Page 13 of Sinful Justice

“In here!” With quick feet—quicker than my vodka-infused brain can handle—Archer swings into an apartment building no fancier than the one I now rent.

He slams past the glass doors and drags me into the echoing foyer, then he shoves me up against the cold brick wall so hard, he knocks the breath from my lungs and sends panic spearing into my stomach at the thought of crushing the contents of my purse.

Of all my worldly possessions, the contents of my bag are the only I can’t live without.

Literally.

Archer’s hands move fast. Over my breasts, and down to my hips. He dives in while I still clamor for air, and sliding his tongue against mine, he steals whatever oxygen I’d accumulated and picks me up with strong hands until my legs wrap around his hips.

His hardened cock presses against my core, and his firm hold bruises my flesh. But I stopped caring ten minutes and a single shot of vodka ago.

For tonight, there will be no regrets.

For tonight, I get to be wild and crazy and dangerous, because Monday, I start my new job, and hopefully with it, a fresh new life.

* * *

Sunlight filters through raggedy lace curtains to my left. Not raggedy like Archer is poor, but raggedy like someone else hung them years ago, and he doesn’t care enough to change them up.

My head throbs, my teeth are furry enough to almost make me gag, but my core…

I lie in the middle of Archer’s bed and smile, because my core feelsfantastic. Archer was not a dud. And because he wasn’t, my entire body hums with pleasure.

Memories of last night batter at my brain. Teasing strokes, drawn-out orgasms, and tormenting touches, so when Archer allowed me to step off the ledge of bliss, I dove with blind faith and breathless pleasure.

In today’s gentle morning light, I’m almost tempted to wake him and ask for another round with the filthy stranger before I go, but alas, it’s a new day, and hot sex with a someone I don’t know wasyesterday.

Today is about fresh starts and my new apartment. It’s about settling in, even with a crappy ceiling in my bathroom. It’s about learning to coexist with the droopy-looking Steve, his cocker-spaniel likeness a reward in itself, and it’s about collecting my debit card and hoping Tim is as honorable as he acts while working the bar named after him, his dad, and his dad’s dad before him.

Today’s also about sneaking out of the mysterious Archer’s apartment and hoping to never again run into the man who rocked my world—as promised.

Maybe he lives near me, and maybe that means I’m bound to run into him again. But two blocks is two blocks, and now I know where he sleeps at night, so I can make sure not to walk this way ever again.

I push up to my elbows in the middle of a king-sized bed and look down at the man who sleeps on his stomach. He’s covered only by a sheet, the warmth in this apartment enough to keep us hot even in the middle of a December storm.

The thin material drapes over his ass and thighs, but his back is bare, his shoulders muscular enough to make me stop and wish to touch. To trace with my fingers.

Maybe to use him as a pillow.

Tattoos trail along Archer’s spine and over his defined traps. His left shoulder is covered, but his left bicep holds more. The same designs stretch along his back and continue up the left side of his neck, just high enough to be seen when he’s wearing a shirt, but not so high he couldn’t cover them with a collar when he’s forced to stand up in court and defend himself against sexual harassment charges.

No doubt, he has a few.

Yesterday, either I was too distracted to notice the markings on his neck, or the bar was too dark to let me see. Or maybe, just maybe, I was busy studying his eyes and trying to understand at what point in my life I became attracted to bossy and crude.

Regardless, it’s all done now. I orgasmed more than a few times, I’m reasonably certain I didn’t contract a venereal disease, and now it’s Sunday morning; time to go home and change the subject when the bushy-browed Steve asks how I liked my hotel room.

Scooting an inch away from Archer, then another inch, I silently make my way to the edge of the bed and pray I don’t wake the man I have no intention of ever speaking to again. I don’t want the awkward goodbyes, and I sure as hell don’t want to exchange pleasantries or details.

My eyes hurt from a night of vodka and too little sleep. When I blink, it’s like sandpaper against glass. And though I know I didn’t drink much, I was definitely stressed, exhausted, starving, and in the end, sprinting through the dark with a man whose grin is like that of the devil himself—which only made the spread of alcohol move faster through my blood.

“Stop sneaking, lady.”

I freeze at that deep voice, then whip my head around to study Archer’s tanned body moving beneath the sheet.

“I can hear you thinking. And worrying. And panicking.” He makes a deep growling grunt in the back of his throat that reminds me of our time in bed. The sound he makes when he— “You think I can’t hear you?”

“I know you can’t.”

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