Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

B ella

The second I see the delivery truck pull up outside, my stomach knots. Again. The third time this week. The same sleek black van, the same driver with an unreadable expression as he hauls out another extravagant arrangement of flowers, another designer bag. It's all starting to feel like a bad dream.

I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, glaring at the bouquet of roses so massive it looks like it belongs at a wedding. The driver offers me a stiff smile as he walks up the steps.

"Bella Fremont?"

I grit my teeth, forcing a tight smile. "Yeah. Thanks."

He hands over the flowers, and I almost want to shove them back at him. But it's not his fault. It's David's.

The note is tucked neatly between the roses, that familiar elegant handwriting glaring up at me. I don't even bother reading it this time. The message is probably the same as the last two: I know what you need. Come home.

I toss the note into the trash, but the flowers sit on the table, taunting me, a reminder that I can't escape the pull of my old life that easily. Not with David, and now not with my family constantly blowing up my phone.

The door creaks behind me, and I don't have to turn around to know it's Archer. The weight of his gaze is already pressing against my back. He's silent for a moment, but I can feel the tension creeping in, thickening the air between us.

"Another one?" His voice is low, steady, but there's an edge there. One that cuts right through me.

I nod, keeping my back to him as I stare at the ridiculous display of roses. "Yeah. Another one."

There's a long pause, and when he finally speaks, his words come out slow, measured. "You gonna keep letting him send this shit, or are you gonna tell him to stop?"

I whirl around, my arms dropping to my sides. "You think I haven't tried? I blocked him. He's going through my family now. And apparently, they're all too happy to help. I shouldn't have told them where I am."

Archer's jaw tightens, and he takes a step forward, his eyes flicking to the flowers before locking on mine. "So, what? You're just gonna let him keep doing this? Let him get into your head like this?"

I feel the frustration bubble up, hot and sharp. "What do you want me to do, Archer? I can't control what he does. I blocked him, I told him I'm done working for him. He's the one who won't take no for an answer."

He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. "It's not about the flowers, Bella. It's about whether or not you're actually tempted to go back to him. To that life."

His words hit like a punch, and for a second, I'm speechless. "You think I want to go back to the city?"

"I don't know," he says, his voice low but firm. "But you're not exactly shutting this down, either."

My chest tightens, and I take a step closer, my frustration matching his now. "I'm not shutting it down? What do you want from me? I told you—I blocked him. I've done everything I can."

"Everything except throw that shit in the trash where it belongs," Archer snaps, nodding toward the flowers. "But no, you're letting it sit there like it's not a reminder of him trying to pull you back to your old life."

I stare at the flowers, the ones I didn't throw out immediately, and the weight of Archer's words sinks in. He's right. The gifts, the messages—they're still sitting here, still taking up space. Space that should be his.

I let out a frustrated breath, my shoulders sagging. "I don't want to go back. I'll never go back to my old life. But it's not that simple. My family… they're involved now, and it's just—it's complicated." I frown. "I hate the idea of shutting them out forever, but I'm so angry that they gave David my new address."

"Fucking complicated," Archer repeats, and there's a hard edge to his voice now, one I haven't heard before. "Bella, nothing's complicated unless you make it that way. You either want to be here, with me, or you don't."

His words hit me hard, like they're shaking me awake. He's not wrong. But that doesn't make it any easier to confront.

I rub a hand over my face, feeling the weight of everything crashing down on me. "It's not you, Archer. It's me. I've been stuck between these two lives for so long, what I want and what is, I don't even know how to separate them anymore."

He steps forward, closing the space between us, his voice low but firm. "I'm not asking for much, Bella. Just for you to be here. With me. Fully."

The rawness in his voice twists something deep inside me, and I can feel the pull between us, stronger now than ever. But the fear, the doubt, it's all still there, lurking beneath the surface.

"I want to be here," I whisper, my voice barely steady. "But I don't know if I'm enough for this life. For you."

Archer's eyes soften, but the intensity never fades. He reaches out, his hand brushing against my arm, sending a shiver through me. "You're enough, Bella. You've always been enough. But you've got to stop letting him control you. Because I'm not gonna stand here and watch you get dragged back into something that's only gonna break you."

His words wrap around me, raw and honest, and I can feel the weight of them pressing against my chest. He's asking me to make a choice, a real one this time. And I don't know if I'm ready for that.

But the truth is, I can't keep living in this limbo. Not if I want this with Archer to work. Not if I want to move forward. I've never been very good at relationships, relinquishing control has always been hard for me, but the way Archer takes care of me and seems to read my mind before I've even said anything…for the first time it makes me want more. With him.

I take a deep breath and step back, grabbing the flowers from the table, and without a second thought, I toss them into the trash, the vase crashing against the bin with a loud thud.

Archer watches me, his eyes narrowing slightly, but there's a flicker of something there—something like relief.

"There," I say, my voice steadier now. "Gone. But that doesn't mean my family's going to stop. They've always thought I was better off in the city."

