Page 92 of Loving at 40

On closer inspection, I see it’s several things. An inverted sword. Angel wings. A wave of sorts, like strands of hair blowing in the breeze. Then I read the faint lettering.

“What did you do?” I ask, lifting a shaking hand and drawing a finger over the wavy tresses. In black is the nickname he’s given me, woven along the hair.

“You’re protecting my heart.”

“Archer,” I whisper, but he’s already working on his belt and removing his pants and boxers in one motion.

“Bra. Off.”

I work the catch myself and toss it to the side, causing Archer to groan before pressing me back by a shoulder. I scoot back on the bed, and he follows me, climbing over my body like that dream I had. Like that first night he found me in his bed. He cages me in with his thick limbs and his hard stare, and my body hums with the anticipation of him pressed against me and him entering me.

His hand rests over my heart once again before he lowers to kiss me there. Then he kisses my mouth, taking his time to tease me and rachet my desire, which is already off the charts. His fingers eventually find folds still wet and waiting for him, and my hand seeks his heavy length, wrapping around the hard shaft.

“Your hand feels so good, but I’m not gonna last. Need inside you, Jenna.” My name. A heartbeat. Our hearts coming together.

His hips bend back, and his tip falls into place as I open my legs. He’s at my entrance, watching my face when something passes over his. I hold my breath a second, thinking he’s changed his mind. With one thrust, he enters me, and I gasp when he says, “I love you.”

The revealing phrase is strained and quiet, and I almost think I haven’t heard him correctly, but when he pulls back and surges forward again, the words are said louder, with more conviction, with insistence.

“I love you. I love you. I love you,” he repeats in time with his thrusts, and I can do nothing but let him fill me with his thickness and allow the words to wrap themselves around my heart. So much is happening so fast, but Archer seems desperate to share his feelings. His hips rock faster as he balances over me. His arms are columns around me. Suddenly, he kneels back, forcing my lower half higher up his thighs. He cups my backside and moves me up and down his length, watching where he enters me. His cries of love have subsided. He’s focused, intent, and tapping a spot that will drive me over the crest again.

I’m a ragged mess, and when his thumb hits that special spot, I detonate immediately.

“Oh, frickity-frack,” I groan as my head tips upward and then falls back. Wave upon wave rushes over me, and my legs tremble with the intensity. The elation. The emotion. It’s all too much, and when I think I’m coming down, Archer speeds up, teasing me with a second crash on the retreating edge of the first.

This. Never. Happens.

I’m beyond myself, allowing him to play my body, giving in to every sensation. I bite my lower lip against the scream as the girls are across the hall. Even if Archer wanted to hear it, he respects that I can’t. I can’t holler and bellow and howl at the moon.

Instead, the sound of us coming together fills the space, and then he warns me with a guttural groan and a sharp shift. His hands clap on my upper thighs, and he stills me, holding me against him, blending us as one. He and I. He comes hard and fast inside me. It’s a dangerous game at my age, but I’m not turning it down. I don’t think I could ever say no to him.

“You made me see stars.” He gasps over me before slowly pressing my thighs off his. He falls forward, caging me again and giving me a heavy kiss, taking my mouth like he’ll never get enough. Breathing me in through this kiss. He pulls back and looks down at me with so much intensity, so much wonder, so much . . . love.

He loves me. Actions speak louder than words, and his efforts have been to protect my girls and me. He takes care of us. Even when he left me, deep down I believed in him because he asked me to protect his heart and keep his medal for him. He told me if he ever left without explanation, it was to keep me safe. He wasn’t safe, but he came back to me.

In the end, he’s here. With me.

“Ask me again if I’ll be bored here, ’Locks,” he whispers, watching my eyes. Before I even ask, he adds, “Nothing about you is going to be boring, Jenna. Nothing. Ever.”

He slowly slips out of me but still pauses to hammer home what he says next. “No more fucking couch and no more sleeping apart.”

“Are we having a permanent sleepover?” I tease, sliding my hands up his back before slipping my fingers to his new tattoo.

“We’re not a sleepover. We’re permanent.”

37

[Archer]

I wake to the soft creak of hardwood flooring. Instantly, I shift, giving Jenna a squeeze before sitting upright, prepared to jump over her, prepared to protect her. My heart races as the door gradually opens, and I wish my gun were close at hand. I stashed it high and safe and haven’t told Jenna yet where it’s placed because I don’t want her to be concerned. The girls will never find it.

The room is dark, and I don’t have a sense of what time it might be. The Midwest winter messes with my assessment. As the door slips forward, Jenna’s hand comes to my hip. She’s still lying on her side, her ass pressing into me. “What is it?” she whispers, sensing me on high alert until I see a sleepy princess with blond curls sticking up all over her head.

My racing heart crashes to a halt, and I shift the sheet over my waist, allowing only my naked chest to be on display.

Jenna shifts to her back and perches up on an elbow, holding the sheet to her chest, as Rosie walks to her mother’s side of the bed.

“What’s wrong, baby?” she whispers to her daughter while I try not to freak out that I’m naked and lying beside her mother with raging hard on.