“You have been a mystery since the night I met you.”
He turned his face, pressing a kiss into the center of my palm. My fingers curled helplessly against his cheek. “I’m easy to figure out.”
“No, you’re not. Knowing what you want isn’t the same as knowing you.” My gaze lingered over his face. “The first is very simple. The second? Not simple at all.”
Archer’s hands slid along my waist, down along my hips, and I let my hand rest on the side of his neck, my thumb over the skin where his pulse raced.
“You’ve come as close as anyone has,” he admitted with a dazed shake of his head, like he couldn’t believe we were here, we were having this conversation.
“Does that scare you?”
“Not anymore.” His gaze was direct and unflinching. “Does it scareyou?”
I couldn’t hold the eye contact because my heart constricted with a dangerous tightening, so I focused on his mouth instead. “Yes,” I admitted in a whisper.
Power.
It rolled through my veins as I leaned forward, ignoring my own response to the question, ignoring the logic telling me to back away, and gently kissed him.
Once.
He held perfectly still, not even seeming to breathe, but his eyes were open and locked on me.
Twice. A little longer, lingering over his bottom lip. His eyes closed. So did mine.
His lips were soft and dry, and his restraint to let me have this moment was the sexiest thing a man had ever done for me. That was probably why I did it. Not the only reason why—I wanted it too badly to pretend that was true.
I kissed him because my heart was screaming that if I didn’t, I’d regret it for the rest of my life.
I kissed him a third time, lingering longer now, my fingers twining into his thick hair.
His hands tightened on my waist, firmly enough to make it difficult to breathe, and when my tongue slipped out to brush along the inside of his top lip, Archer groaned, standing from the stool in a sudden movement to take my face in his hands.
My power was gone. It was his now.
I gave it over gladly as he slanted his mouth over mine.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Archer
More.
I needed more.
More of her kisses.
More of her lips.
More of the sweet hint of her tongue.
More of her hair tangled around my fingers and her skin underneath my hands.
And with the pliant arch of her body into mine, the soft press of her stomach against my aching hardness, I knew she was willing to give it.
My hands curved around the back of her head, and I slid my tongue into her waiting mouth, the wet lick of her tongue on mine lifting the hairs on the back of my neck as we groaned in tandem.
Hers was relief.