Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 54056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
I stare up at him, smiling like an idiot. “You’re holding my panties hostage to get me to agree to go to your game tomorrow?”
“Yeah.” He shifts, leaning halfway off the bed before he grabs a ball of fabric and drops it onto my stomach.
I glance down, my heart skipping a beat when I realize what it is. Definitely not my panties.
“I want you in the stands, wearing my number, Wren.”
“Archer…” I pick up the jersey, staring at his name and the number 93 emblazoned across the back.
“Don’t give a fuck what your brother thinks,” he growls before I can say anything further, his eyes dark. “I want to look up in the stands and see my wife in my jersey.”
How can I say no to that? I can’t. It isn’t possible. Micah already knows about us. He actually texted me tonight, demanding that I stop seeing Archer. I ignored him because…well, because he doesn’t get to boss me around and tell me what to do.
Me showing up in Archer’s jersey will probably piss him off. But maybe he needs to be pissed. Maybe he needs to learn that I’m not a little girl who needs her big brother looking out for her anymore. I don’t want to lose him, but I don’t want to lose Archer either. That might actually kill me.
“Okay,” I whisper, staring up at him.
He blinks like he expected more of an argument. And that makes me feel about two inches tall. He’s been fighting for me this whole time, and I’ve spent the past two days freaking out, worried about everyone’s feeling but his. That isn’t fair. He deserves better.
Resolve courses through me, sending my heart thumping against my breastbone. I’m wearing his jersey tomorrow. I’m telling Micah to butt out. And one way or another, we’ll figure out what happens between us on our own. It’s our choice. Not Micah’s. Not anyone else’s.
“Really? You’ll wear it?”
“Yeah. I don’t want to hide either, Archer.”
“Fuck,” he groans, crashing his mouth against mine. His kiss is wild and unrestrained. And before it’s over, I’ve got his boxers around his knees and my legs around his waist.
He thrusts into me with a long, low groan I feel all the way to the depths of my soul. “Wren,” he breathes, rocking into me in a way that leaves me breathless and gasping, as desperate for more of him as always.
I throw my head back, moaning his name.
“Christ, Wren. You’re so fucking tight and perfect.” He buries his face in my throat, growling. “Being in you makes a grown man want to cry, baby girl. You feel so goddamn good. So good.”
“Archer,” I whimper, loving the way he speaks to me, confessions whispering from his lips like he just can’t keep himself from spilling all his truths.
“Tell me it’s mine, Wren.” He pumps harder, hitting that magical spot inside. “Tell me that you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” I say immediately, clutching at his shoulders. “I’m yours, Archer.”
He growls again, pounding into me like he just can’t stop himself. I cry out, already right there on the edge. His fingers dancing across my clit send me careening over into bliss.
He follows me over with a grunt, planting himself deep as he spills into me again and again.
“My wife,” he breathes, his lips against my throat. “My perfect, perfect wife.”
I cling to him, panting. Trembling. Falling even deeper.
And when he reaches beneath the pillow, yanking out the panties he stole before dropping them on my chest…I laugh, feeling lighter than I have in so damn long. Because of him.
“Wren!” Alice Madison, the team’s publicist, waves me over as soon as I step through the player’s entrance at the arena. She’s standing across the hall, dressed in team colors and stilettos. Emilia Lariat, Coach Lariat’s daughter, is standing beside her.
I exhale a relieved breath, glad they’re here, at least. Most of the players’ wives ignore me when I come around. I guess I’m not important enough for them. But Emilia was nice when I met her before Vegas. And Alice is always great. I adore her.
“Hey.” I reach out, pulling Alice into a hug before I hug Emilia. “I’m so glad you guys are here tonight.”
“I just bet you are,” Alice says, smirking at me. “Number 93, huh?”
“Don’t ask,” I groan, pressing my hands to my cheeks. “Micah is going to flip out.”
“Yep,” Alice says.
“He just worries about you,” Emilia adds like she knows something I don’t. Hell, maybe she does. She’s the team’s new therapist. Maybe he talks to her. I hope he talks to her. He needs to talk to someone. He’s texted me four more times since last night, demanding that I break up with Archer.
I ignored him each time…but I won’t be able to ignore him forever. As soon as he sees me in Archer’s jersey, he’ll know that I’ve made my choice. He’s going to be a total grump about it.