Page 6

Wren

H e knows what I’m asking, what I need. I need to know this is real.

His groan vibrates through me before he kisses me again, hard and deep. Like he’s trying to make me feel what he does, trying to brand me with his possession. But he doesn’t need to do it. I already feel it.

I’m just a coward. One balancing on the edge of a knife. And I’m terrified that I’m going to knock us off the side and get us swept away into something that none of us can come back from.

All the king’s horses and all the king’s men …

I don’t want to break anyone I love. I don’t want to be broken.

But none of that matters when he’s kissing me. None of it matters when his hands are on my body. The only things that matter are him and the way he makes me feel alive in a way I’ve never been before now.

“Goddamn, Wren,” he growls, reaching for the hem of my shirt. His hands rake up my abdomen as he lifts it, only breaking from my lips long enough to rip it off over my head. The chrome of the fridge is cold against my back, but he’s searing hot against my chest. “You have no idea the things I want to do to you.”

“Show me,” I say again, not offering any resistance. I’ve spent a year thinking about a whole lot of things I’d like him to do to me. Dreaming about them. Getting myself off to fantasies of them. Now that the reality is within my grasp, I’m not shying away. Hell no. I want everything he has.

“Don’t tempt me, little bird.” His lips slide down my throat. “I’ll have you tied to my bed, surviving on my cock until you’re carrying my kid.”

My womb clenches, a wave of heat blasting through me. Good Lord. This man is going to annihilate any chance I have of surviving without him. I already know he is. Because I want his babies. I want everything he’s offering. It’s so damn tempting, like waving alcohol in front of an addict.

“I’m on birth control,” I blurt, trying to claw us both back toward sanity. It helps regulate my cycle. PCOS is a bitch.

Archer’s teeth sink into my throat before he snarls. “Think that’ll stop me, baby?” He kisses lower, ripping the cups of my bra down. “Throw the pills out.”

“I…Oh my god, Archer,” I moan, writhing as he wraps his lips around my nipple, sucking hard.

“Christ, I could do this all day,” he mutters before suddenly lifting me away from the fridge.

I gasp, clinging to his broad shoulders as he stalks across the kitchen like I don’t weigh anything at all. Every step he takes has his erection grinding against my clit, the pressure hitting right where I need it.

“Archer!”

“You going to come all over me already, baby?” His raspy chuckle is my undoing. Or maybe it’s his hands on my body like he owns it. I don’t know. But I fall forward, burying my face in his throat. My teeth catch his skin as I shatter like glass, splintering apart.

“That’s it,” he growls, rocking me against him. “Just keep coming, little bird.”

Like I have a choice when he’s all over me, implacable and intense and so damn sexy. I shake and writhe, chanting his name like a freaking prayer. And maybe it is because I don’t want this to end. I don’t want to give him up. I want whatever this is between us to be real and possible and not something that has to end. Please, baby Jesus? Please?

My back lands against a bed, Archer falling on top of me. He holds his weight off me as if to keep from crushing me, but he doesn’t let me go. He’s pressed to me in one long, delicious line, pinning me beneath him.

“Throw the pills out, wife,” he growls, pulling back to meet my gaze. His eyes are dark, his expression even darker. Full of possession and command, as if he can will me into surrendering to him.

“N-not pills,” I gasp.

“IUD?”

“Patch.”

The way he smirks at me… God, if I live to one hundred, that damn smirk will be emblazoned on my memory like a formative event.

“Guess I’ll take care of it myself then,” he murmurs, leaning back on his heels.

“Archer…” I’m not sure if I want to protest or tell him where to find the patch so I bite my lip instead, stubbornly refusing to say anything. Part of me is convinced he won’t really remove it. The larger part is absolutely certain that’s exactly what he’s going to do.

He runs his hands over me, searching for the patch.

I hold my breath, our eyes locked in some silent battle that I’m well aware I’m already losing. I lost as soon as he touched me. Hell, maybe I lost as soon as I met him. I don’t know. But his fingers brush the patch on my upper arm.

The damn devil peeks out from his eyes. It lurks in his smile.

He carefully removes the patch before holding it up in front of my face, as if to show me the evidence of his determination. “Hope you didn’t pack any more of these, baby girl,” he says, his voice a deep rumble. “They won’t last either.”

I whimper in defeat. In surrender. In relief.

