Date Me, Mr. Archer

thirty eight | a promise of love

I didn't question for a second when he told me his love for me was not fake, that it was the most real thing he'd ever felt because it showed in his actions. Even now. I’d thrown fits and ignored him, I’d vowed to hate him during our marriage and I’d refused to entertain his questions and yet he’d been patient with me all along.

And why was the realisation that didn't even think of giving up on us, instead told me he'd work hard to win me back again a much more of a turn on than the arm porn I was indulging myself in right now?

And as if a telepathic connection, as if sensing I was watching him and loving him in my head, his cool gaze slowly slid up from the stove, landing straight at me.  His plump, full lips, the ones I’d tasted so many times and loved even more with every kiss, stretched up in a slow, arrogant smirk.

The warmth of his gaze and the playfulness in his smile doused me in a blanket of secluded peace. And I knew, no matter how much I thought I hated him, no matter how raged I was at him for lying to me, no matter how betrayed I felt by him, the utter glow in his gaze and the rapid beating of my heart was all the more of a evidence I needed to know that he was still my home. He always had been. There was nothing that would change it. Ever.

He walked towards me with two plates of grilled sandwich in his hands and placed them both on the glass coffee table ahead of me. His eyes bounced from the sandwich to me to the TV behind him before it sliced back to me as he asked, “Do you wanna watch some. . . .”

“No,” I said, my voice cranky and dry. I picked the piece of sandwich from the plate and bit off a big bite, trying not to let the awkward silence cling for too long. The spicy flavour of the vegetables and the slightly salty flavour from the cheese bursted on my tongue and I almost moaned at its taste. I’d eaten sandwiches made by Kyst before but they hit different everytime I was way too hungry and right now, I was famished.

Suddenly sensing a gaze on me, I jerked my head up, choking on the cheese at the intensity with which he watched me, equal parts love and amusement. He set a head on the back of the couch, right by my head and his other one tipped my chin higher as he leaned forward. My breathing ceased to exist. His cool eyes dropped to my lips and I tentatively licked them under his scrutinizing gaze, a flair of goosebumps dotting my arms and prickling my skin.

I should just smack him across his face, right? It hadn't even been more than two hours since I promised to hate him and here I was, ready to kiss him? I was going insane. A blush rose to my cheeks and I squirmed in my place, the dull throb between my legs becoming extensively painful.

The original scent of him, rain and musky lime wrapped around me like a live wire, ready to short circuit at the tension between us any second now. The other side of his lips rose, a little grin sitting on his face and I closed my eyes in anticipation.

The love of my life, who happened to be extremely handsome and skillful, my husband, was about to kiss me right now and I’d be damned if I didn't feed into my arousal because of my grudge that I knew, deep down, was insanely stupid. Kyst wore his heart on his sleeve. His words were a blood oath. And he'd told me time and again that what he felt for me was genuine, greater than and beyond the vices of a business arrangement and I wanted to yell consequences be damned and to pull him right on top of me but something stopped me.

I opened my eyes again with a force just in time to catch his thumb swiping the corner of my mouth, cleaning the excess mayonnaise I had accidentally gotten there while eating before he sucked it into his mouth. My nostrils flared and I sucked in a sharp breath, chilling myself, hoping and begging and praying to God to let my erratic heart calm the fuck down.

My dad was right. I really was a dumb fool in love. As Kyst settled beside me, his thigh brushed mine and I abruptly shifted, cutting off the electric current between us. His lips rose higher at my reaction. That bastard. And then his gaze slowly, with a dangerous leisure slid over to mine, his legs spread out and his elbows resting on his thighs, his fingers steepled together as he asked me in a hauntingly, low voice, “Where were you last night?”