Stay with Me (With Me in Seattle 9)

“My makeup brand will be launching out of L.A.”

“Commute for that.”

I frown and look down. Honestly, I’ve been seriously considering this over the past week or so, but I’m not ready to talk about it. Not yet.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Good.” He smiles at me. “Do you have any food?”

“What is it with you and Will and eating us all out of house and home?”

“I’m a growing boy,” he says, rubbing his belly.

“Ew. I don’t want to know.”

“If you don’t want to feed me, I could just throw you into the pool.”

I cock a brow. “Do not do that.”

“It looks warm.” He stands, and I run away from him, but he catches me, lifting me into the air.

“No! Archer, I’m serious, do not throw me in that pool. I just dried my hair, damn it!”

“You can dry it again.”

“No. No no no no no.”

I’m giggling until he walks closer to the edge.

“Damn it, Archer, no.”

“She said no.”

Archer stops, and our gazes fly to the man standing at the other end of the pool, near the entrance of the house. His hands are fisted, and his eyes are lethal.

Wyatt wants to deck someone.

“Wyatt, this is—”

“I don’t give a fuck who he is. You’ll take your hands off of her. Now.”

“Or what?” Archer asks as he lowers me to the ground and walks around the pool toward Wyatt.

“For fuck’s sake, stop it.” I run to catch up with Archer and stand between him and Wyatt. “I said stop it.”

“Who is this joker?” Archer asks. I plant my hand on his chest, then turn to see Wyatt glowering down at me and my hand currently touching my brother.

“This is Wyatt,” I reply. “My neighbor from across the street, and my boyfriend. And Wyatt, this is Archer, my brother.”

“Yeah, I’m her brother,” Archer says, narrowing his eyes.

“For the love of God, stop with the posturing. It’s exhausting and ridiculous.”

I walk away, leaving them to beat the hell out of each other if they want to. So be it. I’m not a fucking referee. What is it with men and their egos? My ex was the absolute worst. He drove me absolutely nuts with it, and I refuse to put up with it from these two.

I walk into the kitchen to pour another glass of lemonade. Archer comes in behind me.

“I’m going to go,” he says, surprising me. “But I’ll be back soon. Text me. If you’re in town, I should see you more often.”

“Uh, okay. What the hell just happened, and what did you do with my brother? Did you drown him?”

He grins. “Wyatt and I talked. We’re cool.” He waves as he walks out of the house.

I turn to put the pitcher in the fridge and hear the glass door shut behind me. I don’t turn as I start to speak.

“You know, I don’t appreciate—”

I don’t have a chance to finish before he takes the glass out of my hand, sets it on the counter, and turns me around to look at him.

“You know what I don’t appreciate, Amelia? I don’t appreciate walking in here to find you in another man’s arms. Laughing and squealing and having a good time while that man touches you.”

“Jesus, he’s my brother.” Don’t do this. Don’t turn into a jerk now.

“I didn’t know that,” he says. He’s breathing hard, his chest is heaving, and his hands keep curling in and out of fists by his sides. “All I knew was that he had his fucking hands on you.”

“He’s my brother,” I repeat and push my nose up near his. “And you just walked in here like you own the place.”

His eyes narrow.

“I can hang out with whomever I please. I don’t have to ask your permission. I don’t have to ask for anyone’s permission for anything.”

He cages me against the countertop, still not touching me.

“Do you think this is about me wanting a say in who you hang out with? Are you that blind?”

“I think you’re acting ridiculous,” I counter, frustration vibrating through me. “You went all caveman without just asking who he is. I wasn’t having sex with him. We were playing around, Wyatt.”

“Let me turn this around on you, sweetheart. If you walked into my house, and I was holding onto a beautiful woman, a stranger to you, how would that make you feel?”

I immediately see red, but I just clear my throat and school my features. “I would calmly ask if I was interrupting.”

He leans in farther and plants his lips against my ear. “Bull. Shit.”

“Now I’m a liar?”

He laughs and shakes his head, but there’s no humor there.

“If you’re this mad at me, you can just leave. No harm, no foul. Because I won’t be told who I can have fun with, Wyatt. I’ve put up with that shit in the past, and I won’t do it now, not even for you.”

“I’m so damn frustrated,” he growls. “I can’t even touch you. I’m afraid of hurting you.”

His jaw clenches, and a piece of his long hair falls onto his forehead. I can’t resist reaching up to smooth it back, and the next thing I know, he’s kissing me like a man possessed.

“I wanted to kill him,” he mutters as he kisses his way down my neck. “I was going to rip his fucking arms off.”

“Violent.”

“Deserved,” he replies. “You said the other day that you’re not staking a claim; well I’m telling you right now, I am.”

He picks me up and carries me into the living room, laying me on the couch the same way he did the first night we had sex here.

“Wyatt—”

“Stop talking.” He’s making quick work of sliding my clothes off, kissing my skin, making me come alive beneath him. “I’ve never been a jealous man, Amelia. I can put up with a lot. But seeing another man touching you seems to be my breaking point. If you’re not ready to call this a relationship, so be it, but that’s exactly what we’re in, Amelia.”

His fingers are doing delicious things to me, moving through the lips of my pussy, making me so damn wet and needy, I don’t even know who I am right now.

He pushes inside me and stops when he’s balls-deep.

“This? This is mine, Amelia, do you hear me?”

I can’t look away from his intense hazel eyes. They’re on fire as he watches me, making it clear in no uncertain terms that he’s here to stay. It should terrify me, but it only makes me want him more.

“Say it.”

“Yours.”

“What’s mine?” He’s moving now, roughly, pushing me hard toward the finish line. “Tell me.”

“My pussy is yours.”

“No.” He stops now and holds my face in his palm. “You. All of you is mine.”

My heart shatters as his eyes fill with tears, and I know that I’ve fallen just as hard as he has. I am his.

And he’s absofuckinglutely mine.

“I’m yours, Wyatt.”

“That’s right,” he says, tipping his forehead against mine as he thrusts in and out of me, sending us both into the stratosphere.

“But, Wyatt?”

“Yes, baby.”

“You’re mine, too. This isn’t one-way.”