Archer Graves, the man I married in Vegas, is going to ruin me. And I’m not telling him no. I’m not trying to stop him. I’m not even trying to talk sense into him. Because God help us both, I want him to do it, consequences be damned.

He flicks the patch away, reaching for me again.

His hands sear my skin, setting me ablaze all over again. I squirm beneath him, arching into his touch, loving the way he’s so gentle and demanding at the same time…like I’m priceless and perfect.

“These fucking curves, Wren,” he groans, leaning down to press his lips to my stomach. “I’ve jerked myself raw thinking about putting my hands all over this perfect body.”

I bow beneath him, moaning. Most men don’t love curves like mine. When I dated in the past, my body was always a problem. Very few ever made it past the first date because of the way they looked at me like there was something wrong with me because of my size. Archer doesn’t look at me that way. He looks at me like he’s looking at perfection. He touches me like he’s worshipping.

Maybe that’s why I’m so willing to confess my own truth.

“I’ve thought about you too. So many damn times.”

He likes knowing that. A whole lot, judging by the way he nips at my skin and groans before hooking his hands into the waistband of my pants. “Did you get yourself off thinking about me, Wren? Fuck your fingers whispering my name?”

“Yes,” I whimper, lifting my hips so he can drag my pants and panties down my legs.

“Good.” He lifts his gaze to mine. “I want mine to be the only name you ever say. I want to be the only one you ever think about.” He exhales a shaking breath. “Christ, little bird, I’m so fucking desperate for you.”

I know how he feels. My body feels like it’s going to vibrate apart. The desire is too big to contain. It courses through me in waves, threatening to unmake me at a cellular level.

“Then take me, Archer. Make me yours.”

“I want another taste of you first,” he breathes, running his lips down my stomach. “Make a mess of your husband’s face, little bird.”

Every time he calls me his wife, I feel like I’m going to combust. But hearing him call himself my husband? That’s a whole different level of hot. I’m so wet I know I’m dripping. I don’t care. It’s not like he minds. I think dripping and desperate is exactly how he wants me right now.

He lifts one leg over his shoulder, pressing a sweet kiss to the inside of my thigh. A greedy growl rumbles in his throat. “Fucking hell, Wren. Do you have any idea how pretty this pussy is?”

“Archer,” I whimper, already clinging to the sheet. Already desperate.

“I’m serious. You’re so fucking wet. So pink. Look at this swollen little clit.” He flicks it with his tongue, and I sob his name, arching toward his mouth. “It’s begging for me, baby.”

“I’m begging!” I cry.

“I want to hear you say it, Wren. Tell me that you want me to eat your pussy until you come all over my face.”

I squirm beneath him, too turned on to be embarrassed. At this point, I think I’ll say anything, give him anything, if it gets his mouth on me faster. “Please eat my pus–”

He lunges, burying his face in my pussy with a wild growl.

My hips come off the bed, only to be driven back down by the force of his hunger, the depth of his need. He holds me still beneath him, attacking me with his lips and tongue.

“So fucking good,” he grunts, his tongue running in circles around my hole.

I sob, already on the verge of coming unglued. He’s a master with his tongue, working me over until I’m a voiceless, thoughtless wreck beneath him. Even then, he doesn’t stop. He just thrusts his tongue inside, using it like a cock to drive me right over the edge into another orgasm.

His hand slips between my cheeks, one finger rubbing against my back entrance.

“Archer!” I gasp, shocked…turned on. That shouldn’t feel so damn good. But it does. God, everything he does feels incredible.

“Don’t fight me, baby girl,” he snarls against my pussy. “Just relax and let me in.”

I can’t help it. I give him what he wants. I do more than that. I push back against him. Eager. Willing.

His finger slips inside bit by bit, stretching me. He watches my face as he twists and plunges, fucking my ass with one finger. And then he adds another.

“Every hole will belong to me, Wren,” he rasps. “Every fucking time you get horny, you’ll come looking for me. You’ll climb on my cock and use it like your own personal plaything.”

My inner muscles clench and quiver. I’m so close, climbing higher with every word he says. With every press of his fingers and flick of his tongue.

“You’ll breathe for your husband’s cock.” He wraps his lips around my clit, and I’m gone. Lost. Drowning.

I shatter with his name on my lips, screaming it to the freaking heavens. I come for so hard and so long, everything goes white. The whole world…lost to him.

