Page 66 of The Sounds of Her

He presses against me and brushes my hair over my shoulder, his lips press against the dip where my neck meets my shoulder and I try my best not to shiver at the contact.

Her eyes track every move he makes. She realises whatever idea she had of being with Archer Harris tonight went out the window and hit the ground with a solid thump.

She calls me a bitch as she turns away, her anger clear. I spin around as Archer nods at someone, then takes my hand and leads me away. As we make our way through the crowds, DiMarco approaches the woman.

“He’s throwing her out?” I ask as DiMarco holds out a hand towards the exit.

He’s not touching her, but he is saying something I can’t hear over the loud music. From the indignant look on her face, it’s clear what is happening.

“She called you a slut.”

“I handled it.”

“No one gets away with calling you a slut.”

I want to examine that. I want to ask him so many questions, but the look he gives me challenges me not to. We stop close to a table where the occupants are people who work for BreakNeck, including Jordan and Hannah, who are laughing together while doing shots.

Archer ignores them, his eyes roam my body again, then lock on mine. “We better make the most of that,” he tells me.

“Meaning?”

His smile is almost feral as he leans in, not giving me a chance to stop him or ask what in the hell he is doing. One minute I’m staring at him in confusion, the next his lips are crashing down on mine.

And my heart stops beating.

I’m so stunned, I tense up.

“Come on Brooke, you can do better than that,” he whispers against my lips. “Let me in.”

He presses his mouth to mine again, his lips are warm, firm, and coaxing. Mine open enough that he takes it for the invitation it is, and his tongue moves between my lips. It’s not intrusive or aggressive, but my brain is fritzing out.

I hold on to his biceps, more to keep my balance than anything else. He uses the palm of his hand to tilt my head to the right so he can deepen the kiss. And I fucking lose all good sense. I push into him, holding his shoulders as he grips me even tighter against him.

His tongue strokes against mine in a slow, almost maddening way. I’m fighting not to climb up his body when he pulls back, leaving me a panting mess. Get it together, Brooke, I chastise. Archer is looking at me, one palm still on the side of my neck, his other hand on my lower back.

His eyes flick over my shoulder before he steps back, but he doesn’t say anything, leading me over to a couch that is near enough to hear what the guys are talking and laughing about, but separate enough that he can get right up in my business, without me being on his lap.

“That was hot.” He nuzzles against the side of my neck.

Speak Brooke. Use your words. I cross my legs and squeeze them. His chuckle wraps around me, and I risk a look at his face.

“The kiss, sure, but I meant the other thing.”

“Other thing?” I find my voice.

“Yeah, the way you told her I’m yours.”

“You are full of shit,” I nudge him. “You know why I did that.”

“Hmm mm,” he murmurs into my hair. “I’m not sure we did enough. We should keep going.”

“Kissing?”

“Yeah, that’s what couples do, right?” he nods his head, using his fingers on my cheek to draw my face back to his. “The reasons don’t matter,” he says, pressing his lips to mine, too softly that I barely feel them against my skin. But I feel it elsewhere. “Let’s enjoy it, okay?”

And he dives back in, pulling on my hip, so I’m turned towards him, the other hand gripping my hair, not hard, but he gathers it into his palm to hold me close as his mouth works mine. His beard is soft, not scratchy, and my fingers brush through it over his cheeks and up into his hair.

His hand at my hip lowers and glides up my bare thigh, toying with the hem of my dress. He pauses and looks at me, a question in his eyes. Fuck it, the reasons don’t matter. I pull him back to me and his hand moves under my dress. Moving up the outside of my thigh to the waistband of my panties, his fingers glide beneath the elastic.

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