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Tickling the upper shell of his crinkled ear, I ease from the kiss and sigh. “Archer.”
A low growl rumbles in his chest. “Scoot up on the bed, baby. I need to be in you.”
“What about pleasuring you?” Not going to lie, I’m dying to feel his cock thrusting deep.
“Fuck, Bailey, that’s all the pleasure I need right now.”
We move up the bed together, scattering the condoms. He grabs one and holds it up to me. I snatch it from his fingers, rip the packaging away and reach for his long, thick erection. I feel his groan vibrating through his cock as I sheathe him.
“I need you bad, beautiful.”
“I want you, too. Don’t wait.”
He positions himself and eases forward, filling me slowly. Completely. We moan together once he’s seated fully. He kisses me then presses his forehead to mine. “Ah, Bailey. So damn good.”
“Better when you move.” I turn my head until my lips are right at his ear and sigh, “Archer.”
His breath catches then as though I flipped a sex switch, his hips move, building speed and force as he thrusts into me. Our tongues duel with the same rhythm. Slick with sweat, our bodies slide together. The escalation of our gasps and groans accentuate the thud of the headboard against the wall.
“Close,” he groans.
“Yes, Archer, yes. Me, too. Come with me, Archer. Archer. Archer. Arr….”
I scream my release. Before the sound fades he shouts my name. “Bailey. Fuck, Bailey, god, yes. Bail—ley.”
We spend the next two weeks in a lover’s haze. Not all of our time is spent in bed. Sometimes it’s on the couch. Or against the walk-in freezer door. Or leaning over the back of a chair. Or in the shower. Or… Archer is inventive and I enjoy every moment we spend together.
He’s helping me with perfecting the mead and I’m starting to teach him about the intricacies of wine making. He gave up trying to teach me how to bake a wild plum tart. I’ve been more successful with his guitar lessons. I’ve always wanted to be able to strum a guitar. At least a few simple chords.
Tonight I’ve finally talked him into playing the music he composed when during his compulsive episode. He’s promised to speak the lyrics as he plays. He really can’t sing at all.
We carry one of Georgia’s dinners—after the first round, she started sending double portions—over to his guest room to share along with a bottle of wine. He’s prevaricating as if he fears I won’t like his songs. I don’t like all of his brother’s music but Archer promises these are slower. Softer. Like ballads or love songs.
I don’t know for sure how much longer Archer will be pretending to be Marcus and hiding out here at the ranch. I really don’t want to know. That would give me an end date for our time together. He has to go back to his life and I have mine here at the winery. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to become involved with what’s essentially a vacation fling. I shouldn’t have, yet I did.
Now I love Archer and I don’t want us to end.
We’re curled together on the couch listening to the silence. I sit up and poke Archer’s chest. “Play for me?”
“Are you sure?”
I pout my lower lip. “You promised.”
He kisses my cheek then with a heavy sigh moves to his keyboard and flips on the power. Once seated he glances back at me. “You ready for this?”
“Yes. Don’t you need the music?”
He taps his temple. “Once I’ve heard it here, transcribed the notes, written the lyrics, I never forget. Every composition lives here. Forever. It’s pretty crowded up here.”
“So do you have like a soundtrack running in your mind all the time?”
His forehead wrinkles in thought. “That’s a good way to put it. Most of the time though, the volume is turned really low. So it barely registers. I can tell you more if you’d like.”
“You’re not getting out of playing for me that easily.”
Shoulders drooping he faces the keyboard again. I stand and shove a side chair into the corner so I can face him while he plays. “There. Now I’m your inspiration.”
“You always are, beautiful.” He places his fingers on the keys and plays a few chords and a long run of notes. Next time I’m going to sit so I can watch his long, elegant fingers fly over the keys. Holding my gaze, he takes a deep breath and begins. How does he play so beautifully without looking at the keys?
