When I wake up the next morning, my brain has finally decided to actually process and interpret information. For a few bliss-filled seconds, I am at peace. Then I remember all the s**t I did the night before.
How utterly humiliating.
I decide that I hate Archer with the entirety of my being. At the very least, I hate the side of me that he exposed: so wanton and desperate, like his c**k was the only thing I needed in the whole world. Looking back, it almost seems like I had been hypnotized or something. I certainly wasn’t myself.
But in my heart, I know I can’t blame foul play. I made my choices. I stood in that doorway. I removed my own shirt and put my hand into my panties.
I have no one to blame but myself.
Though I also plan to blame Archer. It’s easier that way.
Either way, I re
