by Viv Daniels
“Hands at your sides, please.”
His arms dropped, balled into fists near his hips. But she wasn’t looking at his hands, or his hips, or the cock that jutted between them, semi-erect and pointing right at her.
She swallowed as she reached him, and grazed his jaw with the side of her hand. He winced as if burned, but did not move.
Somewhere inside lay her Archer, her sweet and laughing boy. Somewhere behind this darkness, underneath this cruel creature. It was him who called to her, who begged her to touch him, to kiss him.
“Shall I close my eyes?” he teased. “Or will you have me like this?”
“Hush,” she whispered, and stroked his face again. The rosy hairs on his cheek were soft and downy, not scratchy like most men’s stubble. She brushed her knuckles against it like petting a cat, and his eyes fluttered closed, a sigh bubbling up from his chest.
“You are stalling,” he said softly. “Do I disgust you so much?”
“Not at all,” she replied. “But you already know that, don’t you?”
Their lips fit together the way petals enfold a rose, and as she sealed her mouth over his, his breath caught in a gasp. She slid her tongue inside his bottom lip, gently, slowly, and lingered, her head tilted up to his, hanging on as if the kiss kept her upright. And maybe it did.
She squeezed her eyes shut as his memories assaulted her senses. The burning pain of bullets, the dog’s amorphous terror, the urge to flee, and then… Ivy’s hand on his head, his neck, her words soothing shapeless into the animal’s mind.
His arms twitched as if to grab her, but stayed locked at his sides.
She pulled away and blinked up at him, as if coming out of a dream. “Archer…”
His eyes were closed, his face still.
“Look at me.”
“No.” The word slipped out on a puff of air.
Ivy’s hands ran along his shoulders, squeezed his arms. “Look at me, Archer.”
He took a shuddering breath, and then another, as the muscles in his arms bunched and flexed, as every sinew of his body drew taut as a bow. He was hard as a rock, now. She could feel his length against her thigh, and a throbbing began between her legs in response, a gush of wetness she’d bet anything that Archer, with his forest senses, already knew about.
As if to prove it, his nostrils flared, and his lips parted, but his eyes stayed stubbornly closed.
She lifted on tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his again, and this time the tip of his tongue slipped out to meet hers, and she moaned in surprise and pleasure.
“Yes,” he hissed against her lips. “Do that again.”
“I’ll do whatever you want,” she promised, the words rumbling between them. Her legs felt weak, as if they would not be able to bear her weight, but she knew she was strong, stronger than the curses he used, stronger than the darkness shrouding his soul. Ivy wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him closer. “Just come back to me, Archer.”
His tongue delved deep into her mouth at that, drawing out another rewarding moan, and he pressed his advantage, angling his mouth against hers and taking everything she offered. Lost in the kiss, she barely registered when his hands grazed her sides, and only moaned more as they ran up her body to cup her breasts. His thumbs flicked at her nipples through the weave of her dress, then pinched hard to bring them to bud.
“Gentle, Archer…” she begged, and he turned her in his arms and pushed her up against the wall of shelves. Glass jars rattled at her back and the cabinet knobs dug into her spine. His cock nestled between her thighs, his hips pumping ever so slightly, just a steady, subtle friction.
“Open for me,” he demanded, his voice low like distant thunder.
She kept her legs closed and held his face in her hands, tangling her fingers in his wild curls. His tongue battled with hers now, taking her mouth in a crude imitation of what he so clearly wanted to do. His hands slid down and gripped her ass, then yanked up the hem of her dress and found their way inside.
At the touch of his fingers between her legs, she pulled away, reality crashing down.
Archer dropped his head to her shoulder, panting hard. “You’re so wet.”
Her legs trembled beneath her and she gripped his shoulders, but it was no use. Her thighs were parting as if of their own accord and he pushed his fingers in deep. She gasped.
“You want me,” he said, thrusting his fingers in and out. “Feel how much you want me.”
“I do,” she admitted, as his thumbs brushed the sensitive nub between her legs. “I do want you, Archer. Ah—!” Ivy jerked as he rubbed too hard. “Wait. Stop. Archer…”
“Why should I stop?” he asked pleasantly, nudging his knee between her legs, “When every cell in your body begs for my touch?”
Ivy forced herself to breathe, to take a heartbeat or two and remember what this was all about. “Look at me. Please.”
He raised his head and stared at her, a smug, little smile twisting his lips. His eyes were black as pitch.
Ivy shoved him away and pulled down her dress.
“Do you think you can cure me with a kiss?” Archer asked now, his tone cold and triumphant. “Foolish girl. I’ve cut curses so deep, they’re etched on my bones. Every touch of magic burns more of my soul. If you really want me, you’re going to have to do better than that.”
She stared at him, breathing hard, her body vibrating like a plucked string. Her thighs were wet with want, her mouth bruised, her mind screaming his name.
“Come along, Ivy Potter,” he sneered at her. “I thought you’d do whatever I wanted. And they say we forest folk are the fickle ones! What’s a bit of black magic to scare you away?”
