. He glanced at me, smiling with his teeth catching the light from the dashboard console.
“Archer!” I screamed. We were getting closer.
“What?” he asked casually.
“Look.” I pointed at the rocks. “You’re going to kill us.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He took his hand off the wheel and rested it behind his head.
“Stop!” I could practically feel the granite rubbing against my face.
His other hand was resting on my thigh, inching closer. I could feel the pressure building between my legs, and that light, fluttering sensation would only get stronger until it overwhelmed my senses.
He looked me dead on, his hand resting between my legs. He swept his palm over my lips then threw the car to the left. I felt like I’d just left my body.
“You like that?” He pressed his finger in then moved his hand.
My legs were shaking. I was struggling to hold them together, and he was loving every second of it, licking his lips like he was ready to eat me whole. What had I gotten myself into? Was he crazy?
“You’re really worried?” He turned into the security gate in front of his house.
“Look what you just did.”
“I’m a pilot. I can get us around a corner.” He entered his gate code and waited for it to open.
“That doesn’t mean you have to scare me to death doing it. Why would you do that?”
He stopped the car in front of the house and dove down, lifting my chin as he left a wet trail with his tongue over my neck. Then he clamped down on my bottom lip. “Cause it’s fucking sexy watching you freak out,” he whispered in my ear.
I felt goose bumps pop up all over my body as I watched him jump out and walk around to let me out of the car. The sweet, intoxicating scent of his cologne was all around me. Was this a mistake? There was no turning back now. He was already opening the passenger door, his hand held out for me to grab it.
His lips met mine the second my head peeked out. His hands wrapped around my waist, leading me back toward the front door while he drank me in, letting his tongue pass over my lip, then into my mouth, further and further, while I wrapped my arms around his neck.
He slammed me against the door, his body like fine marble, pinning me down. “You’re so beautiful.” He reached back with one hand to open the door and pressed me through, back toward the stairs where he swept me up off my feet and began carrying me up to his room.
He wasn’t just a man. He was the master of my body, commanding it as if it were his own. He let me down onto the bed and knelt over me. His eyes met mine, traveled down until they reached his crotch. “You want this?” He was already bulging, his thumb playing over the head.
“Dear God, yes.” I lunged toward it, but he held me back and wagged his finger playfully. He stood up, his hips swaying slightly, his eyes sliding down my body as his hands moved up his chest. He started with a single button at the top of his shirt, revealing nothing but a tuft of black chest hair. Then, he moved on to the second button, and I watched, intoxicated, as he moved down from one button to the next.
His chest was a map of scarred mocha skin and black tribal tattoos that covered his shoulders. This wasn’t a civilized man. He was an animal being forced to live among humans. Nothing about him was soft or elegant. He was all quick, brisk movements and pure kinetic energy.
There was a presence around him. It wasn’t something that I could reach out and touch, but it was tangible, more so than anything else around us. It was primal, dangerous, and beautiful. Something that couldn’t be controlled or possessed, just experienced. Every inch of skin he revealed was another facet of it, his ridged abs, his broad shoulders, and of course, those eyes.
I’d never seen eyes like his before. They were like razors, slicing through my clothes, my skin, down to my core where he’d taken hold. He threw his shirt down and fingered his button with a deep laugh that stuck to my gut. I had to keep my legs closed tight to fight off the warm, tickling sensation springing up between them.
Then he jumped on the bed, his knees straddling me, his cock so close to my mouth I could practically taste it. The head was bulging out, pressing against his fly. He fell down on top of me, blanketing me with his warm lips, streaming down my neck, behind my ear, and then his teeth. He clamped down on the skin, sending out ripples of electricity.
I gasped. It was too sweet, too much. I couldn’t handle it, but he didn’t stop. Instead, he lifted my shirt up and threw it onto the ground, exposing me to the icy chill of the air around me. Then he threw me back down on the bed, grabbed my hands, and pinned me down, laughing as his lips moved down my chest, his hand pushing up underneath my bra. He clamped down on my nipple then moved his finger over the areola, sending little flutters of air passing through my lips.
He unclasped my bra, threw it down to the side, and began to use his teeth, his lips, his fingers. They all playing my nipples in a harmonic symphony of sweet sensations that flew through my body then concentrated itself between my thighs. I was throbbing now, begging to be filled.
He rose up, his body towering over mine, straddling my side. Then he lifted two fingers, licked them, and slipped them down my pants. He slid them over my lips slowly. He moaned and drank in my reaction. I was struggling, biting my bottom lip, trying to hold it in. My whole body was ready to burst.
“Are you ready?” He unbuttoned his pants, revealing a tuft of black hair. He was messing with his fly with his head cocked to the side playfully.
