Page 92 of Knights Like These
“Glad you approve.”
“I more than approve.” My fingers find his belt; I undo it, unbutton his pants, and push them down. He steps out of them, revealing boxer briefs, and—oh.
Oh.
I mean, I knew. Logically. But standing in front of him now, in a lit hotel room, the outline of him very visible through black cotton, I’m having a moment.
“Syd.” He tilts his head, watching me watch him. “You good?”
“I’m great. I’m just, uh—” I pause, trying to form a coherent thought. “There’s more than I was expecting.”
He laughs, surprised and genuine, and the tension breaks. “Is that okay?”
“Very.” I smirk.
He pulls me against him and kisses me. I can feel him through the thin fabric of my tights, and my earlier observation was correct—he’s big. The press of him against my hip sends heat flooding through me so quickly that I grab his shoulders to stay upright.
He unclasps my bra with one hand—when did he learn that? At seventeen, it took him four tries and an apology—and draws it down my arms, tossing it somewhere behind me. His hands come up to cup my face as he kisses me again, then pulls back to look at me, and the expression on his face makes my eyes sting.
“You’re beautiful, Syd.”
“You’re biased.”
“Extremely.” His thumb traces my collarbone. “Doesn’t make it any less true.”
He eases me back onto the bed and settles over me, braced on his arms. The weight of him is warm and solid. I run my hands up his back, feeling the muscles shift beneath my palms. He dips his head and kisses my neck, my collarbone, the space between my breasts.
“Arch—”
“Hmm.” His mouth trails down my stomach, his hands hooking into the waistband of my tights. He looks up at me from around my navel. “Can I?”
“If you don’t, I’m going to lose my mind.”
He pulls them down my legs slowly and presses his mouth to my hip. Then the inside of my thigh. Then higher. When his mouth moves to where I need it most, my brain goes quiet in a way it hasn’t in years.
He knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Oh my—ah.” My voice doesn’t sound like mine. “Archer, that’s—don’t stop, don’t stop—”
He doesn’t stop. His grip on my thigh tightens, and his other hand slides up my stomach, splayed wide and warm, like he’s holding me together.
“That’s it,” he murmurs against me.
When I come apart, it’s sudden and total. I say his name so loud that whoever’s in the room next door definitely hears, and I don’t care. I don’t care at all.
He kisses his way back up my body—my stomach, my ribs, the hollow of my throat—and when he reaches my mouth, I pull him in, kissing him hard, rolling my hips against him because I want himnow. The sound he makes against my lips is wrecked.
“Syd, I need—”
“I know.” I push his boxers down and wrap my hand around him, and he drops his forehead to my shoulder with a groan that I feel everywhere. He’s hot and heavy in my palm, and my head goes a little swimmy. “Condom?”
“Wallet. Nightstand.” His voice is gone.
I reach over while he buries his face in my neck, breathing hard against my skin. I find the condom, tear it open, and he takes it from me with hands that aren’t quite steady.
He settles between my legs, braces above me on one forearm, and meets my eyes.
“Hi,” he says, and I almost laugh because we keep greeting each other like we’re arriving somewhere new. I guess we are.
