Page 22 of Atlas

I pull back the antique crazy quilt. It’s too hot for it anyway. The white cotton sheets will be more than enough.

“Sleeping.”

“Sleeping?”

“Yeah. Just camping out, but closer.”

He gets into the one side almost reluctantly. I slip in beside him. When I snuggle closer, wrapping my arm around his shoulders, the metal bedframe creaks. It’s a haunted sound in here, melancholy because the acoustics echo off the brick walls, hardwood floors, and open ceilings.

Gravity is going to fight me. My arm will be numb in a few seconds if I keep it at the height of his shoulders.

I flip around, guiding his hand over my hips until his arm is slung around me. I press back into him, but not hard enough to grind against his cock.

“What are we doing here?”

“Just… just taking a minute.”

He goes quiet. We both do. The fridge hums. Loudly. I kind of like the noise. Outside, it’s not nearly late enough to be totally quiet, and the sound of vehicles on the street every now and then is comforting. We both breathe together, in a different cadence.

“You’re tired,” I whisper into the growing dark. I like sleeping with the blinds open to let in the light first thing in the morning and to allow the moonlight to keep me company. “Don’t worry. I still plan on worshipping every inch of you soon enough.”

“You’re still in your dress,” he protests, voice extra husky.

“That’s okay. It’s comfortable. I like this. Lying next to you. It feels…”

“Hot and sticky.”

The air conditioning doesn’t chill up here the same way it half ass works downstairs. I don’t mind that. I’m always kind of cold anyway.

I snuggle in just a bit tighter. “Hot and sticky, I agree. It’s awesome.”

He’s tense for a few minutes, but then he clearly gives up on the idea of leaving. Whatever storm wages inside of him, calms.

Not more than a few minutes later, he’s asleep. Curled around me protectively, incredibly.

I can’t believe this is real.

I’m tired too, the heat of the day and all the activity have sapped my energy, but there’s no way I’m going to sleep. At least not for hours yet. Maybe not all night. Not until I’ve memorized the pattern and sound of every single one of Atlas’ breaths.

He might be bigger and stronger and the one holding me, but I feel every bit as protective of him.

Chapter 7

Atlas

My arms are stretched overhead. I can feel the slight pull in my shoulders and the strain in my armpits and muscles.

I crack my light into the watery dark, immediately alert.

I’m also aware that I’mtiedto the wrought iron gothic shaped headboard. It’s a wicked thing, with scary points and beautifully worked designs. It had to be custom fitted to the bedframe to make it work. I know, because I made it work.

I strain against the silk bindings, planting my feet and arching my back to look overhead.

Silk?

They’re bright red, lopped around both my wrists, branching to either side of the headboard.

What the hell is going on, and what the hell is happening with my body? My daily level of anxiety is ten times what I feel right now. I’m not caged or trapped. Tied, yes, but I know that if I wanted to, I could get out of it, or I could call out and Willa would free me. It’s weird and unexpected, but it’s not… bad.

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