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But I don’t care.
Atlas makes me feel cherished.
Treasured.
With him, I belong.
Especially when he showers kisses in my hair, the side of my face. When he turns me around and puts me back on the table. And this time when I run my fingers over his biceps, I whisper, “I love how strong you are. That’s what I meant.”
Settling between my thighs, he sinks his fingers in my hair and looks down at me. “What?”
I keep caressing his arms; turns out he did build them and sculpt them at the gym. When he’s not spending his time with me or studying, he’s at the gym. He says it helps him focus.
“Before,” I explain. “When you picked me up and put me on the table.”
He hums, his lips skimming over mine.
“I love when you pick me up,” I say. “I loved it that first day.”
“And you didn’t even know my name,” he growls, his fingers growing tighter in my hair.
I bite my lip.
He still gets irritated over that. That I didn’t remember his name. That later when I asked him to tutor me, I never called him by his name.
“I knew,” I tell him like I always tell him. “I knew your name that day too. In the classroom. I was just…”
“Just what?”
“Too shy to say it,” I whisper, blushing.
Which is ridiculous considering what we just did. What I just agreed to.
He fists my hair and pulls my head back. My channel spasms with the aftershocks of my orgasm. “Say it then.”
“Atlas,” I whisper and then because I’m idiot – maybe – I add, “I love you.”
He stiffens.
Oh fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
What did I do?
What the fuck did I do?
You stupid, stupid girl.
We’ve only been going out a couple of months. In fact, even less than that. After the kiss at the library, Atlas was still hesitant for the next couple of weeks. He still thought that it was unprofessional, but I was adamant.
Something I never thought I’d be.
But I was taking a chance. I was doing something for myself for the first time ever. So I kept at it until he gave in; I knew he wanted to. And so we officially started going out.
I’ve ruined it now, haven’t I?
By using the L word.
“I didn’t mean it,” I blurt out when all he does is stare at me with his gorgeous green eyes.
At my words though, those eyes narrow. “What?”
“I-I mean, it’s…” I swallow, fisting his shirt sleeves. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m not… It’s too soon, I know. We’ve only been going out a few weeks. And yeah, sex is good. God, sex is freaking phenomenal. I didn’t even know sex could be this good but I…” I swallow again. “I get that it’s too soon. Plus we don’t even know what the future holds. Well, I mean we know for you. Like, you’ll end up at Harvard and be this amazing doctor. And I still have like, two more years to go and… I understand. I swear I’m not being a clueless recent non-virgin right now.”
“A clueless recent non-virgin.”
I blush harder. “You know, girl loses her virginity and gets all emotional about it, thinks she’s in love and all that. I’m not being that right now.” Even though my cheeks are flushed, I raise my chin to hopefully imply that I’m determined. “I’m not that. I can handle myself.”
All the sex haze is gone from his face now.
Great job, Penny.
His features have hardened, his jaw going tight as he repeats, “You can handle yourself.”
“Yes,” I say, making a promise to myself that I will. “I can.”
I’m not going to ruin it by being sappy. Even though every time we have sex, all I want to do is declare my love for him.
It’s immature, isn’t it? Girly.
I admit that I have zero experience when it comes to dating and sex but even I know – I can feel it – that our sex is intense. Too intense sometimes.
This craving that we have for each other is crazy.
It’s pure chemistry.
That doesn’t mean that we should start shouting out our love for each other. Love takes time to build, doesn’t it?
He stares at me for a few seconds. Then, “You can.”
“Yeah. Totally. I can handle myself.”
Only I have zero confidence in my abilities to control myself.
Because the thing is that I am sappy. And I am girly, and I am in love with him.
But I do everything to keep my mouth shut and my expression neutral as he keeps staring at me with harsh eyes and his jaw keeps ticking with anger. Then, he scoffs, “Well, good. I’m fucking glad.”
Before I can react to that, he moves away.
He even turns away from me, walking across the room, righting his clothes, raking his fingers through his hair. My heart thumps in my chest, twists itself and pounds, and I jump down from the table and push my dress down. I’ve started wearing dresses to our tutoring sessions; easy access.
