Shoving at his chest, I gasp mortified beyond belief.
“You didn't!”
“Oh, but I did,” he smirks. “And I have to say, the show was fucking spectacular, baby.”
“Oh. My. God. Kill me now. Put me out of my misery. Or better yet, dig me a hole to crawl into,” I demand, not joking, not even a little bit.
“But then I wouldn't be able to do this,” Atlas growls, flicking the top button of my jeans open.
With one of his hands delving into the back of my jeans, palming my ass, Atlas slides the other into the front of my panties and begins stroking my heated core. Before I can utter a word of protest – not that I would – my body heats and my blood boils as his fingers tease me relentlessly.
All too soon, the hand on my ass stops groping and disappears. Instead, sliding into my hair at the nape of my neck, holding me immobile. I'm unconvinced Atlas has realized that I have no intention of going anywhere, so instead of telling him as much, I show him.
Pressing my mouth to his Adam's apple, I place soft, wet kisses up the length of his neck and across his jaw. Not
even the swift tug of his fist in my hair, warning me to slow down and submit to him is enough to deter me from my mission. I want him as crazy for me as I am for him. I want him desperate, near begging for me to take him in my mouth and make him come. Again, Atlas has other ideas, though.
The intense glow of Atlas's eyes is impossible to ignore when he drops his forehead to mine. Reflected back at me is a maelstrom of emotions that is both complex, terrifying,
and exciting all at the same time. Need, desire, hunger, fascination, and awe are all easy to distinguish. But there's something else – something darker – something that scares me lurking in the background.
It's then Atlas must realize he's given too much away when he declares,
“You. Are. Mine.”
The deep boom of his voice and the heat and weight of his body on top of mine is going to make me come before he even gets inside me if he isn't careful. His voice has always been one of my greatest weaknesses. Atlas's naturally rich baritone infused with the huskiness of a pack a day smoker is no less potent today as it was when we first met. Truth be told, that was what first drew me to him.
Atlas's voice made me feel safe, loved. It matched him perfectly, what with his solid muscular build, six-foot-two height, and dark, soulful eyes. It was as if someone had tapped into my psyche and created the exact replica of the dream man I had slowly over time constructed in my mind. That's probably the best way to describe him; Atlas is the
man of my dreams, but in the reality of all that is him is so much better than the fantasy world he was originally born into.
“No matter what, I am never letting you go again. I don't give a shit if someone threatens to end me, to take me before my time, if all I get is to spend one more night with you in my arms, me inside you, loving you as you should be, then so be it. I swear on my life; I’ll take care of you. Protect you. Love you more than any man has loved a woman before or after me. All you've got to do is let me in. Not just inside your gorgeous body, baby, but your mind and heart too. I want it all. Everything you have to give, and everything I have to steal. Every piece of you is mine.”
There are no words. None. There is nothing I can say that could possibly tell Atlas what it means to hear him say those things to me. So I don't even bother to try. Instead, I give myself to him the only way I know how; completely.
I wasn't ready to acknowledge the depth of emotion I felt for Atlas at that moment. I couldn't fathom how a man as strong, loyal, and utterly beautiful could love a woman as broken and ruined as me. But I also would question it. If Atlas believed I was worthy of him, I was more than happy to go along with whatever he wanted until he came to his senses. Because he would. I knew he would. One day, eventually, someday, Atlas would realize the mistake he made choosing a woman like me to trust his heart to. I could see it as clearly as the stubble lining his jaw. It was inevitable. And it would break me.
But for now, he is here. He is real. And he is mine.
“Yes,” I murmur as the first tear of what I am sure will be many tonight escapes the corner of my left eye.
Following its track down my cheek, Atlas stops it with his thumb and brushes it away.
“No more, sweetheart. Not even happy ones. I've watched you cry too many times to count, but none of them I've been able to do anything about. And now that I can, I don't want to waste tonight watching you punish yourself for something neither of us can change. Just be with me. Here. Now. In this bed. You and me.”
Neither of us moved. Atlas's fingers were still touching me over my panties, albeit they had gone still. His fist was still firmly anchored in the hair at the base of my neck. And my hands were still splayed on the thick wall of his chest, curled into the muscles there. Staring into his hooded eyes, I didn't so much as blink for fear of severing the magnetic connection between us.
The air sparks around us, thick with lust, anticipation, and desperation. Heartbeats became long seconds before Atlas lost the fight and slammed his mouth down on mine.
Our first kiss since finding our way back to each other is not a soft one. There is no gentle coax of his lips over mine. No teasing or tempting. What it is, is hard, rough, and demanding, but in that, there is beauty so real it threatens to overwhelm me.
Time slows immeasurably after that as Atlas's tongue rediscovers my mouth and possesses my soul. Opening wider, I grant him what he wants, full and complete access. No part of me is left unexplored, no crevice untouched.
Desperate to feel more, to feel all of him, I wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist, grinding against him like a starving woman.