“I’m not scared,” she said, and hoped it wasn’t a lie. She could hear the desolation lurking just below his words. Her Archer was in there, and the only thing that scared her is that she might not be able to get him out.
The deacon claimed what he and Ernest Beemer and her father had done to the town and the forest was done out of love. Love for her, love for money, love for tradition — but Ivy knew it couldn’t be true. The barrier was black magic, and if fairy stories taught you anything, it was that black magic held no power in the face of true love. Lust it might abide, but she and Archer were more than that.
“You’re terrified,” he shot back, mocking her. “You saw the gift I left in the greenhouse. You know what I’m capable of.”
“The bramble-men tree,” she replied, in a voice as calm as she could muster. “Yes. It was… enlightening. As a student of forest botany, I’m glad to know their origin at last.”
He laughed mirthlessly. “That lesson nearly cost you your life.”
Ah, so he’d seen something of her day when he’d kissed her as well. That made things simple. She wouldn’t have to spend any time telling him about it. “I worry less of that than the effect it’s had on the townsfolk. They are determined to resurrect the barrier.”
That hit home. She saw him quake, saw the cracks at his seams. He’d risked so much to stop the bells, but it hadn’t made a difference. A second later, the darkness rallied. He stood straighter than before, and smirked at her.
“Maybe they’re right to fear the forest’s magic, after all. Give us half a chance, we’ll tear you to pieces.”
Ivy’s heart skipped a beat, but she forced herself to remain calm and spread her hands. “And yet here I stand.”
“Yes.” He snorted. “And what will you do?”
She took a deep breath. I am Puss in Boots. I am Jack the Giant-Killer. “I told you. Anything you want.”
He blinked—a flash of green—and seemed to stumble, though he hadn’t taken a step. A frown crossed his features.
“I love you, Archer.”
He flinched, and the shadows buzzed violet-black around him. “You can’t even see me. Blind, idiot townie girl. You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”
“You’re right.” She nodded. “But you’re Archer. So I don’t care.”
He pushed his cheek against her hand, his black eyes widening in wonder. “You love me,” he whispered in disbelief. But it wasn’t a question. They weren’t playing games.
“Yes.”
His hand closed around her wrist, tight, frantic. “Then save me.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Archer kissed her again, deep and desperate, as if she were a remedy and he were drinking her down. By the time he pulled away, Ivy could hardly breathe. Her skin felt on fire, and she shook with a need so base, she didn’t care what color eyes he had or what kind of enchantments shivered along his skin and flowed through his veins.
“Take your dress off.” He stepped back, leaning against the counter and folding his arms. His chin tipped up in challenge.
She crossed one arm over the other as she took the hem in her hands and pulled it off in one long movement, tossing it to the floor and standing before him, naked.
His gaze seemed to travel the length of her body, but it was tough to tell in that sea of black. Her nipples hardened beneath his perusal, and the air cooled the wetness at the juncture of her thighs.
“I am glad to see you’ve lost your taste for underthings.”
“I didn’t have a chance to put them on this evening.” Ivy resisted the urge to place her hand over her crotch. “Now what?” She was in real trouble if he wanted her to dance for him or something ridiculous like that.
The firelight flickered at his back, casting his face in shadow, though she was sure he could see every inch of her flesh in stark relief.
He straightened, casually, and strode forward, circling her like a buyer examining a piece of merchandise. He was aroused, but calm. She didn’t think he would even touch her. This was what a forest girl looked like at midsummer fires, naked before flickering flames. In the silence of the bell-free night, Ivy could almost pretend she heard the sound of forest drums. When they’d been teenagers, Archer had taken her away from all that, to their own, private, special space. Would this Archer be so considerate? Would he even think about what she needed?
He came around to her front, clamped his hands round her waist, and hoisted her up onto the counter. Then he stepped back, regarding her as one might a work of art.
“You are quite beautiful, Ivy Potter.”
“Thank you.” Ivy could say the same about him. Firelight was the only thing he should ever wear. It ignited the red streaks in his hair and beard, and made his pale skin glow like the sunrise. Even wrapped in enchantments, he was magnificent, a creature carved of myth. But he was too far away. She sat with her legs dangling over the side of the counter. The stone was cool against her butt, and it was hard to resist the urge to hop down and wrap herself around him.
“Touch your breasts,” he ordered.
She blinked in surprise, then leaned forward. “Why don’t you?”
Archer was silent, and those black eyes were a mystery. What was he thinking?
She sighed and cupped her breasts in her hands, lifting them and rolling the nipples beneath her thumbs. Her mouth parted and her eyes half-closed in pleasure.
“Are you imagining it’s me?” he asked wryly.
“Of course,” she murmured. Her inner muscles clenched as she continued to caress her breasts, picturing him watching her.
“You do that a lot, I assume.”
Her eyes snapped open to meet his. “What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “Last night you said you hadn’t been with anyone in three years. You must be quite adept at pleasuring yourself, then.”
She nodded. “I suppose I am.”
Archer’s throat moved, as if he was swallowing, and his voice sounded rough when he spoke again. “Show me.”
He couldn’t actually mean…
“Lay back on the counter,” he went on, pointing, “spread your legs, and show me.”
