Page 58 of Red River

Slowly, I untangled my fingers from his and traced them over the back of his hand, along the prominent veins on his forearm, then up to his massive bicep and his shoulder. My touch lingered on his neck gland. I felt almost hypnotized, being in such intimate contact with his warm skin.

Archer had his eyes closed, surrendering to my touch, almost like he was listening to it.

"So nice," he whispered, with a sigh.

Encouraged, I lifted my hand and lightly brushed his jawline, then his lower lip. That’s when his eyes opened, and suddenly, he was looking right at me. We were so close now—because at some point, I’d half-crawled out of the nest toward him.

Up close, Archer looked so young. His skin still had that youthful softness, smooth and free of any imperfections. His eyes were a clear, crystalline blue, and for a moment, I let myself drown in them before the words slipped out of me:

"Kiss me. I want it, Archer."

I saw the faint twitch in his expression—surprise, maybe even a little disbelief—that I’d asked.

"River, it’s only been three days."

"Archer, please. For all these years, I hated myself for liking our first kiss. I want to replace it with something I won’t regret."

Archer’s gaze drifted down to my lips. "I never felt guilty about it. For me, that memory was always a perfect one."

"It was inappropriate. I want this to be our first kiss."

Archer kept staring at my lips, not saying anything.

I could smell him—fresh, like a mountain storm mixed with the earthy scent of a forest after rain. Sadly, it wasn’t his Allure but his shower gel, though I hoped the scent was close to his own. As for me, I consciously chose cosmetics that smelled of strawberries and dahlias—maybe he did the same?

"What do you really smell like, River?" Archer whispered, his lips now just two inches from mine. He obviously had a similar dilemma.

"Thomas said I smell like dahlias and strawberries," I breathed out.

"When I kissed you back then, I could taste a hint of that. It was amazing."

His lips moved even closer. Now only one inch separated us, and my heart pounded as fast as it did that day he first kissed me.

"River. Red River…" he whispered, and then he did it.

The magic started again.

It began the same way as before—a soft brush of his lips against mine, barely a touch, then pressing more firmly. My whole body trembled—I closed my eyes, giving in to it. Archer tasted like blueberry juice, and I let myself sink into that taste. His tongue gently teased my lower lip, lightly grazing it before slipping inside with deliberate slowness.

Our tongues met, and after seven years, they greeted each other in an intimate dance. My head spun—I was literally dizzy. My fingers gripped the fabric of his T-shirt at his chest, not wanting it to end. The very thought of him pulling away terrified me, so I wrapped my arms around his neck, practically throwing myself against him.

His hands rested on my back. One of them grabbed my hair, wrapping it around his wrist, pulling my head slightly back. His lips left mine and trailed down to my neck gland. I let out a sultry moan when I felt him lightly bite and suck on it.

This escalated oddly quickly; my pulse picked up, matching his, my excitement skyrocketed.

As Archer's closeness enveloped me, my blood flowed downward, my dick grew hard, throbbing, threatening to explode, and my hole clenched—I almost lost it. My whole body felt like it was drowning in a haze of pink and red. I cried out—a sound that wasn’t even a moan anymore but a primal omega mating call. Why was it building up so intensely?

My nails dug into his skin, and Archer let out a low, deep growl in response. I felt his teeth sink harder into my gland, and another raw, instinctual sound tore from my throat—a plea for him to claim me.

And then, right at that moment, Igor’s voice cut through the air behind us:

"If you two would stop sucking each other’s necks like perverts for a second, maybe one of you would care that some beta kid just showed up. Says he’s here to help with the obstacle course."

My face burned. Did he really have to walk in at the worst possible moment? Like one of those dumb movies where everything good gets interrupted.

I muttered a curse under my breath as Archer let go of me and stood up.

"Yeah, that’s Milo—Oliver’s nephew. Some parts of the climbing wall need someone taller to help stabilize it while I work on the screws, and Van can’t handle it alone."

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