James Tate

Archer D'Ath: He'd better fucking hide.

Kodiak Jones: How fucking dumb is this asshole? He must know we're gonna beat the snot outta him for that.

Fuck me dead. Whoever had suggested the Jacob's Ladder needed a goddamn medal or something. Maybe a statue erected in his honor. Because fucking Steele with eight bar piercings studding his cock was like nothing I'd ever felt. In a really good way.

Fuck me dead. Whoever had suggested the Jacob's Ladder needed a goddamn medal or something. Maybe a statue erected in his honor. Because fucking Steele with eight bar piercings studding his cock was like nothing I'd ever felt. In a really good way.

Are you kidding? He'll probably break my damn face if his good luck charm isn't there in plenty of time. What's the threat if he loses, anyway?"

Are you kidding? He'll probably break my damn face if his good luck charm isn't there in plenty of time. What's the threat if he loses, anyway?"

I'd be lying if I said it didn't make me all warm and fuzzy inside. The fact that they cared enough...

It was a new thing for me. But I loved it.

The black text across my chest had previously just read The Archer, and on the back was a stylized stag, like a watered-down version of the intricate tattoo on Archer's back. Now, though? My chest read The Archer's Girl. Back Off

Archer paused a moment before he replied, running his gaze over me and staring at his handwriting on my breasts.

"Now I am."

Archer tugged his mouthguard out then his lips crushed to mine, his tongue sweeping inside in a harsh, possessive, demanding kiss. When he released me, our foreheads pressed together for a second and his gaze drilled into me with scorching heat.

I crossed over to the window, staring out at the electronic billboard on the building directly across the intersection. It was me. Giant me. In nothing but a skimpy black corset, thong, and heels, leaning on a bar and looking every inch the sex kitten. Beside me was a bottle of vodka that I didn't remember being there in the photoshoot.