Between the subtle glances and his flirty comments, I find him to be a stifling person.
I find that I’m attracted to his beauty.
I’ve always known of my own bisexuality. In fact, the first person I ever slept with was my childhood best friend, Landon. But this is different. This is difficult.
Because there are many secrets that circle Atlas, and not only am I employed by his father, but he’s not my… normal type.
Normally, I go for men like myself: gym rats who exude masculinity and dominance. I like the fight for power, the back-and-forth. If I wanted to fuck someone soft and sweet, I’d fuck a woman, which I did often back home.
But Atlas is different. For some reason, I find his delicate frame and demure appearance to be quite appealing. The way that when his skin brushes mine, I am set on fire. How his big eyes peer up at me with faux innocence that I can see right through.
As if that sweet little thing is a lot more predatory than he looks.
That, in and of itself, is an issue. Because again, I am employed by his father, and he’s hiding something. Something that puts the entire Chastain family on edge.
Which only proves to heighten my desire to rip him to shreds; to pull him apart piece by lovely piece until I can fully grasp the person he is.
I want to see past his sultry glances and the image of his soft, perky ass that is forever engraved into my mind.
How would he sound? When he’s screaming and crying under the weight of immense pleasure, what does he taste like?
Who is he when he’s not hiding?
So, with all of these horrible thoughts and impulses coursing through me at all times, I’ve found myself avoiding the guy. Luckily, he reallyiseasy to attend to. He hardly ever calls for me, and we’re only ever around each other with others present.
And outside of him, everything is damn near perfect.
“Missus Abigail, let’s go inside. You’ll catch a cold.” I speak loudly, catching the girls’ attention.
“But I’m always locked inside during the cold months!” she cries out, pouting as she comes to a halt at the bottom of the staircase.
“And for a good reason, my friend. Come on, let’s go have tea.”
Abigail perks up at that, rushing up the stairs to grasp my hand in hers, and we walk back inside side-by-side.
As we enter the foyer, I spot Atticus descending the main staircase.
“Young Master Atticus,” I call, already aware of how this conversation will go. “Do you need anything?”
He waves me off, heading in the direction of the in-house movie theater without so much as a glance in my direction. I sigh softly.
“He’s not mean, Julie,” Abigail says as we head toward the kitchen. “He just loves us a lot. He doesn’t trust others.”
“I don’t think he’s mean,” I straight-up lie. “He’s allowed to like or dislike whoever he wants.”
Abigail smiles at that, and we enter the kitchen.
“Barfred,” I say, finding the younger man standing at the stove. “Could we have some tea?”
Barfred is in his early thirties and is very kind. I met him a few days after we settled in, and since then, I’ve found myself enjoying his company. I met Hannah, too, who is a bit more standoffish but still kind.
“Of course. I’m making some for Young Master Atlas as well. Would you take it to him once it’s ready?” Barfred’s black hair is pushed back from his face with a headband, though it’s only long enough to barely cover his eyes, so the accessory makes it stick up awkwardly. His large body is moving gracefully around the small space in front of the stove.
“Sure,” I answer, already uneasy with the knowledge that I’ll be encountering Atlas again soon. At least Abigail will be with me.
“I’d like ginger tea, please, Barfred,” Abigail requests, and I lean against the island as he places a new teabag in her pink mug.
I say nothing, accepting whatever it was he was preparing before we arrived.
