The Worst Kept Secrets

Absolutely — here’s a clean, reader-friendly trigger warning you could use in the front of the book:

Content Warning:

This book contains a messy, emotionally complicated romance involving a love triangle, cheating, an affair, secrecy, sneaking around, and a forbidden relationship. It also includes themes of betrayal, friendship conflict, jealousy, emotional turmoil, and an accidental pregnancy. Reader discretion is advised.

Emily

The party is suffocatingly hot.

The second the front door closes behind me, the heat slams into my body like a wall—thick, humid, and sticky. My thin tank top clings to my skin instantly, sweat already gathering at the small of my back and between my breasts. The bass rattles the floor under my sandals. The air reeks of spilled beer, cheap vodka, sweat, and that sickly-sweet vape smoke drifting down the hallway.

I shouldn’t be here.

I knew it before I left my dorm. I know it even more now.

But Chloe begged, Megan swore she was coming, and I was so fucking tired of always saying no. Tired of sitting alone in my room while everyone else lived.

So I came.

And Megan isn’t even here.

I check my phone again, jaw tight.

Megan:Kelsey’s apartment ran late. Don’t wait for me babe 😘

I shove the phone into my back pocket so hard the seam bites into my skin. Whatever.

The punch in my red cup is way too sweet and way too strong. I take a long swallow anyway, feeling it burn down my throat and settle hot in my stomach.

“Emily!” Chloe shouts from halfway down the hall. She’s wearing a tiny black dress that barely covers her ass, cheeks flushed, already drunk and grinning. She waves, then gets yanked into a messy kiss by some guy. Typical.

I sigh and lean against the wall, letting the crowd flow past me. Twenty more minutes, I tell myself. Then I’m gone.

The front door opens behind me.

Cool night air rushes in.

I look up without meaning to.

Archer.

My entire body goes still.

He steps inside like he owns the damn place—backward cap, dark brown hair curling messily at the nape of his neck, faded gray hoodie stretched across his lean, athletic chest, sleeves pushed up to show those strong forearms. Tall. Quietly devastating. The kind of hot that feels unfair.

Our eyes lock across the crowded room.

His stupidly blue eyes drag slowly over me—my face, my throat, the way my tank top is sticking to my breasts—before settling back on mine. No smile. Just that intense, unflinching stare that always makes my thighs press together.

My grip tightens on my cup until the plastic cracks.

He’s Megan’s boyfriend. Stop.

The moment breaks when one of his friends claps him on the shoulder. I force myself to look away and drain the rest of my drink in one burning gulp.

Bad idea.

Ten minutes and another strong cup later, the world has gone soft and warm around the edges. I’m out on the back deck, hip cocked against the railing, laughing at something that isn’t even funny. The night air feels cool on my bare thighs. Campus smells like cut grass, distant rain, and summer heat.

I tilt my head back, eyes closing for just a second.

“Those things are fucking dangerous.”

My eyes fly open.

Archer is leaning in the doorway, one shoulder against the frame, hands in the front pocket of his hoodie. The porch light cuts across his sharp jaw and that perfect mouth.

My pulse spikes hard between my legs.

“You stalking me now, Archer?” I ask, trying to sound bored.

His lips curve into that half-smirk that always hits me low in the stomach. “Talking about the punch. Tastes like diabetic cough syrup.”

“Then stay away from it.” I take a slow, deliberate sip, holding his gaze. “Wouldn’t want to ruin that perfect self-control of yours.”

His eyes darken. “You think I have perfect self-control?”

The low, rough way he says it makes heat flood between my thighs.

I shrug. “Where’s Megan?”

“At Kelsey’s. You already know that.”

“I do. Just making conversation.”

He steps fully onto the deck and slides the door shut behind him, muffling the party noise. The sudden privacy feels electric. Dangerous. He stops close enough that I can smell his clean soap and the faint beer on his breath.

“You’ve had a few of those,” he says, nodding at my cup.

“You counting my drinks now?” My voice comes out sharper than I intended.

“Didn’t have to. You’re flushed.” His gaze traces my cheeks, my throat, the rise and fall of my chest. “It looks fucking good on you.”

My breath catches. “You have a girlfriend.”

“I’m aware.” His voice drops. “Doesn’t stop you from looking at me like you want me to bend you over this railing.”

The words hit me like a spark. I set the cup down hard. “You’re an asshole.”

