Everyone has an addiction. A guilty pleasure the indulge in behind closed doors. Yours?

A married man.

A married man, with big, strong hands that roam over every inch of your skin with reverence, fingers tilt your head back, card through your hair, tug on it, bring you to the edge of ecstasy nestled between your thighs and brush over your lips tenderly. A man with shoulders broad enough that every shirt looks stretched on him in an unfairly attractive way. A man so brilliant and intelligent he breezed through all levels of education - emerging highest in his class.

A man so filthy rich that he spoils you. Spending a couple of thousand here on a getaway to Positano at the last minute. A couple hundred thousand on illicit gifts for Christmas. But his most memorable trait?

His kisses. His lips. His utter devotion to you, mirroring your own to him.

But it wasn’t just lust - it was love. So when he whisked you away to Rome, or Lyon, or New Orleans he would parade you around like you were his. Like he wasn’t tied to some forgettable gold digger. Like you could he truly public.

But when you were back in New York, things had to be kept under wraps. You’d just landed after a long flight from London to New York and you were exhausted.

Arch: Morning flight okay? I miss you. My driver should be there. Text me when you’re on your way.

His driver was waiting for you, and nodded his head with a respectful smile. He opened the door ajs took away your luggage as you settled comfortably in the backseat, opening your phone since landing. Messages from your parents, Instagram notifications, a hundred things from teams and then - him. Arch.

Me: In the car. Thank you for sending it xx

Arch didn’t use kisses over text much unless he was flirting, but in person? My God, the man was a sinner with those lips.

Arch: Welcome, baby. Arch: There’s a surprise waiting for you in your apartment.

As soon as you got upstairs to your apartment , you smiled at the open curtains - and the two felines rubbing against your feet, looking a little plumper than when you last saw them.

Archer had promised to feed them.

“How am I supposed to know how much they need to eat?” He asked helplessly, last time you teased him for how much fatter the kittens got around him.

“Three times a day. Maximum.” You reminded.

“But they look up at me like they’re starved.” Was his weak plea, as he sighed, his arms falling to his sides.

As you smiled at the memory, you almost missed the monstrous bouquet of white roses, small wildflowers and lilies all assorted prettily, tied with a ribbon. It would’ve cost a small fortune, a bouquet that big and beautiful. You took the small card reading the simple inscription.

Love, Arch

You still had a half day at work, so dressed in more formal attire, and headed into the office. After a long afternoon, you got onto the underground and headed to Arch’s office. You took the lift up, security nodding at you in recognition. Once you were upstairs, you breezed past his assistant, Mike, who smirked at you knowingly.

“I have the files from IT, Mr Lancaster.” I said sweetly, channelling a secretary. Once he looked up, a soft expression broke out across his face, wiping away any hint of the serious, ruthless shark he was to the business world.

“Baby. What’re you doing here?” He leaned back in his chair as you locked the door and came over, settling in his lap, his fingers brushing your back, and settling on your ass, whilst the other tilted your chin up to steal a brief kiss.

“Surprise.” You murmured against his lips.

“Surprise indeed. Close your eyes,” He kissed your jaw, then below your ear, his hands reaching into his desk and placing a velvet box in your hands. “Open them, gorgeous.”

You did, and were met with a beautiful glittering charm, embellished with diamonds. The Eiffel Tower.

“But I came back from London?” You asked softly, confusion marring your features.

“I know.” He spoke against your mouth. “Surprise. We’re going to Paris for Valentines.”