I want to consume him until there is nothing left for that bastard to touch.
“Julian,” Atlas gasps, managing to pry his lips from mine.
“Hm?” I inquire, licking at the base of his jaw hungrily. He tastes so fucking good that I think I’m going crazy.
“T-too much. I’m gonna… you’re rubbing against me.” His voice is a plea, and I realize I’ve been grinding against him for a minute now.
The outline of his hard dick can be seen from where I stand, and the desire to fix the situation with my mouth is so persistent I almost fall to my knees.
“Let me kiss you some more,” I beg. “Let me kiss you until all you can taste is me; until you can’t remember what it felt like for the fucker to lick into you.”
Atlas watches me with big, lust-blown eyes. His bottom lip trembles as he shakes his head gently.
“It…” He clears his throat. “The incubus doesn’t kiss me, Julie. You were my first kiss.”
My entire body freezes. I keep him locked between the bookcase and my hips, but I can’t seem to function otherwise.
I… I was his first kiss?
A soft groan leaves me as I stare down at him and his flushed expression.
“Really?” I whisper.
“Yeah. Really. It doesn’t… It’s never that intimate.”
I take a step back, finally releasing him. “I’m sorry. I’m being rough with you.”
Atlas stays where he stands, leaning against the books, his lips parted beautifully.
“I don’t mind,” he confides softly. “I like that you want to touch me so much.”
With a deep breath, I turn to the shelf to my left.
“Let’s start picking through these books, yeah? Translating them will take some time.” If I don’t distract myself now, I think I’ll fuck him right here on the altar.
“Sure,” Atlas mumbles. “Let’s do it.”
Jesus.
Yeah… I’m most definitely royally fucked.
Atlas
19
MY KNEES ACHE AGAINSTthe thin carpet, my palms sweaty where I’ve had them pressed together for the past thirty minutes.
Usually, when I’m here, I know exactly what to say. It’s been rehearsed in a way to soothe my guilt and fulfill the prophecy for so long now that I barely have to think to force the words forward.
But today… Today I’m not so sure.
The Chastains are inherently religious, though not the kind of religious that meets every Sunday for hour-long church services or takes part in baptisms outside of the one my siblings and I partook in on our sixth birthdays. Yet I find myself here more often than most, praying for the sin that was thrust upon me on my eighteenth birthday.
Normally, it exhausts and depresses me. But today, I’m not quite here for that, and I kind of wish I were.
The incubus has visited me twice in the past four days since Julian and I slept together. The first time, it bent me over in a similar manner to how Julian did and slammed into me for what felt like hours, edging my orgasm until I thought I’d pass out.
The second time, it kept me how I was—on my back—and left marks on my body as it took me more roughly than it ever had before. Andbothtimes, it rasped out more of that broken language, just a sentence or two, before running its tongue over my skin.
