I can feel his eyes on me suddenly, and I know he’s catching me staring, but there’s nothing I can do to stop it. My eyes are glued to his skin, to the way his clothes fit him so nicely, to how his body moves.
Nothing, and I meannothing—not even a sudden apocalypse—could tear my gaze from him.
“Julian?” Atlas questions softly, and I make a small sound of acknowledgement in the back of my throat. “What are you staring at?”
He knows. He knowsexactlywhat I’m staring at, so I say nothing. I have nothingtosay.
My eyes trace the lines of his waist all the way to where his pants hug his hipbones, and on the way, I memorize the pattern of the white lace. It’s something floral and delicate, much like the man wearing it, and I want to trace my fingers over it badly.
So much so that I almost reach out to him. See? I’m losing my damn mind.
“Juli—”
“I should go,” I interrupt, standing abruptly from my bed. My eyes move to look at the door, eyeing my escape, as I’m too scared to meet his gaze.
What expression is he wearing? Will it crush me, or coerce me?
“Wait!” Atlas yells right as I move toward the door, and I freeze where I stand. “Are you… Are you going to meet up with your friends?” His voice is small, barely audible.
“No. I’m going to see if Abigail needs anything,” I say.
“But you’re not working.”
“I know, but I want to make sure she has everything she needs. Some of uh… some of that packaging can be hard to open.” This time, when I move to leave, he doesn’t stop me.
I leave Atlas standing in my bedroom, staring after me while I flee as if my life depends on it.
Outside, in the hall, I am suddenly cold.
If I were to stay in there, surrounded by the sweet smell of him and the way he looks so soft and lovely, I would make a mistake. A mistake neither my father nor I can afford.
This building desire for him is driving me nuts. He’s the first guy I’ve ever been attracted to who isn’t built like a gym-bro, and on top of that, I don’t think I’ve evercravedany one person this badly. So badly that I’d seek out someone similar just to get some semblance of a taste.
I need to find a way to stifle it, even if it means running from him like a coward, like I just did. I have to. Otherwise, my father's and my jobs could be at risk.
Or worse: I’d fall for a guy who holds a million secrets in his soft, elegant hands.
Atlas
9
NEW YEAR’S EVE ISapproaching quickly. My mother leaves the Christmas decorations up, and my father has Barfred order champagne for the countdown.
I do not feel like celebrating.
In the four days it has been since Christmas, I’ve seen Julian less than a handful of times. Since the moment he fled from his bedroom, after ogling me for a ridiculous amount of time, he’s been outright avoiding me.
Some moments, I’m convinced I’ve wronged him. And in other moments, I’m certain he’s running like a coward. Sure, it’s probably smart to not get mixed up with your boss’s son, and sure, I should leave him be, considering my condition and everything—but my symptoms are getting bad again, and all I want is to smell him, to hear him, to feel his hands on my bare skin.
I’m irritable, irrational, and a downright bother to be around. Therefore, I’ve been avoiding people, too. Mostly my family, since I have to make no effort with Julian when he’s doing all the work for me.
Atticus is worried. Some days, he follows me around and grills me in the mornings, wondering if everything is fine. And I’m honest with him: thingsarefine. In fact, in the past four days, I’ve had one ‘nightmare.’
Only once have I awoken covered in my own come, sore and depleted, which is good and bad in many ways. Good, because I don’t have to spend so much time praying or staring into that never-ending darkness while cool fingers touch my paralyzed body.
And bad, because I’m pent up and hot all over. I need release, and for some reason, doing it myself is never the same. I’ll spend hours coming over and over again by my own hand once things get bad enough—if the nightmares don’t come, that is.
Although, to be fair, sometimes that happens on days following a nightmare, too. It’s rare, but it happens. My body has a never-ending, insatiable libido that needs constant tending to.
