I imagine itdoesn’twant to be interrupted again. It makes sense that it’d warn Julian to stay away.
As I stare back into his dark eyes, Julian sighs.
“It held me down and stared at me with those terrifying, lifeless eyes and sharp teeth, and I knew what it was telling me, Atlas,” he explains. “But I couldn’t stay in bed when I knew it’d come up here. When I knew what it’d be doing to you.”
Oh. He’s trying to show me that he defied the creature, all in the name of protecting me.
My stomach warms, my palms begin to sweat, but the confusion I feel takes the front seat to all other pleasant and horny things rampaging through my body.
“To protect me?” I clarify, cocking my head slightly.
Julian’s warm palm stays situated on my face, but the other falls away, moving to trace lazily over my waist.
He laughs gently. “No, not necessarily; you told me you liked it, after all. And if I’m honest, I waited at the bottom of the staircase until… until it was over. I was too afraid to face it again.”
I can see the shame in his eyes, how embarrassed he is that he let his fear outweigh his desire to come up here and see me. But he shouldn’t feel ashamed, not when the threat of physicaldamage was at stake, and he knows I enjoy the twisted things that befall me.
“But when it was quiet, and I’d waited long enough, I snuck up here and picked that ancient lock,” he continues. “I had to… I had to see you, to make sure you truly are happy.”
“Happy?” I murmur, brows furrowing as I take in the entirety of Julian’s expression, feeling the way his fingers continue to caress me so sweetly.
I want to sob suddenly, suffocating under the weight of my own conflict and embarrassment.
Am I happy? No. I haven’t been truly happy in so long that I wonder if I’ll ever feel that kind of peace again. But I do feel pleased, and more often than not, contented. I guess that’s enough.
I guess that’s as much as I deserve.
“Can I speak freely?” Julian suddenly asks, his eyes searching my face for something I don’t know how to portray, how to give him.
“Sure?” I respond hesitantly. In truth, he’s alreadybeenspeaking freely.
Julian takes a large breath, his body shifting slightly closer as he grips my hip, his fingers tightening their hold on my cheek.
“You’re allowed to enjoy being torn apart, piece by piece, and still resent the means that pleasure you,” he says, and I all but stop breathing. “You’re allowed to hungrily lap up every bit of attention you receive and then turn around and bite the hand that feeds it to you.”
No words leave me in response. Instead, a harsh, heavy breath is forced from my lungs and pushes against his carefully neutral expression.
“W-what?” I finally ask, my mind reeling in every possible direction accessible to me. “I… don’t know what you’re talking about.”
My voice is far too high, far too thin. He can read it on my face, in my tone, that I’m lying. I know this because he grins, resting his forehead against mine.
“Come on, sweet boy. Stop lying,” he demands gently. “Iseeyou. You want to be dismantled, loved like you’re worth more than life and fucked like you mean nothing—but not at the hands of thatthing. Tell me it’s true; tell me you love how good it feels, but you’d rather it be someone else giving you that pleasure.”
As I feel his warm skin press into mine, as my dick hardens and my heart rate skyrockets, I find myself desperate to tell him yes. Because it seems as if he’s trying to pull the memory of every time I’ve ever been pleasured out from inside of me, and his expression isnotone of disgust.
But then again, I am easily fooled, and I am so desperate to keep feeling the warmth of his touch, to hear his kind words, that I will believe anything. Even if thatanythingis something I’ve made up. Like this moment—I could very well be conjuring this expression of longing he’s wearing so beautifully.
And it will hurt me—it pains me to be the person to potentially place such disappointment and despair over his features, but there is no other choice. Not when his livelihood could be at risk, or I could condemn his soul with a single touch.
I’ve already seen what could happen to him, just by interacting with me.
And maybe if I had any reassurance that Father would let Julian stay after learning the truth, I wouldn’t insist on lying or pushing him away. But the fact of the matter is, I’mnotsure what Father would do, or worse, whatAtticuswould do if they were to find out that Julian has involved himself this way.
So, I’ll have to lie. I’ll have to continue to push and push until he gives up on this, on me, and his disgust becomes clear again. Until the reality of my situation settles back in.
“Tell me,” Julian whispers, bringing me out of my own thoughts as our eyes connect. “Say you’d rather it be me, Atlas.”
My breath catches, my wide eyes watching him in terror. Oh, god. He’s read me like an open book. Am I still asleep? Could this be a very, very vivid nightmare?