I come back to myself with a gasp when his lips touch mine, breathing life into me like he’s my own wicked Prince Charming. He lifts me up in his arms, pulling me onto his lap. He’s naked, every inch of his body on display.

His cock standing thick and proud. My stomach clenches at the sight. At the feel of him against me, nothing between us but want and need and shattering desire.

“I want you just like this,” he murmurs, adjusting me on his lap so I’m hovering over him. “Want to be able to see your face while you fuck yourself with my cock.”

“Archer.” Who knew the Carvers’ perfect captain had such a filthy mouth? That he was so potently sexual? He’s always so put together, always so composed. He isn’t right now. He hasn’t been since we woke up in bed this morning. He’s just raw intensity and burning need.

“We’re consummating this marriage, Wren. And you’re going to do it.” He nips at my lips, bucking his hips so his cock glides through my folds. “Claim me, wife. Sink those little claws into me and ride.”

I grip his shoulders and slowly sink down, sobbing in ecstasy as he fills me inch by inch, splitting me open and spilling himself into me. He feels so good. And this feels so damn right.

“Fuck,” he groans, his head kicked back, intense pleasure radiating from every pore. He’s wild and unkempt beneath me, all mine. My husband. My obsession. And, as my ass settles against his lap, the certainty that he’s my future rips through me, too.

I rock against him, trying to find a rhythm. He moves with me, lifting me up and down with his hands on my waist.

Within minutes, I feel like I’m flying.

I drag my nails down his shoulder blades, moaning his name.

“That’s it, baby girl,” he groans. “Fuck me just like that.”

I whimper, loving the gritty rasp of his voice, like he’s as lost to pleasure as I am. Like he’s in heaven just like I am. Nothing has ever felt this good before. Nothing has ever felt this right.

I slam myself down on him harder and faster, wanting— needing —him deeper. Until he’s part of me, something that no one can ever take.

“Please, please,” I gasp.

“You want more, little bird?”

“Yes!”

He flips me over onto my back, following me down.

There’s a reason Archer is one of the best paid players in the league. The man knows how to move. He proves it now, fucking me so hard and fast he leaves me breathless and dizzy beneath him. He kisses and bites everywhere he can reach—my throat, my nipples, the sides of my breasts. I’m completely covered in him, surrounded by him.

“You feel so fucking good,” he growls. “Christ, Wren. I don’t want to stop. I just want to keep fucking you like this until I can’t move.” He nuzzles his face against my throat. “My wife. My perfect fucking wife is wrapped around my cock.”

The reverence in his tone has my muscles clenching around him.

“You going to come on me, baby?” he growls, his hips slamming into mine. “I feel your pussy getting tighter. Feel you quivering beneath me.”

“Yes,” I moan, writhing. “You feel so damn good, Archer. I can’t…I can’t…” I break off, moaning when he yanks my leg up over his hip, changing the angle. Allowing him to go deeper.

“Do it then,” he orders me. “Come all over my cock. Make it real easy for me to put my kid in you.”

“Oh my god.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t want it, Wren.” He nuzzles his face against my throat again, pressing his lips up against my ear. “I feel how much wetter your cunt just got. I feel you clenching around me. You want me to breed this pretty little hole.”

I do, damn him. I do. Even if it’s impossible…I want it.

“Fucking come and give us what we both want,” he whispers, his voice lulling me to the edge, compelling me to give in and give him what he wants. God, this man is wild. He’s intense and sexy and so damn beautiful. And, for some reason, he decided to put his ring on my finger.

I’m the thing he wants enough to risk everything. I tried to lie to myself on the flight, tried to convince myself that he only did it because he wants to fuck me. With him inside me, whispering about how much he wants to get me pregnant, there is no denying the truth now. Whatever this is…it isn’t sex.

It's something a whole lot bigger than that.

I shatter with a cry, his name echoing in the corners of the room as the truth and what he’s doing to me drive me right over the edge. This isn’t a little death. It’s life. It’s rebirth. It’s…fucking everything.

“Wren!” he shouts, slamming into me once. Twice. A third time. And then he goes still, a long, low growl ripping from his lips as his cock jerks and he spills into me, painting me with a truth I can’t deny.

This was never about sex.

And it’s not about my brother, either.

God help me…this is about us. Just me and him and the massive, unnamed thing that’s been growing between us for a year.

