Page 13 of Power
Archer
Standingin the small en-suite that leads off my office, my thoughts tumble over each other in a kaleidoscope of emotion and sensation. I can still feel Bailey—Alice— in my hands, her slick heat and softness a memory that clings to my fingertips like silk, full to bursting with the nectar of life. My skin still hums with the pleasure of the moment, and a deep, satisfied sigh escapes me as I remember how her body came alive under my hands. The feel of her moving under my fingers, her silent pleasure, her obedience to do precisely as I wanted. She is pliable, and I will be able to mold her into an exquisite specimen to satisfy all of my needs as I will fulfill hers. I will uncover that darkness that lurks in her. No one is completely pure. Not even her.
She is perfection.
She has every reason to run. I pushed her too far, too fast, but I needed to touch her. I bring my sticky fingers to my nose and inhale deeply. My skin feels tight and tingles with desire. She is like a drug, a sweet poison that fills me up and takes control.
The bathroom is uncomfortably small, but I stay there, needing the time, and admire the warped reflection in the mirror. My dark hair is wild and overwhelmed from running my hand through it, my eyes burning with undeniable desire, guilt, and a secret thrill. I reach for the soap to scrub my hands furiously, desperate to wipe away Bailey's touch so it doesn’t torment me.
“Let me,” Finn says, shadowing the doorway with his slight, muscular frame.
“Hmm?”
He reaches for my hand and brings the cum-covered fingers to his lips. He maintains eye contact with me as he sucks them into his mouth, his tongue flicking over the digits, arousing me further. I remain still, wanting to take this further with him, but at the same time, I do not. I want things to remain the same.
“Well, Right Honorable Cavendish, what will the Viscount think about this?” I murmur.
His eyes go a shade darker at the mention of his father. He doesn’t say anything as he finishes cleaning my fingers with his tongue. When he is done, he drops my hand but keeps his simmering gaze on mine. “Who gives a fuck?”
His tone is bland, his gaze disinterested.
He really doesn’t give a fuck about his father’s bigotry. He doesn’t give a fuck in general. About anything.
Except I saw his breath hitch when Bailey came around my fingers. He showed me his cards, and while every instinct calls me to exploit them, I just want to treasure them.
“Where is Owen?” I ask to break the sexual tension bubbling between us.
“He went with her to show her to her desk.”
I narrow my eyes. “It’s right outside.”
“Still, he has a soft spot for her. It’s expected. He is already in love with her. He knows her, protected her, has watched over her.Watchesher.”
“Present tense?”
“You are not aware of his obsession?” Finn shrugs and turns around. Like I said, he doesn’t give a fuck.
I face the mirror and fix my hair, leaning over to give my hands a quick wash and blast with the air dryer before I follow him. “Obsession is a dangerous word.”
“Accurate in this case,” he says absently, staring out of the window that overlooks the city.
I cast a glance at the door, but it’s closed, blocking out the sight of Bailey and Owen.
Obsession. Interesting.
I always figured Owen for being too invested, too interested, tooeager. I don’t pay close enough attention to him, though, obviously. I don’t need to. I trust him. He is one of two people I trust with my life, and in this case, that actually means something. Owen is the one who looks out for me in the protection sense. He has eyes and ears everywhere, no stone left unturned…
Hmm.
I suppose I should’ve seen that coming. I perhaps would have if my head weren’t so focused on Alice, the Queen.
The office door opening grabs my attention.
Owen strolls in, shutting it quietly.
“Well?”
“She needed a minute, not surprisingly,” he reports back. “She will be at her desk shortly, ready to work. That was risky.”
