The room was quiet except for the steady rhythm of your breaths, mingling with the faint crackle of the fire nearby. Archer’s hands were gentle on your skin, tracing slow patterns that made your heart race.

He leaned in close, lips barely brushing your ear. “Look at me,” he whispered, his voice low and warm, wrapping around you like a soft promise.

You met his gaze, eyes wide and searching.

“Breathe with me,” he murmured, fingers curling around yours. “In… and out. We don’t have to rush.”

His touch was patient, steady, and with every movement, he made sure you felt safe, seen. “Tell me how it feels,” he said softly, “I want to know everything.”

Your voice trembled as you whispered your need, your want, and he nodded, eyes darkening with desire but always gentle.

“You’re doing so well,” he praised, lips trailing down your neck. “Every sound, every breath, it’s yours to make. I’m here. Always.”

When he finally moved, it was slow and deliberate, every inch measured, every motion a conversation between your bodies.

He held you close, steadying you with whispered words—“You’re safe. You’re mine. I’m right here.”

The world outside faded away.

When your breaths finally mingled in a shared sigh, his forehead rested against yours, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“We don’t have to speak,” he said. “Just be here. Together.”

And in that quiet heat, with Archer’s hands gentle but sure, you knew there was nowhere else you’d rather be.