“Stop looking at me like that,” I mumble a little while later, trying to cover my face with my hands as he grins at me like he just won the lottery and I’m his prize. “You’re giving me a complex.”

“Better be a goddess complex,” he grunts, gently prying my hands away from my face. He’s still grinning. His lips brush mine, his kiss sweet and sustaining. “It’s the only complex you’re allowed to have.”

I roll my eyes at him and try, yet again, to push him off me. Yet again, he doesn’t budge. He’s still inside me.

“Can you please move?” I groan.

“You mean like this?” He pumps his hips.

I whimper, my gaze flying to his face. “How can you possibly be ready for another round already?”

He arches his brow, looking at me like it’s a ridiculous question. “You try being in this magical pussy after being celibate for almost two decades, Wren. I’ve been jerking off, thinking about this moment for a year. Trust me, he’s not going down anytime soon.”

I gape at him. “You’ve been celibate for two decades?”

“Sixteen years,” he mutters.

“That means you were…” I try to do a quick calculation in my head, which makes him chuckle and shake his.

“I was seventeen.”

“Oh.” I peek up at him, trying to uncover all his secrets. Refusing to think about how old I was when he was seventeen. He’s Micah’s age…almost twelve years older than I am. But I don’t think that bothers him any, so I’m not going to worry about it, either.

“You must have really loved her if it’s taken you this long to get over her,” I murmur.

“Is that what you think?” He arches a brow and then shakes his head but doesn’t say anything else. I should probably let it ride…but of course I don’t.

“What happened?”

“Baby.” He groans, pressing his forehead to mine. “I don’t really want to talk about a girl who stopped mattering a decade and a half before I knew you existed, especially while I’m still inside you.”

“Fine,” I grumble. “Slide out so we can talk.”

His lips curve into a grin. “I can’t. I’m busy keeping my cum where it belongs.”

“Archer!” I cry, lightly smacking his shoulder. “I’m not going to get pregnant when you just removed my patch.”

“Is that a challenge?” He quirks a brow, the devil peeking out from his eyes again.

“Definitely not. Some of us need recovery time,” I sniff.

He chuckles, kissing me before he slides out with a grumble. I whimper, not liking the way it feels not to have him inside me now that he’s not there.

Note to self: Shut up and enjoy next time.

He rolls onto his side and climbs from the bed. I only get to admire him for a split second before he disappears into the bathroom. I hear the water running for a minute before he reappears with a washcloth in his hands.

My entire body flushes pink when he kneels on the bed beside me, cleaning between my legs, his touch gentle.

“Thanks,” I whisper.

“My pleasure, baby.” The way he says that…he means it. He tosses the cloth toward the bathroom and then hauls me into his arms.

“Where are we going?”

“Anywhere but here if I’m not allowed to make you come on my cock again,” he mumbles, setting me on my feet in the middle of his closet. And…whoa. I could live in here. It’s bigger than my entire bedroom.

He grabs a Carvers T-shirt from a drawer before sliding it down over my head. “Arms up, baby.”

“I can dress myself,” I complain…but I also lift my arms and let him finish.

He runs his palm across my bare ass, brushing his lips across my shoulder as the shirt settles into place. “I know you can, but I like taking care of you. Hush and let me do it.”

I hush and let him help me into a pair of his sweats. I look like a little kid with them dragging the floor, so he chuckles and kneels to roll them up. Once he’s satisfied, he quickly yanks on a pair himself. He doesn’t put on a shirt, though.

“Uh, are you putting on a shirt?”

“Nope. We aren’t going to be dressed long enough for it to matter. I’m going to cook you food, and then I fully intend to spend the rest of the day being an attentive husband in bed.”

Well, okay then.

“Then why leave it at all?”

“You need food, and I refuse to talk about another woman in our bed, little bird.” His nose wrinkles. “We aren’t talking about other men in our bed either.”

“Well, that’s easy enough. There are none.”

He stares at me, his expression intense. “What do you mean by none?”

“I mean none. Zero. Zilch. Zip. Nada.” I shrug. “I had a boyfriend for a few months when I was a freshman in college. I’ve dated. But I’ve never slep–”

I don’t even get to finish before I’m plastered to the door with him all over me again.

“You should have told me,” he groans, his hands gentle as he presses his forehead to mine. “Jesus, Wren. I’m such an asshole.”