“Yeah?” He steps even closer, our bodies almost touching. “Then tell me to leave, Emily. Say it.”

I open my mouth. Nothing comes out.

His eyes drop to my lips. “That’s what I thought.”

He closes the distance and kisses me—hard, hungry, no hesitation at all. His tongue slides against mine the second I gasp, and I moan into his mouth like a slut. My hands fist in his hoodie, yanking him against me. He’s already rock hard, pressing into my stomach through his jeans.

“Fuck,” he growls against my lips. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to taste you.”

His hand slides under my tank top, palm hot on my bare skin, thumb brushing the underside of my breast. I arch into him shamelessly. When he pinches my nipple through my bra, I whimper loudly.

“Come inside with me,” I breathe desperately.

We barely make it down the side hall. His hand stays possessively at the small of my back, fingers dipping under the waistband of my jeans to tease the top of my ass. The second the bedroom door shuts behind us, he spins me around and pins me against it.

His mouth crashes into mine again, deeper, filthier. He yanks my tank top off, then my bra, and his hot mouth is on my breast instantly—sucking hard, teeth grazing my nipple while his hand squeezes the other. I cry out, fingers tangling in his messy hair.

“Archer—fuck—”

He drops to his knees, dragging my jeans and soaked panties down my legs in one rough motion. I step out of them, shaking. He looks up at me, those blue eyes almost black with lust.

“Spread your legs for me.”

I do.

The first long, slow lick of his tongue over my dripping heat makes my knees buckle. He grips my thighs hard, holding me open while he devours me—licking, sucking my clit, fucking me with his tongue like he’s starving. I grind against his face, moaning his name over and over.

“God, you taste so fucking good,” he groans against my wet folds. “Soaked for me already, baby.”

I come hard, thighs trembling violently, one hand slapped over my mouth to muffle my scream. He doesn’t stop—keeps licking me through it until I’m whimpering and oversensitive.

He rises, wiping his glistening mouth with the back of his hand. He looks wrecked. Hoodie and t-shirt come off, revealing that smooth, toned chest and abs. I reach for his jeans, palming his thick, hard cock through the denim before I free it. He’s big—hot, heavy, and throbbing in my hand.

“Emily,” he rasps, voice strained. “You sure?”

I stroke him firmly. “Shut up and fuck me.”

He spins me toward the bed, bends me over it, and pushes into me with one deep, brutal thrust. We both moan loudly. He’s so thick he stretches me perfectly, bottoming out and grinding against that spot that makes me see stars.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he growls, hips snapping forward hard. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the room. He fucks me relentlessly, one hand fisted in my hair, the other gripping my hip hard enough to leave marks. Every thrust is deep and possessive.

“Archer—harder—please—”

He gives it to me. One hand slips between my legs, rubbing my swollen clit in tight, fast circles. I come again, clenching around his cock so hard he curses.

He pulls out, flips me onto my back, hooks one of my legs over his shoulder, and drives back in. The new angle is devastating. He fucks me harder, eyes locked on mine, sweat dripping down his chest.

“Look at me when you come,” he demands, voice ragged.

I shatter around him a third time, crying out his name. He follows right after, burying himself deep inside me with a broken groan, pulsing hot as he fills me.

We collapse together, breathing ragged, bodies slick with sweat.

The silence afterward feels heavy.

I stare at the ceiling, guilt already clawing at my chest even as my pussy still throbs around him. His arm is slung across my waist, too intimate.

“This can’t happen again,” I whisper, voice cracking.

He doesn’t answer right away. Then, quietly, “I know.”

I dress quickly, avoiding his eyes. When I reach the door, his rough voice stops me.

“Emily.”

I pause.

“You okay?” The gentleness in it nearly breaks me.

I swallow hard. “No. But I will be.”

I leave without looking back.

The next morning, sunlight drags me awake like punishment.

For one second I don’t remember.

Then it all crashes over me—Archer’s mouth between my legs, the way he groaned my name when he came, how perfectly he stretched and fucked me.

My stomach drops.

“Oh my God.”

My phone lights up on the nightstand.

Megan:Alive?

Brunch later??

And right below it, a new message.

Archer:Can we talk?

I stare at the screen, heart pounding, that same traitorous heat already stirring low in my belly again.

I’m so fucked.

And the worst part? Some dark, aching part of me already wants him again.