Well, Ivy had said she’d do whatever he wanted. She leaned back on her elbows, drawing her knees up and bracing her feet on the counter.
“Spread your legs, Ivy,” he coaxed from his spot halfway across the room. “Let me see all of you.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and did as she was told. Her hand drifted between her legs, her fingers parting the damp folds.
“That’s right.” Was it her imagination, or did he sound a bit breathless? “Touch yourself.”
She inserted a finger and drew it out again, slick with moisture, and circled it around her clit.
“Touch yourself the way you have these past few years without me,” he urged.
“Why?” she asked him, without stopping the motion of her hand. “Why would I do this when you’re right here?”
“Because I said so.”
Ivy opened her eyes and tilted her face in his direction. He stood there, his hands tight at his sides, the tension evident in every muscle and sinew. Veins bulged at his neck and he held his jaw so tight it might crack. Odd, she would have thought he’d be stroking himself, too.
“Don’t watch me,” he ordered.
“Why not?” she asked innocently, as she trailed her finger up and down her folds, teasing her opening. “I’m picturing you.”
He sniffed dismissively. “You aren’t picturing this.”
“Yes, I am. I want you, Archer.”
It was like he was peering at her through a dirty screen, puzzling something he couldn’t quite make out. “You pushed me away.”
She bit her lip. He’d surprised her, was all. He’d kissed her so tenderly, she thought for sure she’d broken through. “I—”
“Don’t speak if what you’ll say is a lie.”
Her mouth snapped shut.
His mouth split in a cruel grin. “You don’t want me. You want the boy you knew.”
“Archer—” She began to sit up.
“Keep touching yourself. Don’t you dare stop.”
She lay back down and spread her thighs more, giving him as good a show as she could manage.
“I’m not that boy anymore,” he went on. “That boy who brings you flowers and treetops.”
That wasn’t true. He would always be that boy. Her boy, her Archer.
“Now, I’d throw you down before the fire and take you hard, Ivy Potter. You know I would.”
She whimpered, and he seemed to find the sound satisfying.
“Good.” He came closer, looking down at her, his black gaze sending shivers of dread and delight down her limbs. “Use two fingers.”
She obeyed.
“Deeper.”
She gasped. “Archer, please…”
He shut his eyes, as if he was at war with herself, and lay his fingertips on the counter, almost, but not quite, touching her. “I wonder what would happen,” he said suddenly, “if I opened the shades?”
Her eyes widened. He wouldn’t dare. She was lying on the counter, in full view of the street.
“I bet every man in town is guarding watch over the forest tonight, marching back and forth in front of your house. Don’t stop, Ivy.”
She growled, but kept going. An unbearable pressure built up inside her, a spring coiled tight.
“I could cloak myself in shadows. No one would see me. But oh, they’d see you.” His voice seemed to break on the words. “Spread out on this counter like the most delicious feast. Your hair tossed wildly, your mouth swollen and wet, the sound of your moans.”
Ivy moaned just then, as if on cue.
“Tell me truthfully, townie girl,” he drawled, “You didn’t wait for me all those years.”
“I did,” she gasped. “I swear. I love only—”
“Don’t lie to me.” His voice was sharp as a knife. “I saw the men in this town looking at you today. What would they do, do you think, if they saw you here like this?”
She stopped then, and covered his hand with hers. “Don’t, Archer.”
He s
hoved away from the counter, hissing as if she’d burned him.
She sat up, swung her legs back over the side, and regarded him. It wasn’t the men in town Archer was trying to tease with the sight of her, awash with pleasure and just out of reach. It was himself.
“I didn’t tell you to stop.” His head was turned away, his voice directed to the floor. He wouldn’t touch himself, he wouldn’t let her touch him. He wanted her to save him but the monster inside wouldn’t allow it.
“I didn’t sleep with anyone,” she replied. “You know that. I didn’t even want to.” She stepped down from the counter.
“Stay back.”
“I won’t lie to you. You cannot make me.”
His hands tightened into fists. “I said, stay away from me.”
But Ivy hadn’t moved. “I want you, Archer, whatever you are. Because we have the same soul. I’m in there with you, and I won’t be whole again until you’re free.”
He leaned against the other counter, his shoulders caving inward. “Please…” he begged, but couldn’t put the request into words.
“I love you, Archer. You can’t make me feel shame about it.” She took one tiny step forward, and when he didn’t move, she tried another. “Everyone in town tried when we were young. They called me a forest-lover, they told me I was foolish.”
Archer sounded like he was having trouble breathing, like he was locked in an invisible battle.
“And all these years with the barrier, when I thought I’d never see you again, when I feared you’d been consumed by dark magic—”
“I had!” The words burst out of him like a curse, but he still shied away from her.
“All those years, if I’d been told how to save you, I’d have stopped at nothing.” She laid a hand on his chest and pushed him back against the counter. “And so I will stop at nothing, Archer, to save you tonight.”
He raised his head and looked at her, with eyes of gorgeous moss-green. His face was full of hope, and fear, and unspoken pleas.
Ivy’s palms spread out over his chest. She could feel his heart beat beneath his skin, wild and quick like an animal.
