by Alison Ryan
“Atlas, are you alright? This cut on your shoulder looks really bad.” The wound looked like it could have been caused by an axe, wide and deep, although mercifully it had stopped bleeding.
“I’m sure they’ve got some fishing line on board somewhere if you’d like to sew it shut for me.” Atlas grinned as he said it, studying the gash. “Ought to make for a nice scar. And a good story. When we get to wherever we’re going to bivouac tonight, I’ll glue it shut.”
I cringed at the thought, but somehow, in this death-defying superhero world of Atlas Titan, it all made sense. Food? Sleep? Pain? Fear? Those things were irrelevant. All Atlas needed, improbable as it seemed, was me. Oh, and a tube of superglue.
Forty-Seven
ATLAS
Ten hours ago…
Tricks I learned in SEAL training helped to keep me awake as I waited, but I was grateful for the extra room afforded in the bathroom of a luxury jet as opposed to a regular plane. Stuffing myself into even a First Class bathroom would have been like cramming an elephant into a phone booth, and the ensuing cramps would have left me stiff and unable to fight as effectively as I’d need to.
I stretched and kept repeating the Preamble to the Constitution to myself.
It was something I’d memorized in fourth grade, somehow in the tranquility and posterity, it had always helped me focus.
After a few hours I heard voices out in the cabin, and I pressed my ear to the door to listen for the one sound I was desperate for, the melodic tone of Piper Kipton.
Hunting knife in hand, held just as the Navajo instructor at SEAL school taught me, I willed my ears to collect everything they could.
The voices I picked up spoke Arabic, but they were too muffled and my Arabic too rusty to decipher much. From what I could gather, they were stocking the plane with food and drink, doing last minute prep. I prayed, for their sakes, that they wouldn’t discover me.
Soon, everything grew silent, but not for long. More voices, this time speaking English. Three, or maybe four male voices, one probably Spencer, and finally, unmistakably, the sweet sound of Piper. Her voice sounded exhausted, defeated, and I wanted desperately to rescue her right at that moment. But if my plan was going to work, I had to wait until we were in the air. Once I killed Spencer, a sitting United States Congressman, there would be no turning back and very few places I could expect to hide. Doing it here and expecting to escape was unrealistic. Not that my plan really sounded like it made much more sense, but it at least gave us a chance.
The engine roared to life and I felt us taxi and then leave the ground. I hadn’t heard anything since that initial flurry, meaning everyone was probably in the main cabin, belted into their seats.
Once we reached cruising altitude, I heard voices again, close to my position. Only two, in the bedroom right outside my door. Spencer and Piper.
“Malcolm tells me Atlas fucked you right here, right on this bed. You whore. Did you enjoy it?”
“Shut up, you bastard!”
“You aren’t nearly as prissy as I remember you. Cavorting with that pig seems to have turned you into trash as well. Would you like to watch the tape? It might turn you on. Then we could have some fun. Let’s get comfortable and I’ll put it on the screen here. Malcolm sent it to me, I just haven’t had a chance to watch it yet.
“Fuck you, Spencer!”
“Ha. Well, yeah, that’s the idea, bitch.”
I’d heard enough. We weren’t quite as far out as I wanted to be, but I couldn’t leave her in the clutches of that monster another moment.
Blade in hand, I slid the door open as silently as I could, just in time to watch Spencer force Piper onto her back on the bed. She looked revolted and terrified.
I wasn’t going to give him a chance to use her as any sort of hostage, so I dove across the bed, my shoulder knocking him off and onto the floor.
Piper looked as though she’d seen a ghost, but the surprise on her face was nothing compared to the shock expressed by Spencer Cameron.
I rose to my feet, pulling Piper up and around behind me. I didn’t want her to see what was going to happen next, nor did I want her to get hurt.
“Take this,” I said, handing her my knife. “Go into the bathroom and lock the door. Don’t come out, no matter what you hear. Do you understand?”
She squeezed my hand with all her might, but made no sound. I glanced back to see her nodding, her eyes wet with tears. “Go. Now!”
