He rolls over. He puts his hands under his pillow.
I take a beat to look at him—the long line of him, the lean muscle of his shoulders, the dip at the small of his back, the curve of his ass. I press a kiss to the small of his back. Another, lower. My hands settle on his thighs and I push them apart.
He goes still.
"Atlas?"
"Yes, baby."
"You're not—"
"I am."
"Atlas—"
"Quiet, sweetheart. Open up for me."
I'm two minutes from doing what I came up here to do—take this man apart, my own words, my promise, the thing I'vebeen thinking about for the entire drive—when his phone, on the nightstand where he set it down, begins to buzz.
He freezes under my hands.
"Atlas—"
"Ignore it."
"It's—Atlas, it's Mom. I can see her name."
I look up at him from between his thighs.
He's gone fully red. His face is in the pillow. His hands are still under it. His phone keeps buzzing, brightly, on the nightstand. The screen lit with Mom and the picture of Margot from her wedding day he set for her contact card a year ago.
I sit back on my heels.
Slow. Deliberate. Hands sliding from his thighs to rest, light and harmless, on the back of his knees. I let out a long quiet breath like a man being reasonable. Like a man who has decided, regrettably, to let his omega answer his mother.
He sags into the duvet in relief.
"...thank you."
"Mm."
He fumbles for the phone. Gets it. Brings it to his ear.
"...Mom?"
"Sweetheart!" Margot. Bright. "Are you up? Did I wake you?"
"No—no, I'm—I'm up."
The second the word is out of his mouth, I lean down between his thighs and shove them wide again. He sucks in a sharp breath but I don’t slow. I drag my flat tongue from his perineum to his hole in one slow unbroken stroke.
He chokes on his next breath.
"—I'm fine," he says. Strangled. "What's up?"
I work my tongue against him in slow tight circles, tasting the slick of him, the salt-sweet heat, the way his rim flutters against my mouth every time I press in. He's already so wet forme I can feel it on my chin. I dip the point of my tongue inside him and his whole body jerks.
He bites the pillow. Hard. Through his teeth. His other hand comes up off the duvet, fists in his own hair, and pulls.
