Archer Dean taught me how it feels to be loved. Really loved. The happily ever after, fairy-tale type love. But he also taught me what real heartbreak was. He ripped away my happiness, took it from me without a backward glance. He left me alone and broken with no idea how to rebuild. No fight left in me to want to.
Annabelle Edwards was a light in my world of darkness. She changed the way my heart beat, she let me believe in love. But the thing about darkness is that it’s suffocating and without warning, the light that you rely so heavily on, can be extinguished by the power of your own shadows.
Our story is about pain. About fighting through feelings that can sometimes be greater than love.
Our story is aching. It’s passionate. It’s consuming.
We’ve felt loss. Felt abandoned by one another. We’ve felt betrayed. Lost. But we fought. Against our love. For our love. Together. Apart. We’ve done it all. We’ve fought for our love to exist. For it to survive.
It’s been a broken road. Hopeless at times. Full and seamless at others.
We’ve been through hell and we have to trust that our love is strong enough to overcome anything.
I notice the towel first; so starkly white against tanned skin. Just a towel, nothing more. Just a scrap of material wrapped tightly around an incredibly defined waist, hip bones chiseled, showcasing an impressive V sculpted into his body. Script, I can’t quite make out, marks his hip, peeking below the towel. My eyes follow the waist upwards and I’m assaulted by carved abdominal muscles, a naughty looking Tinkerbelle; round ass and boobs spilling from her barely there clothing, inked along his side. Continuing to stare my eyes reach perfectly cut pectoral muscles and I want to groan at the perfection. I keep the groan contained but I have no doubt my face clearly shows my appreciation. If not, the way my tongue peeks out to wet my lips surely would.
Subtle, Annabelle. Really fucking subtle.
I make my way to his face and realize my rather open appraisal hasn’t gone unnoticed, when an amused smirk dances across this beautiful stranger’s lips. I shoot my eyes upwards and am met with a familiar green stare, eyebrows raised in amusement. His hair is different, shorn close to his scalp but he’s instantly recognizable.
“Archer?” I ask curiously. “Oh my god, you’re home,” I breathe out and before I can stop myself, I propel myself forward, hitting his body in a tight embrace.
His wet, naked body is as hard as it looks and I’m woman enough to admit the smallest, barely audible moan breaks from my lips.