Page 55 of What’s Left of Us

He pounds harder into me, the pace so brutal I can’t hope to keep up. With one hand on my clit, the other presses between my shoulder blades, shoving me into the mattress. I feel like I’m about to break in half, and god, what a way to go.

“More.” It’s a mumbled, barely intelligible plea, against the mattress. One he somehow hears and obeys.

“Whatever you need,” he says, thrusting harder. Faster. “Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

I come like that, biting down on my tongue as the orgasm rocks through me, if only to keep from saying three words I’ve kept buried too long.

Chapter 24

now

Iwake on top of Atlas’s chest. One of my legs is draped over his waist—and his arousal. Sun streams in through the thin fabric of his curtains, and Atlas’s hand gently brushes up and down my spine. He’s awake, but I allow myself a moment to enjoy this without him knowing I am too.

I close my eyes and lose myself to the sensation of being his again, even if it’s only temporary. The rhythm of his heartbeat. The warmth of his body. The soothing touch of his fingers.

“Good morning,” he says, while I’m still lying motionless over him.

I lift my head, scowling.

“How did you know I was awake?”

He only smiles in response, his hand continuing its lazy pattern over my back. When I start to pull myself off him, he tugs me closer, shifting until I’m fully laying on top of him.

“Five more minutes.” His voice is raspy with sleep, but his eyes are intense as he looks over me. “Give me five more minutes before you break my heart.”

I don’t ask what he means. I only bury myself against his neck, peppering kisses against his clavicle and freckled shoulder. Before long, his erection is impossible to ignore. Atlas holds my hips as I straddle his waist and lower onto his cock. As we fuck, he looks at me like he did last night. Full of wonder and lust, but now there’s a shadow of torment beneath it all.

When we’re done, I slip back into my pajamas and pull my hair into a ponytail. Atlas watches from bed, naked, the beige comforter draped across his waist.

“Last night,” I start, only to leave the sentence unfinished. Atlas stares at me, jaw clenched so tight it looks like it might break. I’m gearing up to tell him this was a one-time thing, that we can never do it again. Not while my sister is missing. Not while it’s his fault. Instead, I surprise us both by asking, “What did you mean? When you said you hadn’t been, uh, practicing?”

Haven’t built up endurance?

That would require practice.

“You know what I meant.” Atlas’s tone is gentle, careful, like he’s trying not to upset me. He tips his chin slightly. “I’ve only been with you, Violet.”

“Ever?”

“Ever.”

“But it’s been five years.” There’s a desperation in my voice I don’t recognize, and my throat physically aches with it. Atlas’s eyes are so full of emotions I can’t read them all. I can hardly stand to look at him. When I finally continue, when I finally confess, my words crack with shame. “I wasn’t lying, Atlas. When I said I’ve slept with other people, I wasn’t lying.”

“I know.” His brow wrinkles, like he doesn’t understand why I’m bringing this up. As if him being abstinent and me not doesn’t matter.

“That doesn’t bother you?”

He’s quiet for a long moment, watching me with an unreadable expression. He gets out of bed and throws on the basketball shorts he’d been wearing last night. All the while, his gaze keeps returning to me, as I shift anxiously near the door. When he reaches me, I’m so stiff I can barely breathe.

“No, it doesn’t bother me.” His words should comfort me, but instead they make me feel worse. I don’t realize I’ve started to cry until his hands are on my face, thumbs brushing the tears. “Why are you crying, Vi?”

“I don’t know.” It’s the truth, but it’s also not. Atlas waited all this time, and meanwhile, I was sleeping with other people, desperate to forget we ever happened.

“We weren’t together,” he says, his voice low and comforting and terrible. “I assumed you had moved on.”

“Then why didn’t you?” It comes out sharp, like an accusation. And maybe it is one.

“Because I was in love with you.” He says this like he’s stating a scientific fact, not something as unreliable as emotions. “You hating me didn’t make me stop loving you.”