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“Me too, baby, me too.”
I let my eyes fall closed again, thighs quaking as the impending orgasm builds in my balls. It’s not even anything sexual that does me in. It’s picturing B—Blair—on his knees, dragging him up while he’s dirty and out of breath, and kissing him until he’s gasping for air.
That’s the image that sends me over.
I have to bite down on my lip hard to keep from screaming, cum shooting from my dick like a geyser only to be washed down the drain. The phone nearly slips from my fingers as I milk the orgasm, choppy pants seesawing out of my chest. My vision whites out, and my eyes close as an unnatural heaviness settles over me.
I feel the cool tile beneath me as I sink down, but it doesn’t feel like a conscious effort.
“Are you okay?” The voice coming through the phone sounds like it’s underwater, and I grunt what’s supposed to be an affirmation.
My head is fuzzy and what’s louder than my thoughts is the thundering of my heart as it smacks into my ribcage over and over.
“Fuck. Answer me, please.”
I try, but my mouth is full of cotton balls, and the pressure in my chest intensifies until I’m gasping and panting. Does this still count as breathing?
I can’t open my eyes. It takes a tremendous amount of strength and feels like wading through sludge, but I manage to pull my knees up and press my head to the cool, damp skin.
The shower is still running.
Moving feels impossible.
What just happened?
I don’t think I’m holding the phone anymore. I can’t hear anything.
Sleep, my mind tells me. Stop fighting and sleep.
There’s a reason I shouldn’t.
But I can’t remember what it is.
I’m half drifted off when something warm touches my shoulder. My neck. My cheek. There’s water dripping down my face as someone brushes the wet hair back, but I still can’t open my eyes.
“Atlas.” It’s hazy, but I recognize the voice.
An arm comes around my shoulder and tugs—and my rigid posture collapses like a stack of dominos. I let him pull me into his side and press my nose to his neck. He smells like sex and sweat.
Should I find that comforting?
His hand smooths down my back, my sides, settling on my hip and holding me close.
“I’ve got you,” he says, and the adrenaline leaving my body has me sagging against him.
I want to say thank you. I want to say I’m sorry, but my tongue is too thick and the call of sleep is stronger than I can fight.
It’s okay to rest, though. It’s okay to let go.
Because B will rein me in and bring me back.
Chapter 8
Blair
I wasn’t really trying to scope out A, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t motivated to make a trip to the gym in hopes of catching a glimpse of who he could be.
Call it the romantic in me, wanting to know if this connection we’ve forged is real or purely imaginary.
