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“You need me. I feel it.” He lets go of my wrists and presses his palm to my throat. “I was scared, Blair. Scared you went home and got into another fight with your dad. Scared one of his illegal-ass debt collectors came after you. God, you can’t go dark on me like that.”
I can’t avoid the dangerously conflicted look in his eyes, not with the way his simple touch holds my body in a trance. I’d unravel for him with a simple command, a tender suggestion, even a gentle nudge at my seams.
“Things are a little dark in here,” I admit, tapping my temple, and when he raises his hand from my throat to caress my wrist, I start to tremble.
“Blair.” Atlas’ voice cracks, and I realize why when his thumb brushes over a sensitive spot, then down to another, and now he’s tracing the makeshift lines on my wrist.
The bleeding stopped before I got out of the shower, but the skin is still pink and raw, even if the cuts weren’t deep.
“You should have called me,” he breathes, dropping his forehead to mine. “I would have been here.”
“You’re here now.” I raise both of my hands to the back of his head, wrapping my legs around his waist and bringing him closer. The towel is doing fuck all anymore, but I don’t care enough to unknot the damn thing. Not with Atlas in my arms and against my body.
“Tell me what you need.”
The answer sings through my body. Pounds through my blood. Tears sting at the corner of my eyes because no matter how much pain I’m in, no matter how much relief I seek, hurting Atlas simply isn’t an option.
“I can’t. I don’t want to push you.”
He lowers his cheek to mine, brushes his nose under my ear and along my jaw. I arch into him, my cock thickening as images of all things Atlas could do to me flash through my mind. He feels it. I can tell by the puff of breath that skates down my neck, by the hand that sinks into my hair and urges my head back so his mouth can roam my skin.
“It’s not pushing.” His voice is light; his lips on my skin a ghost of a touch. “It’s asking for what you want. Don’t be afraid to ask me for something. If I can’t give it to you, I’ll tell you.”
He sucks a deep purple bruise on the base of my throat, and the floodgates of desire come crashing over me.
“Inside,” I pant, capturing his lips when he makes his way back to mine. “I need you inside me.”
He doesn’t pause or hesitate, just cups my face in one of his hands and holds our mouths together. The other roams my body, starting at my shoulder, tracing along the edges of my tattoos. His nail catching on my nipple draws a gasp from my throat, and he takes his time rubbing it in slow circles with the pad of his thumb.
Every press of his fingers has pleasure pooling in my gut, ecstasy sparking behind my eyes when he tugs at the towel and it effortlessly falls away. My dick twitches—semi-hard and only getting fuller—as cool air rushes over it, but pulses with need when Atlas’ warm hand encompasses the shaft.
The hand on my face drops down to wrap around my wrist, and then Atlas shoves them down the band of his sweatpants with his thick, soft cock resting in my palm. He gives me a languid stroke that makes my toes curl, and I give him a gentle squeeze in return.
“Make me hard for you,” he says, mouth coming down on mine, and I have no choice but to obey.
I want him so badly I can barely stand it.
We’re an uncoordinated mess of hands, teeth, and tongues. My cock drips to coat Atlas’ palm, and he drags it down my length and back to the head with a slow grind of his wrist. Somewhere along the way, I yanked his shirt off, and now I’m sucking on his throat and weighing his heavy dick in my hand.
While his length might be slightly less than average, he more than makes up for it in girth, and my hole clenches in anticipation of having it inside me.
Atlas cups my balls, one finger still slick with precum smoothing along my taint and back to my rim. Shudders erupt from my shoulders to my toes at the first touch, and every hesitant press has me dragging him closer, pushing my ass down on his finger as desire rocks through me.
“Do you have lube?” Atlas’ mouth caresses my ear. “Condoms?”
My chest heaves as I try to settle my raging heart enough to form coherent thoughts, and Atlas’ lips on my neck are the opposite of helpful.
“In my room,” I moan, eyes falling closed and head tilting back because I’m so damn ready to give myself over to the pleasure, to the light that washes through my darkness, even if it’s only for a while. His body pulls away from mine the barest amount, and I latch my free arm around his neck, stroking his cock with such increasing fervor that he trembles and buckles, his forehead falling to my shoulder. “I haven’t had sex since my last check up. Which was… god it was a long time ago. Spit is fine. I need you, Atlas. Please.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.” Hazel eyes peer down at me, and I stroke my fingers over his cheek.
“Maybe I need you to,” I whisper, the truth bubbling in my throat like bile. “Just a little.”
Atlas watches me intently, an unwavering stare as he takes me in from the sweat dripping down my brow to the flush staining my cheeks and chest, and then to my straining erection that begs for attention. He covers my hand with his own, linking our fingers together and dragging his lips over the marks on my wrist.
“If it hurts too much, you tell me.” The command flashes in his eyes, and my body surrenders to the tone. “I mean it.” He pushes me down to the couch cushions, crowding over me and pinning me with his weight. His pants have been shucked aside, and his cock rests in the dip of my hip as he shifts his weight.
Atlas has never seemed as big as he does now, my body trapped beneath him as he tries to maneuver us in the cramped space. He pushes my legs up and spreads them, lifting off me as he does. He props them on his shoulders, and my stomach flutters as his lips touch my inner thigh and travel down.