Spencer was staring me down, trying to decide if he could reach the main cabin before I could reach him, I guessed. I heard the bathroom door click behind me and I circled toward the cabin door.
“You and I have unfinished business, you piece of shit,” I said, my voice shaking with rage.
“I’m a United States fucking congressman, Atlas. I travel with security. We’re on a plane. In what possible scenario does this end well for you? We’re going to land in D.C, Piper will be my plaything until I tire of her, or until QB sends word to take her out. There’s no other conceivable outcome.”
“Conceive this, motherfucker!” With that, I charged Spencer Cameron, throwing away stealth and the element of surprise for anyone else who might be on board. He had to pay, and the bill was due immediately.
Forty-Eight
PIPER
Present-Day…
Atlas encouraged me to rest, promising me food and a real bed once we reached North Carolina. Our destination was someplace called Morehead City, and he’d made arrangements with his brother, Odin, to have transportation waiting for us there.
I lay on the bench behind Atlas, wrapped in a blanket, dozing periodically. Whenever I opened my eyes, I saw Atlas, stone-faced and stalwart, steering the boat under the stars.
I lost track of time, but eventually we reached land under cover of night. Atlas expertly steered us into place at the dock and we disembarked. Things were a blur, Atlas talking and sneaking us through everyone and everything until we were in a midnight blue SUV and on the road. Atlas had pulled a fob from atop one of the tires to get us inside and he reached under his seat, producing a satchel with a key inside. The bag also contained a handgun and a wallet filled with cash and, somehow, South Carolina driver’s licenses for both of us. The fakes looked perfectly legitimate, identifying us as Paul and Victoria Porter of James Island, SC.
“Study these, memorize them. They might keep us alive. And out of prison. They’re our identities for the time being,” Atlas instructed.
“How did, I mean, did Odin do this?”
“Yep. But don’t use his name again. You’re Vicki and I’m Paul. Use those names only. We’re married. We don’t have a backstory yet, so don’t refer to any brothers, sisters, kids, no family at all. Just Paul and Vicki. Got it?”
Atlas was all business, taking an authoritarian tone that made me tingle all over. The fact that we were supposed to be playing at being married had me anxious to consummate.
I was exhausted and starving, and I thought Atlas must feel the same way, but he showed no sign of distress, and the highway stretched behind us in the darkness as he drove.
Atlas scanned the radio dial, finding a news station where breathless announcers described the ongoing search for survivors of a plane crash off the coast of North Carolina. And a missing congressman believed to have been aboard.
After an hour on the road, Atlas pulled over in a rest area populated with sleeping truckers and got out, going in the back of the SUV for a duffel bag filled with clothes. We each changed, him into khaki pants, dress shoes and a navy blue button down that stretched tight across his chest. For me it was a blue and white maxi dress with flats and a white shrug. I caught sight of myself in the rest area mirror and thought I looked absolutely awful, my hair was a mess and I looked like I hadn’t slept in a week.
When Atlas saw me, however, his reaction was one of unmitigated lust. “Good Lord, Vicki. You’re gorgeous. As good as that dress looks on you, I can’t wait to get it off.”
The ‘Vicki�
�� caught me by surprise, but it clicked and I did my best to impress my man. “Thank you, Mr. Porter.”
“Good girl,” he replied, giving me half a smile and a deep kiss against the side of the truck before we commenced our journey.
Forty-Nine
ATLAS
Ten hours ago…
Spencer was tough, and no slouch in a fight, but my rage was overwhelming. I was all over him, slamming him up against the wall and then to the floor, my fists hammering down through his defenses. He attempted to sweep me, but no jiu-jitsu was going to counteract the hurricane he’d brought down upon himself.
I felt his jaw break under my right hand, and his nose sprayed blood when a left fist connected, but my advantage was short-lived. The commotion inevitably drew the attention of Spencer’s security, who probably thought their boss was getting a little too rough with Piper and that they ought to intervene before he did permanent damage. Instead, they found him flat on his back, bloodied and beaten, with a barbarian straddling his chest.
