Page 32 of Pucking Curves

Archer makes a sound, and I glance up to find him leaning back against the headboard, his hands locked together behind his head. Aside from the scratch marks I left down his chest and his boxers, he’s naked. Too damn delicious. He’s also smirking like he knows something I don’t.

“Archer!” I growl, eyes narrowed on him. “Where are my panties?”

“You mean the ones I stole while you were blow-drying your hair? Don’t know. Haven’t seen them.”

“Oh, my God. I need those!” I cry, stomping around the side of the bed toward him. “Give them back.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Wren.”

“You are such a liar!” I jab him in the stomach with a finger. Jeez. His abs are rock hard. “Give them to…ahh!” I scream as he moves like lightning. One minute, he’s all cool and casual. The next, he’s got his arms around my waist, hauling me onto the bed beneath him.

“Get off me,” I grumble, shoving against his thighs. “And give me back my panties.”

“No can do, little bird.” He smirks down at me like the dang cat that ate the canary. Or the hockey player that ate the wren. I mean, that is what he did after dinner. Right on the kitchen table, too. Scandalous. “You aren’t getting them back.”

“I’m wearing a dress tomorrow!”

“Easy access.” He dips his head, blocking out the rest of his room. Which is hard to do because I’m in love with this room. The walls are rock, with massive windows that let natural light in. It’s like a haven in here.

“It is not easy access! It’s me risking showing my ass to my clients.” I scowl at him. “They’re kids, Archer. They donotneed to see that. Give me back my panties.”

“Fine. But only if I get something out of it.”

“That is not how panty theft works.” I smile despite myself. This man is wild, and I love it. He is not keeping my panties, though. No way. “You apologize, give them back, and promise you’re a reformed panty thief in exchange for a lighter sentence.”

“Yeah, fuck that. I’ll give them backifyou agree to come to the game tomorrow.”

I stare up at him, smiling like an idiot. “You’re holding my panties hostage to get me to agree to go to your game tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” He shifts, leaning halfway off the bed before he grabs a ball of fabric and drops it onto my stomach.

I glance down, my heart skipping a beat when I realize what it is. Definitelynotmy panties.

“I want you in the stands, wearing my number, Wren.”

“Archer…” I pick up the jersey, staring at his name and the number 93 emblazoned across the back.

“Don’t give a fuck what your brother thinks,” he growls before I can say anything further, his eyes dark. “I want to look up in the stands and see my wife in my jersey.”

How can I say no to that? I can’t. It isn’t possible. Micah already knows about us. He actually texted me tonight, demanding that I stop seeing Archer. I ignored him because…well, because he doesn’t get to boss me around and tell me what to do.

Me showing up in Archer’s jersey will probably piss him off. But maybe he needs to be pissed. Maybe he needs to learn that I’m not a little girl who needs her big brother looking out for her anymore. I don’t want to lose him, but I don’t want to lose Archer either. That might actually kill me.

“Okay,” I whisper, staring up at him.

He blinks like he expected more of an argument. And that makes me feel about two inches tall. He’s been fighting for me this whole time, and I’ve spent the past two days freaking out, worried about everyone’s feeling but his. That isn’t fair. He deserves better.

Resolve courses through me, sending my heart thumping against my breastbone. I’m wearing his jersey tomorrow. I’m telling Micah to butt out. And one way or another, we’ll figure out what happens between us on our own. It’s our choice. Not Micah’s. Not anyone else’s.

“Really? You’ll wear it?”

“Yeah. I don’t want to hide either, Archer.”

“Fuck,” he groans, crashing his mouth against mine. His kiss is wild and unrestrained. And before it’s over, I’ve got his boxers around his knees and my legs around his waist.

He thrusts into me with a long, low groan I feel all the way to the depths of my soul. “Wren,” he breathes, rocking into me in a way that leaves me breathless and gasping, as desperate for more of him as always.

I throw my head back, moaning his name.

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