His brows lift. “What? Why?”
“When I left your apartment the other day… I was overwhelmed. I was shocked. I was sad. I was angry. But most of all, I was just… Done. Finished. Finished with this life. Finished with being my parents’ puppet. Finished with living under their control. Finished letting them dictate who I am — and who I love.”
Archer inhales sharply, but doesn’t interrupt.
“I drove to Providence. Met with my academic advisor. I’m not going back to Switzerland. I’m officially enrolling at Brown for the fall semester.” My lips twist. “Of course, I’ll have a mountain of student loans and probably spend the next decade paying them back. The bank will be my new puppet-master. But it’ll be worth it. Because it will be my choice. Because I’ll be living on no one’s terms except my own, for the first time in my life.”
His gaze is soft. Warm. Full of pride. “That’s amazing, Jo.”
“Thank you.” I smile wryly. “Blair and Vincent felt differently, as you can imagine. They’re furious I’m not going back to work at VALENT. They cut me off. I think they’re under the impression that I won’t make it without their money and connections. But I’m pretty damn determined to prove them wrong.” I shrug my shoulders. “I’d rather be all alone, living off microwavable ramen noodles in a crappy apartment than trapped in a life without meaning surrounded by fancy furniture and people who don’t understand me. Who don’t love me — not for who I really am.”
Archer doesn’t say anything for a long moment. But then, he lifts our interlocked hands, examining them in the low light. After a few seconds, I realize he’s searching for an engagement ring on my fourth finger. When he finds it bare, I hear him inhale sharply. His eyes drift back to mine; I see a question smoldering in their depths.
“I gave it back,” I whisper. “The ring.”
Archer’s jaw tightens. I see a muscle leap in his cheek. “Why?”
“I couldn’t marry him.” I swallow hard. “Not when…”
“When what, Jo?”
I reach up to cup his face with my free hand. He leans his cheek into my touch, his eyes half-closing on a sigh. “Not when I’m in love with someone else.”
His arms come around me, hauling me against his chest. He bends, catching my mouth with his as we sink down onto our knees. The wool blanket is scratchy-soft beneath us. His lips crash down against mine in a kiss that makes the whole world spin, a kaleidoscope of color around me. I tremble in his arms as he slides his hands beneath the back of my sweater, callused palms skimming up my spine.
My hands are conducting an exploration of their own — pushing at the bottom hem of his white t-shirt, tracing the defined indentations of his abdominal muscles. His stomach contracts as he sucks in a sharp breath when my fingers dance up the line of hair that leads from his naval down toward the button of his jeans.
Our mouths break apart only long enough to strip off our clothing. I gulp in air as he tosses my thin pink pajama top across the loft. He pants as I pull his t-shirt up over his head. When his eyes return to mine, scanning up and down my naked torso, they’re full of fire. The same fire that ignites in my core when he reaches out to palm my breasts in his hands. The sensation of rough callus against sensitive nipple knifes through me so sharply, I have to swallow down a moan.
“Do you know how often I think about this skin?” he whispers against my lips, kissing me deeply once more. “So soft. So delicate.”
His bare chest presses against mine, warm and strong. His hands slide beneath the drawstring waist of my sleep shorts, cupping my ass firmly, pulling me flush against him.
“I’m not so delicate,” I whisper back, leaning into him.
“You are.” His teeth sink into my bottom lip, tugging gently. It’s excruciatingly erotic. I nearly mewl into his mouth. “I’m almost afraid to touch you. Like… I might break you.”
“You won’t break me,” I promise as I reach for his zipper. I can feel the steely length of him, pressed against the confines of his jeans, begging for release. “But Archer?”
“Yeah, Jo?” he asks in a husky voice.
“Even if you did break me, I don’t think I’d mind.”
I push at the elastic band of his underwear until they fall down around his knees. His cock springs free, hard and ready. A breath hisses from between his clenched teeth as I begin to stroke him, marveling at the strangely intoxicating mix of velvet skin and steely desire.
I have no idea what I’m doing, no real experience to draw on, so I follow my best instincts — closing my hand around his shaft, pumping gently up and down. His grunt of appreciation tells me I’m doing something right. I increase my speed, staring into his face the entire time. Watching as my touch slowly drives him wild. His eyes are slits of desire, locked on mine. He’s almost shuddering with it.
When his hand moves between my legs, cupping the most sensitive part of me, it’s my turn to shudder. His fingers slide through the wet evidence of my desire and push into my core, filling me in a way I’ve been longing to be filled for so long, it’s hard to fathom.
Our mouths meet again, more frantic, more ravenous than before, devouring each other as our hands work in tandem, bringing our passion to the precipice. The ache between my legs is growing unbearable. I need to be sated, filled by something far more substantial than his fingers.
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.