Echo & Liv (Archer's Creek Book 4)

  Echo & Liv, An Archer’s Creek novella

  Copyright © 2017 by Gemma Weir

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Cover design by Hart & Bailey Design Co

  Interior design by Champagne Book Design

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Acknowledgements

  I’m totally dedicating this book to myself.

  Echo is mine, and I wanted more of him.

  “Fuck you,” Livvy screams from the top of the stairs.

  I release a growl of frustration and clench my fingers into fists, reminding myself that I love my pain in the ass wife. With my jaw clamped closed, I attempt to inhale a calming breath… and fail. “Livvy, you’ve got two fucking seconds to get your ass down here, before I come up there and get you.”

  “Go fuck yourself, Echo,” she screams again, and I hear the telltale sounds of her stomping across the landing, then the loud thud of our bedroom door being slammed shut.

  Slowly turning away from the stairs, I force my feet in the direction of the kitchen. If I can give her a minute, we can both calm down. I take one step, then another; my teeth grinding, barely holding in the snarl that’s building in my throat. I can’t do it. My legs stop moving, then without thought, I spin and march in the opposite direction. I take the stairs two at a time and seconds later I’m in front of our bedroom door. Turning the handle, I throw the door open hard enough for it to ricochet off the wall and bounce back toward me.

  My wife stands in the entrance of our closet. Her back is to me and her hands are fixed firmly on her hips. She’s wearing nothing but a pair of pink lacy panties. The anger instantly drains from me and is replaced with pure unadulterated want. “Livvy, come here,” I growl, my voice low and full of intent.

  “No,” she says without turning to acknowledge me.

  “Sugar,” I warn.

  She slowly turns her head to look over her shoulder at me. She must recognize something in my face because she pulls her lower lip between her teeth and nibbles at it nervously.

  “Come here.”

  Her hands fall to her sides and she shakes her head.

  “If I have to come over there, you might not like what’s gonna happen.”

  I watch as her shoulders tense and her hands curl into fists. “I’m going to work, Echo, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

  “Try me,” I say, my voice firm.

  “I have my work permit. There’s no reason why I can’t go to work,” she says, grabbing a tank top from the closet and pulling it over her head.

  “Other than I said you can’t.”

  With the tank covering her perfect tits, she spins to face me, anger flashing in her eyes. “I don’t give a fuck what you say. I’m going to work. I have absolutely no intention of just sitting here on my bloody fat arse until this baby pops out. I finally got my work permit, so I’m going. To. Work. End of discussion.”

  “No. You’re. Not,” I say, slowly moving toward her.

  Her eyes widen as I get closer, and she instinctually steps back. My cock twitches and I take another step toward her. She steps back again, and I follow her until her back hits the wall. Lifting my arms, I place my palms on the wall on either side of her head, caging her in with my body. “Nowhere to run, Sugar.”

  “Echo,” she says, her voice wavering.

  “Take off the tank.”

  “No.”

  I laugh. “You can take it off, or I can rip it off. Your choice.”

  “Or you could move your stupid fucking caveman self out of the way, so I can finish getting ready for work,” Livvy cries, pushing at my chest and unsuccessfully trying to move me.

  “I already told Brandi you weren’t coming.”

  “You what?!” She screams, thumping my chest with her tiny fists.

  Her eyes burn with anger and I can’t help but smile. This woman is my life—my fucking world—but she must be batshit crazy if she thinks I’m about to let her go work in a bar when she’s six months pregnant with my kid. Lowering my hands to her hips, I run my fingertips along the hem of her tank top and watch as she shivers at my touch. Lust replaces some of the anger in her eyes, and my cock pushes excitedly at my zipper. “Take. Off. The. Tank,” I enunciate slowly.

  She shakes her head as if she can shake off the lust that’s pulsing through her. But she’s lost the battle already and we both know it. A single touch of my skin to hers, that’s all it takes. But she isn’t ready to give up yet. I love how she fights it even though I know if I were to reach between her thighs I’d find her wet and ready. She still won’t submit to me without a struggle.

  I can see what she wants; it’s so clearly reflected in her eyes. She can’t hide the desire on her face, and we both know how this argument is going to end. But this is the way we are, the constant need to dominate her never goes away, and neither does her need to defy me.

  “Move,” she says, her hands shoving at my chest again.

  Catching both of her arms, I slowly lift them above her head, holding them against the wall with one hand.

  “Echo,” she snaps at me, wrestling to free herself from my grip. “Let me go. You’re such a fucking pain in the arse. I don’t want to play with you right now. I’m hot, I’m the size of a fucking beached whale, and I want to go to work. Why don’t you give Sleaze a call and go do badass biker things for a few hours and leave me alone?”

  I chuckle. “Badass biker things?”

  Livvy humphs and twists her head until she’s looking over my shoulder and ignoring me. A spike of anger at her dismissive behavior pulses through me, and I move closer, until my body is surrounding her, and her pregnant belly is flush with my abs.