“Jesus, fuck,” he growls, ripping his lips from mine.
But just as I'm about to protest the loss of his mouth, Atlas bites my lower lip before sucking it into his mouth to soothe the sting.
“Clothes. Off. Now,” Atlas demands, losing the ability to speak in full sentences. Complying, I untangle my legs from his back and my arms from his neck and begin stripping my clothes off as fast as humanly possible.
And just saying, undressing while watching the sexiest man you have ever laid eyes on tear off his shirt and unbutton his jeans is no easy feat. In all his glory, Atlas resembles a Greek God. Chiseled out of the finest marble with exquisite attention to detail, this man is truly a sight to behold.
He doesn't have an ounce of fat covering his eight-pack, (and yes, I counted all eight. Twice.) His shoulders are broad, and his chest is defined. The veins in his forearms bulge under the black and gray tattoos swirling fiercely from his wrists to his collarbones. That isn't the only ink Atlas has, but it is some of the sexiest.
My fingers itch to trace the Vengeance patch I know he has tattooed on his back, and my mouth waters in anticipation of following the fire breathed from the mouth of the dragon on his side. But it's the thick, black script etched over his heart that has my lungs seizing and my body going still.
“Oh God. Atlas, what is that?” I stammer, praying,
hoping, pleading it isn't what I think it is.
Pushing his jeans and underwear over his slim hips and down his thighs he cocks his eyebrow, never once stopping his hurried movements.
“Far as I knew, you learned to read and write your name when you were three, baby, so I'm pretty sure you aren't having any trouble making the letters out.”
I know he's teasing, but this is no laughing matter.
This is just too much. So much so, it's borderline horrifying.
If there were ever two people more meant for each other, I haven't met them. Atlas and I are two halves of a perfect whole, and his tattoo, one that I'm only seeing for the first time now is a testament to that.
I know I'm probably looking at him like he the latest exotic zoo exhibit, but can you blame me? On his skin, right over the top of his heart is my name. There is no denying it.
No mistaking it. And you sure as
hell can't miss it. The freaking letters have to be, at least, two inches tall for God's sake. And while that would be enough to scare off most women, that's not why I'm considering running for the hills.
See, here's a little-known fact for you; I have the sheer misfortune of what you could say is a tumultuous relationship with alcohol at best. In other words, I like it, but it is most assuredly not my friend. I learned this early on in
life, and I learned it the hard way. Point and case, the ridiculously large tattoo on my side that spans the distance of my rib cage from back to front, stopping just below my right breast.
For the record, my ability to make good choices was severely impaired at the time I chose to drunk dial Hoss, demanding he makes a house call to tattoo an extremely inebriated, highly emotional younger version of myself. And in true Hoss fashion, any time I called, he came. That's not to say he didn't laugh his ass off the second I told him what I wanted and how big; he did. He also did it uproariously and a little too obnoxiously if you ask me. But what he didn't do was say, no.
Now, before you go questioning his sanity, Hoss wasn’t exactly down with tattooing me while drunk off my ass, alternating between crying and cursing him for causing me no small amount of discomfort. The only reason he finally relented was because I told him if he didn’t do it, I would find someone else who would. Armed with the information that he couldn’t talk me out of it, Hoss begrudgingly agreed. Albeit, completing the entire tattoo with a scowl on his face.
So, yeah, my biggest drunken faux pas and most embarrassing never to be mentioned again tequila driven moment of brilliance was having 'Property of Atlas' tattooed in permanent, jet-black ink into my skin. Oh, and in case you're wondering, being intoxicated while getting a tattoo doesn't make it painless. If anything, it's more painful when the next day, you realize just how stupid you truly are.
Standing directly in front of me, one hundred percent naked with every inch of skin on display, and one very engorged, very angry looking erection pointing straight at me, Atlas grins.
“There a reason you're staring at me like that and not getting naked. I mean, far be it from me to interrupt your
inspection of me, but I'm more than just a piece of meat, sweetheart.”
Still dressed in my white cotton panties, t-shirt, and bra, I gape at him. I mean, Jesus. How the hell am I supposed to do this, whip my shirt off and scream, “Surprise, we're twins?” I do not think so.
“Um...maybe we should...oh, I don't know, wait?” I suggest in what I consider to be a helpful tone. “It's just, everything is happening really fast, and I...”
“Stop before you hurt yourself, baby,” he says with an even broader grin. “You think too goddamn much for your own good sometimes.”
Taking charge of the situation, Atlas lunges at me and grips my t-shirt at the collar, tearing it right down the center. Oh, God. Oh, no, no, no.
In the blink of an eye, my panties and bra are gone too, and my body is bared and completely exposed for his viewing pleasure.
“Shit! Fuck me,” he groans on a rough exhale.
And of course, what do I do I say?
“Um...surprise.”
Yep, raised eyebrows, a quirk of the lips, and all, that's what I come up with.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Atlas growls. “Please for the love of all that's holy tell me that is Hoss' work, not some other motherfucker I'm going to have to kill for putting his hands on you.”
