And it makes mehorny.
“Touch me, Atticus,” I beg, burying my face in his neck.
“You need some relief, baby?” he coos, bucking his hips up and into mine.
“Yes.”
“I hear you. I’ve got you.”
As if my body weighs nothing, despite the muscles I have, Atticus rolls me off of him and back onto my stomach. His big hands grip my hips, pulling me onto my knees while my chest stays flush to the bed.
“Already panting for me,” he observes. “So beautiful.”
“Please,” I plead. “Atticus, please.”
He does not reply. Instead, he grips my cheeks and spreads them, ghosting hot breath over my hole.
A soft mewling sound leaves me, my hips shoving back toward him. One thing that’s new for us, that he can’t seem to get enough of, is devouring me with his tongue.
I fucking love it.
Atticus groans, low and filthy as his tongue flicks over me. It’s such a dirty, forbidden thing to do that it makes my head spin, makes my legs shake.
“So good,” he murmurs into my skin, his lips suctioning to me as he sucks and licks like a madman.
“O-oh, fuck,” I cry out, my fingers twisting into the sheets.
I can feel myself softening, warming to his touch. My body falls apart for him just as easily as my heart—as my soul has done from the moment I saw him as such a small, lonely child.
Atticus’s tongue breaches me, diving deep and taking what he wants from me. Which is everything, of course.
A calloused hand wraps around my hip, gripping my dripping dick and pumping it loosely, slowly.
“So wet,” he grunts out. “So hot.”
“Hngh,”I whine, wrapping my own palm over his hand, feeling how his flesh drags over mine.
Intoxicating.
“That’s right, open up for me. You’ve been so good, baby. Such a smart, obedient boy,” Atticus praises.
“Shit, Atticus, please just fuck me,” I beg. “Fill me up. Please.”
And my wish is his command—at least in this moment—because he leans over us and grabs the lube from his bedside drawer, pouring some onto his fingers before pressing one inside of me.
I choke on my spit, moaning around the intrusion as he works me open, adding another finger, and then another.
He makes sure to rub that hot spot inside of me every few thrusts, dragging me closer to the edge at a torturous pace. But I don’t complain—when I come, I want it to be on his dick, squirming and crying.
And as I loosen around him, panting and grunting against the pleasure, Atticus pulls his fingers from inside of me.
“You ready, sweetheart?”
“Uh-huh,” I sound.
“Good. Good job. I can’t wait to watch you swallow my cock.”
He hassucha filthy mouth. For a refined gentleman, the sole inheritor of his father’s company and known upstanding citizen, he’s a demon in the sheets.
