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A tiny moan escapes his lips as he watches, and his grip becomes almost punishing as he pumps my cock, but it’s how he takes the slightest moment to press the tip of his thumb into my slit that makes me lose all control.
I toss my head back, nails digging into Atlas’ forearms to keep myself grounded, and I rock my hips into his precum soaked hand with abandon.
“You’re going to come.” It doesn’t sound like a question, more like an amazed exclamation, and I’m nodding my head so hard he has to thread his fingers through the hair at my scalp to keep me still.
His hulking frame bends over me, those lips I love coming down on mine with nothing short of ownership. He’s as sure with this kiss as he is with everything else in his life: his workouts, his friendship with Shiloh. He kisses me like doing so is a given, like it’s natural and right and the moment his tongue slips in and he squeezes the head of my dick and moves the piercing in just the right way—that’s it.
Pleasure pulses through me like an avalanche, and the rough ecstatic feel of Atlas’ hand jerking me with a sure grip sends me tumbling over. I come so hard my entire body shakes and shudders. A cry leaves my throat and pours into Atlas’ mouth where his lips and tongue soak it up until my muscles relax and I lay pliant on the pile of blankets.
It takes me several moments to catch my breath, several more for my focus to come back, and when it does I nearly stop breathing.
Atlas is still hovering over me, one hand stroking my cheek, with a smile of pure adoration aimed down at me.
“You’re sexy when you come,” he says and brushes the softest kiss over my lips. “Was that okay?”
It hits me like a cosmic explosion at that moment: I’m falling in love with Atlas Huxley. Deep, hard, and breathtakingly in love with this man I’ve known most of my life but have never really seen until his eyes lock on mine and bare his whole soul to me in an instant.
“More than,” I say, because the hidden truth in the words is as close as I can get to admitting my revelation without throwing us into the deep end with no life preservers.
There’s no stopping what’s happening to my heart, and with every caring smile and gentle stroke of his thumb over my cheek, the less I wish it would.
Chapter 20
Atlas
Usually Shiloh and I head to the on-campus gym together on Sunday mornings because it means less people will be around—though Sundays in general are pretty slow, which is why we picked it.
But he said he had to run a class this morning as he was rushing out of the dorm and wanted to push our workout back until noon.
I’ve had a hell of a lot on my mind lately, so I figured I’d get here early enough to get my own workout in and push through all the horniness before Shiloh shows up.
Hooking up with Blair has made my head a haven for dirty thoughts. My cock gives a valiant twitch every time I think about the pleasure bleeding through his expression when he came. It was hot as hell. And I haven’t been able to stop thinking about more ways I could take him apart and make him come.
Which is mighty inconvenient when you’re working out in compression pants. But by now I’ve worked up a sweat and can blame the boner on adrenaline.
When I catch Shiloh slumping in through the gym doors looking rumpled and exhausted, my problems are put on pause as I jog over to him.
“Those kids sure did a number on you.”
He glares at me and yawns, shoving his duffle bag into my chest. “Shower. And then no going easy on me today, you got it? I need you to run me into the ground.” He unzips the bag and pulls a tank and shorts out, then closes it up and walks around me.
“When have we ever done more than light exercising?”
He’s already halfway to the locker rooms and showers, but he turns around with his arms crossed to send me a glower. “Atlas.”
I put my hands up in surrender because not only did he use my actual name when I’m always ‘Atty’ to him, but that’s the tone he takes when someone crosses a line. When he has no intent of taking someone’s bullshit.
I find a good, empty spot for Shiloh to do his stretches and set his bag in the corner near a row of mirrors. He gets freaky about leaving it in the locker room, so any time we workout together, we just carry it from spot to spot.
Knowing that he’ll likely be a few because he really looked like he’s gone through it this morning, I pop my earbuds in and resume my most recent workout playlist. Since I’ve already been at it for a while, some cool down stretches are in order.
Shiloh has been all over the place lately, but he doesn’t seem manic. Just his special brand of chaotic. He’s taken to being an actual turd and waking me up before he leaves every morning to show me that he’s taking his pills. Which usually means he’s crude as hell and sticks his tongue in my face with the pills resting on it.
I can barely take Tylenol one at a time; I don’t know how he swallows several without gagging.
Movement in the mirror makes me look up from my floor stretches, and I’m prepared to razz Shiloh over his rushed clean up when I see a different Novak watching me.
Blair is leaning on one of the large concrete beams with his arms crossed over his chest and a warm smile on his lips. He looks different today—good different. His hair is pulled away from his face in a high ponytail instead of the low one that barely holds. He’s wearing a baggy, cut off crop top and a pair of gray joggers that have a snug but not skin tight fit.
