Page 93 of Shots Fired

We all have that one pair of jeans that just fit. They make your ass look good and don’t dig into your stomach when you sit down.

Well, these jeanswere my pair. And as I pour myself into them, fighting with the zip and button while I lie flat on the bed, I slowly come to terms with that cold, hard truth.

My Levi’s 501s are about to become a thing of the past.

“Are you wrestling or getting dressed?”

From flat on my back, I roll my eyes toward the ceiling. “Both,” I grunt out, securing the button on a deep inhale.

Archer stands over me, arms folded across his chest. In a black T-shirt and dark blue jeans that hug his sculpted thighs, he looks anything but bloated. Unlike me.

He smirks. “I would offer to help, but my expertise centers more around taking your clothes off.”

I circle my stomach. “I reckon you’ve done enough already, wouldn’t you say?”

With two hands underneath my ass, he scoops me off the bed and carries me through to the kitchen, where he sets me on the island, coming to stand between my legs.

He runs his hands along the tops of my thighs. “This was the first place you sat when you came over to my apartment that time. You brought coffee and asked me if I had a girl in my bed.”

“That seems like a long time ago.” I reminisce. “So much has changed since then. I feel like I’ve grown ten years older.”

He cups the sides of my face in his huge hands. I’ve never craved the security or safety of a man before in my life, and I was convinced I wouldn’t ever. Now I’m thinking I simply had the wrong type of guy.

Archer kisses the underside of my chin, working his way down my neck. “I’m so fucking happy we could get the eight-week scan on my day off.”

The way I want him to take me back to bed so we can do unholy things …

“And if we don’t head out now, then we’re going to miss it,” I reply.

He pauses on kissing me and glances at the clock above the oven. “We have at least another ten minutes.”

“Your maths is appalling—you know that?” I’m aiming to sound bratty. Instead, I come off as turned on because I absolutely am.

He smooths his tongue across my pulse point, fingertips dancing toward my apex. “I like to think of it as optimistic calculations. I drive a Mercedes AMG GT Coupe. I promise we’ll make it on time.”

I quirk a brow at him. “You know I’m a good girl, and you’re a bad influence, don’t you?”

He moves to my earlobe, biting it gently between his teeth. “Yeah, but you’re officially mine now, so there’s no point in fighting it. Just let me have my way with you.”

I part my thighs wider for him. “When you say you want to have your way with me, be specific.”

He groans and pulls me forward until I can feel his hard cock pressing into my jean-covered pussy. “Lots of sex and plenty more babies.”

I pull back, ready to tell him one is more than enough, when his mobile starts buzzing at the other end of the island.

Reaching across, Archer picks it up and then looks at me. “It’s my mom.”

I wave an excitable hand around. I haven’t spoken to Julia since Archer broke the pregnancy news. “Answer it. Answer it.”

He groans like a petulant teenager. “I wanted to have sex.”

I raise a brow. “Archer Moore, answer the phone to your mother.”

“Hey, Mom,” he says in a bright tone, his spare hand reaching for the top button of my jeans.

I bat him away and strain to listen in.

“Hang on. Darcy’s here and wants to say hi. Let me put us on speaker.”

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