Sins of My Father (Black Brothers #1) by Lisa Cardiff Page B

get deep enough. We couldn’t get close enough, but it didn’t stop me from trying to feed the lust burning inside of me like I stood on the threshold of the second circle of hell.
    We pushed and pulled at each other, desperate to purge even one centimeter of distance between our bodies. I tugged at the hem of his shirt and ripped it from the waistband of his pants, burrowing my hands underneath the material. My blunt cut nails scored the rope-like muscles along his spine. My innate internal defenses hadn’t merely lowered; they had plummeted shamelessly and uncontrollably like a meteor caught in the earth’s gravitational field.
    Archer’s hand traced the side of my face, my neck, my collarbone, only stopping his exploratory descent when he reached the side of my breast. His lips coasted to my neck, nibbling, tasting, and licking. Like a well-orchestrated magic trick, my body responded to his non-verbal commands. Goosebumps showered my arms. My nipples tightened, and my breath stuck in my throat before whooshing out in one giant leap that suspiciously resembled a moan.
    Ding.
    The noise hardly penetrated my Archer-induced fog of lust. My hands fumbled with the top button of his shirt as my eyes locked on his face, savoring every angle of his savagely beautiful face, taut with desire. I wanted, needed, and craved every part of him, and I was long past caring about the repercussions. One button, two buttons, and then three, and my eyes raked over the sinful expanse of his chest exposed for my viewing pleasure.
    Ding.
    Then, it was his turn. He slid my shirt up, but didn’t limit himself to looking. His lips sealed over my lace-covered nipple. My eyes fluttered closed, and I arched my back, drowning in the all-consuming burst of pleasure. My world narrowed on him, on us, and each and every stroke and suck of his too skilled mouth. Wobbly, lightheaded, I clung to him, basking in the sensations he lured so effortlessly from my all too willing body.
    Ding .
    “Shit,” Archer said, stepping away from me, rubbing his hands along the sides of his thighs.
    “What?” I said, my body sagging. Without the countertop behind me for support, I would’ve tumbled to the floor. My breath exited my lungs in jagged, uneven pants.
    “The food.”
    Dizzy and out of focus, my mind spun, unraveling his words as though he had spoken Sanskrit instead two simple English words.
    Food?
    What food?
    Crap, the sushi Archer ordered.
    No, no, no. I had never hated sushi as much as I did at that moment. I didn’t want anything to interrupt where we were headed. I wanted to continue the plunge into the world where only Archer and I existed. My fingers dove into my hair, raking the tangled strands away from my face. “Right. Sushi.”
    He closed the distance between us again and stroked the skin of my lower lip, the brief touch almost unbearable when he had no intention of continuing his attentions.
    “Don’t look so disappointed, Langley.” His hand dropped and he walked backward toward the front door. “The night isn’t over yet.”
    His promise was a double-edged sword. I wanted more of what Archer offered, but part of me wanted to hold Archer at bay a little longer, testing the waters before I dove in with reckless abandon. He’d steal my heart without trying, and I didn’t know if he’d offer his in return.
    Since my dad died, love seemed like a commodity in short supply. My mom cared. Maybe my stepdad did too, but I could never quite convince myself that either of them loved me in the same unconditional all-encompassing way my dad did. More often than not, I felt like a prop in their Norman Rockwell audition on the never-ending campaign trail rather than a treasured member of the Wharton family.
    If I gave into Archer and our relationship soured, he’d break what little spirit I had left after that Brandon debacle.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER TWELVE
     
     
    Archer
     
    After we ate dinner, Langley fell asleep on my