Page 31 of Edged
“Really?” Archer took me back into his hand and I knew I was going to be quick to regret the statement.
He plucked at the knot on the pillowcase until it unfurled, then he slowly and gingerly took my wrists into his hands. He studied the marks left from the twisted fabric, using his fingertips to knead away at any tension that existed beneath the skin before setting my hands at my sides.
“Get yourself off, then,” he said, righting himself onto his knees before standing up. There were two chairs in the corner and he moved like a jaguar toward one, slick and lithe, before turning and settling in the rich velvet upholstery. He looked like a debauched prince, half-dressed and stained with cum, cock on display and hair all mussed. I had no right to look at him the way I was, but it was impossible to look away.
Spitting into my palm, I took my cock into my fist and started to jerk myself toward what I hoped would be a more fulfilling orgasm.
“Touch your balls,” Archer said, voice rasping. “Tug on them when you get close, I don’t want you to come yet.”
“I want to come,” I reminded him, cradling my sac in my palm.
“And I want you to last longer.” He licked his lips, giving a slow tug up his own length. “You can do that, can’t you, Owen? You can wait a little bit longer before you come, can’t you?”
Fuck, what was it about this man and that mouth?
I shook my head because I was ready to burst.
“I don’t believe you,” he murmured, leaning forward and releasing his cock. “I know you can wait a little longer, Owen. I’ve seen you hold out.”
Clenching my jaw, I loosened my grip, hoping it would help me stave off the inevitable for a little longer. I didn’t know why I cared or why I bothered. Archer wasn’t the boss of me, and I didn’t need his permission to come.
But I wanted it just the same.
“Arch—” I couldn’t even manage his name, and he hummed, sounding pleased. My dick pulsed like it had done something good when in fact all it had ever done was get me into trouble.
“Not yet.” Archer got up from the chair and came back to the floor where I was still sprawled. He laid his body on top of mine, the heat welcome and heavy. I tipped my head back, unable to look him in the eye.
“Please.”
It was going to happen, one way or the other, and still I asked for approval of the man who’d broken my heart worse than anyone I’d ever known.
“Almost, Owen.” His mouth brushed against my neck, my jaw, my ear. “Not yet, Owen. Can you give me another minute?”
“I don’t…”
“One,” he whispered, kissing my ear lobe. “Two, three, four…”
Every second he counted off was timed with a stroke up my cock and it was agony, fucking agony. Like pins and needles and velvet and sandpaper all at once, all over me. My spine, my shaft, my fucking heart.
“You’re doing so good,” Archer whispered. He praised me like his approval mattered. “Fucking hell, Owen, you should see yourself.”
“Keep counting,” I grit out, the pressure between my legs becoming unbearable.
“Fifty-two, fifty-three, fifty-four.” Archer bit my neck, behind my ear and mumbled out the remaining seconds between us. “Sixty.”
I came.
With the unspoken permission and the silent command. My body seized and convulsed, and Archer wrapped his arms around me as I flew off the ground. Into the fetal position and into his lap, I shouted, every spasm and sound coming from my body absolutely out of my control.
“Perfect,” he murmured, stroking my hair back from my face and kissing sweat from my forehead. “You’re such a good listener, Owen. Such a good listener.”
Compliment after compliment washed over me, some of them making sense and others feeling undeserved. I was dizzy and mindless, and Archer was careful to bring me to my feet. He stood against me until I had some balance, then he walked me to the bathroom where he set me down on the toilet.
Silently, mind half-blank, I watched him turn on the shower and test the water temperature with his fingertips. Then he helped me under the spray and took a step back toward the door.
“Are you good?” he asked, folding his arms over his chest. His hard cock was still out, glistening under the fluorescent lights.
“Yeah.” I was fine, but I was embarrassed. Absolutely taken out by one and a half orgasms felt childish and immature.
