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I look up to see that Atlas is just watching me eat, his dark eyes colorless. In this light, he looks kind of like a shark, a trickling modernist fountain on the other side of the fountain only adding to the feeling that he should be lurking in the depths of the ocean.
“Why?” I ask.
His eyes narrow, and there’s the hint of the predator I expected. “Because,” he says, “I expected you to be more afraid.”
I don’t think it’s a threat, but a chill runs down my spine nevertheless. Atlas stares at me without blinking, his fork forgotten on his plate. I feel something probing along my shoulders, just the ghost of a touch, and I realize he’s doing that Aelyd thing.
“You’re touching me with your mind,” I murmur. “Why?”
“I wanted to touch my wife,” he says quietly. “This is the only way.”
It’s like a heavy hand caressing my skin, scarred knuckles and blunt fingernails. I’ve swept my hair over to one side, and I feel his touch run up my neck and caress my jaw.
It seems crazy, but I think Atlas en’Ganivet likes me.
“You keep calling me your wife, but we’re not even married yet,” I say. “Not technically.”
“We have different rules here,” he says. “You signed a contract, as did I. You agreed to live in my house. I brought you here from your planet.” Atlas lowers his voice. “You’re mine, Penn.”
I take a shuddering breath, my fork clinking on the plate as it falls from my grasp. It’s like my whole body needs his touch as static crackles over my flesh, settling in my core with a steady hum.
Well, it’s morning, right?
Probably time for another orgasm, if yesterday was any indication.
I lean back, setting my elbows on the arms of the chair. Atlas’ eyes are flickering again, every color in sequence, like dark jewels. His lips part as he watches, and I see the glint of sharp teeth in the cavern of his mouth.
“When is it going to be my turn to do this to you?” I ask, my breath hitching as that hum starts to intensify. My clit throbs, my pussy clenching painfully as I remember the sight of that huge, gorgeous cock last night.
“When you’ve earned my trust,” he says. “And in the meantime…I don’t mind watching you come.”
A surge of energy courses through me, and I thrust my hips up despite myself. I whimper quietly, and the pressure subsides slightly.
He likes edging me.
I like to be edged.
A match made in heaven.
“You know why I’m not afraid of you, Atlas?” I ask, my tongue thick at the roof of my mouth.
He smirks. “Tell me.”
“Because you can tell a lot about a man from how much he likes to make a girl come,” I say. “And you…you’re obsessed, aren’t you?”
The pressure surges, and I see his hand move underneath the table. I want to ask him if he’s touching himself—I want to ask how he feels in his hand, if he’s imagining me riding him. I’m confident that’s exactly what’s on his mind, if the way his mind touches me is any indication.
Fuck, I need my toys.
“The way you move when you’re like this is…exquisite,” Atlas says, enunciating every syllable with a little more of that alien accent. I reach between my legs at the sound of his voice, needing to be full, but he grunts in protest. “Don’t touch yourself. Let me.”
The pressure intensifies again, and I roll my head against the high-backed chair. Atlas plays me like he’s using his fingers, but he doesn’t manage to penetrate me. His fist beats suddenly against the underside of the table. I want to see, I want to see…
“Show me,” I beg. “I want to see you.”
“Not now,” he says. “And if you want to see it later…you have to come.”
I crumble at the command, thrusting my hips up so violently that my plate rattles. Atlas smiles at me, but he doesn’t let up on the pressure; it’s the look of someone who’s just figured out the trick to a difficult move in martial arts, or how to play a song on the guitar. He relents…then surges back, harder this time, almost painful.
