He sounds so wanton for it that I can’t help but listen, dropping him onto his back and pushing my hips as far into him as possible. I doubt I actually achievedeeper, but the angle changes, and that seems to convince him.
“Yes!”Atlas screeches, pushing down onto me, eyes completely unfocused as I stare down at his face.
Not once, this entire time, has he stopped crying.
“Look at me, baby,” I tell him. “Focus on me.”
Slowly, he comes around, his blue eyes focusing on my face. I roll my hips, drinking in his little whimper.
“There you go,” I praise. “You did so well, Atty. You’re such a good boy. Do you feel good? Do you need more?”
Atlas nods, his hair glued to his skin, though I know that otherwise it would be bouncing with his excitement.
“M-more, Julie. Please. I need more.” He sounds guilty, as if asking for it is burdening me somehow.
“It’d be my pleasure,” I tell him, leaning down to capture his lips with mine.
And it truly will be my pleasure. I’ll eat my own come from his ass until I’m hard and ready, and then I’ll fuck him again,alternating between giving it to him like the whore he pretends to be, and slow and sweet, how the good boy I know he is deserves.
And to think I was wallowing in self-pity just this morning.
As I wake, the first thing I notice is that it’s still nighttime. I’m not sure when Atlas and I finally fell asleep; I fucked him until his skin eventually cooled, and he practically passed out moments after his last orgasm. I can’t recall how many times either of us came, only that I have never been so thoroughly, physically pleased in my entire life.
I try to make heads or tails of the time and why I’m suddenly awake, feeling Atlas’s trembling body in my grasp. For a moment, I wonder if he’s ready to go again, pent up and in need of release. But his skin is at its normal level of warmth, and his hands are clenching my sides to the point of pain, so I’m certain this is not the case.
My eyes fight to adjust to the darkness around us, and from where my arms are wrapped around his small body, I rub his back.
“Atty?” I whisper, my voice rough with sleep.
As my eyes begin to adjust, I canseehis trembling, how he’s gripping onto me. Then I see his face.
Big blue eyes are wide with terror and panic, lips parted as he pants quickly. All the color has drained from his cheeks.
And I know. I know before I look what he is seeing for the very first time. I can feel it in the way I become aware of the heat in the air around us, or how I can smell smoke and burning wood. In how my intuition is screaming for me torun.
But I’ll look. Isn’t it funny how we can know exactly what is there, without a doubt, and still have to look anyway?
Slowly, I turn my head, and there it is: at the foot of the bed stands the incubus.
It must be at least 7 feet tall, its limbs unnaturally long. Black voids stare back at us, though I’m uncertain who it’s staring at, and its jaw hangs open just far enough to reveal those sharp teeth.
And lower, between its legs, stands its hard, ridged cock, tall and proud.
I hug Atlas tighter to my chest, his shoulder digging into my pecs. I want him to know that I’m here, but I’m unsure of what to do. Going hand-to-hand with this thing probably isn’t the best move, and I’m pretty sure that the last time I encountered it in Atlas’s room—and I demanded it leave—it only worked because I startled it.
Now, it is prepared. It is angry.
I take a deep breath, ready to yell at it once more.
Unfortunately, I do not get the chance.
The incubus growls, a low, guttural sound, before its hand snaps out and snatches up Atlas’s bare ankle. Then, it tugs.
Atlas screams, his blunt fingernails clawing at my arms. I tighten my hold around him, locking him down, but inevitably, this just means we’rebothdragged a few inches down the bed.
The demon isstrong.
“Let go! Leave!” I shout, kicking at its wrist. This is a mistake.
