Page 3

Archer

I wake up tangled in 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.

The way I stood there after Logan caught us, remembering what Nash said a couple weeks ago.

I’d approached him to discuss his relationship with Emilia, Coach Lariat’s daughter. Instead, he called my ass out over Wren.

"You can only pretend you don't feel it for so long," he’d said. "Eventually, you gotta deal with it."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about." He cut his eyes at Micah. "Everyone knows how you feel about his sister except him."

"Fuck." I went rigid, scrubbing a hand down my face. "It's not like that, Whatley."

"Yeah, it is." He hopped over the boards onto the ice, glancing back at me. "If you don't get off your ass and do something about it, it won't be him you gotta worry about. It'll be some other motherfucker swooping in and putting a ring on her finger when you know damn well it should be yours."

Standing in that elevator last night, I knew he was right. Just like I’ve known it since he said that shit to me. If I didn’t do something, someone else was going to swoop in and put a ring on her finger. They were going to take her from me…and I’d be the idiot who let it happen.

I wasn’t sober when I asked her to marry me, but I’m not sure I was drunk either. For the first time in a year, I think maybe I was thinking clearly. And all I was thinking about was my ring on her finger. I needed it there more than I needed air, needed to tie her to me in some real, tangible way that couldn’t be easily undone.

Micah is going to fucking kill me.

Even knowing that…I don’t regret what I did.

She’s clearly not on the same page when she wakes up a few minutes later because she groans, a pitiful sound that tears at my heart.

“Please tell me that I’m dreaming and we’re not in bed together,” she whimpers.

I smile despite myself. “Does this mean you dream about me, little bird?”

She whimpers again, trying to bury her face in my chest like I’m her favorite pillow. “I’m not here right now. My soul has left my body. Please leave a message.”

“Feel that bad, huh?” I chuckle, brushing hair back from her face.

“Yes.” She whimpers again. “Um…Archer, we didn’t get married last night, did we? Please tell me that only happened in my drunken imagination.”

The plea in her voice makes my fucking heart ache. She regrets me. I’m asshole enough to hate knowing it. Hell, I’m asshole enough to not want her to feel it.

I want her to want me the same goddamn way I’ve wanted her for the last year. I’m asshole enough to marry her when she was too drunk to consent. And bastard enough to keep her bound to me now, no matter what. I’ll lie, cheat, and steal to keep that ring on her finger if that’s what it takes. Whatever I have to do to prove to her that this is where she wants to be.

Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve gone to extremes to keep her close. It’s not like the nonprofit where she works in DC just materialized out of thin air. She wanted to be close to Micah but couldn’t find a position. So I created one.

But she doesn’t know that. No one does. The charity serves underprivileged kids. And I started it just to keep her close.

The world would recoil in horror if they knew. Perfect captain? Perfectly unhinged, perhaps. And this perfect little goddess is the sole cause of my descent into madness.

I roll her beneath me, crawling over her. My cock throbs at the feel of her body beneath mine, so soft and sweet.

“Regret me already, wife?” I growl.

Her lips part as she stares up at me. She looks so fucking sweet, all confused and sleepy.

I groan, attacking her mouth. I can’t fucking stop myself. She’s right here, beneath me, looking utterly goddamn fuckable in nothing but my T-shirt and her panties.

She brushed her teeth before bed because she doesn’t taste like vodka and orange juice now. She tastes like mint. She tastes like mine.

“ My wife ,” I growl, loving the way that sounds.

She whines low in her throat, her fingers threading through my hair to pull me closer. One leg curves around my hip, opening her up to me. I should stop this. I know I should. But I’ve already established that I’m an asshole willing to do whatever it takes to keep her.

I grind against her hot little pussy, nipping her bottom lip.

“Archer!” She throws her head back, trembling beneath me.

“Like that?” I do it again, driving the head of my cock against her pretty little cunt. “Still regret waking up in my bed?”

“S-stop…talking.”

I chuckle at her breathless command, catching one hard nipple between my teeth.

She sobs my name, bucking against me.

“Yeah, just like that, baby,” I groan. “Keep working your hips just like that.” Christ, I want to slip her panties aside and lick her cunt until she’s screaming my name. Bet she won’t regret me then. I’ll just keep her coming until she forgets that she said yes while she was too drunk to do it.

