Page 19 of Atlas

And Bullet.

And probably the whole club.

And my family, if this went wrong.

And herself if it ever didn’t work out and we were still locked into a business relationship.

Do I care about all of that? Yes. Am I losing my mind watching Willa walk across the room towards me, her hips gently swaying, face so damn beautiful and soft? Do I care about any of the things I’m supposed to care about when she drops her hand on top of mine and lifts it from the couch and sets it on her hip so that she can curl against my body, her softness hitting the hard angles of me just right? Do I care about how this could all turn into a potential disaster? Yes. I do. I truly do.

But is my brain working properly when Willa angles harder against me, tilts her face up, wraps her arms around my neck, and skates her lips over mine?

It’s been more than a year since anyone kissed me. Touched me. Wanted me. Was tender with me.

There’s nothing that Willa doesn’t do well and that includes this.

She teases my mouth with hers, coaxing me back to life, breathing the fire straight back into me.

I want to control myself. I want to use my brain. I want to be rational and talk this out, go through every option. But there’snot enough blood left in my brain to use it for proper thought. My better judgment is nonexistent. Not even my anxiety can stop me from doing this.

I glide my tongue over Willa’s bottom lip, and when she sinks her hands into my hair and tugs me down to kiss me hard, losing herself in it, I let go and lose myself too.

Chapter 6

Willa

It’s hard to believe that this could ever end badly when it feels like paradise to start it, but I’m much more of a realist than anyone suspects, and I know I have to be careful. I need to promise myself here and now that I will always hold Atlas’ heart like the treasure it is. It might not be involved yet, but if we ever get there, I’ll take care with him, whatever it costs me.

I knew kissing Atlas would be spectacular, but my brain pretty much splinters apart as the deep current of desire flows through me unchecked and unfettered at last, pretty much wrecking me.

“Should we… is this… Willa, are you sure?”

I taste the smoky dark sweetness of his mouth, sweeping my tongue over his lips, eradicating the need for words, but I still feed him the one he needs to hear. “Yes.”

He tries to angle me towards the couch, but I grasp his shoulders and tear my mouth from his, panting at the heady pleasure drunk sensation.

“That couch is for sale. If we- uh- well, if we anything on top of it, I can’t in good conscience sell it and moving it out of here would be a pain in the ass. It would never make it upstairs, and if I ruin it, I have to keep it forever.”

“Not a problem.” Atlas hikes me up by my hips. I didn’t expect it, especially not how easily he did it. I lock my legsaround his waist and let him stumble up the stairs to the second floor, all the way through it, and then up the second set to my apartment.

I shouldn’t call it that. Living quarters, more like.

If it was in New York, it’s the kind of place that would rent for twelve grand a month or something obscene. It’s two thousand square feet, which is more than double the size of the bungalow Lynette and I shared in Seattle before she sold it and moved to Hart for good.

Atlas slams the door shut. I didn’t distract him by kissing him. I know he’s fine, but I was still worried about him after he passed out earlier. He shouldn’t be lifting me.

He flicks on the light. “I’m fine,” he growls against my lips before curling his fingers into my ass to prove just how fine he is.

I love his mouth. I’ve had ten thousand wicked thoughts about his lips. Probably more. My brain has conjured images that came along with a wave of guilt and a small sense of hopelessness. In my defense, I couldn’t stop what my head churned up like dust rising in the air after a long, hot summer, but I could control what I did about it.

I’ve never allowed myself to have a real fantasy about Atlas. Dreams, yes. Hopes, yes. Hopelessness… that too. But I’ve never touched myself while thinking about him. That would have crossed every line ever.

It makes it so much better to kiss him now. To lick at his lips, to nibble and bite. To stroke his tongue with mine and trap his groans in my mouth.

He’s a good kisser. I know that I am too.

I don’t know why most women feel the need to say that they don’t like sex. The notion that we shouldn’t is so antiquated. I was young the first time I did it. I told Lynette that I wanted to, and instead of telling me I couldn’t, she got me on the pill. And then she said she’d rather I didn’t, but if I was going to, I needed to be safe in every way. No sneaking around, no places where I could get hurt or taken advantage of, and no risks. She made me take responsibility and I’ve owned it ever since.

I might have been wild in the past, but that all stopped the day I moved to Hart. A lot of things stopped. I haven’t dated anyone. Haven’t had sex since arriving here.

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