I hold up my finger when Archer opens his mouth to talk.
“I need you to not ask questions,” I say the second the call connects.
“Okay,” he says.
“I need you to send Jules to Climax.” I glare at Archer when he narrows his eyes.
I promised him that I was going to tell everyone in my life about him soon, but Jules already knows. It will be easier to face the fact that we’re trapped in a sex club with someone I also don’t have to explain why we’d be here together in the first place.
“The sex club?”
“Yes,” I answer.
“I’m not sending my fiancée to a fucking sex club. What the hell is—”
“I said don’t ask questions,” I snap.
“And I love you, man, but that’s not going to happen.”
Archer crosses his arms over his chest, his jaw twitching in irritation.
“I’m—fuck, man. Really? Can’t you just help me out?”
“Have you lost your mind? I’m not sending my pregnant woman to a sex club.”
I can see his point, but I’m fucking desperate.
“I’m here with—” I have to clear my throat before continuing. “Archer Bremen ended up here. Paparazzi have somehow found out, and they’re all stationed around the entrance.”
It’s not exactly the full truth.
I pull the phone from my face, covering the speaker. “I’ll make it up to you, I fucking swear.”
Jesus, if he leaves me because of this, I’ll never survive.
“Okay,” he says like it’s no big deal, and it wouldn’t be if Archer and I weren’t wearing matching fucking leather pants.
The love of my life glares harder at me, and I point to the fucking offensive things.
“I need you to bring disguises, and if you’re going to insist on coming along like it sounds like you are, I need you to wear one as well.”
“Explain it to me one more time,” he demands like I’ve been speaking a foreign fucking language.
“I’m at Climax with Bremen, and the paps have surrounded the damn place. I need help getting out without being seen. I don’t want to end up in the damn tabloids. It’s not good for Blackbridge.”
“And what else?”
“Bring and wear disguises. I’m in the purple room. They’ll be waiting for you.”
I hang up the phone, immediately holding my hands up in surrender.
“Don’t be pissed.”
His eyes narrow even further.
“I’m not pissed.”
“You look pissed.”
“I want you on the fucking cross, Brooks.”
“Did you not hear what is going on? The fucking pap—”
“I have this room for twenty-four hours. We’ll wait them out.”
“Archer—”
I groan when his hand sweeps the front of my pants.
“On the cross,” he insists. “My mouth has been empty for far too long.”
I back up, the promise of his mouth around my dick is all it takes to make this man my only fucking focus.
We kiss again, his lips everything I never knew I needed.
“Love you,” I whisper against his lips. “You’re fucking it for me.”
I get lost in his hands on my skin, practically losing my mind when his lips trail down my skin. It takes longer than probably necessary to get me strapped to the St. Andrew’s Cross, but once I’m on it, I understand the freedom in it.
“Touch me,” I beg when Archer seems content to just circle around the thing, looking at his handiwork.
“You look fucking good up there, baby. Do you have room in your condo for one of these?”
“I’ll make room,” I say, knowing I’ll want to see him strapped to one someday soon.
He chuckles, the sound floating all around the room and seeping into me.
I love seeing him happy and I plan on spending my entire life keeping him that way.
“Touch me,” I plead once again.
My cock is so fucking hard it aches, and I want nothing more than for him to unzip me and give me the promise of his mouth.
“The clamps,” Archer says, his lips brushing my lower belly. The muscles there contract and jump under his attention, but then he’s gone, returning to the basket of supplies on the table.
“I just need your mouth. Archer, fucking pl—”
“Holy shit.”
I jerk my eyes to the door. “Goddamn it.”
“Why the hell are you strapped to a St. Andrew’s Cross,” Kit snaps as he raises an arm to cover Jules’s eyes.
“I can explain,” I blurt.
“Please do,” Archer says, and for a split second, it feels like I’m being punished.
It’s the same rush of unease that I felt when Archer told me that he won the bet I didn’t even remember. In that moment, and the same in this one, I knew my world was going to collapse. It was too good to be true.
I don’t deserve happiness.
I look over at my man, and he looks upset for me, like he didn’t mean for this to happen. It’s as much my fault as it is his. I let myself get distracted by my need and attraction to him, even knowing Kit was on his way to help us get out of here without the photographers getting photos of us leaving.