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He scrubs his big hand over his face as though he’s frustrated. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m impossible?You don’t even know me!”
He steps toward me again. “I know if you had a choice, you wouldn’t do this. So let me give the decision back to you.”
“What’s it to you, anyway?”
He scans my frame up and down slowly before finally speaking. “Nothing. It’s nothing to me. I just know men. The only kind of men watching‘performers’like yourself, are grimy, fucking assholes.”
I know what he’s saying is messed up and that I should hate him for intruding. I should think he’s weird for asserting his opinion so dominantly. I should want nothing to do with a man who clearly doesn’t know what a boundary is. But when I look up at him, I can’t help but melt into a puddle of need. I can’t help but love the fact that he wants to protect me.
My mind gets lost in a labyrinth of what if’s.
What if he picked me up right here and fucked me on the dining room table?
What if we didn’t wear protection?
What if we have a baby of our own?
What if we raised a little family together?
What if he was always this protective?
What if he touched my body in a way no one else ever has?
What if I come all over that beard?
That part of me should be a writer because I’m one hundred percent sure all of that is fiction.
Truthfully, it’s probably better that all of that is a fantasy. I couldn’t handle a guy like Atlas. He’s closed off, speaks way too bluntly, and doesn’t seem to know what an emotion is. I can’t deal with more confusing relationships. I have enough of those already.
“It’s the wrong decision,” he says again before turning away. “The pie was delicious, little rabbit, but I’m not letting this go.”
The front door closes, and I’m left standing wondering what the hell just happened.
Chapter Four
Atlas
I pull up the website for the club and stare at the lineup for tomorrow night, scrolling until I see a photo of Peyton. The image is older, but the concept is the same. She’s wearing a string bikini bottom, and nothing put nipple covers on top. Her hips are thick, and her waist is curved. By far, she’s the most gorgeous woman there.
My cock tightens. I roll over, ignoring the urge to touch myself. It’s ten o’clock at night. I have another day on the roof tomorrow early before I come back and do a late-night hunt with the guys. I think they’re hoping to cut the bear off in town before he tucks in for the night.
‘Sweet Luscious makes her return to the stage this weekend only. Thick and dripping wet, she’s ready to indulge.’
I power off my phone and stare up at the wood pine ceiling wondering what the actual fuck is going on.
This isn’t me. I’m not this guy. I don’t care what other people do. I don’t obsess over women. I sure as hell don’t talk to them about their dreams or give two fucks if they’re taking off their clothes for strangers. Yet here I am, scrolling through pictures of a woman I desperately want to know, protect, make happy.
More than anything… there’s attraction. Real attraction. Attraction I haven’t felt for anyone in years.
Fuck!
I roll over and brush my hand down my throbbing cock. Maybe I should take care of this. It’s been a while. That could be the reason I’m in my fucking head. I’m convincing myself I want some woman when in reality I just need to come.
My hand rolls over my heavy, throbbing cock as I flip into my go-to fantasy. A thick ass bent over the edge of a bed. Usually, there’s no clear identification to the woman in my fantasy. The vision is only that of a curved frame and long dark hair. Sometimes, the mysterious woman is touching herself while I sink between her needy, little pussy. Other times she’s whining and begging for more. That is… until I of course come in my hand like a fucking loser. Tonight, though, the fantasy is a whole hell of a lot different.
Tonight, there’s a face on the woman I’m fantasizing about. She’s tall and curved, with deep brown eyes. Her hair is long and dark, ringed in curls, and her hips are thick and eager.
