Can’t lie—those orgasms were top-notch. I’ve never had my toes curl like that. I released so much tension, I slept like a rock.
The thought makes me clench my thighs together. That’s when I realize that I’m not wearing any underwear and I’m embarrassingly sticky between the thighs. Scientifically speaking, it will take me three to five business days until I’m fully recovered from the events of last night. Yet still, I need toget myself together before my son wakes up. So I swing my legs out of bed and tiptoe into the hallway bathroom.
I get a glimpse of myself in the mirror and flinch at all the bruises on my chest. There’s not enough makeup in the world to conceal this damage. But still, a smile erupts across my face as I gently trail the marks with my fingertips. They are concrete evidence that I didn’t just hallucinate last night. It really happened.
But it’s also evidence of something else. These bruises prove to me that I’m not so disgusting and undesirable after all. Archer Brightonwantedme last night. He wanted me even with all my so-called flaws. His lips were all over my stretch marks. His hands didn’t shy away from my love handles. He touched my body like he was blind to my imperfections. Maybe it’s superficial of me, but I think I needed that validation more than I needed the orgasms themselves.
I’m on cloud nine as I quickly shower, wash my hair and brush my teeth, replaying the events of yesterday in my head. From that kiss at the hockey game to the toe-curling orgasms in Archer’s bathroom. The voice of reason is trying to remind me not to get caught up in the fantasy. But I won’t let the voice of reason talk me down from this high.
After all the shit I’ve been through, I just want a moment to bask in something that feels good for once. I’m happy for once. Even though it will probably be very short-lived.
Sky is awake by the time I’m out of the shower. “Hewo Mommy!”
He rolls over on the mattress and rises to his feet, holding his arms out to me.
“Good morning, Sky.” I scoop my happy, well-rested baby out of his crib and kiss his head. “Did you sleep well?”
My son babbles away as I carry him out for breakfast. I set him up with some toys on the living room floor. I hum to myselfand dance to the song I hear in my head as I move around the kitchen, starting the coffee maker, popping bagels into the toaster and getting Sky’s oatmeal started on the stove.
The sight of the calendar on the wall reminds me that this fairytale of mine is quickly winding to an end, though.Don’t get too comfortable, Layla.
My happiness begins to wither away but I’m distracted from the unpleasant thought when the front door swings open and then shut. I hear Archer kick off his boots at the door. Then, he’s chatting animatedly with Sky for a little while before his heavy footsteps carry him to the kitchen.
I’m not prepared for the way my heart starts galloping when our eyes meet.
“Hi,” he says, a boyish grin on his face. The tips of his ears are pink and I can’t tell if he’s blushing or if it’s because he just got in from the cold.
My tongue nervously swipes over my lips as I stand at the counter, trying to sweep away my own smile that’s creeping up on me. “Hi.”
“Did you sleep well?” he asks me.
“I did.” I fiddle with the dish towel in my hand as I turn to face him. “Did you?” I lean against the sink.
He leans against the counter across from me. “Slept great.” His lips curve even higher in that smug grin.
We stand there like fools, staring at each other and grinning while the tension between us ratchets up, turning the kitchen into a summer inferno.
I notice a reddened fingernail scratch running down the column of his throat and my mouth waters.Oh god.
“I’m just gonna, um, wash my…” He points at the sink behind me.
I blink, stumbling out of the way. “Yeah. Your hands. That’s good. Wash your hands. Yeah.”
Wow. I sound like a genius right now.
In my defense, some people are not fans of washing their hands. Razor being one of them.
When Archer turns back around, his eyes roam around the kitchen, his wet hands outstretched. I eagerly step forward, handing him the dish towel.
“Thank you,” he says, still smirking as he accepts it.
I watch him wipe his large hands, remembering just how talented they are.God—I love those hands.
My eyes lift to his and he’s still smirking at me.
“I made you a bagel.” I urgently grab a plate off the counter and thrust it at him, the bagel precariously sliding around.
“That was very thoughtful, Belle.” His eyes eat me up as he accepts the plate from my hand.