Blade (Archer's Creek Book 3)

by Gemma Weir

  My sister snickers. “Oh my god, you have a property portfolio. Who the hell are you?”

  I giggle and then we’re both laughing, and it feels good. “God, I missed you,” I say, between laughs.

  “I missed you too.”

  The waitress returns, delivering our drinks and taking our food order. “So, tell me about Park,” Dove says, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

  I roll my eyes. “There’s nothing to tell, we’re friends.”

  “Just friends? You looked very comfortable sitting in his lap the other night.” she says, disbelief obvious in her tone.

  “Why do I have to keep telling everyone that Park and I are just friends? Blade didn’t believe me either.”

  “Blade?” Dove says quickly.

  Internally I scream and slap myself for mentioning his name. “Yeah, he gave me the third degree about me knowing one of his brothers.”

  A sly smile creeps onto her face. “He watches you, you know?”

  “Who does?”

  “Blade.”

  “No, he doesn’t,” I cry.

  “And you watch him too.”

  “I do not,” I shriek indignantly.

  Dove slaps her hand across her mouth and her eyes widen dramatically. “Do you like him?”

  Rolling my eyes, I shake my head and look away. “What are we, thirteen? No, I don’t like him.”

  All playfulness falls from her face. “Oh my god, I was messing with you, but, you do! You like him!”

  “No I don’t,” I say quickly—too quickly.

  Dove’s mouth falls open. “We might not have seen each other in two years, Nikki, but I still know what you look like when you’re lying.”

  “I’m not lying,” I insist.

  “Did something happen between you two?”

  Sighing, I look up at the ceiling and screw up my face. “Maybe.”

  A hand wraps around my arm and squeezes tightly. “Nikki, something happened between you and Blade?”

  I glance down at her hand on my arm and then over my shoulder to make sure that no one can hear our conversation. “Ugh, yes, something happened.”

  Dove opens her mouth and I quickly cover it with my hand to stifle the squeal I know is coming. She pries my hand off and then claps her hands together like an overly excited child. “This is fantastic. I love Blade, you guys would be so perfect together.”

  I quickly shake my head. “No, no, no,” I say. “No, we’re not together and we’re not going to be.”

  “Why not?” She asks.

  “Because he’s a dick. We can barely tolerate each other,” I say.

  “But you had sex?” Dove asks, her lips pursed and her expression thoughtful.

  I nod. “Yes.”

  “And it was good?”

  “Oh my god, so good,” I say without thinking.

  “Ah ha!” my sister shouts. “You like him.”

  “No!” I say, pushing my chair back from the table.

  Dove arches one eyebrow and just looks at me.

  “Fine, the sex was out of this world good,” I admit, dropping my head into my hands.

  “Ha, I knew it!”

  My head snaps up and I point at her. “But it’s just sex, nothing more. We both had an itch that needed scratching and now we have, that’s it. There’s no grand romance happening here. I’m not looking for a happily ever after and as I kicked his infuriating ass out this morning, I’m pretty sure we both know exactly where we stand.”

  “You kicked him out?”

  I cringe. “Well I didn’t literally kick him out. I mean obviously he’s huge. But I told him that it was just sex and that it wasn’t going to happen ever again, and then he got dressed and left.”

  A laugh erupts from Dove and I stare at her for a second, until a giggle bubbles up from me too. A minute later we’re both laughing uncontrollably, tears are running down my cheeks and I feel the happiest I have in years.

  For the first time in years the whiskey in front of me holds absolutely no appeal. The clubhouse is full, the music is pounding, and everyone’s having a good time—except me. I lift the glass of whiskey to my lips and tip it back, but at the last second, I pull it away and place it back on the table. What the fuck is wrong with me?

  K.C. and Smoke are playing pool on the table in front of me. A cigarette hangs from K.C.’s lips while he leans over the table to pot a ball. Several girls are dancing in a group at the side of the table and when the ball sinks into the hole K.C. reaches out, pulls a giggling blonde into his arms and leans down to bite her breast. She shrieks playfully, but then grabs the front of her dress and pulls it down exposing both of her tits. K.C. chuckles dryly before he hungrily takes as much as he can of one of her breasts into his mouth.

