“Say it again,” he groans, shoving his face into my neck, dropping the full weight of his body onto mine.
“I’m all yours.”
And I repeat it until he falls asleep, pressed into me, right where he belongs.
Julian
29
Several Months Later
SPRINGTIME IN PORT ORFORDis beautiful; I much prefer it to the winter season. Only now that spring has sprung, I’ve been tasked with the laborious gardening jobs mentioned when I first arrived here at Chastain Castle.
The grass outside has begun to return to its lush green vitality, and the trees have new leaves. Of course, with it being a coastal port and all, it’s still very rainy and overcast most days, but the temperature is still warmer than it has been.
Humid and dreary is the best way to describe it.
I wipe the sweat from my forehead, looking at the pile of weeds I’ve collected as I’ve been tending to the yellow daffodils, colorful azaleas, and vibrant Rhododendrons that have begun to blossom in the back garden.
Even the hedges are turning green and plump in the rainy atmosphere.
I’m happy to do this, though. Tending to the gardens.
Even as he has no real reason to, almost as if he can’t break the habit, Atlas still frequents the cliffside almost daily. I’ll findhim out here with his tea, watching the Southern Pacific with a content smile.
I think it’d make him happy to do so with so many bright flowers at his back.
I pull off my gloves, wiping my sweaty hands against my jeans. Even without the sun glaring down on me the way it would be in California this time of year, I still debate pulling my beater off. It’s so humid I could drown just standing here.
I need to put a pep in my step; I told Susie I’d give her a call before dinner, and now that my dad and I eat with the Chastain family, dinner is pushed up by two hours.
I’ll run out of time if I don’t hurry and finish with these weeds.
“Are you overheating, big guy?”
I turn just in time to see Atlas shut the back doors of the estate, my mouth watering immediately.
This man is always wearing the most tantalizing thing, so much so that I find it hard to concentrate when he’s around.
Today he’s wearing a pair of lavender shorts that reach a few inches above his knees and are tightened around his waist with a gold belt, his black loafers shiny and showing just a sliver of ruffled white socks.
His top, just like most days, is completely sheer and tight around his throat, becoming wide and flowy around his wrists.
He looks like a damn angel. Such a sweet little thing.
“Yeah,” I respond, swallowing thickly. “You could say that.”
I sure as hell am now.
Atlas walks toward me, and I notice the glass in his hands for the first time.
“Lemonade,” he says, following my line of sight. “Courtesy of Barfred, of course.”
Once he’s close enough, I take the glass in one hand, wrapping my arm around his waist and drawing him to me with the other. Atlas giggles, placing a hand on my chest.
“Thanks,” I tell him after taking a swig. “It’s sweet.”
“Mhm.” Big blue eyes stare up at me, expectant and sincere.
