I shudder, my eyes falling from where they were connecting with his to where his stomach is covered with his silk, short-sleeved button-up.
How deep does that incubus have to go to make him feel so full? Would I feel like nothing in comparison?
“Do you… Do you like it? Feeling that full?” I push, and I know I’m asking questions that could potentially spawn answers that will crush me, but I just can’t seem to shut up.
“Yeah,” Atlas replies, and our eyes connect once again. He looks relieved to admit it. “I like feeling so full.”
“I don’t think I can offer you that,” I admit, my own tone containing a hint of embarrassment and slight disappointment. “I don’t think I have the equipment for that.”
I’m big, but I’m notthatbig. I saw the incubus’s cock when it was hard and angry—I don’t compare.
But Atlas just grins, his eyes twinkling once again in the moonlight. “You don’t have to make me nauseous, Julian. I just need you to make me feel full. To help me expend that energy when I feel like I might explode.”
“I… I think I can do that.”
We watch each other in silence for a moment. There is so much more to talk about: there is so much more to this condition of his that I do not understand, that I’m sure he’s yet to tell me.
But Atlas looks so soft and sweet sitting in front of me, asking me to fill him up. And I can’t very well think of anything else. Actually, the only things Icanthink of are how good it’s going to feel to finally push inside of him, and how it felt for him to lie under that demon.
“Can you tell me what it was like?” I ask. “With the demon.”
“Um,” Atlas begins quietly, considering the question for a moment. His fingers trace the blanket between us. “I used to hate it. I wouldn’t be able to get hard, and I could tell that the demon hated that. But over time, my body seemed to… adapt. And I started to enjoy it.”
Big blue eyes water slightly as he watches me, and I can feel the shame and guilt he’s projecting.
He continues. “I know it’s wrong, but I can’t help it. At some point, I began to crave the release it offers me. And I don’t mind it, you know? How rough it is. The incubus takes what it wants,but requires I finish, too, so it makes sure I feel good. Doesn’t that mean it targetsmydesires? WhatIlike?”
I shrug. “I guess that makes sense.”
“I like it when it holds me down or limits my breathing. When it slams into me and takes andtakes. I feel small; I feel needed.”
It’s almost sad—how simple the desire is. Atlas wants to feel important, and he wants to feel pretty. The incubus makes him feel that way when it feeds on his energy. That, and climaxing feels good. But I wonder…
“Have you ever experienced release in another way? Has anyone ever touched you softly?” I ask.
Atlas stares back at me, wide-eyed and jaw slackened. But he recovers quickly, his eyes darting to watch anythingbutme.
“N-no, I haven’t. They haven’t.” He clears his throat. “But I like it how I get it. It feels good.”
“Right,” I placate quietly.
I have a feeling that if Atlas experienced being worshipped sweetly, he’d be just as obsessed as he is with rough sex. But I also have a feeling that he’s too terrified to admit that; to acknowledge it and not have it.
“You never answered my question,” Atlas says softly, interrupting my analysis.
“What question?”
His gaze returns to mine, hesitant and scared. “If you fully understand; if you’re willing to taint yourself by sleeping with a condemned man.”
A slow, sly smile takes over my lips, and I watch as his eyes follow the motion. After a moment, as if he can’t resist, Atlas begins to smile as well.
“For one, I do not think you’re condemned. You’re far more religious than I am, and even if Iwereto be a saint, I would still think you’re making the best of a terrible situation.” At my words, his shoulders sag in relief, but I continue to speak. “But more importantly, I’m pretty sure I already told you that I would do or endure just about anything for the chance to touch you.Thatis how badly I’ve wanted you, for far longer than I believe you realize.”
Atlas’s eyes darken to a shade of blue that belongs deep beneath the waves crashing against the cliffside, his hands twitching against the duvet under us. A small huff of air, hot and sweet, passes from behind his full lips, and I breathe it in greedily.
“Really?” he asks.
“Really.”
