Her mouth parted, breath slipping out, coating my lips.
I hadn’t been aware of moving, of shifting to be so close, and the temptation of her was almost overwhelming. I could smell vodka and pineapple; knew she’d taste as sweet as I’d first thought.
“Not eight inches?” she breathed, one finger coming to trail over my chest.
And just like that, I was rock hard, moisture beading on the head of my cock. “I don’t know,” I murmured.
That finger trailed down. “How don’t you know?”
“I’ve never measured.”
The ghost of a smile. “I promise to let you inside me,” she murmured. “I just don’t promise to tell you my name.”
My dick ached, throbbed to be sinking home, but I had the distinct notion that if I wanted to keep this woman around, I needed to win this battle—or maybe not this battle. Perhaps, just a battle.
“No name,” I agreed, my brain threatening to short circuit, though I managed to at least rub two brain cells together. “But only if you tell me something about yourself no one else knows.” Her lips parted, a protest forming on her face, drawing her brows together, sparks in those eyes again. “Something small or big. I don’t care.”
Silence.
This nameless woman going very, very still.
Her finger flattened out, the palm of her hand pressing to my stomach, trailing lower to the waistband of my jeans. Then she smiled, slipped her fingers just inside that band, brushing the bare skin of my pelvis, dangerously close to my cock.
“Woman,” I growled.
“You promise I’ll be satisfied?”
“If I have to fuck you until my heart gives out.”
Approval softening the lines of her face, creeping into the corners of her eyes, her lips. Then she rose on tiptoe, her breasts flush to my chest, and a groan rumbled up out of my throat. “I crocheted a scarf last week.”
It took a moment for her words to process.
Then I grinned, swept my thumb across her bottom lip. “See? Sweet.”
Her teeth ground into the digit, sending a sharp spike of desire coursing through me. “Not sweet,” she growled before laving the tip of her tongue over my skin.
“Maybe not,” I agreed. “But I bet you taste fucking sweet between your thighs.”
More teeth.
Then suction.
And for a moment, I worried about my ability to keep my promise of satisfaction.
“Yes?” I asked.
Heat in her eyes, her pupils dilating.
Then she nodded. “Yes.”
Chapter Four
Dominique
“How far is your place?” I asked.
Archer grinned, and it rubbed against my clit like an actual caress . . . or maybe a stroke of his tongue, one I was very much anticipating. “Around the corner. Yours?”
“Your place,” I ordered, not bothering to answer that.
Also, yes, ordered.
Because my place was a twenty-minute drive away, and I wanted this man sooner than that, and also because I preferred to not invite anyone back to my place if I could help it. Aside from my business and all the important—and private—data I needed to keep safe, I didn’t like people in my space.
I was a lone wolf. Separate from the universe. A single, determined tree growing on the top of a mountain. A giant squid propelling myself through the depths of the dark. A—
“My place?” Archer asked, his lips against my throat.
My fingers spasmed, tingles of pleasure zipping through my nerves. “Yes. Now.”
His husky chuckle joined the tingles, running like fur along the inside of my skin. “My place,” he repeated, though this time the statement was accompanied by him wrapping an arm around my waist and guiding me forward.
Unsure if I’d unlocked it, I bleeped my car’s key fob, listened to the beep as I searched for any signage that my car wasn’t safe here for a few hours.
Not seeing anything other than a sign for street-sweeping that would happen in the early hours of the morning (not a worry, since I’d be long gone by then), I let him lead me down the street and around the corner to a small set of apartments. Then up the stairs with treads that had tiny rocks embedded, the metal railing painted an unattractive brown, down a well-lit hallway, and finally to a stop in front of 2C.
“My place,” he said for a third time.
The chill in the air during the short walk had tempered my desire, banking it until the embers glowed deep inside. Definitely not gone but enabling me to have some semblance of brainpower.
“Did you forget how to say anything else, caveman?” I teased as he unlocked the door, reached in, flicked on the lights, then held it wide enough for me to see inside. Bright white walls, a large couch and TV, all typical bachelor accoutrements. The only surprise I could see on that initial inspection was a couple of paintings hung directly opposite the entrance, their colors swirling together in a way that drew the gaze.
They were beautiful.
I wanted.
Which was beside the point because Archer was leaning against the pushed-open door, watching me as I surveyed the space. “What can I say?” he asked. “You fried my ability for competent conversation.”
My mouth turned up.
And yet, he could say something like competent conversation.
Before I could dwell on that, though, he reached forward and wrapped those long, rough fingers around my wrist—definite shivers to go along with the desire pooling between my thighs. “Pass inspection, Ms. No-Name?”
My mouth turned up further. “I’m impressed you have something hanging on your walls.”
He drew me across the threshold, with steady pressure and a hold I could have easily broken. But I didn’t want to break it. I wanted to be drawn in, to be flush against his body again, to—
“I’ll ask you about your other interior design recommendations.” He bent and buried his face in my hair. “Later,” he added after inhaling deeply. “Fuck, you smell good.”
My knees trembled.
Not that I would ever admit such a thing, but they wobbled just the slightest bit at the sound of his voice rasping through the strands of my hair, warming my scalp, skating down my nape.
