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“I can fix that,” I tell him, yanking him down to kiss the frown off his mouth. “Switch with me.”
A brief fear flashes in his eyes, and I snuff it out with a quiet laugh. “Not like that. Lay on the couch.”
There’s a single moment where no part of us is touching, but there’s so much adrenaline zinging through me that I hardly notice. Because between one second and the next Atlas is on his back, proud, bold body on full display. He’s stroking his flagging dick as he watches me, and I realize as much as I need this connection with Atlas, he needs me to give him some guidance. Feed his confidence.
I hook a leg over his hip, resting between his body and the back of the couch, and rest my weight on his thighs. His skin is rough and clammy under my fingers as I slide a hand up his chest.
“You told me to show you what I like,” I say, leaning down to nip his jaw and moaning when his hand flies to my hair. “What I like is to be in control.” He loosens his grip, but I push back into his hold. “I only give it up when I feel safe.”
He tangles his fingers in my hair, and I brace myself above him, reaching back to grasp his dick and stroke it back to hardness.
“I’ve never let anyone fuck me for pleasure before.” I press his tip to my well-stretched hole, and it slips inside with little resistance. We both gasp, my nails digging into Atlas’ pec and him tugging at my scalp. “A few times out of curiosity. But I’d much rather be the one doing the fucking.” Without warning, I drop down until he sinks all the way inside.
“Then why are you…?” His free hand grips my hip in a white-knuckled grasp.
I grind my hips into his and grin as the breath is knocked out of him. “This? You? I want to be owned, Atlas. I want your dick to brand me as yours. And if you never want to have sex like this again? I’m fine with it. But I’m so fucking in love with you, and I want to be fucked by the man I love.”
“Bumble B.” The hand in my hair slides to my cheek, and there is such an outpouring of affection from his misting eyes that as I start riding him in slow, sure motions, the emotions bottled in my own chest rise to the surface.
I’m not delusional enough to think Atlas—who’s still figuring out his sexuality and attraction—already feels the things for me that I do for him.
I think I fell before I knew who he was, and when the pieces fit together something deep and dormant inside of me came alive. I watched Atlas grow up. I saw his ferocious protectiveness for the people he cares about, and the unmistakable loneliness at being overlooked in the circus of his family. I gave as much of myself to Atlas, to his happiness and wellbeing, as I did Shiloh.
But unlike my love for Shiloh, those feelings towards Atlas expanded into an ache in my ribcage that his unwavering dedication and light was something I wish were directed at me. Feelings I shoved so far down that, as soon as they were given a single drop of hope, sprouted up like weeds I now have to rip out at the roots.
Atlas’ cock drags along my walls just shy of painfully, and though that little tingle of hurt sends pleasure cascading through me, I slip off to spit in my hand and coat his length in it before slowly lowering back down onto him.
No one has ever looked at me with such pure amazement. Not while I’ve fucked them. Not while they’ve fucked me. Never. But that’s exactly how Atlas is watching me now, his hands curving along my back, my sides, wherever they can touch. My own dick sits heavy between my legs, but if I touch myself I know this will be over much too fast.
His fingers play over my thighs, feeling the way they tense as I thrust and rock on his cock. My chest feels as tight as my balls, on the verge of overflowing, of spilling out and leaving me vulnerable and raw.
I don’t know what I need until Atlas shifts his hips and bucks up to meet me, finding my prostate on a series of pumps that has me so full of pleasure, pain, and the man below me that tears stream down my cheeks and I have to grip his shoulders to counter the trembling in my thighs.
This doesn’t feel like sex.
It feels like heaven. Like sanctuary.
Like goodbye.
“I love you,” I say, because all of these bottled emotions need to go somewhere, need to seep out before they eat me alive. We kiss and rut and grind; I dig my nails into his shoulders, he presses his fingers into my hips hard enough to bruise. We’re both sweaty and out of breath, and when a sob rises in my throat, I bury my tongue in his mouth to drown it out.
He yanks me down so hard I shudder, his grip keeping me firmly seated on his dick as it pulses inside me. A sharp gasp transfers from his mouth to mine, and my whole body is filled with such a blinding warmth that I know this moment—this single moment in time—will be one I come back to for the rest of my life. When I want to remember a time pure joy coursed through me, it will be of Atlas’ moaned cry into my mouth as he fills me with his release.
I’m not even thinking of my own orgasm until Atlas pushes me up and grips my swollen dick in his fist. He’s still hard where he’s lodged inside, and I can’t help clenching around his length as he works mine with wide, fascinated eyes. With Atlas watching me, with his hand gripping and squeezing my cock, I barely last a handful of seconds before I’m tumbling over and painting his stomach with streaks of cum.
I collapse on top of him as he slips out of my ass, and we’re both covered in spunk but can’t be bothered to move more than fitting our arms around each other.
The silence is comfortable. Encompassing. For a few minutes, only the two of us exist. But that isn’t the way the world works. And the reprieve can only last for so long.
Atlas’ hand on my back travels over my skin in loops, and the slightest tremble starts in his fingertips.
“We aren’t doing this, are we?” There’s a crack in his voice, one that makes me think I should take this whole night back. That I shouldn’t have slept with him. Shouldn’t have been selfish. But when I look into his eyes and see the fear and deep affection reflecting in them, I don’t see an ounce of regret.
It doesn’t make me feel less shitty when I shake my head.
“I can’t be another person who hurts him.” There’s a flash of insecurity in his gaze, and I slant my lips over his, reassuring. “This is better for everyone. I won’t be responsible for ruining your friendship. Someone is going to get hurt, and I’d rather it be me than either of you.”
“What about what I want?”
