Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Jules seeing him leave my hotel room freaked me out, but thinking Archer had his fun and is done terrifies me.
Chapter 24
Archer
I had so many questions when I left the hotel on Sunday, but every single one was answered with a four-word text.
Brooks: Can’t make it today.
I stared at it, thinking that if I looked long enough, I could better understand just what the fuck was happening.
I spent most of Monday trying to convince myself of anything other than the truth, which was the weekend was over, Brooks regrets it, and he’s not interested in seeing me.
I’m lying in bed, waiting for the next text to come through to let me know that my contract with Blackbridge Security is canceled. I recheck my email just in case it comes through that way.
Nothing has changed since I checked ten minutes ago.
It’s only Tuesday morning, and yet I somehow know this week is going to suck, possibly more than the week the pictures of Fletcher and me hit the internet.
I’ve never had a broken heart. I didn’t suffer childhood trauma. I just wasn’t built for deep, meaningful relationships.
I have relived those words a million times since I got home Sunday, and another million after he sent the text yesterday. He was open and honest from the beginning, and I still let myself get wrapped up in the idea of him. I brought heartache on myself. I’m the only one to blame.
It doesn’t make me want to kick shit any less, but my bed is just too damn comfortable to focus on violence right now.
“Archer?”
I bury my head deeper into my pillow.
Why the hell is he here? Of course he would be the type of man to end his employment in person. How fucking chivalrous. I bet it doesn’t come with an apology for crushing my heart.
I grumble, growing madder by the thought of opening myself up enough to let it happen in the first place.
I smell a combination of his bodywash and my favorite coffee. I don’t want breakup coffee or the reminder of how damn amazing his skin smells.
The bed dips at my hip, the sound of the coffee cup settling on my bedside table.
“Are you sick?”
I ignore him and the warm hand he places against my bare back.
“Hungover?”
I roll my eyes even though he can’t see my face. The man knows I don’t drink.
“Depressed?”
There’s a thought.
Brooks grips my shoulder and rolls me over. I could fight him and tell him to fuck off, but I think things will go a lot smoother if I just listen to him. He’ll leave then and I can go back to hating life and everything in it.
“Not sick, hungover, or depressed?” he asks, his stupid handsome face smiling.
I shake my head. It’s the simplest answer and the one that gets him out of here faster.
“Good,” he says, his head lowering, his lips pressing to mine.
What the actual fuck?
“I missed you yesterday,” he whispers, pulling back from the kiss only long enough to speak before slipping his tongue in my mouth.
I’m confused and ecstatic when he pulls back. I blink up at him.
“What was that for?”
“You have the most kissable mouth.”
His eyes are locked there, his own tongue licking away the taste of me on his lips.
I should have whiplash with how quickly my mood changes, but I refuse to question it.
“Yeah? Show me.”
He leans down again, his hands sweeping away the blanket covering my chest before settling most of his weight on me. I could drown in this man, and sometimes, I feel like I am.
I open my mouth to him, letting him take the lead, letting him angle my head to fit his desires. His hand brushes over my side before slowly grazing my hip and the top of my thigh, only to run it back up my body until it tangles in my hair.
“Yesterday?” I ask when his mouth starts skating down my neck.
“Had to take care of some shit at the office.” He nips at my skin, that traveling hand of his pushing the blanket even further down my body.
I roll my hips, hoping and praying for even just a brush of his hand on my hard cock.
“What?” I snap when he pulls back and stands.
“We can’t.”
I want to fucking cry. He’s fucking toying with me, playing with things that should be off-limits if all he wanted to do was fuck around.
“Can’t?”
“You’ll be late for your therapy appointment.”
My eyes narrow. I don’t know what to fucking trust. Fuck him for making me lose my damn mind and ability for higher functioning.
“I want you to suck my cock,” I snap, anger taking precedence over everything else.
He gives me a slow wicked grin. “God, I fucking want that, too.”
Then he leans down, takes the tip of me into his hot, perfect mouth.
Did I say I was mad? I’m not mad. This is fucking heaven.