Page 43 of Pucking Curves

The whole damn time he was following me, wishing I was his, I wanted the same thing. I dreamed about him, obsessed about him. God, I looked him up online so many times, devouring every article I could find. I found excuses to go see Micah, just so I could see Archer, even if only from a distance.

If he’s guilty of crossing lines, I guess I am too.

“Say something,” he says quietly.

“You’re obsessed with me.”

“Obsessed with. Crazy about.” He swallows. “In love with.”

My heart skips a beat before slamming against my ribcage. “You should have knocked that night, Archer. I would have let you in.”

He growls, a purely predatory sound that shoots straight to my core.

I want to rattle him. I want to ruin him the way he just ruined me, make it impossible for him to ever forget that I’ve been right there with him the whole damn time, just as desperate, just as needy as he’s been.

“You know what I was doing on the other side of the wall that night?” I ask, my voice hoarse. “I was getting myself off, remembering the way you smirked at me across the pool table. In my mind, your hands weren’t on the pool stick, they were on me. And you weren’t sinking balls into the corner pocket. You were sinking into me.”

“Fuck,” he growls, heat rolling through his eyes in a wave. His hands clench into fists on the table, his body tensing as if he’s trying to keep himself from launching over the table to drag me into his arms. “Did you call my name when you came, Wren?”

“Yes.” I hold his gaze. “It’s been your name on my lips every damn night for the last year, Archer.”

His seat slides back before he rises to his feet, looming like a wall as he rounds the table toward me, each step intentional, each breath a rasp in his throat.

He hauls me out of my chair, his feet steady beneath him as his lips come down on mine. I thrust my hands into his hair, clinging as he annihilates me with his kiss, with the force of his desire.

“Christ, Wren,” he growls, dropping into my seat with me on his lap, my legs spread around his thighs. He grabs my hand, dragging it down between our bodies. He yanks my coat out of the way as he goes. “Show me. Fuck your fingers right here on my lap like you did in your bedroom that night.”

“What if…?” Even as I start to ask the question, I realize I really don’t care if anyone sees us. If they catch us. Archer won’t let them see anything they shouldn’t, and that’s all that really matters.

I lean back, bracing against the table as I slip my hand into my panties. I’m already wet. No big surprise there. All he has to do is look at me, and I’m aching. All he has to do is kiss me, and I’m dripping.

I stroke my cold fingers across my clit, staring right at him, letting him watch every flicker of emotion, every single damn sensation as it crosses my face. I’m not thinking about the ice below us. I’m not thinking about anything but the adoring, starving look on his face.

“Fuck, baby,” he says, his voice a dark rasp. “You look so pretty playing with yourself for me. Does it feel good?”

“Yes,” I moan, writhing on his lap. “It feels so good, Archer.”

A growl vibrates in his chest, his hands clamping down on my hips. “Make yourself come for me, little bird. Fuck your fingers like they’re mine.”

I lean back further. Spread my legs wider.

“Archer,” I moan, rocking against my fingers.

“How many, Wren? How many are you taking right now?”

“T-two.”

His hands tighten around my hips, flexing like he’s trying like hell to keep himself from shoving his hand into my panties and taking over. He wants to take charge so badly. It’s written all over his face.

“You feel so good, Archer,” I whimper, hoping to drive him over the edge.

It works.

He snarls, shoving his hand into my panties alongside mine. He doesn’t bat mine out of the way though. He simply covers mine, moving with me. One thick finger presses inside, stretching me alongside mine. I’m burning hot around his chilly skin. The dichotomy only drives me higher.

We work together, thrusting, stroking…

“I feel how close you are,” he groans. “This pretty little pussy is fluttering all over our fingers, Wren. Come.”

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