My eyes flicker up to meet his again, to watch Atticus as he pumps me in slow, loose pulls.
“Atticus,” I call softly, but he does not react.
Something is very, very wrong. And I think I get it now.
I wanted to stay in his presence so badly, so desperate to keepusgoing, and he was done. Completely done with me just early this evening.
So this… this is wrong.
“You will feed me well,” he says, grazing his lips over my cheek again.
A shuddering breath leaves me, and I don’t hesitate to speak. I can’t, not when it might be true.
“You’re… you’re not Atticus, are you?” I ask.
Slowly, Atticus lifts his head, revealing to me a wide, vicious smile. “Non, Cameron.”
And then his bare hand is shoved into my briefs and wrapped around my bare cock, causing me to cry out at the unexpected contact. At the cold.
It feels good. It feelsreallygood. And this man looks so much like Atticus that if I pretend not to notice the little things, I can play make-believe, even though I’m pretty sure I know whatnonmeans.
It means he’s not Atticus Chastain, and I’m not sure how he’s borrowing his face. Or his body. Or if he’s evenhumanat all. Because the real Atticus wouldn’t be here; he can’t stand the sight of me. The real Atticus wouldn’t be so cold to the touch.
“Venturus es pro me,”he whispers in that layered voice, his hand moving faster, gripping me tighter.
I have no idea what he’s saying, but I don’t have the will to fight him. Since that moment in the kitchen at Chastain Castle, I’ve been craving this. I’m going to come, and I’m going to do it while imagining Atticus is the one touching me.
I’m gasping and trembling as I stare at that familiar, handsome face. The one that looks so strange to me, even now.
“Veni nunc.”
With one last squeeze of his fingers, one harsh tug, I explode in his hands, shaking against the force of it as a low growl tumbles from his lips.
And then the entire room fades to black as I feel my body slump over.
Atticus
18
AS I WAKE TOthe sun drifting into my room, I feelincredible. Rejuvenated. Unstoppable.
My limbs are light, my mind clear, and my stomach settled. Which is surprising, considering how late I stayed up last night.
After watching Cameron stand by the cliff’s edge out back for a good five minutes, I sat in my room, hiding away, for at least an hour before I finally passed out—which means I was up until at least 10 p.m., and that’s late for me, even as a guy in his mid-twenties.
I climb out of bed and make my way into the bathroom that Abigail and I share, knowing that with this early hour, the family members who took off for the night won’t be back quite yet.
In the mirror, as I brush my teeth, I take notice of my complexion. Absolutely zero blemishes, bright eyes, a smooth feel.
I’m glowing and oddly satiated, though I still carry a heavy sadness within my chest. I may or may not feel a little guilty for calling Cameron pathetic last night.
But he asked for it: by showing up at my house, begging for forgiveness for something that had no rhyme or reason in the first place, and spouting lies, he fell right into that category.
I mean, telling me that he only bashed me to his best friend—maybe turned lover—because he wanted to keep me? Bullshit. I’m not sure what his plan is, but I don’t believe it for a second.
I can’t… not if I want to protect myself and what remains of my heart.
I shouldn’t have kissed him. It was a huge mistake; a beautiful, intoxicating, earth-shattering mistake. Because now, I can very clearly remember what his mouth tastes like. How it feels when he rubs himself against me, and how his breathy little moans sound.
