Page 17 of Edged
“Don’t say things like that.”
“It’s true.” He stroked his hand toward the still sensitive crown of my dick.
“Yellow, Archer.”
Again, his body went still, his grip loosened but didn’t go away.
“I said don’t say things like that,” I repeated.
“Yes, Sir.”
He mocked me.
The tease in his voice was louder than the words themselves, and Archer tightened his hand around me again on the down stroke. With his chest pressed against mine, he worked my cock better than I ever had, and what gave him the right? Ten years later, after everything we’d done, after everythinghe’dcaused, and he could still touch me better than I could touch myself?
The audacity of this man.
The nerve.
“Don’t come again,” he warned, and I rolled my eyes, letting my head fall back against the wall.
“I can’t control it.”
“You could before.”
Archer kissed my neck, tongue darting out and swirling over the erratic way my heartbeat pulsed in every touch point of our skin. My body was a traitor, so hard and soft for him after all this time, after no apologies and no warnings.
I didn’t know what to say to him, though, because he wasn’t wrong.
I swallowed, opening my mouth to get air because my nose wasn’t cutting it. Archer against me, in my space, in my pants, it felt like he’d sucked all of the oxygen off the whole damn planet.
“I’m close,” I muttered.
“And I told you don’t come.”
“King of Los Angeles,” I grumbled, gritting my teeth in a half-hearted attempt to push off my orgasm. “Does everyone do your fucking bidding, Archer?”
“I think King has a better ring to it, if we’re being honest.”
“You’ve never been honest with me.”
The pace of his hand faltered. It couldn’t have been more of a millisecond of hesitation, but I was so primed and ready for another orgasm my body definitely took notice of it. Archer’s hand was hot, his skin smooth against mine, precum smearing down my shaft and around his fingers as he teased me toward the edge and back again. Another orgasm so soon after Val had sucked my balls dry should have been impossible, or at the very least painful, but my body was registering anything but.
“You’re not being honest now,” he said, tongue sliding out to tease the shell of my ear. “Why are you in Los Angeles?”
I knew he wouldn’t like the answer, so I ignored him, focusing instead on the way he touched me like he deserved to have my cock in his hand. More skilled than he’d been when we were teenagers, Archer made quick work of drawing another orgasm out of me. My breath caught in my throat, shoulders straightening and digging into the bricks as it crested over me.
“Not yet, Owen,” he whispered, shoving his thigh under my balls and hiking my body farther up the wall. “Don’t come yet. Not yet.”
“Fuck you, Archer.” I forced the curse out as I came, jets of cum spilling over the curl of his fist like a fountain. He didn’t stop touching me as the throbbing of my cock subsided. He didn’t move away as my balls ached from overuse and my shaft burned from the friction.
“Why are you here?” he asked again.
“A favor.”
My eyes rolled back, lashes fluttering. His hand felt good, too good, and I needed him to stop touching me, but I didn’twanthim to. How fucked up was that? With one hand around my cock, he reached behind with the other, fumbling around in his back pocket. For what? I couldn’t have cared less because I was too focused on the way my body was priming itself for another go.
“For who?”