  Her belly hiccups as our baby kicks, and all of my anger evaporates. Releasing her hands, I fall to my knees in front of her, sliding my fingers under the fabric of her tank and pushing it up and over the roundness of her stomach. Leaning forward, I place my lips against her skin and kiss her just above her bellybutton. Her sigh is audible, and I smile against her skin. “Hey in there, Princess. You being kind to your mama?” I whisper, as my hands caress her stomach, tracing the curve of her rounded belly.

  “I thought she’d finally fallen asleep; she’s been kicking the shit out of me all morning,” Livvy says, all traces of her earlier anger now gone as well.

  From my position on the floor, I look up at
my wife’s face and smirk. “My baby girl’s strong and feisty, just like her mama.”

  Livvy scoffs, but her eyes never leave mine as I push up from the floor and stand in front of her again.

  “I want to go to work, Echo,” she says, determination in her voice.

  “I know. But I don’t want you on your feet behind a bar for hours on end while you’re pregnant, Sugar. I already told Brandi that you wouldn’t be working at Strikers, and I told Sleaze to make sure his woman understood, and not to put you on the rota no matter what you said to her.”

  “I’m pregnant, Echo, not ill. I’m more than capable of standing for a few hours and serving beers,” she says, stamping her foot in frustration.

  Gripping the fabric of her tank, I slowly run my thumbs in circles over her ribs. “I said no, Sugar. Why do you have to argue with me about everything?”

  Fire sparks in her eyes again and a smirk twitches at the edge of her lips. “Because you like it when I fight you.”

  The words are out of my mouth before I even realise what I’m saying. Taunting him isn’t going to get me any closer to going to work; and honestly, I’m already exhausted just from arguing with my pigheaded, bossy man. Earlier, the idea of finally going back to the bar had sounded great, but now all I want is for Echo to rip down my knickers and fuck me.

  Being pregnant is the biggest mindfuck I’ve ever had to deal with. One minute I’m furious, and the next I’m so turned on that I swear I could dissolve into a pool of horny mush. My body and mind have been taken over by pregnancy hormones and it’s driving me crazy.

  I need Echo to touch me, but I can’t tell him that because then he will have won; and even though I’m desperate for him to fuck me, I also want to piss him off at the same time. See what I mean about the mindfuck?

  He lifts my arms into the air again, holding both of my wrists with one of his enormous hands. “I do like it when you fight me, Sugar. But I like it more when I make you do as you’re told.”

  Arousal pools in my stomach, and I fight to hold back a shudder as my body reacts to his voice and his touch. My top is pushed up, the fabric resting above my swollen belly and I watch his free hand slide up my thigh, across my stomach, until it reaches my shirt. He plays with the hem, his fingertips gliding close to the underneath of my breasts but not quite touching.

  My nipples are hard and so eager to be touched. I arch my back, trying to push my aching tits into his hand and the tip of one finger grazes the underside of my breast. I gasp, silently willing him to do more, but he doesn’t.

  My eyes are riveted to him. He drops his head, pausing mere millimetres from my nipples, close enough I can feel the heat of his breath against my skin. He looks up at me and licks his lips.

  “Echo,” I rasp.

  “Who do you belong to?”

  I whine, the noise so full of desperation, I want to roll my eyes at myself. Two minutes ago, I was angry and ready to kick him in the bollocks, and now I’m panting for him like a dog in heat. I’m pathetic, but I’m also pregnant and horny, and so incredibly turned on by his possessive, alpha tendencies.

  “I belong to you,” I say, like I do everytime he asks me this question. He owns me: heart, body, and soul, and I love the way his eyes darken when he claims ownership of me.

  “Damn fucking right, you do. These tits belong to me,” he growls, roughly cupping one of my aching breasts in his palm.

  I groan loudly, and my eyes fall closed. His thumb and forefinger roll my nipple from side to side, and I bask in the pleasure he’s giving me.

  “This ass belongs to me,” he says, releasing my breast and harshly grabbing my ass and squeezing.

  “This pussy belongs to me,” he rasps as he slides his hand off my ass and forces it between my legs; cupping my wet, pulsing pussy and rubbing the heel of his hand against my clit.

  “God, yes,” I moan, spreading my legs, urging him to do more.

  “I own you. I have since the day you turned up in Archer’s Creek.”

  “Uh huh,” I agree, words failing me as I try to grind my needy pussy against his hand.

  “I claimed you, chased you, put a ring on your finger, and a baby in your belly. You. Are. Mine.”

  “Yes,” I say, as he pushes one finger beneath the fabric of my knickers and begins to tease the folds of my sex.

  “I love you,” he drawls against my ear as he pushes a single finger inside me.

  “I love you.”

  “Sugar, I don’t want you to go back to work.”

  I try to concentrate on his words, but the slow glide of his finger inside my sex distracts me.