  I sit, glass in hand, and watch as the girl pulls her dress off completely so she’s only wearing a tiny G-string and tall black heels. K.C.’s smile becomes predatory and he scoops her into his arms and lies her back across the pool table. K.C. loves public sex: he likes to watch and be watched and apparently so does the blonde as she lifts her legs into the air, pulls off her G-string and spreads her legs wide.

  Sighing loudly, I look away just as K.C. climbs between her legs and starts to fuck her enthusiastically. What the hell is wrong with me? There’s a live sex show going on ten feet from me and I have no interest in watching or participating. If I wanted to, I could have my dick in the blonde’s mouth and she’d let me fuck her face while K.C. abused her pussy, but the easy, naked blonde hasn’t even made my dick twitch.

  Standing up, I leave my glass on the table and make my way out of the bar just as the blonde starts to scream in pleasure. The pounding bass of the music permeates through the walls of my room and for the first time since I moved into the clubhouse five years ago, I wish I had my own place. Kicking off my shoes, I climb on my bed and flop down on my back, my hands cradled behind my head.

  I stare unseeingly at the ceiling above me and try to understand why I feel so disconnected tonight. The club, the parties, and the lifestyle have kept me happy for fucking years, so what’s changed today? An image of her springs into my mind, but I immediately blink it away. This has nothing to do with Nikki. One night of amazing sex shouldn’t change anything, but right now it feels like it has.

  My eyes feel heavy and I close them, letting the thud of the bass soothe me to sleep. Several minutes later, I open my eyes and curse my stupidity. My thoughts are filled with her, and the key to her house feels like it’s burning me through the fabric of my jeans.

  I found peace in her body, in her bed, and I want to feel it again. Sitting up, I check the time on my cell: 1am.It’s too late to knock on her door and ask for a repeat of the night before, but I’m still compelled to slide on my boots and grab the keys to my bike.

  The ride to Nikki’s feels like it takes hours and when I pull into her driveway, her house is in complete darkness. Killing the bike’s engine, I climb off and silently walk to her front door, sliding in the key and twisting it until the door opens inward. I shouldn’t be doing this. It’s the most fucked-up thing I’ve done in years and I know that she’s probably going to kick my ass when she realizes that I’m here. Despite my mind telling me all the reasons why this is a bad Idea, I’m still closing the door behind me, fussing her stupid little dog, and then climbing the stairs to her bedroom.

  The door to her room is half open and moonlight pours in through her open blinds illuminating the huge bed that dominates the room. Her scent is overpowering in here: sweet roses and vanilla, such a feminine smell, and so much sexier than the heavy perfumes the club girls wear. When my eyes fall on the bed, my cock instantly rises to attention. Her tiny body is covered by a comforter, and even though I can only see the sweeping line of her shoulder and the single arm that’s curled beneath her cheek, she’s still the sexiest thing I’ve seen in years.

  I don’t know what I’d planned to do when I got here. I think I’d convinced myself coming here was about sex, but now that I�
��m standing in her room I can’t lie to myself anymore—this is just about her. Sliding off my cut, I drape it over the back of a chair and then quickly undress until I’m just in my briefs, my cock as hard as rock. Carefully, I lift up the quilt and slide in behind her, wrapping my body around her. Sleepily she turns toward me and her eyes flutter open. I expect an explosion, but she just seems confused.

  “Cam?” she asks drowsily.

  “Yeah, Duchess, go back to sleep, okay?”

  “Okay,” she says, sleep filling her voice as she curls into my arms, her face resting against my chest.

  Throughout my life, my dreams have been both a blessing and a curse. As a small child my dreams were all ponies and fields made of rainbows and cotton candy. As a teen they were of escape and freedom, of beautiful boys and being happy. When we moved to Archer’s Creek, I stopped dreaming, and instead nightmares plagued me: visions of pain and violence, fear and desperation were all my sleep held for me. After the rape I feared sleeping at all, then over time my sleep became empty, dreamless, and peaceful.

