Page 85 of Atlas
“I’m serious, Atlas! I’m not suggesting that you let him out to play with just anyone. You need to find him the right match, but if you do, it might enrich your life.”
I had hated the wolf for so many years that I couldn’t even imagine being at peace with that part of me. Looking from the book in my hands to Jolene, I asked, “Did you read this?”
“Twice.” She was looking straight at me, and my head was exploding from questions that I wanted to ask her. My hands suddenly felt clammy, and I moved in my seat. I’d never spoken to anyone about my fantasies. “Did you ever try any of it in real life?”
“Not really.” She looked down, fiddling with the blanket, while the edge of her lips lifted a tiny bit. “I've never met someone who wanted to dominate me before.” She met my eyes in a glance before looking down again. “I’ve thought about it, though, but I would have to feel a hundred percent safe with that person.”
Putting the book down beside me, I turned on the couch to face her. "I’m still stunned that you’re not appalled by the things I’ve told you.”
“No, I’m happy you told me. It’s flattering that you have fantasies about me.”
The most freeing laughter rolled from my chest. “Jesus Christ, Jolene. I tell you about abusing you sexually, and you're flattered?”
“Abusing me?” She frowned. “Maybe I misunderstood you. I thought you wanted rough sex where you dominated me.”
“Yes.”
“Abuse is when it's not consensual. You wouldn't rape me, would you?”
I looked away and swallowed hard.
“Atlas, tell me the truth. Have you fantasized about raping me?”
My head fell forward in defeat, and when I answered her, my voice was low, like I couldn’t bear to speak the words, “The first morning you were in my apartment. You had my t-shirt on, and in my mind, I wanted to rip it off you and fuck you over my dining table. The urge was strong to take you right then and there.”
Jolene blinked her eyes. “And why didn't you?”
“Because… that would be illegal and immoral. I removed myself from the situation instead. I went to my room and splashed water on my face. But it scared me that I could think that way.”
“Let me ask you this; if you had the chance, would you want to make your fantasies a reality?”
I groaned. “I'm torn. I don't want to hurt you, but at the same time, I want to hurt you so bad, and it makes no sense.” I looked up at her. “Any chance that you’re one of those people who find pleasure in pain?”
Jolene bit her lip. "I don’t think so. I mean, I'm a bit of a wimp when it comes to pain.”
“Oh.” My shoulders sank.
“But I liked the way you kissed me tonight. Even the biting didn’t hurt, so who knows?”
My eyes widened, and I rubbed my neck. Tonight, after I left Jolene in the alley, I’d wandered around Dublin before walking into a random bar and drowning my self-disgust in whiskey. With my mind clouded by worst-case scenarios, I’d imagined headlines of sexual harassment lawsuits against me. I would be forced to resign from Solver Industries, but the worst part would be the pain that I’d cost Jolene, not to mention that I would hurt my family. The thought of the press ripping up our sordid past, with experts explaining how my despicable behavior wasn’t surprising given my heritage, was depressing.
“You’re so quiet. A penny for your thoughts,” she said.
I looked down at Jolene and saw her yawn and pull the blanket higher. Her eyes were half-lidded, and she gave another long yawn.
I slid down a little deeper into the sofa and rested my head close to hers. “I think that I’ve never met anyone like you. You keep surprising me.”
With a tired smile, she lifted the blanket as a silent invitation for me to come closer. I placed my legs under the blanket next to her legs and opened my arms. When Jolene, nuzzled up against me, a powerful rush of relief and happiness washed over me.
“You’re squeezing me too hard,” she muttered against my chest.
I eased my hold, but only a little. “I wish I’d met you earlier,” I whispered and blinked my eyes, which stung from tears prickling just behind my eyelids. “I’ve never told anyone about the wolf before.”
Her voice was drowsy when she spoke. “It’s a sad thing, really.”
“What is?”
“You, beating yourself up all those years. Why didn’t you talk to a therapist about it?”
