Page 49 of Love You Always

What I know and don’t know becomes irrelevant becausethisI know: Archer Corbett is giving me the best orgasm I’ve had in my entire life, and he’s not even done.

I’ve barely recovered from shouting his name and mewling for him like a kitten when he pushes his boxers the rest of the way off. Rolling to the side, he makes quick work of grabbing a condom from his nightstand, ripping open the package, and rolling it on.

Then slowly, gloriously, he pushes inside me.

Gone are my thoughts about his size because his size is perfect. We’re two sides of the same coin. Yin and yang. Made for each other, or at least that’s how it feels in this moment of extreme pleasure.

“Princess, you’re so tight. So wet for me. I’ve thought about you so many nights when I was alone…”

His words come out in a rhythm, like a chant he’s combining with the motion of his hips, circling and grinding against me. Thrusting harder. Taking me higher. Until…

He’s shouting my name on an oath and I’m moaning and digging my nails into his back. And we’re both coming apart, falling apart, losing our ever-loving minds.

“Holy shitballs.”

Archer starts to laugh, and I realize I’m the one who just said that.

“Sorry. Unfiltered.”

“No, princess. Never be sorry for that. That was the best thing ever.” Our hearts are pounding, seemingly in unison, as he lays on top of me panting. I’m sweating and heaving indelicately beneath him. And all I can think to say is, “Let’s do that again.”

And we do. All night long.

CHAPTER 23

Archer

“I borrowed this.Hope it’s okay,” Ella says, padding into my kitchen wearing an old gray shirt of mine that was sitting on the folded laundry pile in my room. It’s worn and nearly see-through in places. Her pert nipples are outlined in perfect detail by the sheer fabric and the hem is just short enough for me to see that she’s not wearing anything underneath.

Standing in front of my stove in sweatpants, I finish beating a bowl of eggs and milk and let the mixture slide into a pan of sizzling butter.

“Princess, it’s okay if you wear it every damn day. Nothing on the planet is sexier than you in my shirt. C’mere.”

Ella seems tentative as she comes closer, but as soon as she’s within reach, I pull her to me and wrap her in my arms. Her body relaxes and I bend to kiss her. Our lips fuse, bodies melt. In moments, we’re both breathless. Ella puts a hand on my chestand pushes back a few inches to look at me. “So it wasn’t my imagination.”

“What?” I ask.

She gestures between us. “This. Our chemistry. It really is that good.”

“It’s that good.” I kiss her again, slower this time, easing into the feel of her lips melting against mine, loving having her hands on my skin. I hear an angry popping in the pan and break the kiss. “Shit.”

The eggs are stuck to the pan, dried out and browned in places. I scrape the mixture away to try to salvage what I can of my scramble. “Not sure this is edible,” I admit, looking at the unappetizing plate. It makes me recall days back when I was a teenager and our mother had just moved out. With four younger siblings waiting for breakfast and our father upstairs working, I did my best to make eggs and toast for everyone, having never made toast, let alone cracked an egg.

A fair amount of eggshell ended up in the mix and the scramble burned because I didn’t know to add butter to the pan. My siblings were content enough to have something resembling breakfast, but when our dad came downstairs, he sniffed the air. “Thought I smelled something burning.”

“I made eggs,” I said proudly, anticipating his appreciation for getting everyone fed without being asked.

He took a forkful from PJ’s plate and crunched down on a piece of eggshell. Wincing, he spit the bite into the sink. Two days later, we had a full-time nanny who did all the cooking.

I sigh at the reality that all these years later, I haven’t improved much.

“It looks great. Do you have some cheese? With enough melted cheese we won’t even see the eggs.”

A wave of warmth floods my body and the ache that lives deep in my chest eases a tiny bit. “Deal.”

She goes to the refrigerator and finds the cheese drawer, returning a moment later with a block of cheddar. “We can put the eggs on toast and leave them under the broiler for a sec to melt the cheese.”

“That’s some next level cooking, princess. And here I figured you had a staff to fetch you green juice and twenty-dollar acai bowls.”

---