  Last night I dreamed of Cam. I dreamed about the way he touches me, the way he makes my body feel and then how he holds me in his arms and doesn’t let go. It was the most realistic dream I’ve ever had, and when my eyes flutter open, I swear I can still feel the warmth of his body wrapped around mine and smell the slightly spicy scent that is uniquely Cam.

  It takes my sleep drowsy mind a few seconds to realize that I’m no longer dreaming and that the hard chest beneath me isn’t a figment of my imagination but is actually the real thing. Cam is in my bed.

  With a scream, I bolt upright and scramble to the other side of the bed away from him. Bleary-eyed, Cam looks at me. “Duchess, get back over here.”

  “What the hell are you doing, Cam? Why are you here, in my fucking bed?”

  A lazy, sleepy smile spreads across his lips. “Sleeping, now get back over here.”

  He reaches for me, but I leap out of his way and kick at his leg with my foot. “Get the hell out. How the fuck did you even get in here?”

  “Nikki, what the fuck? Don’t kick me,” he cries, his eyes more open now.

  “Get out,” I scream.

  In the blink of an eye, Cam grabs my leg and pulls me across the bed until I’m beneath him. I blink, unsure what the hell just happened. I open my mouth to speak but he silences me with a kiss. My hands lift to push him away, but before they reach his shoulders, desire overrides my sense of self-preservation and I start to kiss him back. Lifting my hands, I wrap them around his neck, burying my fingers into the hair at the back of his head.

  He groans a deep sound of male pleasure into my mouth and increases the pressure of his lips against mine. I melt against him; powerless to resist his touch the moment he gets his hands on me. His lips drag themselves from mine and he moves down my body until his head is level with my stomach. “Cam?” I say.

  “I need to taste you, Duchess. I need to know if you taste as sweet as I dreamed you would,” he says, as his hands push my sleepshirt up my body. Moving lower, he drops his head to my mound and places a sweet kiss against my skin. “God, you smell so good.”

  I should stop him. Push his head away and stop him, but then his lips dip lower and I can feel his hot breath against my sex. I squirm and all thoughts of telling him to stop are forgotten. Instead, I want to hold his head down, spread my legs and let him devour me.

  “Oh god, Duchess, this pussy,” Cam says, a moment before his tongue touches me.

  My eyes roll back in my head and I melt into the bed. His tongue licks a hot path through my sex and nothing has ever felt more perfect in my whole entire life. I’ve never been a fan of oral sex; it might feel great, but I’ve always felt so uncomfortable with how intimate it is. Right now, if I could ask for one thing for the rest of my life, it would be to start each day with this man eating my pussy.

  His tongue spreads my folds open, tracing a line along the sensitive nerves of my pussy and clit. He teases and probes until I’m writhing beneath him. My muscles tense as I climb closer and closer to release. A single finger enters me, and a moan escapes my throat. I lift my hips, pushing his face closer to my sex and his finger deeper into me.

  Cam chuckles. “Do you need more, Duchess?”

  I moan, rolling my hips again, pushing onto his finger, searching for the friction I need to find climax.

  “That’s it, Nikki, your greedy cunt needs more. How many fingers do you want, two or three? Do you want me to push three fingers into you so you can ride them like they were my cock?”

  Two more fingers slide into my soaking wet pussy and I almost cry with relief.

  “Oh yeah, fuck, Duchess, you’re so wet. Ride my hand, make yourself come while I lick your clit.”

  His words trigger something, and the need to come intensifies until it’s literally all I can think about. Rolling my hips, I push down onto his fingers then lift up again, fucking his hand as though it was his cock. His tongue flicks at my clit and within seconds, blinding white light explodes behind my eyes and I come, my whole body shaking with the intensity of my release. Cam pulls his fingers from me and replaces them with his tongue, he fucks and kisses me, tasting every inch of me until my muscles relax and I collapse back against the pillows.

  His tongue continues to lick my pussy, the insides of my thighs, and then finally his fingers. He licks away every trace of my arousal, then he crawls back up my body, a satisfied grin etched across his face. “Fucking perfect, that’s how you taste, fucking perfect.”

