Page 89 of Fool Me

“No.” I choke on the word when his thumb skims under the fabric, his palm pressing on my inner thigh and opening me up to him.

“That I didn’t get to taste you last night.”

My heart is in my throat, pounding out of control. The barrel room is far enough from the party going on down the hall that it feels private, but anyone could walk in. He makes another pass with the rough pad of his thumb and any fucks I have get soaked up like the wine in the wood barrels all around us.

“Can I put my tongue on this pretty little cunt?” It’s a paradox, how he’s always so conscious of consent when his intention is so obscene.

His thick thumb circles my entrance, making my core clench and my head fall back. My voice cracks as I croak out a heartfelt, “Yes.”

This dynamic developing between us has me reeling. Every partner I’ve had in the past was singular. They either wanted tobe in charge, or they wanted me to lead. Atlas has no problem sharing power. He’s just as comfortable telling me what to do as he is submitting to my needs. To be seen as an equal and share agency over the most intimate pieces of our relationship has me falling hard and fast.

He might be on his knees in front of me now, but this is all him leading as he eases my thong down my legs and over my heels. The scrap of light pink lace gets shoved into his pocket, then Altas hooks one leg over his shoulder and lifts the other to the barrel next to me.

A puff of heat hits my core as he lets out a low breath. I can already feel my arousal dripping for him, but the way he stares at me with hooded eyes sets me on fire. My nipples pebble against the satin, begging for attention.

I squirm on the barrel waiting for his touch, his words—anything. “God, Atlas, please.”

“I’ve never been a man of faith, but if anyone here is a god, it’s you, darling.” Soft lips brush the inside of my knee. My back arches as he inches closer to where I need him, and my fingers wrap around the edge of the barrel above my head. It’s the only purchase I can find to keep me from slipping off the barrel into a pool on the floor.

His mouth is right there, at my apex, his nose brushing me softly in contrast to the nip of his teeth when he adds, “Worshiping this body and singing your praise is the reason I was put on this earth. No one knows how soft my powerful goddess is, how perfect and pink she is when she wants my tongue right here.”

His lips close over my clit, tearing a cry out of me with a harsh tug on it.

“Mhmmm,” he hums, alternating soft laps with his tongue and the sharp pressure of his thumb circling. Everything blurs and all I know is his touch.

Rough edges of the wood barrel dig into my shoulders as I press into it, the delicate fabric of my dress is going to be snagged, but I’d tear it from my body and wear one of the leather bottling aprons from the wall—whatever it takes, if it means Atlas doesn’t stop. Each second has me floating higher, like gravity is optional.

“Just like that, I—” I cry, my throat raw and dry, begging for the drop I know is coming, because when I come crashing down, bliss will be waiting at the bottom.

Atlas makes a gentle soothing sound that garners my attention, pulling me back from the unmoored state I’m floating in.

“What?” My voice comes out hoarse. I press up on elbows, looking down at him. He’s wearing a lazy smirk on his shiny lips as he slides a finger inside me.

It’s everything and not nearly enough. My body clenches around it and he groans.

“I’m hard as hell and leaking just from the sounds you’re making.”

“Shit. I didn’t think . . . I thought . . . It feels so good I can’t think. I can’t stop.” I’m rambling, but since the second he kneeled in front of me, I’ve felt like I’m outside my body.

“It’s okay, Clover. I fucking love it, but do you care if someone hears you?”

Normally, no, but the idea of my best friend’s family, who’s felt like my family for most of my life, hearing me come while they are slow dancing is . . . not it.

“No, I don’t want them to hear me.” Atlas doesn’t stop stroking me, instead adding another finger that has me cursing, my elbows collapsing beneath me.

“Want me to stop?”

“No!” I cry out, slapping a hand over my mouth too late.

“Tell me how to help.”

I reach between my legs grabbing the hand that’s caressing my thigh and pulling it up my body to my mouth. “Just shut me up and make me come.”

His big palm covers my mouth and it only heightens my need.

“Knock on the barrel if you need me to stop.”

I nod, my fingers still wrapped around his wrist. He takes a long suck and I’m shaking against the wine barrel, his hand muting my cries. Time is running out—we’ve been gone too long and people are going to have questions when we come back based on the wrinkled state of my dress alone.

---