"They're not living your life, Bella. You are," Archer says, stepping closer, his hand resting on my lower back, pulling me in. "So stop living it for them."

I meet his gaze, the intensity of it overwhelming, and for the first time, I feel like maybe I can let go of the fear, the doubt. Maybe I can actually choose this. Choose him.

"I'm trying," I whisper, my voice shaky but real.

Archer leans in, his breath warm against my ear. "Stop trying and just do it."

The heat between us flares again, like it always does, but this time it feels different—deeper, more raw. I reach up, my hands curling into his shirt, pulling him closer until our lips are just a breath away.

"I'm all in," I murmur, and the second the words leave my mouth, Archer's lips crash down on mine, claiming me in a way that makes everything else fall away.

The kiss is rough, desperate, like he's been waiting for me to finally say those words. I lose myself in it, in him, in the way his hands grip my waist, pulling me against him like he can't get enough.

And maybe that's exactly what I need right now—to stop thinking, stop doubting, and just feel. To let Archer remind me of what's real, what's right in front of me.

He pulls back, his breathing ragged, his eyes burning with that familiar intensity. "You're not going anywhere, Bella. Not if I have anything to say about it. You're not leaving Copper Mountain, even if it takes tying you to my bed and keeping you shaking with orgasms every morning and every night, forever."

My heart hammers at his words, and I shift nervously on my feet, trying to make sense of the heat pooling low in my stomach. He's watching me so intently, his eyes dark and filled with something that sends a thrill up my spine. The tension between us is electric, and suddenly, the kitchen feels unbearably small.

He's tugging at his collar, as if trying to restrain himself, his entire body taut like he's seconds away from losing control. And God, the way he's looking at me, like he's ready to throw me up against the wall and devour me right here.

I bite my lip, trying to ignore the pounding in my chest as I glance around the room, avoiding his intense gaze. "But I don't know if I'm built for a full-time relationship…"

There's a flicker of something in his eyes—pain, maybe—and then his face softens, his voice low and raw. "Bella, I understand. Believe me, I do. And I can be patient. Just don't shut me out, talk to me before you shut me out. I want to know how you feel about these things."

His words hit me like a physical force, and my breath catches in my throat. I can see how much he means it, how real this is for him, and it's almost too much to handle. My heart aches, a mix of disbelief and desire swirling inside me.

I glance back at him, my body reacting to the way his hands are clenched at his sides, like he's barely holding himself back. The intensity between us is suffocating, and I can feel the desire rolling off him in waves. He's standing there, telling me just how much he wants me, how much I mean to him, and it's wrecking me.

The space between us feels too wide, even though we're inches apart, and all I can think about is how much I want him to close it. To feel his hands on me, to let him show me just how badly he wants me.

But I hesitate, the insecurity still lingering, gnawing at the edges of my mind. And yet, the way he's looking at me, the way his voice trembles with raw need and…love, it's impossible to doubt him.

I take a shaky breath, my voice barely a whisper. "You really believe that? No one has ever said that to me before…"

His eyes darken, and he steps forward, so close now that I can feel the heat radiating off his body. "I don't just think it, Bella. I know it. You're everything. Your feelings matter to me. You make me feel anchored to something bigger than myself and I'll do anything to protect you and that feeling…"

The words send a shiver down my spine, and before I can stop myself, I'm moving toward him, the distance between us disappearing as I let go of the doubt, the fear. His hands finally unclench, reaching for me, and when they land on my waist, the world tilts.

"What are you doing to me, Archer Steele?" I whisper, my fingers threading through the strands of his hair, tugging as our lips collide, desperate and heated. His tongue plunges between my lips, devouring me, the kiss consuming everything. His hands roam over my skin, hot and demanding, sliding one strap of my shirt down, the silky fabric falling away.

I kiss him back, just as fiercely. My hands crawl up his arms, clutching at his shoulders, my fingers diving into the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging hard enough to pull a groan from deep in his throat. Our tongues tangle, slow and deliberate, his lips firm but soft against mine. Finally, I'm tasting him, finally feeling the weight of his desire matched with my own.

"Archer," I hum, his name slipping from my lips as he presses me against the kitchen table, the edge digging into my lower back, but I don't care. He lifts me by the hips, setting me on the smooth, glossy wood, and my legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, locking him in place between my thighs.

Sweet Jesus, the way his body feels pressed against mine, his heat, his strength—it's overwhelming. My heart pounds, desire flooding through me as I arch against him, my body begging for more, every nerve alight with need.

His lips move against mine again, more urgent this time, and I lose myself in the way he's taking me apart piece by piece, kiss by kiss.

My hands fist around his hips, pulling him tighter against me, feeling the hard press of his cock rubbing against the delicate, aching flesh between my legs. His hands move with urgency, one sliding up my thigh and shoving at the flimsy fabric of my skirt. He clutches at the material, yanking it higher up my waist, shifting me so he fits perfectly between my legs at just the right angle.