  “I don’t want you to have swollen feet because you’ve been standing behind a bar all day. I don’t want you to be exhausted because you’re doing too much when your body is growing our little princess inside you.”

  My heart melts. “Echo,” I say, the last remnants of anger evaporating at his words.

  “You’re doing the most important job in the world already, Sugar, you’re protecting our baby. You and our princess are everything to me and I want you to be safe and rested and cared for.”

  The slow push and pull of his finger accompanies his words, and I moan from the heat of pleasure he’s building within me. He adds a second finger, filling me and stretching me, all the while rubbing my clit as he moves.

  “If you decide you want to get a job after the baby’s here, then I’ll help you find something; but right now, you’re not going back to work. Do you get me, Sugar?”

  I can hear his voice, but I don’t process his words. My eyes are still closed, and I bear down on his fingers, pushing them deeper and groaning when the tingle of pleasure escalates into a torrent of sensation.

  “Do you understand, Livvy?” He demands, his voice rougher than before.

  I don’t respond. Instead, I roll my hips and bite my lip as I wait for the tide of my impending orgasm to consume me. His fingers still, but I’m unwilling to let my orgasm fade, so I push down onto them harder. Echo’s grip on my wrists loosens and all of a sudden, my arms are free, and his hand is cupping my chin.

  My eyes snap open and I audibly groan, rolling my hips again and trying to ride his hand. His eyes narrow and he pulls his fingers from my pussy, leaving me empty and aching on the precipice of release.

  “No,” I cry.

  A stinging slap against my clit has me crying out in pain, pleasure, and need.

  “Do you get me,Livvy? No work until after the baby comes.”

  He slaps my clit again and my world tilts to the side. It hurts, but the pain splinters something inside me and all I can hear is the beating of my heart and all I can feel is need—pure unadulterated need.

  “Livvy.”

  Echo’s voice is louder, piercing the bubble of pleasure that’s surrounding me.

  “I need you and our princess safe. You’re mine, and I’ll protect you no matter what. Tell me you get me, Sugar. Tell me.”

  I nod, the movement jerky and frantic. Forcing my eyes open, I lock them with his. “I get you,” I pant out.

  The anxiety in his eyes settles and instead they fill with heat. He leans forward and claims my mouth, devouring me with a kiss that’s so full of love, possession, and dominance, that when he pulls away, I can barely breathe.

  He slides two fingers back into me slowly, curling them so they tease my G-spot. My legs buckle, and I grind myself against his hand. “Please,” I beg.

  His fingers disappear, and I cry out, begging him incoherently not to stop. His palm slaps my clit and I jolt. He slaps it again and again, fast and hard enough that the sting of pain keeps me dangling on the edge of orgasm.

  I scream in frustration and he rips my knickers to the side and roughly shoves two fingers into me. My orgasm splinters, throwing me into a torrent of sensation, and I scream. My legs buckle as I ride out wave after wave of overwhelming bliss that shatters me, until all I can see is stars, and all I can hear is the rasping pants of my breath.

  My back hits the
bed, the tank is dragged over my head and I hear the tearing of fabric as Echo literally rips my knickers off me. His cock fills me, and I scream again as my husband reminds me over and over why I should stay at home with him rather than go to work.

  Livvy’s nine months pregnant. Her due date was a week ago, and my beautiful wife is as pissed off as I’ve ever seen her.

  Her body is full and womanly as she protects our baby girl inside her. She’s fucking perfect. For every month that’s passed I’ve watched her body change as she grows another fucking human being. She thinks she’s ugly and fat; I think she’s a fucking goddess.

  “I hate you,” she cries, tears running down her cheeks. “You did this to me, you fucking bastard. Look at me, I’m hideous. I’m so fucking fat I can’t see my feet. My pussy’s deformed and it must look like an eighties porno down there because I can’t see to shave, and I doubt a beautician would be able to find it buried beneath my fucking belly.”

  “Livvy,” I coo, trying to calm her down.

  “Don’t even fucking start, you dick. You’re never coming near me with your cock ever again.”

  “Sugar, don’t say stupid fucking shit like that.”

  “I’m serious. You did this to me, you and your stupid fucking caveman alpha bullshit. You knocked me up, so I wouldn’t run again. But it backfired, you asshole, because look at me,” she shouts, waving her arms up and down in front of herself.

  I am looking, and my cock hardens almost instantly. Her tits are huge and full and round, her nipples have changed color and are big and pointy. Her hips are fuller, but still curved and begging to be held onto as I fuck her from behind. She’s gorgeous and glowing, the most beautiful woman—the most perfect fucking thing this earth has ever seen and she’s mine.

  I stalk toward her and she holds a hand up in front of me. “I’m disgusting. I don’t want a pity fuck, that’s only going to make me feel worse about myself.”

  With a growl, I scoop her up into my arms and walk across the room, lowering her onto the dining table, her legs dangling off the edge.