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“Amara, you remember Atlas,” Ian said.
Somehow, the odd name suited him—unique, unlike anything you’d known before.Atlas. I repeated his name in my mind, wishing I could feel the way it fell from my lips. “I figured you would have gone back home—wherever home is for you.” I hoped it was far, far, far away from here. Somewhere that wouldn’t have him coming back to chip away at the thin veneer holding me in place.
“Nah. This is much more interesting than New York.”
New York didn’t seem far enough, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
“And what’s so interesting to you about Cincinnati?”
“Right now?” He took his time to answer, wrapping those lips around the edge of the glass like he was making love to it. When he pulled back, his tongue chased the liquid, and I hated the urge to climb on his lap to do the same. “You.”
“Oh, god,” Carina groaned.
I forced my own scoff to hide the shameful way my core clenched over the corny line. Jesus. What the hell did this man do to me?
“Also, Ian told me about Voyeur—so I figured I’d come check it out myself. Why not be charitable at the same time?”
“How gallant of you,” I deadpanned.
“I do my best,” he responded with a wink.
Fuck, I hated how much I wanted to simper under his attention—from a stupid, pretentious wink. Disgusted with myself, I managed to shift most of my attention away. However, even out of the corner of my eye, he was all I could see. Apparently, leaving him behind and putting as much distance between us as possible hadn’t been enough to fortify my defenses. In fact, they practically stood like fractured sugared glass, one soft blow from crumbling.
“So, what day are you dressed up as?” I asked Ian.
“I’m a lord leaping.”
“Oh, well then, let’s see some leaps. Show me what you’ve got,” I taunted.
His friendly smile turned wicked. “Oh, I’m leaping for my wife, all right.” He leaned back, spreading his legs to showcase the impressive length pressing against his pants.
I attempted to join Carina in rolling her eyes, but Atlas’s deep chuckle tickled down my body, plucking at my nipples before dipping in my core. I barely managed to contain the shiver of pleasure.
“And you,” I asked Carina, taking in her lacy French maid costume, similar to mine. “Are you one of my French hens?”
“Close. Except, I’m very obviously a maid milking,” she explained, gesturing toward her full breasts spilling over the edge of her outfit.
“Duh. And how are those beautiful babies?”
“Great,” she said with a dreamy but exhausted smile. “But I am very ready for a night to remind myself that I’m a sexual woman.”
“A night we all deserve,” I said, lowering my eyes to crest over the lush curves of her body.
Trying to replicate the way Atlas looked at me, I took my time, letting her feel the caress of my gaze as if it were my hands.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Carina said softly.
I ascended her body and made it to her mouth just in time to watch her swallow and lick her lips—a sign of arousal but also nerves. Of course, when I met her eyes, nothing showed except bold sexiness.
“I wouldn’t let my job make me miss this,” I assured.
“Your job? Is this not your job?” Atlas asked. I’d been so focused on Carina that I had a whole ten minutes of blissful ignorance—a break from the fiery heat he kept pouring gasoline on.
“It is, but only when I want to.”
“And what do you do when you don’t want to work here?”
“Sit at home with a glass of wine,” I answered.
