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I’ve considered getting a tattoo of Atlas’s name—not seriously, but just imagined where it would go. Maybe something discreet, like the one I’d want for Atlas, under his pec. I don’t know that he’d want mine hidden, though. He’d want mine on display for others to know I’m his. Maybe on my neck.
Or my arm?
If he had his way, he’d probably get it done across my forehead and a warning across the small of my back to keep off my ass.
There’s a knock at my door.
I’m still just in a towel when I answer, and the door practically flies open. Atlas hurries in, and before I know it, his lips are on mine, and he’s pushing me against the wall.
It’s been maybe twelve hours since we’ve seen each other, but the way we’re clawing at each other, it’s like we’ve gone weeks without it. We’ve both made these sorts of visits to each other’s places, scrambling behind closed doors as we act like secret boyfriends. Not that we’ve ever given what we’re doing a name. Atlas has never seemed the type to need labels, and I don’t need one either as long as we don’t stop doing whatever this is. And it’s not like I would be ashamed to tell Colin or my buddies. It’ll be embarrassing when they give me hell about it, considering how much I’ve complained to them about my stepbro, but they’ll be happy for me. And really, the truth is, I like keeping this between the two of us—like we’re the only two people in the world.
Atlas throws my towel off, like it’s an inconvenience, and his hand wraps around my cock, stroking firmly. I can already feel him wetting my cock with my own precum, and see his smile as he seems to realize this too.
“Come here to get me off before my date?” I ask between kisses.
He pulls away, his eyes narrowing. “Caught on to my plan already? Gonna fucking drain you so Ash will be disappointed by your load.”
“I can go about six or seven loads before there’s a big difference.”
A sly smirk plays across his lips. “Now I’m gonna have to make you prove it. Better let Ash know the date is canceled.”
I can’t help but laugh.
Atlas and I have been different since I let him come inside me. Where there was frustration and tension, now there’s playfulness and ease. And something more. Not that I believe he has magic cum; although, I could make the case. I’m sure it has more to do with the things we talked about, those pieces of us that we each helped lift off the other. We can’t change the past,but talking about it makes it more bearable. And when we’re in the same room together, I feel stronger. Like I can handle those things that at one time I believed might crush me under their weight.
I make sure my door is locked before Atlas and I make our way to the bed, or maybe I should say Atlas practically drags me to the bed. We wrestle with his clothes, tossing them around the room as we get at each other in the way we’ve become accustomed to.
He blows me first, leaving me reeling, and soon he’s on his knees, straddling my leg as he strokes his cock like he’s about to dump his load on me. Then he leans over me and takes my mouth.
“Isn’t this…more…my move?” I tease between kisses.
He chuckles. “I told you I was gonna leave my scent on you. Mark my territory.” He sounds so fucking greedy for me. Fuck, that gets me going.
“Give it to me,” I beg, wanting him to mark me. Wanting his cum all over me.
“Only if you promise you’ll be a good Troy and not to wash it off.”
Jesus, why the hell would I even think about washing it off?
“I promise, A. Please give it to me. I need it.”
I’m grateful he doesn’t make me wait, spraying across my abs, marking his fucking territory.
I rub my hand through his warm gift, spreading it, and Atlas leans back, helping me with my work, fingerpainting like he wants to make the biggest mess he can, I figure to make it that much harder for me to get it off. When he’s satisfied, he collapses beside me, looking about as pleased as I’ve ever seen him.
I roll toward him and drape my arm across his waist. “You’re grinning like a cocky motherfucker over that,” I say, noticing how his teeth shine in the sunlight filtering through the blinds.
“Damn right.”
He’s so fucking proud of himself for getting me all dirty for Ash, and I’m fucking proud to be wearing him. I hope he feels this good when I mark him. Everyone should fucking get to feel this good.
I relax against him, our breath syncing as we recover. My postorgasmic brain gets lost in thoughts for a minute before I realize I’m drawing my name along the spot under his pec.
“What are you doing?” he asks, wincing.
“Just thinking about something I needed to tell you,” I say, too nervous to tell him the truth.
“Really?”
