Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 137131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
I want to be there to tease him about the girls he has crushes on.
I want to see him off to prom.
I want him to come home to cakes and coffee and good conversation if he blows a science test or doesn’t nail down his first dream job—though with how bright he is, it’s not likely—and to celebrate his wins.
I’m honored Archer loves me that much, enough to give me the privilege of helping Colt grow up.
And with our own kids, I have zero doubts it’ll be smooth sailing.
Colt will always have Rina, of course, and I’m hopeful in time we’ll all get along.
She sent me flowers, which was unexpectedly nice. It makes me think maybe in the future we can get over—well, the fact that we’re sharing a family.
But daughters of my own…
“I hope they have your eyes,” I whisper, threading my hands through his thick dark hair. “And I hope they’ll be just as clever as you.”
“As long as they’re as kind and intelligent as their mother,” he says, nuzzling his nose against mine.
We’re still lying on the bed.
Although my body hums with need, and I can feel him throbbing against me, there’s this lovely stillness.
“I’m so pumped to share a life with you,” I whisper.
“I hope they have your hair.”
“Archer!” I laugh, and he kisses me.
He’s greedier this time, though, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, stealing my many questions about the future.
There are so many things to think about.
Will we keep the same house? Where will we get married? Does he want an official engagement announcement?
None of that matters now.
Today, there’s just us, together and whole.
He slides his hands down my waist, finding the hem of my pants and toying with slipping his fingers under.
“I love you,” I say, “but if you draw this out, I will lose my patience.”
“What will you do, Sugarbee?”
I pretend to think, tightening my legs around him, rolling him over until his back is on the bed and I’m straddling him. Even through the material separating us, I can feel how big and hot he is, how much he needs this just as bad as I do.
“How about this?” I whisper.
His hands settle on my hips, squeezing until it hurts so deliciously.
“Can’t say I mind.”
I push his shirt up and reach for his jeans, ripping open the button, the zipper, and tugging them off.
He helps me, kicking away his pants and boxers and quickly stripping off his shirt until he’s gloriously mine.
Then, it’s my turn.
Passion erupts in this frantic movement as he yanks off my shirt. It gets tangled in my hair, and we laugh as I fight to free it while he unhooks my bra.
My pants and panties come down easier, and soon we’re fully bared, panting with anticipation.
We’ve done this countless times, but he still leaves me soaked.
I know his body better than my own after I’ve mapped it with my tongue.
I know the chiseled lines of his muscle, the dips and valleys, the dark ink mingling with chest hair.
I know exactly how sharp the arrow pointing to his groin is, and where the tiny scar on his abdomen came from.
I know so much about this man, but I’m still awestruck when we’re caught in the moment, almost trembling with the raw urge to have him in me.
And now there’s this beautiful ring on my finger.
That’s new and it gives this a special edge.
I don’t want to ever take it off.
His hands make me gasp when he touches me.
“Winnie, fuck,” he growls out my name, just the way I love. “You’re too perfect.”
“Archer—”
“No. Let me touch you.” His voice is raw, so I stay where I am, kneeling before him as he traces his fingers down my stomach, around my thighs, and finally to my pulsing center.
I gasp.
Holy hell.
Why does it feel so different?
I don’t know if it’s the ring or the promise of marriage hanging over us like this wild aphrodisiac, or even the emotional sugar rush that makes my skin tingle. But it’s like my body comes alive with new nerves when he touches me.
It sings.
“You’re so wet for me, good girl. Do you really need this cock so bad?” he mutters, sliding one finger inside me.
I go tight and loose at once, the electric pleasure intensifying.
The noise I make sounds obscene.
Oh, I love it.
“I’m yours,” I whisper, watching the way his face changes when I tell him.
His eyes widen and his nostrils flare.
His blue gaze sharpens, all midnight stars, ready to devour me like the night.
His cock jerks, but I stay where I am.
It feels so good to surrender and let this man lead.
“You’re mine. Tell me.” He slides another finger in my pussy.
“Yours, yours,” I whisper.
I roll my hips, helping his strokes.
His eyes are dark on me, watching as I moan and writhe on his fingers, just like I’ll do on his dick soon.