Page 10 of Pucking Curves

“Archer,” I whimper, practically crawling up his body, trying to get closer. To feel more of him against me. I want him everywhere. Right now. I need it or I may crumble.

He grips my ass, squeezing my cheeks like they’re his to touch, his to claim. His little whimper… God, that sound is so damn sexy to me. It’s possessive and raw, part desperate man, part hungry lion.

The elevator shudders to a stop beneath us. A second later, the doors slide open.

“Oh, shit.”

I rip my mouth from Archer’s in time to see Logan standing in the doorway, wide-eyed, looking at us like he’d rather be anywhere else right now. I did not think it was possible to shock their goalie silent, and yet the evidence is standing in front of me. All six foot something of him, shocked silent.

“Fuck,” Archer growls, quickly turning us slightly as if to shield me from view. But it’s way too late for that. Logan has already seen us.

“Um…hi?” I squeak.

Logan cracks a smile, glancing between me and Archer. “Before I get off this fucking elevator and pretend I didn’t see shit…no disrespect, Cap, but are you good, Wren? You want to be here?”

“I’m fine, Logan,” I whisper. “But thank you for being the kind of guy who asks.”

He jerks his chin in a nod and then turns around like he didn’t just see his captain with his hands all over my ass and his tongue down my throat. Like my legs aren’t around his waist and we aren’t dry humping against the wall. Like we’re complete strangers he’s never met before now.

The doors slide closed.

Archer doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t move, either. He’s completely still, every muscle in his body rigid. His hands still on my ass.

My soul quivers. He’s going to tell me that this was a mistake. That it never should have happened and can’t ever happen again. He’s going to break my heart without even knowing entire sections of it probably already belong to him.

“Archer?” I whisper, pleading quietly. “Please don’t regre–”

“Marry me.”

I gape at him, shocked silent for a full five count. “What?”

“Marry me,” he growls. “Right here. Tonight. Marry me, Wren.”

Alarm bells sound in the back of my head. This isn’t right. This isn’t how this is supposed to happen. We aren’t supposed to be a drunken Vegas mistake.

But I don’t say any of that. Because the man I’ve been dreaming about for the last year is staring at me, waiting for my answer. And tonight, I’m just drunk enough to give it to him, consequences be damned.

“Yes.”

Chapter Three

Archer

Iwakeuptangledin purgatory—caught between heaven and hell. My head is fucking killing me. My mouth feels like someone took a shit in it. Just opening my goddamn eyes hurts.

Jesus Christ. How much did I drink last night?

Too much, I quickly decide, slamming my eyes closed again when the sunlight trickling through the blinds feels like it’s stabbing me in the frontal lobe.

This is hell.

But heaven is Wren wrapped around me, her curvy body snuggled up in my arms like that’s precisely where she belongs. My hand is on her perfect ass. Hers is curled around my waist. I’m naked from the waist up, her head nestled against my bare chest. And she’s not wearing anything except my T-shirt and her panties. Well, nothing except the wedding band glittering on her finger.

My ring.

“Fuck,” I breathe, my heart jolting against my ribcage. We’re married.

The events of the night before come rushing back in a torrent. Video poker. Too goddamn much alcohol. The way she looked so damn happy. The sound of her laughter. Her kissing me in the elevator. My hands on her ass.

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