“I…I…” She gasps suddenly, going rigid beneath me. “Oh my god! Archer! What is that?”

If she’s asking, I’m not doing it right.

And then I realize she’s staring in horror at the ring on her finger.

“Your ring.”

Wrong answer, apparently.

Sheer panic filters through her expression. She stares up at me like a wild woman on the verge of losing it completely. “Divorce,” she mumbles. “We have to get a divorce. We need lawyers and paperwork and probably other things I can’t even think about right now.”

“We aren’t getting divorced,” I say, my voice a deep rumble. Hell no. We aren’t fucking getting a divorce. Ever.

She gapes up at me, panic turning to suspicion. “Are you still drunk?”

“No.”

“Did you bump your head?”

“No.”

The suspicion in her gray eyes grows. “Are you on drugs, Archer?”

I crack a smile despite myself. Fuck. She’s cute when she’s spiraling. “I’m not on drugs, Wren. And I’m perfectly sane, too,” I add, just in case that’s her next question. Might as well cut it off at the pass.

“Obviously not. We got married last night, Archer. Married! And you just want to pretend that’s a totally normal thing to do.”

“People get married all the time.”

“Not drunk in Vegas!”

“Actually…”

She shoves against my shoulders, growling wordlessly.

I chuckle and kiss her again. “You’re cute as hell when you’re freaking out, little bird.”

“And you’re annoying when you’re not freaking out enough.”

She has no idea. But I’m ready to lose it because she wants to leave me. She’s freaking out because I don’t want her to go. Clearly, we need to get on the same page here.

How the fuck do you make someone fall in love with you?

“Annulment!” she practically shouts at me. “That’s what we need.”

That is absolutely not what we need. But she definitely needs me to spank her pretty little ass.

“Wren, baby, if we rush out and get an annulment now, it’ll do more harm than good,” I murmur, stroking her cheek. Trying not to grind against her again. Goddamn. Her pussy is right there. Wet. Perfect. Mine.

I bite my tongue, fighting a growl.

“How have you possibly drawn that conclusion?”

I latch onto the only thing that comes to mind. “Britney Spears.”

She cracks a smile.

“I’m serious.” No, I’m not. I’m making this shit up as I go, desperately trying to convince the woman I breathe for not to leave me before she even gives me a chance. “No one gave a shit that she got married in Vegas. It happens all the time. They cared that she got married and then annulled the marriage within days. That was the big story. We need to wait it out.”

“For how long?” The reluctance written all over her face is goddamn deadly.

Permanently.

“So eager to get rid of me?” I ask, trying to pretend the thought doesn’t bother the fuck out of me. It does, though. Last night, she told me she’d been wanting to kiss me forever. Now, she can’t wait to be rid of me. I refuse to believe she just wanted to fuck.

Wren isn’t a puck bunny. She hasn’t dated anyone in the year I’ve known her. Hell, she hasn’t even looked at a man in the last year. Her eyes are always on me. I know damn well that’s because she feels something for me.

“Eager not to ruin your friendship, Archer,” she says quietly, worry written all over her face. “Micah is going to kill you.”

So that’s it. The sole reason she’s so fucking scared right now. It’s her brother. And of course she isn’t worried about her relationship with him…she’s worried about mine. Because that’s the thing with her. Hell, maybe it’s the thing with both of us. We put everyone else first, all the goddamn time. We worry about everyone else first.

Isn’t that why I’ve hesitated for so fucking long? Because of Micah? Because of the team? Because everyone else’s needs came before mine? It’s what I’m supposed to do as their captain—put their needs first. But goddamn, I hate knowing she’s doing the same thing—prioritizing my friendship with him above what she really wants.

“Let me worry about Micah, wife.”

She whimpers softly, and I realize that, despite all her worries and objections, she likes that title. She likes knowing she’s mine. And she likes hearing me say it.

Fuck. With the evidence right in front of me, I can’t help myself. I attack her mouth like the unruly beast I am.

She doesn’t stop me. She doesn’t tell me no. She just whimpers again, clinging to me. Kissing me back like she’s going to die if my taste isn’t in her system right now.

I know damn well that I should stop this before it goes too far and gives her something else to regret, but I fucking don’t. She’s beneath me, squirming and writhing, soft and pliant, warm…

I grind my cock against her hot little pussy again, kissing a trail down her body. She’s so damn soft. So beautiful.

