Page 107 of A Million To Fall

“How badly did you miss me?” Archer asks when we’re in his room. He’s stepping out of his jeans, his Ralph Lauren polo already on the floor, the scent of his cologne hanging in the air.

“A lot,” I tell him, trying to unzip my dress.

Archer grins and reaches around me, tugging the zipper down in one smooth motion. The dress pools at my feet.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, hands sliding down my sides. “Then show me how much.”

He kisses me, his tongue pushing past my lips while his hands fumble at my bra clasp.

“Give me a sec,” I mutter against his lips, pulling away a smidge to reach back and unhook my bra for him.

“I can’t,” Archer groans, chasing my mouth, his hands already at my hips, tugging at my panties. “Fuck. I’m so fucking hard already.”

He abandons my underwear only to grab my hand and move it to his erection, guiding my fingers along his length. “You feel that?”

I grasp it, stroking him the way he’s told me he likes it. His eyes shut as he sinks into the moment, into the pleasure I give him. I watch him. His blond hair’s still perfectly styled, his mouth slightly open, breath labored. His hands are balled into loose fists by his side.

My eyes trace his frame—still broad, still strong, except there are soft places now that I don't remember being there before. A slight heaviness through his middle, less definition to his arms and chest.

I didn’t notice this before. But then again, maybe I didn’t really look.

“God, Skye, take me into your mouth,” he grunts, urging me downward.

For half a second, I resist. It’s not that I don’t know what he wants. It’s just that I’m suddenly hyperaware of how choreographed this all feels.

Still, I lower myself in front of him, my knees hitting the carpet with a soft thud.

“Shit, yeah. Deeper. All the way,” Archer says, winding my hair around his hand as he thrusts.

I gag instantly, tears stinging my eyes. I grip his thighs until he loosens his hold enough for me to pull back and catch my breath.

What is going on with me that this suddenly feels so wrong? I used to think this was normal. I’ve heard plenty of girls talk about sex like it’s just… meh. I figured I’d endure. For the sake of the relationship. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? Compromise. Give a little more than you get. Make yourself agreeable enough, accommodating enough, that you’ll still matter when it's all said and done.

But everything inside me bristles.

“Stop doing that,” I whisper hoarsely before leaning forward again.

“Shh,” he murmurs. “Just come here.”

A second later, he’s tugging me upright and pushing me back onto the bed. He settles between my thighs, already guiding himself to where he clearly wants to be.

And suddenly it’s Boston’s face I see. His expression when I told him I’ve never had an orgasm, like it didn’t make sense that Archer wouldn’t even try to care about my pleasure.

A dangerous thought slips in: what if it doesn’t have to be like this?

I press my palms against Archer’s chest.

He blinks. “What?”

“Can you… could you maybe get me ready?” I ask quietly.

“Did you think I was gonna let you go without?” He reaches for the nightstand and grabs the bottle of lube.

I stare at it. Then at him. “No, I mean… maybe you could… with your mouth?”

His face contorts. “Babe, you know I don’t eat pussy.”

“Why not?”