Before I can blink, she’s on me. Her lips seal to mine in a raw, passionate kiss that wipes away every thought that isn’t her. I groan, sliding my hands to her hips and lifting. Without hesitation, she wraps her legs around my waist, and I back her against the wall.
Naked in my arms, she writhes against my length, which is straining to get to her through my sweats. She never breaks the kiss, and I want so desperately to tug them down and slide inside of her wet heat. My hands shake as need pulses through me.
We devour one another. Nothing else matters except this, her, us.
“Arch,” she moans, grinding her pelvis up and down my shaft. Her head tips back against the wall, her breathing coming in short, sharp bursts.
I move with her, thrusting my hips. My eyes dart to where our bodies are so very nearly joined. I groan as she moves faster, chasing her climax. Fingers digging into her ass, I press hot, openmouthed kisses along her throat as I’m overtaken by sensation. “Fuuuck,” I pant against her skin.
“Yesss,” she whimpers. “So close, so close, don’t stop.”
My hips flex, and I drop a hand between us, my thumb finding her clit. She cries out, her body shuddering as she comes in my arms, and I join her a heartbeat later.
Archer has spent every night this week in my bed, and we still haven’t had sex.
We’ve come together plenty of times, but we haven’t actually done the deed. It’s weird, but I kind of like it. Sex has always been a no-brainer for me. I use it as a stress reliever. I’ve been so focused on my career that I’ve never let myself develop feelings for any of the men I’ve been with.
This thing with Archer, though. . . I’m actually enjoying taking it slow—if that’s even what you would call it. He sneaks in after Bates goes to bed each night, we fool around, get off, go to sleep, then he slips out sometime in the early hours of dawn.
Falling asleep in his arms fills me with this weird sensation, like the world could be burning down around us and I wouldn’t even care.
That’s not something I’ve ever had before, and I’m not quite sure what to do with it.
Drumming my nails on the edge of my desk, I stare out the window, letting my thoughts run wild. I have work I should be doing, but I can’t focus for shit. Every time I try, I end up back at him. Archer-freaking-Austin has turned my orderly world upside down.
My cell rings, startling me. I shuffle the papers around on my desk until I find it. Archer’s name scrolls across the display, and I answer it immediately. “Hey,” I say, an uncharacteristic smile curving my lips.
“Uh, spitfire, we’ve got a problem,” he says in a serious tone that has the smile melting off my face.
“What kind of problem?” I instantly assume he’s referring to us. Cue the internal freak-out. Here I am, mooning over him, and meanwhile, he’s about to tell me it’s over and this has all been a sick joke.
“I was under the impression I’d be modeling athletic wear at today’s shoot for Primal,” Archer says.
I frown, my brain taking a second to catch up with the change in direction. “Umm, it is . . .”
He scoffs. “Then why am I looking at a rack of jockstraps?”
“What?”
“I’m in the dressing room, and the only thing in here is a bunch of jockstraps.” He chuckles. “These are more Bates’ style than mine. I’m not wearing these, Lenny.”
“I’ll be there in twenty,” I tell him as I stand, grabbing my purse.
When I arrive at the studio, I’m met by a pissed-off representative from Primal. Her face is flushed, and she launches her attack the second I’m within range.
“Your client is in his dressing room, refusing to come out. You assured us he was not only easy to work with but also extremely professional,” she spits.
“He is. Mr. Austin is having some issues with the wardrobe. Today’s shoot is for the new athletic wear line, yes?” I say in a calm, hopefully soothing tone.
She nods. “It is.”
Okay, clearly there’s been some epic miscommunication here. “Right, I’ll just go talk to him, and I’ll have this all sorted out in no time.”
“We don’t have all day to wait on him. We’ve got three other athletes to shoot. We’re on the clock, Miss Handler, and your client is holding us up.”
Nodding, I give her my best smile while internally flipping her off. “Just point me in the right direction,” I say, working to keep my tone as placative as possible.
She leads me to a bank of rooms, gesturing to the second one, then she storms off to go bitch at someone else.
I knock on the door and call, “Arch, it’s me.”
The sound of the lock disengaging comes through, and he opens it just wide enough for me to squeeze through. He flicks the lock again then stands before me wrapped in a terry cloth robe that stops at his knees, his hands braced on his hips as he glares at a rack against the far wall.
“This is a joke, right?” he says.
After wandering over to the rack, I flip through the hangers. And sure enough, a jockstrap hangs from each and every one. My brows furrow as a sudden surge of possessiveness washes through me. I wouldn’t mind seeing Arch in one of these, but there is no way in hell I’m okay with countless other women around the world eye-fucking him in this. I pick one up, glaring at the offending scrap of fabric.
I feel Arch at my back, the heat of his body soaking into me. His palms come to rest on my shoulders then slowly glide down my arms to my hands, interlocking our fingers. My breath hitches when his lips brush one, two, then three featherlight kisses to the back of my neck.
“I’m wearing one right now,” he murmurs, his words tickling my ear. “Wanna see?”
I turn on a dime, my hands going for the belt of his robe. Parting the fabric, I run my hands up his sculpted chest and over his muscular shoulders, pushing the robe off as I go. I lick my lips at the sight before me. He is so fucking sexy.
He waggles his brows. “Like what you see?” he taunts then steps back and does a slow turn, showing me the complete picture.
When he’s done, I step into him, wrapping my arms around his hips and cupping his tight ass. “I like these,” I tell him, giving his cheeks a squeeze. “But they’re for my eyes only. Over my dead body are you walking out there”—I gesture to the door with my chin—“in this.”
The look in his eyes darkens, his lips quirking to the side. “Don’t tell me Lennon Handler is . . . jealous.” He mock-gasps.
I shrug. “Stranger things have happened.”
He dips his head, bringing our mouths so close I can smell his minty-fresh breath. My tongue darts out to wet my lips, and he dives in, caressing my tongue with his, drawing me into a hot, deep kiss.
A loud bang against the door startles us apart.
“Shit. I’m supposed to be in here convincing you to get your ass out there,” I say, chuckling. “Give me a minute to deal with this. Get dressed. I’ll have them reschedule. Oh, and don’t take that off.” I wink then slip out of the room, making sure nobody can snag a glimpse of Archer in all his masculine glory. How did I not know jockstraps were so hot?
Nancy, the rep from earlier, isn’t hard to find, seeing as she’s standing not two feet from the door, tapping her foot and scowling.