Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77874 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77874 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
They do.
“It’s nothing.”
“I think it’s cool.” He tries to pluck it out of my hand, but I pull away…then stop. Archer closes his hand and sets it on his thigh. “Sorry.”
What does he have to be sorry about? Why the fuck can’t I just be normal?
So, heart pounding, I take Archer’s hand, open his fist, and set the butterfly inside. “It’s yours. You can throw it away if you don’t want it.”
“Fuck no. I’m not throwing it away. I’m keeping it.”
“You’re an idiot.”
He smiles, but then his gaze shoots to my shoulder, then the butterfly in his hand.
Tell him, East. It’s okay.
“She loved them…butterflies, I mean.”
And thank fuck he doesn’t ask me to elaborate, just wraps his arm around me, kisses the top of my head, and we finish the episode.
When it’s over, we head upstairs and get ready for bed together. It’s not until the lights are out that the feeling of being alone, of being empty creeps in again, and I reach into the drawer and grab more lube. “Will you put your fingers inside me? Just for a little while.”
“Jesus, sweetheart. Yes. Fuck yes.”
He slicks them up, then pulls me to him. We’re both on our sides, facing each other. Archer tugs my leg so it’s hooked over his hip, opening me up for him.
The moment the first finger pushes in, I melt into him, yes and thank you and why do I need this? all playing tug-of-war with my thoughts.
He slowly fucks me with one finger, then two, kissing my forehead, my temple. This isn’t for sex or to get off. Archer knows that without me having to tell him.
He just kisses me…fills me…and eventually, I fall asleep.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Archer
“So, is this a typical date activity?” East asks from the passenger seat of my car. The past couple of weeks have been great, which I must admit is surprising. We’ve spent a lot of time together, taken the dogs to the dog park, and even volunteered at the shelter. I’ve stayed at his house a good four nights a week, every morning leaving early to go home to get ready for work. I’ve been cautious for East, not keeping many things at his place so it doesn’t look like I’m trying to push him, and given the trouble he’s been in, I feel like it’s better to keep anything work-related at home.
“Are you saying we’re dating?” I ask him.
East blanches, clearly not having thought his question through. I don’t take his response personally. East has let me in his life more than he ever has anyone else. Plus, I don’t really know where this can go or what I want either. His idea of nothing public is smart, considering our situation. That doesn’t mean we can’t be seen in public together, but it’s probably smart we limit it and that most people think we’re just friends.
“Nope. We’re fucking, and you like to annoy me.”
“That’s basically dating,” I tease, earning a small smile, before he goes back to grumbling.
“Seriously, though. Is this a thing people do? Go get tested for STIs together?”
“If you don’t want to go with me, you don’t have to. I mentioned I was going, asked if you wanted to join, and you said yes.”
He shakes his head and crosses his arms. “That’s beside the point.”
As I chuckle, I realize how much East makes me laugh. “Of course it is. Just think, after we get these results, I can keep that pretty little hole of yours filled with my fingers, my cock, and my cum.”
“Fuck.” He uses the palm of his hand to press down on his groin and adjust himself. “It’s annoying as shit how much you turn me on.”
“I think it’s fun.” I reach over and run my fingers over his head and through his hair. “I want you raw so bad, I burn with it, but I always want to do right by you too. Better safe than sorry.”
When he turns to me, he doesn’t look frustrated anymore, just confused. His brows pinched together, gaze intense on me. I’m always trying to figure East out, but he looks at me like he’s always trying to figure me out too. I’m an open book, but for him, it’s like the words are written in a foreign language because he’s never let himself have any kind of honest, deep relationship with anyone—friend or more.
“Can I hold your hand?” I ask, just to playfully rile him up.
“Fuck no. What are we, twelve?”
I bark out a laugh as East shakes his head again, but looking closely, I see he’s more charmed than he wants to let on. Easton Swift likes me, and somehow, that makes me feel like the luckiest son of a bitch alive.
The testing facility we decided to go to is about an hour away. If we went in Birchbark, word would be all over town in the time it took to walk from the car to the lab.