“Archer.” I laugh quietly, running my fingers through his hair. “Do you hear me complaining? You didn’t hurt me. I’ve been…you know what? Never mind.”

“Nu-uh.” His eyes bore into mine. “Finish that sentence.”

He wants to know? Fine.

I press my lips to his ear. “Toys, Archer. I’ve played with toys.”

He growls, his hands tightening around my waist. “Who were you thinking about?”

“You.”

“Wren, baby,” he groans. “You’re a naughty little minx.”

I throw my head back, laughing.

He grumbles, kissing me hard on the lips to silence my laughter before he peels me away from the door, carrying me out of the bedroom.

“So you had a boyfriend when you were in college?”

“Yeah. I was eighteen. And then I heard him telling his buddies that he was going to break up with me after I let him hit it.” I scrunch my nose at the memory. “He used those exact words. So I dumped a bottle of water on him in the cafeteria and told him that I’d never sleep with a dog.”

“Good for you.” Archer grins down at me. “Fuck that guy.”

“Yeah. He sucked donkey balls. He flunked out of college and had to move back in with his parents not long later, so there’s that,” I say, perking up. “He’s probably not getting laid in their basement.”

Archer’s body shakes with laughter.

“What about your ex?” I ask as we make our way down the stairs. I don’t even remember us coming up the stairs! But I guess we did because we emerge into the living room, The entire back wall is glass, looking out over the backyard. It’s an oasis out there.

“We grew up together,” he says, carrying me into the kitchen. “I asked her to a dance when I was fifteen, and we were together for two years. I thought she cared about me. Turns out, she just saw me as her ticket out of town. I didn’t dump water on her, but I did break up with her.”

“You must have really loved her.”

“What makes you think that?” he asks, frowning as he settles me at the island.

“You’ve been celibate ever since her,” I say quietly.

“That wasn’t because I’ve been hung up on her, Wren.” He tips my chin back, forcing me to meet his gaze. I see the truth reflecting in his eyes. It steadies me in ways I didn’t realize I needed to be steady. “I was hurt when I found out that she was just using me, just like you were with that fucker. But I didn’t miss her. I never wondered where she was or what she was doing. It just didn’t fucking matter. I was with her because it was easy. Because it was nice having someone to share shit with. It was a routine like every other part of my life at the time. Once she was out of the picture, I realized that wasn’t what I wanted out of life. I didn’t want to be with someone just because it was better than being alone. Just because it was easy or a habit or comfortable. So when I drafted, I avoided all that shit. Using someone to get off didn’t appeal to me when I knew how it felt to be used.” He shrugs a shoulder. “I focused on the game and finding joy in other parts of my life instead.”

“And look at you now,” I whisper.

“Yeah.” His grin is soft, full of sweetness and sin. “Look at me now. Married to a goddess.”

I huff, but there’s no heat in the sound. I like the way he speaks to me like I matter to him. Like this marriage matters to him. But knowing that he chose me after sixteen years? That feels…big. Monumental. And I’m not entirely sure where to fit it.

For the last year, I thought I knew him. But I’m quickly realizing that what I knew didn’t even scratch the surface of this man. There are hidden depths and currents to him that are breathtaking. This marriage is supposed to be temporary, something we undo as soon as possible. And yet…less than twenty-four hours in, it already feels too big and too important to undo.

I don’t know where that leaves me. I don’t know where it leaves us . Part of me desperately wants to find out. But what happens then? What happens when I fall even deeper, and it all comes unraveled?

He won’t be some guy that I never have to see ever again. He’ll be the man who has every piece of my heart. The one I still see every damn time I go to one of Micah’s games. He won’t be mine anymore, but I’ll still feel like his.

I’m not sure I’m brave enough to face that.

“Give me a chance,” he whispers as if reading my worries on my face. “Let me show you what we can be together, little bird.”

But I don’t need him to show me. I already know. I already feel it. Isn’t that the terrifying part? Less than twenty-four hours in, and I’m already sinking beneath his waves. He’s the storm, and I like the way he rages a little too much already.

“Archer, I…”

“Please,” he says, the word soft. Pleading.

I don’t tell him no. I can’t. Not when I’m realizing that we want the same damn thing. I’m just the one afraid to reach for it.

“Okay,” I whisper, reaching anyway.

His answering smile is worth the leap.