We tumble to the floor, Archer coming down hard atop me. His weight flattens me completely, but I don’t care. My bones have turned to liquid gold, molten with longing. When he pulls his lips from mine and looks down at me, his eyes are full of such stark desperation, I know I’m not the only one on the brink of combustion.
“I wasn’t expecting this,” he says breathlessly. “I didn’t… I don’t have a condom.”
I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m on the pill.”
He looks at me for a long time. “I haven’t been with anyone else. Not since last summer. Not since we were together.”
“Neither have I,” I whisper.
His mouth slams onto mine again, a kiss of so much passion, it almost feels like a possession. Like I’m being claimed, owned, marked as his. With any other man, I might mind. I might protest. I might refute. But this is Archer. There’s no lie in his kiss — no refuting the truth of it.
I am his.
I have always been his.
I watch him through slitted eyes as he shoves the rest of the way out of his jeans and underwear. My hips lift eagerly as he hooks his hands in the fabric of my pajama shorts and strips them off me.
“God, Jo. You’re so fucking beautiful. Do you know that?” He kisses his way down my stomach, a trail of adoration that makes me squirm against the wool blanket. “I could stare at you for the rest of my life, it wouldn’t be long enough. And when I touch you… it’s like an addiction. The more I get, the more I want. I don’t think I’ll ever be satisfied.”
“There are worse addictions,” I murmur, pulling him back up my body, so our faces are level. “Don’t you think?”
His mouth returns to mine, kissing me hungrily as he settles between my legs. I revel in the sensation of his weight on me; at the press of his shaft, poised at the apex of my thighs.
I need him inside me, now. I need us to be joined as one again. Together in the most intimate way. I’ve needed it for a year — every minute of every day since we parted last summer. Every second since he walked out of my life and left me a hollow shell.
“Archer,” I beg, winding my legs around his hips. My hands slide across the broad planes of his back, where muscles ripple. “Make love to me. Please.”
We both cry out as he pushes inside me. I tense. It’s a tight fit — for a moment, I brace myself for the initial pain I felt the first time we did this. But the pain never comes. Instead, a wave of pleasure sweeps through me — a ripple of need that builds and builds with each thrust, cresting into a tsunami that sweeps through my entire body. A relentless tide.
“There are no words for what you make me feel, Josephine.” He grunts out the statement, each word timed to another thrust. “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”
“Archer!” I cry, lost in a current of rapture.
“Say it.”
“I’m yours,” I gasp. He’s so deep, it’s making me delirious. “I’ve always been yours.” My fingertips dig into his shoulders. “And you’re mine.”
“Damn right, baby.” His tongue strokes mine, a brutal kiss that steals my breath. “I’m yours. Now. Then. Always.”
Our mouths connect and, this time, refuse to break apart. There are no more words to exchange, no more thoughts to share. We are beyond that, now. I can only cling to him as he fucks me harder, deeper, his hips moving faster and faster. Driving me beyond the point of logical thought, to a place of pure sensation.
Him.
Me.
Our spot.
Skin on skin.
Heart to heart.
Our hands lock together, flat on the floorboards above my head. Our gazes are magnets, never shifting as we both ride the wave all the way down to the depths.
Drowning in one another.
Never wanting to resurface.
I cry out his name as the orgasm shatters through me, sending me crashing. And I hear mine on his lips, an exultant shout of release, as he spills his passion into me with desperate pumps.