“Mm-hmm.” I couldn’t take it. I was going to come.
“Yeah?” He lowered his zipper just enough to give me a look at the base of his cock.
“Don’t make me beg.”
“Don’t make me ask you to.” He undid his zipper and let his cock fall out. It was standing straight up, jumping up and down eagerly. He pulled my head up and pressed his cock past my lips into my mouth. He hit the back of my throat instantly and kept going. I needed to taste every bit of it, let my tongue move over the foreskin, and twist my hand over the shaft, but he was the one in control. He pushed through, held my head, and pulled back out. Then he dove back in again.
“God, that feels so fucking good.” He exhaled sharply, stood up, pulled my pants down, and lifted my legs. Then he slammed through. There was no easing it in, no asking if it was okay. It was just raw force slamming through me. I lost control, shuddering, throbbing, trembling as he poured in, sliding his dick past with his finger moving over my clit, up and down in time with his movements.
I took him in, helpless to do anything but lay my head back while he pounded me. He was moving faster now, grunting softly. He knew just where to go, how fast to move, and how to reach that spot that was driving me insane.
He was ruthless, his teeth bared, his hips swinging, staring down at me as he pushed me closer to that point. Flesh slammed against flesh, and sweat poured in, our bodies melding with each other’s. We were one being, working toward a singular goal, engrossed in the task of providing pleasure to one another in every way imaginable.
He drove himself inside me, sweat dripping down his face. His mouth fell open. My head dove back, and my eyes closed. The world fell away, and something inside me exploded, spreading warm ripples all throughout my body, even into the tips of my fingers and toes.
He collapsed beside me with a sigh, his cock hanging down his leg. “That was amazing.” I was speechless, swimming in the afterglow. He started to stand up and ducked down to pull his pants off the floor. I looked over to see what he was doing, still drunk on the moment.
He put his pants on. “I should probably take you home.”
“Okay.” I sat up, confused. Why was he pushing me out like this? Was he worried about somebody finding me there? The truth slapped me in the face. Of course, he was worried. A man like him was too good to be single. He probably had another girl like me every night while his wife was away racking up credit card debt. I felt stupid.
As I got dressed, I looked around the room for signs of his wife. The closet was closed, so I couldn’t see inside, and there were no personal items, no photos, just his phone, his laptop, and his charger. He was probably too smart to leave anything else out, but there were signs.
The room was decorated like a Versailles palace with a white canopy bed, mahogany side tables, and a TV stand that matched, all with gold inlay running around the edges. This wasn’t a man’s cave. No man could decorate a room like this. It needed a woman’s touch.
I felt like an intruder, breaking into somebody’s home, taking her man behind her back. Just the idea of infidelity was enough to make me sick. Acting it out warranted nothing less than capital punishment. I helped a man hurt the woman he’d dedicated himself to. I was the other woman.
He walked into the bathroom while I got dressed. I couldn’t believe that I let myself hope like that. I finally found somebody who I could connect with, who actually understood me, and he just happened to be married.
“You ready?” He walked out of the bathroom.
“Yeah.” I followed him downstairs.
He waited at the bottom to take my arm in his. I let him, but I didn’t want to. I felt dirty. I needed to leave, to forget this man and never think about what happened again. He must’ve noticed the change in my demeanor, but he didn’t say anything, which meant he probably didn’t care what I thought. He got what he wanted. Now, he was just taking out the trash.
He was just as quiet as I was, completely subdued. The tension only seemed to get worse the closer we got to my place. Maybe he was worried that I’d try to kiss him or tell him that the night meant something more than it should’ve. I was worried that he’d try to do the same thing and drag me into his demented relationship drama. I was nobody’s mistress, and I needed him to know that. But I didn’t want to voice it aloud, so I stayed stiff and watched out the window until he pulled up to my apartments, and we stopped.
I looked over at him. He was staring straight ahead, his finger tapping against the wheel. I was waiting for him to say something, anything. I needed to be wrong. This was the first time I’d actually connected with a man in years. It couldn’t end like this.
He kept tapping, waiting for me to get out of the car, so I opened the door. “Thanks.”
I climbed out, imagining what it would be like for him to grab my wrist, pull me back in, and slam his lips against mine. Instead, he gave me a quick smile and got the car started again. I felt used, like he’d lied to me and violated me. This was supposed to be a date, not an affair. Had I known he was married, I probably would’ve slapped him in the face for trying to come on to me.
When I walked back inside, I kept thinking about his wife. Did she know that he was cheating? Did she care? What if this was the final straw that broke her heart for good? I couldn’t live with myself if that happened. She must not have known. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been so quick to get me out of there. I sighed and walked back to my room to change for bed.