“Archer!” she sobs, her back bowing from the bed when I wrap my lips around one hard nipple through her shirt again.

“Shh. Let me just have a taste,” I murmur, already pushing her shirt up her body. “Just one taste…” Goddamn, she’s beautiful. Her alabaster skin quivers beneath my palms. Her full breasts beg for my mouth. Those wet little panties demand attention.

I groan, pushing her breasts together. My mouth descends on one, dragging her nipple through my teeth.

She sobs my name, her hands flying to my hair again. She isn’t gentle as she pulls. My balls cinch up tight, loving every second of the pain.

I move to her other breast, biting down.

“You’re going to make me come!” she cries.

Ah, hell. My wife is so fucking horny.

“Not yet, Wren. Not fucking yet.” I drag my lips down her round belly. Dip my tongue into her belly button.

She sobs beneath me.

My fingers hook into the sides of her panties, tugging them down. Her pretty little mound appears, bare, her lips wet with her juices. I tug the fabric down lower, breathing her in. She’s sweet and tangy.

My mouth waters.

“Don’t fucking come yet,” I warn her.

“I can’t help it!” she sobs.

“Not until I get a taste, wife.”

She pulls my hair harder.

I growl, burying my face in her pussy. My tongue spears through her folds, licking up every drop of honey. Her flavor… fucking hell. I want to die right here, with her gushing on my tongue and babbling my name.

I flick my tongue against her clit and then force the tip of it into her perfect little hole, wanting it as deep as I can get it. Wanting as much of her as I can take.

She sobs my name, coming unglued. Her body undulates beneath me, trying to buck me off as she shatters, coming with a sweet little gasp. I grind my hips against the bed, driving my cock against the mattress like that’s going to relieve the ache or pressure. It fucking won’t. Nothing will until I’m inside her, making her scream my name. Until she’s wrapped around my cock, clawing my back and coming all over me.

I’m two seconds from taking us there when the shrill ring of my room phone shatters the moment.

“Son of a bitch,” I snarl, pissed beyond measure.

I crawl up her body, snatching it off the receiver.

“Fuck off,” I growl, not really caring who is on the other end.

“Well, fuck you too,” Micah says in my ear, chuckling.

Son of a bitch. Micah.

“You’re supposed to be downstairs in fifteen minutes, fucker.”

“Goddammit.”

“Hung over?” he asks.

I scrub a hand down my face, my eyes locked on Wren’s face.

She sits up, staring at me. Her face is still flushed from her orgasm, her eyes dilated. But she knows it’s Micah. I see the realization settling over her little by little, undoing every bit of progress we made. Desire cools, turning cold. Her flush fades, leaving her pale. She wraps her arms around herself, trembling.

She’s slipping away right in front of my face, closing down on me.

“Yeah,” I lie to her brother, my eyes locked on her, silently pleading with her for…what? I don’t know. To stay in the moment that was gone as soon as the goddamn phone rang? To give me the chance I stole?

“Have you seen Wren this morning? I haven’t been able to get ahold of her.”

“She’s probably regretting her life right now,” I say. It’s not a lie, but I fucking hate that it’s true.

“I’ll go wake her up,” he mutters. “I’m guessing she’s probably hung over.”

Fuck. If he goes looking for her, he isn’t going to find her in her room. And he’s going to kill us both.

“I’ll take care of bringing her down,” I quickly say. “Give me five minutes to get dressed.”

“Fine.” He pauses. “What the fuck did the two of you do last night?”

“Lost a shit ton of my money. Your sister sucks at poker.”

He laughs loudly as Wren scrambles from the bed as if released from a spell, her movements jerky, nervous.

“Gotta go,” I mutter. “See you soon.” I slam the phone onto the receiver, reaching for her. But she’s already slipping away. “Wren, baby…”

“Don’t.” Her voice cracks. “Please…just don’t.” She presses her palms to her cheeks. “This can’t happen, Archer.”

I rise from the bed, defiance surging through me in a black cloud as I stalk toward her. “Too goddamn bad,” I growl, yanking her into my arms to kiss her hard on the mouth. “It’s happening. We’re married and we aren’t getting a divorce. Get used to it.”

“Archer!” she cries as I grab my duffle, striding toward the bathroom. “Archer, dammit!”

“Go get ready, wife. We’re leaving for the airport in fifteen minutes.”