  Breathing heavily, I allow my eyes to fall closed and bask in the sensations still barreling through my body. I know I should be angry. I should be shouting at him for breaking into my house and crawling into my bed, but honestly, I’m too relaxed to care. A haze has washed over me that only an orgasm that good can create, and all my anger from earlier has evaporated. I’m pretty sure he could say anything to me now and I’d just smile.

  A couple of minutes pass and sleep pulls heavily at my languorous body. I allow myself to drift in and out of consciousness, aware of Cam’s body spooned beside me. Neither of us speak. What is there to say that’s not angry or accusing? I’m not sure how much time has passed when the mattress depresses behind me and Cam moves. The loss of his body heat makes me instantly cold and I want to pull him back, to keep him next to me, warm and surprisingly welcome.

  “I have to go to work. See you later, Duchess,” he whispers against my neck. He drops a sweet kiss against the corner of my mouth.

  I don’t reply. I don’t even open my eyes, but I hear every single step that takes him from my bed to the front door. I hear his bike start and then grow quieter as he rides away and only then do I force my eyes open and blow out a long, confused sigh.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I say aloud. I want to be angry at myself and berate my stupidity at letting Cam touch me again, but I can’t. Instead I stretch out my orgasm-relaxed limbs and allow the small smile that has started at the edge of my lips to spread into a full grin.

  Dove’s classes at the community college have started today, so I spend the day catching up on client emails, tracking, and forecasting. Despite the interloper in my bed and the early morning oral wake-up, it’s the calmest, most normal day I’ve had since I reconnected with my sister, and by the time the sun starts to set I feel relaxed and rejuvenated.

  Routine is good. It keeps my life in order, and for the last week my life has been anything but orderly. The monotony of the day was exactly what I needed to rejuvenate my fractured psyche. Prior to the last week, my life was planned and organized. I’d been scheduling the day I’d reclaim my sister for years. How typical that fate decided to shout ‘plot twist’ and throw my life in a direction so unexpected that planning is out of the question.

  Closing down my laptop, I stand up from my desk chair and raise my arms into the air to stretch out my stiff shoulders. I groan as my muscles protest the movement, then I pad barefoot away from my desk, twisting my neck f
rom shoulder to shoulder as I walk.

  My steps are silent as I make my way into the kitchen. I grab a beer from the refrigerator and scan the contents to see what I can make for dinner. Reaching forward, I collect the fixings for chicken pasta and balance the plastic packages and beer in my arms, as I kick the door shut behind me. I cross the kitchen to where the stove is sunk into the countertop and drop the ingredients onto the granite. Twisting the cap off the cold beer, I take a drink and then place it down next to me while I prepare the ingredients for dinner. I love to cook, and I’m happily singing to myself, when I hear the click of my front door opening. I freeze, spinning to face the door. The knife I’d been slicing the peppers with is gripped tightly in my hand.

  Cam casually opens my front door and closes it behind him. Dumbfounded, I watch as he walks lazily toward the kitchen, a smirk on his face. “Hi, honey, I’m home.”

  “What the actual fuck, Cam?” I shout, waving the knife in my hand at him absentmindedly.

  Cam’s smirk fades and he holds his hands out in front of him in an ‘I surrender’ motion. “Whoa there, Duchess. Why don’t you put the knife down?”

  Turning my head, I notice the huge knife in my hand and quickly lower it to the counter. “What are you doing here?”

  He smiles brightly at me, crossing the room until he’s directly in front of me. “Why do you think I’m here?”

  Exasperated, I stare at him, my brows furrowed. “I literally have no idea. So maybe you should leave and stop breaking into my house.”

  “I didn’t break in,” he says.

  “Then how the hell have you got into my house twice in less than twenty-four hours? I know you haven’t knocked on the door, or waited to be invited in.”

  His fingers reach forward, and he strokes the side of my jaw with his thumb. “You seemed to enjoy me being here this morning.”

  A blush colors my cheeks.

  “Oh, Duchess, that is a seriously sexy color on you. I wonder where else I could make you blush?”