In an instant, they were upon me. Two men, unknown to me, one the size of a sequoia, dwarfing my 6’4, and the other shorter than me, but stocky, Latin. The bigger of the two tossed me across the bed like I was a toddler while the other man tended to Spencer.
Spencer sat up, spat blood, and managed to hiss through his damaged jaw. “Don’t kill him. He needs to suffer. Apolinar, get Malcolm. Monte, beat him until he can’t stand up anymore.”
“Only way out of this for you is a parachute, slim,” I growled.
Monte grinned, said nothing, and, moving much more quickly than I expected a man his size to do, rushed me.
I managed to sidestep his lunge, grabbing an arm and accelerating his headfirst trip into the wall. Unfazed, his hand found my throat and he leaned me over the bed, smashing his elbow onto my cheekbone and then his fist into my ribcage. I attacked his wrist, escaping the choke with an aikido move and struggling back to my feet. Suddenly we were joined in the room by Malcolm and Apolinar, Spencer’s other bodyguard.
Malcolm chuckled in disbelief. “You’re full of surprises, Titan. I’m afraid you aren’t going to have nearly as much fun as the last time you were in this room. I’ve trained with these two – they’re going to tear you apart.”
Spencer rubbed his jaw and wiped blood from his face with a towel, joining Malcolm by the door to watch the show.
“Want me to get Piper out here to watch this?” Malcolm asked, but Spencer waved him off.
I backed into the corner, knowing this would be a fight for my life. Not sparring with UFC fighters, not MMA, this was combat. To the death. To save my life and Piper’s. I’d never felt such a surge of primal energy, and I used it to do the last thing any of them expected. I attacked.
Fifty
PIPER/VICKI
Present-Day
After stopping for toiletries at a truck stop and for breakfast, where Paul Porter ate a stack of pancakes and mountain of bacon that would sate a college football team, we pulled into the parking lot of a nondescript mom and pop motel near Florence, SC.
My “husband” checked us in, and we collapsed on the king bed in the most Spartan of motel rooms. “It’s not the Four Seasons, but it’ll do for a day or two, don’t you think?”
I nodded my agreement and we both lay for a few minutes and just stared at the ceiling, enjoying our respite.
“I only wish we had that shower like at the Four Seasons. I’m dying for one. And I bet you could use one, too.”
“I bought some shampoo, it’s in the bag. Go take a long one. I want you to wash off everything that’s happened the past few days,” Atlas told me. “I need to do something about this shoulder, anyway.”
He sat up and peeled the blue shirt off, grabbing a towel leaning over the sink. He gritted his teeth, pouring an entire small bottle of hydrogen peroxide into the wound, wincing as it bubbled and burned. As promised, he followed the cleaning agent with a tube of superglue, holding his arm up to close the wound as tightly as possible while the glue set.
Atlas noticed my wide-eyed shock and did his best to comfort me. “It’s not ideal, but it’ll stay clean this way until I can get some proper stitches.” He then kicked off his shoes and wriggled out of his pants, tending to the smaller injury on his thigh in the same fashion. “I’m starting to look like a damn jigsaw puzzle,” Atlas remarked, admiring his handiwork in the mirror.
“An Atlas Titan- sorry- Paul Porter jigsaw puzzled would undoubtedly be a bestseller with the ladies,” I joked, moving and standing on tiptoes to kiss him. “I’m going to take that shower, don’t go anywhere.”
“I’ll be right here,” he assured me, laying on the bed in just his boxers.
I took a glorious shower, despite the lack of water pressure and water that never got quite as hot as I’d have liked. Just being freshly-scrubbed and clean had never felt better.
Emerging from the bathroom, I found Atlas as I’d left him, but sleeping peacefully. His right arm was bent above him, hand behind his head, his left hand resting on his ridiculous abs. His left leg lay straight and his right was bent at the knee. Despite his magnificent musculature, my eyes were shamelessly drawn to only one place – the bulge in his boxers.
