Read Online The Prophet (Ryan Archer #2) by William Casey Moreton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: William Casey Moreton
Ads: Link
against a wall with a pale blue sheet partially stripped off. He felt a ping in the back of his mind that told him Tatum had been there. He could feel it in the hairs on his arms.
“Thanks, bro,” he said on his way out the door. He wrote his number on a scrap of paper. “Have Cecile call me when you hear from her.”
The headlights of the taxi appeared from the south and Archer put out his hand. It parked at the curb and he got inside.
“Back to Costco,” he said.
He started the Land Cruiser and turned on the lights. The Mercedes followed him all the way home.
TWELVE
Smith was in the shower when Archer got home. She liked to shower late. Archer didn’t mind at all. He didn’t mind anything about Smith, especially when it concerned her without clothes on.
Archer parked in the gravel along the side of her driveway and unlocked the front door. The house was dark. The bathroom door was open and light from inside fell onto the bedroom carpet in the shape of one slice from a pie chart. Archer pushed the door open and went into the bathroom. The shower door was fogged. He tapped it with the knuckle of his middle finger. Smith swiped her palm over it in a circled pattern enough to see him. She smiled. Archer pulled off his shirt, unbuttoned his jeans, and joined her.
Smith put her arms around his neck and pressed her lithe body into his. Archer dipped a hand between her thighs and spread her with two fingers. Smith’s eyelids fluttered as she leaned into the pressure from his hand. His fingers were thick and long, making it nearly impossible for her to catch her breath. He kissed her deeply, and she pushed her tongue into his mouth. He put his arms around her waist and lifted her off the ground, pressing her against the shower wall. He cupped her ass with his hands as she moaned. Shower water rained down on them as he moved against her.
“You smell amazing,” he said.
Smith swirled her tongue around his, inspiring him to continue his work. He kissed her neck, then worked his way to her chest. She wrapped her legs around him and held him tight.
“Damn, that feels good,” she moaned.
The shower billowed with steam. Smith ran her fingers through his wet hair as her body writhed. She stuck out her tongue and tasted the hot spray, eyes closed.
Archer set her down and stepped through the shower door. They toweled off and lay naked in bed. Then Smith straddled him, her body still superheated from the water.
“Already?” he asked.
She giggled softly, nodding her head, her hair spilling down around his face.
THIRTEEN
Archer awoke before sunrise. He poured steel-cut oats into a pot with water and sat on the deck in the morning air while breakfast simmered. He sprinkled chia seeds on the oats and poured a glass of skim milk. The trees on the hillside beyond the deck looked ghostly in the predawn gloom. He sat on the stairs and absorbed the stillness.
When the bowl was scraped clean, he set it aside and folded his legs into a comfortable position for meditation. He spent a half hour in silence, centering himself and shutting out his thoughts. When he opened his eyes, the first hints of sunrise were visible as an orange ribbon at the edge of the horizon. He pulled on running shorts and a hooded sweatshirt, laced up his Brooks and was careful not to wake Smith as he slipped out the door.
His route today was a rigorous path through the hills. For the first two miles he stayed on paved surfaces, then veered off onto a dirt path that led through the trees and across acres of hillside with a view of the Pacific in the distance.
After thirty minutes he doubled back and retraced his route back to the pavement. The city of Los Angeles was now lit by the amber glow of the new day. He was sweating through the sweatshirt. He ran past cars parked along the roadside, hypnotized by the steady rhythm of his shoes on the asphalt. For Archer, running was a form of meditation for his body.
Smith was still asleep
“Thanks, bro,” he said on his way out the door. He wrote his number on a scrap of paper. “Have Cecile call me when you hear from her.”
The headlights of the taxi appeared from the south and Archer put out his hand. It parked at the curb and he got inside.
“Back to Costco,” he said.
He started the Land Cruiser and turned on the lights. The Mercedes followed him all the way home.
TWELVE
Smith was in the shower when Archer got home. She liked to shower late. Archer didn’t mind at all. He didn’t mind anything about Smith, especially when it concerned her without clothes on.
Archer parked in the gravel along the side of her driveway and unlocked the front door. The house was dark. The bathroom door was open and light from inside fell onto the bedroom carpet in the shape of one slice from a pie chart. Archer pushed the door open and went into the bathroom. The shower door was fogged. He tapped it with the knuckle of his middle finger. Smith swiped her palm over it in a circled pattern enough to see him. She smiled. Archer pulled off his shirt, unbuttoned his jeans, and joined her.
Smith put her arms around his neck and pressed her lithe body into his. Archer dipped a hand between her thighs and spread her with two fingers. Smith’s eyelids fluttered as she leaned into the pressure from his hand. His fingers were thick and long, making it nearly impossible for her to catch her breath. He kissed her deeply, and she pushed her tongue into his mouth. He put his arms around her waist and lifted her off the ground, pressing her against the shower wall. He cupped her ass with his hands as she moaned. Shower water rained down on them as he moved against her.
“You smell amazing,” he said.
Smith swirled her tongue around his, inspiring him to continue his work. He kissed her neck, then worked his way to her chest. She wrapped her legs around him and held him tight.
“Damn, that feels good,” she moaned.
The shower billowed with steam. Smith ran her fingers through his wet hair as her body writhed. She stuck out her tongue and tasted the hot spray, eyes closed.
Archer set her down and stepped through the shower door. They toweled off and lay naked in bed. Then Smith straddled him, her body still superheated from the water.
“Already?” he asked.
She giggled softly, nodding her head, her hair spilling down around his face.
THIRTEEN
Archer awoke before sunrise. He poured steel-cut oats into a pot with water and sat on the deck in the morning air while breakfast simmered. He sprinkled chia seeds on the oats and poured a glass of skim milk. The trees on the hillside beyond the deck looked ghostly in the predawn gloom. He sat on the stairs and absorbed the stillness.
When the bowl was scraped clean, he set it aside and folded his legs into a comfortable position for meditation. He spent a half hour in silence, centering himself and shutting out his thoughts. When he opened his eyes, the first hints of sunrise were visible as an orange ribbon at the edge of the horizon. He pulled on running shorts and a hooded sweatshirt, laced up his Brooks and was careful not to wake Smith as he slipped out the door.
His route today was a rigorous path through the hills. For the first two miles he stayed on paved surfaces, then veered off onto a dirt path that led through the trees and across acres of hillside with a view of the Pacific in the distance.
After thirty minutes he doubled back and retraced his route back to the pavement. The city of Los Angeles was now lit by the amber glow of the new day. He was sweating through the sweatshirt. He ran past cars parked along the roadside, hypnotized by the steady rhythm of his shoes on the asphalt. For Archer, running was a form of meditation for his body.
Smith was still asleep
Similar Books
