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“Loosen up, Atlas.”
His fingers dig into my hips, but he slowly starts moving, following where I lead him.
“There you go,” I whisper and turn back around, winding my arms around his neck again and leaning into his chest.
He finally starts to relax as the song plays on, as I turn my head to brush his cheek with my own and smile at him. He returns it, hands going from my waist to my hips and back up.
Every little touch feels like relief, and when his fingers slip under my shirt and tease the skin there, my whole body lights up. I push into his touch, and it becomes more sure, traveling up and dancing around my ribs, hesitant over my chest. I drop my hands to his, guiding their movements until his touch is seared into my skin.
Soon it’s impossible to tell who is leading who, both of us laughing and dancing to the beat seamlessly.
I should be resisting the urge to have his hands on me, but after the dickhole that couldn’t take a hint, Atlas’ touch is nice. It’s comforting.
It’s a reminder that he’s always been more than Shiloh’s best friend: he’s been one of mine, too.
Is that sad?
It doesn’t feel that way with his hard body pushed up on mine.
The song fades out and we silently agree to take a breather. Atlas grips my hand and pulls me over to the bar where we both take a seat, a little sweaty and out of breath.
Since neither of us are looking to get hammered, I order a vodka soda and Atlas just gets a beer.
“Not a huge alcohol drinker,” he says with a shrug and brings the bottle to his lips.
“Never would have guessed,” I tease, taking a sip of my own drink.
We can’t seem to look away from each other, and I’m not sure if it’s this connection or if it’s the energy of the place worming its way into us.
“Where’s Shiloh?” I lean in close so he can hear me.
Atlas rests his elbow on the counter and somehow gets even closer.
“Chatting with some friends by the game tables. Why’d you ask me to dance with you?”
I blink and lean back to see the caution in his gaze.
“Because I like it. Because I trust you to respect my boundaries.”
“You didn’t set any boundaries.”
Not as Blair I haven’t. But we’ve both set and crossed boundaries made together, and I know that those are the same ones he’ll use with me.
I can put the pieces together. The things A has told me. Atlas’ looks. How he got so hot and bothered from me barely touching him that he had to call so I could get him off.
“You’re gentle when you touch me. Most people aren’t.”
Atlas stares, lips parted, and cups my cheek in his hand. His palm is warm and wide, thumb stroking the tired skin under my eye where the long nights have gotten to me.
“Didn’t feel gentle a few minutes ago,” he whispers, and I find that I’ve leaned into him again.
I close my eyes and focus on the soft feel of his fingers as they sift through the strands of hair at my nape. His hand slides down my neck, resting on my pulse point.
“You’re beautiful, you know that?” His thumb hooks under my chin, and the silent order has my eyes fluttering open. “This side of you is… gorgeous.”
“The slutty side?”
Atlas gives me a hard look. “Not slutty.” He tilts his head, and his expression melts into a soft smile. “Sensual. Open.”
