Page 54 of What’s Left of Us

“That would require practice.” Before I’ve even processed his words, I feel the head of his cock against my opening. “Do you want me to use a condom?”

“I don’t have one,” I say, eyes popping open. “I’m clean. I have an IUD. But if you want to⁠—”

He thrusts forward, and my words catch. He’s easily the biggest I’ve ever been with. I struggled to take him in high school, but I think my brain muddled just how big he is. Blame it on my lackluster other partners, but I’m not prepared for the intrusion.

“Fuck, Atlas.” I clench my legs around his hips, and he instantly freezes.

“Do you want me to stop?”

I can feel the corded tension running through his body. I breathe through my nose and look down, at the water spraying over us, at the place we’re barely joined. At how much of his cock is left to fill me.

“No. No.” I’m breathless, shaking. “Just, go slow. You’re big.”

He nods. Softly brushes his lips against mine. It’s a nice, gentle kiss, one that turns messy before either of us can help it. Before long, I’m the one urging him deeper inside me, rocking my hips toward his, moaning into the side of his neck. For several minutes, there is only the sound of spraying water and bodies coming together.

“God. This is so much better than I remember.” His fingers dig into the curve of my hips, squeezing tighter as he fucks me harder. “You’re so fucking perfect. Look at you, Vi. Jesus Christ. I could⁠—”

He breaks off, his entire body shuddering.

“I’m going to come.” His green eyes lock briefly on mine. “Do you want me to pull out?”

I’ve been asked that question before, and every other time, the man’s been wearing a condom. It was an easy answer with them: yes, you dimwit. Pull out! There were never enough precautions when it came to preventing pregnancy.

But right now, I’d rather die than have him pull out. Some possessive, feral part of me wants him to come in me, not into the shower drain.

“No.” I latch my ankles harder around his back, until our chests are flush together. “Come in me. Please.”

He groans, wild and low. He thrusts only a few times more, fervid and wild, before coming, head tilted back and jaw clenched. It’s the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen, and it’s enough to send me into a second orgasm.

I’m still coming down from the high when Atlas pulls out. He’s looking at me like I’m his personal savior, like I might be more deity than human.

“That was the edge,” he informs me. “Now I’ll fuck you properly.”

“How do you like it?” he asks me. We’re in his room, towels discarded next to his bed. His room is similar to mine, but with a beige comforter instead of blue. I’m staring at the blanket now, sprawled out on my stomach. Atlas tossed me here once we came from the bathroom, and a sudden jolt of nerves has left me frozen in place.

I am way, way too sober to be hooking up with my high school boyfriend. Ex status aside, he so thoroughly wrecked my life, I was certain we’d never really talk again. A few conversations later, and I’ve spread myself like a naked buffet.

I should be ashamed, and tomorrow, maybe I will be.

Right now though…

“How do you like it?” I counter, not letting myself think of his earlier words. I push onto my elbows and look over my shoulder. Atlas is standing beside the bed, one knee on the corner of the mattress. It’s oddly comforting how nervous he looks, as if he’s also felt a cold bucket of reality since leaving the steamed-up bathroom.

“With you,” he says simply.

Somehow, I believe him.

“Have you ever done it this way?” I move onto my hands and knees and back up to him, lifting my ass toward him.

“Fuck, Violet.”

He doesn’t say anything more. He only grabs my hips, one large hand palming the side of my ass. He fists his cock and lines it with my entrance. I rock against him, coating his length with my arousal, letting his stunned praise fill every pore of my body.

When he enters me, we both groan. It’s easier this time. The angle is better for his size, and I’m plenty aroused. Within seconds, he’s fucking me harder than he was in the shower. His grip on my hips will undoubtedly leave bruises, and it sends an unexpected rush of pride through me. Before I can help it, I’m bucking back against him, relishing his awestruck noises.

“I’ve dreamt of this,” I admit. “Of you fucking me again.”

“You have no idea,” is his grunted reply. He leans forward, not losing his rhythm as he thumbs my clit. “Every fucking night since you left me.”