I slithered up alongside him on the bed, ditching the towel I’d had wrapped around me. I reached into the opening on his underwear, pulling forth his soft manhood. I gave it a gentle squeeze, watching for a reaction from him. I’d never been a huge fan of giving oral – receiving it, sure, and Atlas was a master – but at that moment I wanted nothing more than to give Atlas all the pleasure I could possibly muster. He’d gone to superhuman lengths to rescue me, done things I’d have thought impossible to do, and put himself and his family in grave danger, all for me. I’d do anything for him.
As I positioned my face closer to where my hand held him, a musky scent of overwhelming masculinity filled my nose and I let out a whimper. I engulfed him with my mouth, rolling him across my tongue. Instantly, I felt his cock begin to thicken, harden, and grow. My gaze rose to watch his face, and his eyelids appeared to flutter as his lips parted slightly. He continued to swell in my mouth and extend into the back of my throat, and I was determined not to release him until I had absolutely no other option.
I did nothing but let the warm wetness of my mouth bring him to full arousal, motionless as the blood from his pounding heart raced to fill his impressive cock. The room was silent but for his ragged breathing.
My eyes began to water as his cock pulsed in my mouth, laying heavy on my tongue and releasing sticky sweet fluid. His throat made contented sounds as I finally, slowly withdrew.
Atlas hadn’t yet reached a full erection and already he was too large for my thumb and index finger to touch while I held his shaft. I stared in wonderment at his cock before again taking him in my mouth, just the head this time, my tongue swirling all around it and probing at his opening. The rest of his body began to react, his abs and quads flexing and relaxing, his hips writhing. His eyelids fluttered, he was in that hazy place between asleep and awake, his mouth wide open, his mind not sure if he was dreaming, but his body fully aware that his glorious cock was being eagerly sucked by the woman he loved.
I was soaking wet, and not only because I’d just left the shower. I took him as deeply as I could into my throat half a dozen times, releasing him with a gasp before straddling him so as to satisfy the burning, aching need he’d carved out so deep in my soul.
I held him in my hand, biting my bottom lip as I guided him to my opening. Servicing him had aroused me so much that he slid inside easily, with none of the pain his size had caused me in our previous encounters. As I sank down fully and placed my hands on his pecs to steady myself, his eyes opened and focused on mine.
“Fuck, Piper. I’ve missed you.”
I placed a single finger to his lips to quiet him.
“Shhh. Baby, this is all for you. I just want you to relax. Let me make you feel good.”
Atlas showed me his palms an
d gave me a sheepish smile, signifying his surrender. He placed both hands behind his head, elbows out to the side, and stared into my eyes. Fuck, his arms looked good like that.
I rode him slowly, sensuously, writhing on his cock, completely impaled, making circles with my hips. Leaning forward, I was able to deliciously grind my clit against his pubic bone as we melted into an intense, nearly silent, sexual dance. My hands roamed across his chest and his arms, careful to avoid his damaged shoulder.
My first climax snuck up on me, so focused was I on my lover and his body. When it first took me, I whimpered, and Atlas sensed it, taking my face in his hands and kissing me passionately as I trembled through it. It seemed to build exponentially, like one of those firework rockets that explodes several times as it ascends before showering sparks everywhere.
As it finally waned, Atlas broke the kiss and whispered in my ear. “Piper, you’re so sexy. I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful.”
My body was on autopilot, and it would have taken the National Guard and a crane to remove me from atop Mount Atlas. I rode him in earnest and his hands were everywhere, kneading my breasts, caressing my face, and traveling down past my stomach to where his thumb found my pulsing clit.
I wasn’t sure how much my hair was wet from the shower and how much from sweat, and I didn’t care.
The spasms ripped through me, and at some point my intention of demonstrating my gratitude to Atlas by utilizing everything in my body to give him pleasure turned to a selfish desperation on my part to never stop coming.
To his credit, Atlas, battered, bruised and exhausted, was more than willing to have my thrashing body bucking and grinding all over him. And somehow he was able to contain his own climax despite my best efforts to rip it from his balls.
