Chapter Twenty-four

OLLIE

Eventually, we returned to earth and shifted in the dark gardens. When Archer would have pulled his t-shirt and jumper on, I stopped him.

"No point in putting them on when they're just going to come off again," I told him, and before he could protest the temperature of the night air, I reached up and kissed him, my hand winding in his hair to hold him still as I explored his mouth thoroughly.

I had a plan. No way was I going to let him sink back into the depression and self-blame of earlier. I'd distract him and exhaust him so he'd go straight to sleep when we were done.

Once in his room, the door was barely closed before we reached for one another. His hands were on my arse, pulling me against him, and he shuddered when I licked into his mouth. I loved how quickly I could get him going.

He had exactly the same effect on me, the merest touch of his fingers against my skin enough to stir arousal deep in my gut. His big hands moved over my back, tracing down my shoulder blades, fingers trailing light lines in the small of my back until I shivered. This was new to me, so different from all my past experiences. With Archer, sex didn't feel like a race to get off. Neither did his teasing feel as if he wanted me to beg so he had the upper hand, unlike a few guys I'd slept with.

I broke our kiss so I could concentrate on unfastening the button of his jeans and sliding the zip down, very slowly, each snick of the metal teeth a counterpoint to our uneven breathing.

His cock was a hard line against the cotton of his briefs, and I couldn't wait an instant longer. I sank down onto my knees and tugged his jeans down around his thighs before carefully easing his briefs down. God, his cock was beautiful and my mouth was watering with need.

But my plan to distract him stopped me from pushing my mouth down on it the way I wanted. I was going to make him come so hard he had no brains left. And that meant teasing.

I licked lightly up his cock using the very tip of my tongue, small licks tracing sinuous patterns but never reaching the head, where precum was beginning to well.

"Ollie." It was almost a plea, a tone I hadn't heard from him before.

I glanced up at him through my eyelashes, and his breath stuttered as he watched me, his lips parted and his eyes dark.

I wrapped my hand around the smooth skin of his cock and swirled my tongue over the head. He tasted so good that I almost lost the will to keep teasing. Almost. This was for him, not for me.

I slid my mouth down on him very slowly, using just a hint of teeth, and his hands tightened in my hair. I glanced up again, my mouth full of delicious, hard, hot cock, and his chest was rising and falling so damn fast.

"Ollie," he said again, his voice a croak.

I set to sucking him in earnest, and as I cupped his balls in my hand, he spread his legs to give me access. Another time, maybe I'd play with his arse, but I'd been with tops before who didn't like that, and I wasn't going to risk anything interrupting this. I knew him well enough by now to know he'd feel guilty and be apologetic if he asked me to stop, which made no sense when he was so decisive and commanding in everything else. His insistence on me articulating my full and freely given consent last night had been eye-opening.

But now was not the time for thinking. Now was the time to work him in a rhythm that had him pushing into my mouth and gasping.

He wasn't far off when I pulled off him, pressing a swift kiss against that gorgeous cock, wet with my spit, and looked up at him. "Mouth or arse?" I asked him.

To my amazement—and delight—Archer's cheeks darkened. My God, after how thoroughly he'd fucked me last night, he was embarrassed by talking about sex?

He placed his hands on my shoulders, urging me to stand. "I don't think you have any idea how you look, down on your knees like that, and I want you to suck me off very, very soon, but right now, I want to be touching you as you come."

"So, arse?" I interpreted.

He punished my cheekiness with a kiss that left me panting and convinced I was going to come in my jeans before he even touched my cock.

After that, my brief reign of being the one in control was over. Archer laid me out on the bed and stripped me, though I managed to stop him long enough to retrieve a condom from my jeans. He took it from me, placing it on the nightstand and grabbing the bottle of lube instead.

His gaze moved over my body while he squeezed some lube onto his fingers. If I'd done that without looking, I'd have ended up with it all over the bed, but of course Archer had no such problem. He eased a slick finger inside me, and then bent his head to my chest.

" Fuck. " I'd never been a nipple guy before, but I hadn't known what I'd been missing because Archer's hot, wet mouth as he sucked and then bit my nipple was fucking amazing. I wrapped my hands in his hair to keep him there, and he pulled off just enough to reinforce who was in charge and to blow a small, warm puff of air over the wet flesh before sucking it again.

By the time he was satisfied I was ready, I felt more like a stranded fish than a sexy, alluring partner because of the way I was gasping under his attentions. I rolled onto my front, and brought my knees up under me, presenting my arse to him in a mute plea to fuck me already.

Thank God he got the message. As I turned my head to watch him, I was thankful to see I wasn't the only one almost shaking with need, because Archer, whose hands never faltered in the forge, was fumbling with the condom.

But finally he had it on and slowly pressed into me, a long, unforgiving, wonderful glide all the way in.

" Fuck," I said, breath coming unevenly.

He instantly froze. "Too much?"

"Perfect," I said into his pillow. Because it was. There was nothing like that first stretch, and with Archer, it was different from how it had ever been before. I didn't know why. It just was.