Before I can even process the intensity of it all, my fingernails are digging into the rippled muscles of his back, my head falling back against the wall as pleasure courses through me. I can't stop it—the way my body moves, the way my hips grind against him, desperate for more. My throat is bared to him, and he takes advantage, his mouth finding my skin, his teeth grazing me with gentle nips while his tongue soothes the sting. Every press of his cock sends sparks through me, my body tightening, craving more of him.

The friction of his pants against me only heightens the tension, my eyelids fluttering shut as a slow, helpless moan slips from my lips. I bite down hard, trying to stifle the next groan that builds in my chest, but I can't. My muscles clench around him, my whole body taut with need, and my heart races, every inch of me throbbing with longing.

My fingers tighten around his biceps, pulling at his hair as I ride the sensation of him through the thick fabric of his pants, grinding against him in perfect rhythm. I feel like I'm coming undone, the raw desire overwhelming me.

This man feels like pure fire beneath my hands, and I know, without a doubt, he's the only one who can make me feel like this. Like I'm completely lost, and I don't ever want to be found.

My body trembles, my muscles finally releasing the tension that had gripped me moments before. I let out a shaky breath, my eyes fluttering open as I try to catch my bearings. And then, there he is, standing right in front of me—frozen, his gaze locked on mine, his desire for me still burning bright and undeniable. A sudden wave of embarrassment floods me, coloring my cheeks. My mind scrambles for something to say, but the words are stuck, tangled up in the whirlwind of emotions I don't even know how to process.

"I—I…" The words falter, and I feel my face flush even more. My breath hitches, and I can't meet his eyes, mortified by the intensity of what just happened.

He steps closer, his hand coming up to gently cradle my jawline, his touch grounding me. "You're beautiful, Bella," he says, his voice so calm, so steady, that it cuts right through my shame. "Watching you come is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

I blink, and my heart stutters at the rawness of his statement. I bite my lip, feeling tears prick at the corners of my eyes. My cheeks burn hotter as I nod, my body still trembling from the aftermath. But the shame floods in, faster and heavier than I expected. My eyes drop to the floor, unable to meet his gaze, and suddenly I feel so exposed, so vulnerable. The tears threaten to spill over as I push him away, needing space, needing to cover myself. I hop down from the table, fumbling with the fabric of my shirt, desperate to regain some sense of control.

But before I can pull myself together, he catches my wrist, stopping me. "Don't do that, don't shut down on me again." His voice is firm, but there's a gentleness there that makes me pause. "Don't be ashamed of a single fucking thing with me. I want all of you. The beautiful parts, the messy parts, the sexy-as-hell parts, the emotional parts—I want it all."

His words hit me, and I feel something inside me crack, like he's breaking through the walls I've spent so long building. My eyes slowly lift to meet his, and he's looking at me like I'm the only thing that matters. The intensity in his gaze is overwhelming, but it's steady, reassuring, like he's offering me a lifeline.

"It may take me years to prove it to you, but I want everything you have to offer," he continues, his thumb brushing softly along my chin. "And I expect the same from you."

I can't speak, can't move. All I can do is stare up at him, my heart pounding in my chest, my breath shallow. I've never felt so seen, so understood. I nod, unable to find my voice, but knowing that I want to give him everything he's asking for.

But he's not done. His fingers tilt my chin up slightly, his eyes holding mine with an intensity that makes my pulse race. "Say it," he instructs, his voice low, commanding. "I need to hear you say it."

I swallow hard, my throat tight with emotion. "I understand," I whisper, my voice trembling, but the words feel real, feel right.

He releases a breath, his grip on me softening, and I feel like I'm standing on the edge of something huge—something terrifying and beautiful all at once. But for the first time, I'm ready to jump.

All morning I've been avoiding the intensity of his eyes, the pull they have on me, but now—now I can't look away. It's like something has shifted, something I've been trying to deny but can't anymore. My heart races as the tension between us crackles, electric and undeniable.

My eyes flick down to his lips, still parted, still tempting, and I feel the ache of unsatisfied desire pulse through me, stronger than ever.

His smile is slow, predatory in a way that sends a shiver through me. "That's a girl." He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of my nose before his lips find mine, more insistent this time, more real. It's a kiss that says everything we haven't spoken yet, everything simmering beneath the surface.

I can't help but laugh softly, even though my body is still thrumming with the release he gave me. He knows what he's doing, knows the effect he has on me. Gone are the subtle hints, the cautious games we've been playing. Now there's only the truth—he wants me, and I want him. There's no denying it anymore.

He's made it clear, and now, it's only a matter of time. I feel it, deep down—the pull toward him, the way he's slowly breaking through my defenses. The way I'm already falling, even if I'm not quite ready to admit it to myself yet.

But Archer... he knows. And I can see it in his eyes—he's ready to take everything.