Albeit true, I hedge,
“Ah, yes?” Sadly, it comes out more like a question than a statement, something that Atlas doesn't miss.
“That a, yes because it is, or a yes because you don't want someone else's death on your conscience?”
“It's a, yes because it's Hoss' work,”? I reassure him quickly, not wanting to test his capacity for spilling blood and creating havoc while naked. Especially, since I'm pretty sure if the female population of Furnace caught sight of
Atlas in the buff, it would insight a riot.
Not wasting another minute, Atlas plants his knees on the mattress, wedging himself between my thighs and groans.
“Hoss is just lucky I want to be inside you more than track his ass down and rip his eyes out for seeing that much of your skin on display. Doesn't hurt his case for mercy that it's sexy as fuck either, baby, but what in the hell possessed you to do it?”
Running the head of his cock up and down my very slick, very ready opening, we both moan in unison at the sensation.
“I was sad and missing you, but in my defense, tequila
is a ruthless bitch and not one to be trifled with in a heightened emotional state,” I answer truthfully.
Atlas's big body jerks as he throws his head back and barks out a laugh.
“Jesus, that has to be the most ridiculous, yet sweetest explanation for getting a tattoo that I've ever heard.”
Panting now at the sensation of Atlas's hot flesh against mine and the weight of his cock nudging against my entrance, I moan,
“Um...can we maybe say...talk about this later?”
Grinning unrepentantly at me, Atlas asks,
“You need something, sweetheart? Tell me what you want me to do to you, and I'll do it.”
He's testing me. He has to be. The one thing I never mastered during the time Atlas and I spent in bed together is dirty talk. It is not, and never will be my forte and the bastard knows it.
My nipples tingle and harden as his coarse facial hair scrapes over the sensitive swells of my upper breasts. I may not be able to say it out loud, but my body is screaming for his touch, for him to taste me, for his cock. It has been years since I bothered to bring myself to orgasm. The small toy in my nightstand paled in comparison to the memory of Atlas's huge cock, and my having my own fingers stimulating my clit never did anything for me.
For the longest time, I thought I was broken; defective somehow. I felt desire and the pent up need for release, often and frequently, I just couldn't take myself over that edge. It had been so long, too long since I experienced the simple yet intimate touch of another person that I had all but given up on pleasure in its most basic, raw of forms.
Now, though, with Atlas looming over me and his body taut with desire, I know I was kidding myself. The reason I couldn't get there, that I couldn't get myself off had nothing to do with me, and everything to do with him.
Sex and the release found on the off chance I was able to make myself orgasm paled in comparison to anything I had with Atlas. Even imagining it was him, his hands, his mouth, his cock, I couldn't convince my body of what it already knew; Atlas owned my pleasure, and without him,
it just wasn't worth the effort.
With that knowledge in the back of my mind and a renewed sense of determination, I gather every last ounce of courage I can muster and demand,
“I want you to touch me. Everywhere and anywhere you want. I want you to own my body like it's yours and never stop.”
Atlas's grin turns lascivious when he replies,
“Now that, baby, will be no hardship. Especially, since it is mine and always has been.”
Now it's my turn to smirk.
“Then prove it,” I say, issuing my challenge. A gauntlet
I’ll have you know, Atlas picked up and bested, spectacularly at that.
With an ease born of practice, Atlas uses one hand to guide both of my ankles to the small of his back and instructs,
“Link them around my waist and hold on. Dig your heels in if you have to, but whatever you do, do not let go.”
Then with a swiftness that I didn't know a man of his size could possess, he tilts his hips, leveraging the weight of his lower half against my pelvis and thrusts into me with one fluid movement, at the same time, capturing my lips with his. A strangled moan escapes my lips, which Atlas promptly swallows as he seats himself inside me to the hilt. The coarse hair surrounding the base of his erection rasps against my clit with every grind of his powerful hips.
It's always amazed m
e that something so large can fit inside me, but without fail, I always manage to accommodate him and this time is no different. Except for maybe the small twinge of pain that ricochets up my spine as he pulls out and slams back in. But after half a dozen solid thrusts, pain morphs into blinding pleasure, allowing me to feel every erotic drag of his shaft as it tunnels through the soft, wet tissue of my core.
“God, sweetheart. Fuck! Fuck, I forgot how good your tight little pussy feels wrapped around my cock,” Atlas growls, eliciting another moan from me.
Leveraging himself up on his hands that are planted beside my head, Atlas takes in all that is us. From the tightly beaded tips of my nipples to the wet slaps of flesh meeting flesh where we're so intimately connected, Atlas rakes his eyes up and down the length of my body as if he is committing every inch to memory. If he is, he would be the only one because not once have I been able to tear my eyes off his face. His exceptionally handsome it should be illegal face.
Sarge: Book 8 in the Vengeance MC series Page 14