He started moving, and it felt so good. I rolled my head to get some air and realised—that mirror on his dressing table was at the perfect angle.

I moaned as I watched him fucking into my arse, seeing the muscles in his thighs and arse clench as he thrust. Seeing the long line of his torso and the way his eyes never left me. At the same time as I felt the push and pull of his cock, I could watch it in the mirror as he withdrew almost all the way before pushing back inside again.

When I reached for my cock, sure I'd go off at the very first touch, he grabbed my wrist.

"No," he said.

The low command in his voice made me shudder.

He wrapped one large, warm hand around my cock, working it as he thrust into me until I came so hard, the world whited out.

I was barely sensible as he fucked me through the aftershocks until he cried out and came inside me.

He kissed the back of my neck gently before easing himself out to deal with the condom. I rolled over and flopped down, utterly boneless. Sex with Archer was unlike any sex I'd had before.

Condom disposed of, he gathered me carefully into his arms and pressed a kiss to my forehead. I loved his gentleness and care for me.

And, I realised, I loved Archer.

What had started as infatuation had swiftly become more, and when he'd let me see beneath his mask earlier tonight, I'd fallen the rest of the way. I was incontrovertibly and hopelessly in love with him.

ARCHER

Just like last night, Ollie snuggled against me under the covers, warm and completely relaxed, as if this was the most natural thing in the world. Somehow, he made it easy for me to hold him and enjoy his body pressed against mine, until it was the most natural thing in the world to be together like this.

Unexpectedly, Ollie was quiet.

"You're thinking," I said.

"You say that like it's a surprise." Despite the words, he didn't sound quite as light-hearted as usual. He drew away slightly and propped himself on an elbow to look at me. "Did you mean it earlier about me being—you know, not a bad representative of my family?"

It took me a moment to decide how to reply. Until now, I'd thought Ollie carefree and confident with it, not worrying what anyone thought of him. But it seemed he was less self-confident than I'd realised. I weighed my words carefully before speaking so that they didn't sound like a hollow reassurance.

"You get on well with Tim, which God knows, is more than I can do these days. Almost all of the family likes you. Those who don't, it's not about you. It's about either your presence here or about me. You're polite and sweet to everyone and you have a gift for putting people at their ease. Apart from my doves, that is, who have never attacked anyone before. I don't know what you did to piss them off."

Ollie's laugh was on the shaky side, and I hoped he remembered what Mia had said—I didn't do flattery. I wasn't saying this just because we were sleeping together.

"What do you mean, it might be about you if they don't like me?" he asked.

I was silent. This was territory I didn't want to get into with anyone, let alone someone from a rival family.

But as the silence stretched, and he realised I wasn't going to answer, his face filled with resignation, as if it wasn't a surprise that I didn't trust him. It hurt to see that in Ollie, who should never be less than his usual bouncy self. Certainly not because of me.

I raked my hand through my hair. I thought I could trust him, but if I was wrong, he'd tattle to his family, and before long, every dragon in the country would know the truth about mine. Even so, something deep inside urged me to believe in Ollie.

I just hoped my instinct was right.

OLLIE

I was wondering whether I should leave, if Archer didn't want me here after my intrusive question, when he sighed and rolled onto his back, staring at the canopy above us.

"There's a fault line running through the family, and I can never be sure which side anyone's on at any given time," he said.

"You mean—" It sounded so impossible that I hesitated. "Some of your family want someone else as the head?" I'd never heard of such a thing. Dragons didn't do democracy. Family heads were there by birthright. It was just the way it was.

"There was a challenge about four centuries ago when a family member claimed they were the true head. It's complicated by the fact all accounts are word-of-mouth. You know what dragons are like—we daren't write down anything explicit in case it gets found by humans. From what I've gathered, when the old head died, the younger son claimed to have been born before his twin. He produced a woman who said she'd assisted the midwife at the birth. She swore the first-born son had looked so unhealthy, they'd declared the second one to have been born first so he'd be the heir. Of course, the twins' mother and the midwife were both dead by that point, so no one could corroborate or deny. Which, if you believe my side of the story, makes it look as if the pretender waited until that point before making his claim."

"But you're the real head, aren't you?"

He shrugged slightly, and when he turned his head on the pillow to look at me, a rueful smile twisted his lips. "Believe me, sometimes I wish I weren't. But yes, I think that I am and so this is my duty. To put right what my—" he broke off abruptly.

I so wanted to know what he'd been about to say, but I knew better than to ask because his eyes had grown dark and sad.

"If you held a dove in your blacksmithing tongs, could you dunk it in a pot of paint to dye it?" I asked the first thing I could think of to change the atmosphere.

His laugh sounded choked as he rolled over and pulled me into his arms. He held my face against the breadth of his shoulder, which was very, very nice, but which also prevented me from seeing his expression.

"Sounds like it's all-out war between you and the doves. I'm staying neutral."

He kept to that position, though I tried to persuade him using every trick I knew. No matter what inducements were on offer, Archer never lost sight of his overall objective, even when he was panting and groaning under me. It was both admirable and annoying. And it told me a lot about his character.