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Shit. Am I wrong? Should we wait a bit longer?

When his green gaze drifts up, I see familiar hunger that has me pushing my thighs together. “We should probably fuck one last night on ourold bed, huh?”

Giving him a saucy, teasing nod is instant. “Of course. Out of respect.”

Chuckles leave us both yet fade shortly before he’s pulling me into his lap to smash his lips against mine.Our mouths refuse to wait any longer to part and going from clothed to naked is a set of actions that’s completed in record timing.

All it takes is one push inside to erase all the horrors of the evening.

To remember that this is right.

That we’rerighttogether.

For each other.

Wet waves whirl around his swollen shaft, primitively washing away any worries that might be lingering from the ugly untruths he was forced to hear and re-instilling the loving ones. Rather than let him take me, I take him. I plant my palms firmly on his bare shoulders. Begin to work his cock by lifting myself to the tip of his dick and dropping down as low as I can possibly go, pumping his full length on every stroke.

Groans of approval or appreciation or both are attached to every nip and lick and suck being delivered to my collarbone.

And the top of my tits.

His calloused hands roughly cup both, thumbs lightly rolling around my nipples, teasing them incessantly, leaving me with no choice but to throw my chest out into every bounce. Buck like a drunk girl at a karaoke bar trying not to get knocked off a mechanical bull. My brazenness and audaciousness – two big things to be accredited to our relationship – is openly welcomed by the man using his hard hold to harshly pull me down into his frenzied thrusting.

Animalistic grunts steadily flood the room alongside my increasingly loud chants of his name.

Each time it leaves my lips his cock noticeably swells.

And every time it noticeably swells my pussy pulsates.

Pleads in a primordial code to fill me to the brim in a way I’ve never been, let alone by anyone else.

Not even Chris. Our sex sessions – when they happened – always included a condom and pulling out. The idea of kids was fine for him but the reality – in retrospect – wasn’t.

“Fuck, take whatever you need from me, sweetheart,” Archer lasciviously grumbles face becoming buried between my tits. “I’m fucking yours.”

The proclamation combined with the vibrations threatens to pre-maturely yank me over the cliff of climaxing. Digging my nails in deeper to his muscular shoulder is done in tandem with him winding his arms around my torso. Trapping me to him. Imprisoning him in my sweat soaked cleavage. Naturally, my head drops backwards during the frantic bouncing while my knees continually crash into the couch cushions struggling to support our tempestuous behaviors. All of a sudden, thick, creamy juices begin coating his cock in a more consistent pacing, proclaiming to us both that the orgasm I’ve been holding at bay is tired of being there. Feeling the soaking change causes my boyfriend to groan louder.

Growl like a crazed beast determined to brand me on the inside and out.

In love with the idea, in love with someday that branding growing into a baby, expanding our family, leads to me completely letting go. “Archer!”

Howling his name to the same tempo my muscles are constricting is mindlessly done. My wild withering is shamelessly met by muffled pants and unsteady jerking. His typically precise and unfaltering piercing progresses into a carnal mess of clumsy carving that doesn’t stop until searing spurts are reigniting my fading orgasm. Unexpectedly coming a second time from what feels like endless rushes prompts additional clenching and shuddering and rapturous hollering. Our equally twitching frames instinctively fuse together transposing us into one drenched, trembling, ball of airy sighs.

Guess orgasms really do make everything better. I read it in a book once. And I know not everything you read in a book is true, but I can honestly say…from firsthand experience…that one is.

Chapter 19

Archer

“Could we not have this fucking discussion while I’m carrying this heavy ass shit?” I gripe on my way past Jaye for Dane’s truck that we’ve been loading furniture into.

“No,” she loudly rejects, folding her long jean jacket covered arms across her chest. “I wanna have it now.With witnesses.”

Pushing the nightstand further across the space occurs at the same time I counter. “You mean with potential allies.”

“Careful, Cox,” Charles warns as he arrives at the bed of the truck to put in the drawer pieces he carried. “You’re gonna make her pout.”

Without missing a beat, that’s exactly what she does.